#I love how the yellow looks like big eye lashes and a beard!!!!!

[maddymoreau]

I NEED A PLUSHIE OF HIM!!!!!!!

[fourmarkdove]

Upstate.

Title: Upstate. | Masterlist

Summary: When the Captain learns you’ve kept a secret all these years, he’s more furious than he’s ever been.

Pairing: Syverson x Reader

Words: 5.5k

Warnings: 18+ Smut. Angst, breeding kink, daddy kink, size kink, rough sex, dirty talk. Infertility/PCOS. 

A/N: Had this in my drafts forever and sort of forgot I wrote it. Comments are welcome! Thanks for reading!

~

It wasn’t supposed to take this long to get pregnant.

It just wasn’t.

You went on the pill shortly after you met, which wasn’t the most glamorous story, but that one drunken pounding against the ladies bathroom wall just days before he was set to ship out set the tone for your relationship. At least in the beginning.

He did two more tours after that. The first time he was on leave, he dropped to a knee, all suntanned and scruffy, after dinner at your favorite little fish shop on the pier.

“We haven’t known each other so long, but your sweet voice on those phone calls, babydoll. They keep me goin’ when I feel like there’s not much reason to.”

That last time he promised, “We’re gonna settle down for good. You an’ me an’ our brood. Daddy just has some unfinished ass to kick, but don’t you worry, sweetness. Nothin’ but picket fences and backyard barbecues soon as I get back.”

You said of course you’d marry your coarse, burly soldier and there never was a happier man who swept up his girl on that pier in a yellow sundress.

You never thought you’d see the day when your hardline, take no bullshit, don’t give em’ an inch Captain would shed a tear - let alone in public - but he did just that the moment he turned his shoulder and saw you in the just barely off-white dress.

He swept his woman off your feet, saying he wanted to be a gentleman and treat you right. But you knew by the intensity of his gaze and how he barely glanced at the pretty white lingerie before he started tearing it off your body that he was going to have trouble being gentle. Not that you minded. You had no regrets when it came to this swollen beast of a man filling every hole, manipulating your body in unnatural positions because you were smaller and he was strong as a horse and built like a brick wall. He’d pin your wrists to the bed above your head and gorge on your heaving tits, or grip behind your knees and have your feet bouncing behind his thick neck, until you were a sweat slick, foul mouthed whore begging for more of his meaty shaft pounding you into a moaning, senseless mess. You thought growing up there’d be something magical and pure about being a new bride dressed in white giving yourself over, blushing and shy, to the man you promised to love forever.

The reality was so much more visceral. All you wanted for days on end was his thick body forcing your thighs open, his hands gripping your flesh, fingers leaving bruises on your hips, crushing kisses that nearly made you faint, the salty taste of his sweat and cum dripping from your lips and cunt, rolling down your thighs, smeared onto the teeth marks he left around your nipples and on your ass like a soothing balm. The only soundtrack in the house was the grunting feral sounds over you as if he willed his very being into yours through the force of each veiny thrust. And the lewd slapping of flesh against flesh, sometimes muted just a bit by the rough hair trailing down his torso leading to his monster cock. The sound of his thighs clapping against your ass and thighs as he fisted your hair and drove himself into your cervix never ever got tiresome.

When he’d get too close, he’d devour your cunt, biceps and forearms flexing and lifting you to his face, swallowing every drop of your slick mixed with his, swirling his thick tongue over your sensitive clit, feeding the mixed liquids back inside your slit. He’d drop to a knee and spread you over his shoulders if you didn’t make it to bed, or in bed, he’d trail down your body, nipping and biting, picking up your skin between his teeth, flashing those blue eyes up at you. He loved going down on his woman maybe even more than burying his throbbing cock, so he’d always glance up to see your lashes flutter, eyes roll back, lips part and scream silently as he gorged on your sex. His beard scratched between your thighs and made you that much more sensitive but fuck you loved it and he loved marking you. He’d sink his sharp canines into the crease of your thigh and bite down just hard enough to make you cry out and arch for him.

By the time you were begging to come and whimpering his name like a prayer, he’d force his heavy, uncut cock all the way inside and start grinding, flexing every muscle in his core powering the grunting snaps of his hips into yours, seeking both of your release. And his mouth would get so filthy pressed to your ear.

“Gonna fuckin’ fill you up with all this cum. Not gonna be able to walk straight for weeks. That’s right spread wider for me. Fuckin’ give me that cunt. You’re gonna take it all like a good girl aren't ya? Get you all round - knocked up with my seed over and over. All that thick cream in these balls is just for you. That’s right. You want it? Milk it, babe.”

He growled and groaned, slapping his balls against your ass, all of the things that made you gasp and close down on him. You’d come first. Always. pulling the head of his cock right up against your cervix. He’d keep thrusting through your orgasm and his followed quickly after.

His big body could crush you under his weight but you loved it, practically demanded it, so he’d half roll off, resting mostly on his side and forearm and hip, while he panted into your hair on the pillow. But you wanted him all over your skin. The musky scent of his, still rolling down his hot skin, sweaty and thick with pheromones and sex, from working so hard to get both of you off over and over, you had no way to explain how you loved it - except by licking up the side of his neck and suckle kissing behind his ear while he panted into the pillow, his bicep and forearm heavy across your chest or around your hip, still holding you possessively.

He’d chuckle, still panting and turn his head on the pillow. Voice still rough from the beating his vocal cords took while he growled, huffed, groaned and barked instructions to you, he’d whisper in those quieter moments.

“Insatiable, kitten. Gimme a minute. Daddy knows what you need.”

You’d turn over in his weighty, tree bough arms and nuzzle into his hairy chest, feeling his thumping heartbeat hard and steady under your fingers. Tree trunk legs could pull all of you into him, and he’d fold you into his center, so not a single inch of you would have to touch sticky bed sheets when he rolled over onto his back. Thick fingers spread across your back, soothing over your roughed up skin, lifting your hair off of your sweaty neck, until the cool air in the room and his perpetually hot skin balanced to the perfect temperature somewhere in the middle.

It went on like that for three, six, nine months once he was home for good. Only two things changed as the months went on. His chocolate curls grew and spilled onto his forehead - which you loved to run your hands through - and you conceded the beard stays if the curls do too.

You came off the pill immediately, from that first night he came home, and never went back to it.

“Sweetness, don’t stress about it,” he’d coo gently, finding you curled up in bed or in the bathroom, sitting alone in the empty back bedroom in the new house. He’d try to squeeze the sadness out of your body every single month with his huge bear arms.

“It’s fun to try again, ain’t it?” he’d wiggle his eyebrows, and make you giggle through the tears. The more playful he was about it, the harder he leaned into trying everything he could to make it easier on you, so that meant a lot of research on websites. He never in a million years thought he’d be reading up on ‘luteal phases’.

He never had to be told twice that you might be ovulating. You’d whisper it to him sometimes he’d sense it. In bed, he’d smell that wet heat before you even backed your ass up against him, wiggling your aching core against the base of his raging erection. Slipping his big hand down your tummy and into your panties, he’d slide a long couple fingers through your slick heat, spreading your pussy lips achingly wide before withdrawing his hand and wrapping his other arm around the front of your shoulders.

“Mmph looks like you’re ready,” he’d groan, checking the viscosity of your juices. Spreading your slick between his fingers, he’d lick at it, gripping you tighter as you’d smirk and work your hips mercilessly on his dick.

That one taste would be enough to work him into a rutting frenzy though. “Got damnit, I need a taste,” he’d growl, climbing down and burying his face between your thighs. His mouth and beard would come up glistening with your juices and he’d look positively lust drunk on the stuff. Spreading his knees, he’d hoist your thighs up onto his, spreading your knees over his hips, so he’d be able to have a perfect look at your swollen cunt.

Pupils dilated and breathing hard, he’d pinch the hood of your clit and stroke it between his finger and thumb, making you squeal and writhe, pulling your own hair. He was in awe of your pussy every time he actually looked at that tiny, suckling hole - how in the world did you manage to stretch and accept his girthy cock? It had to hurt, right? It HAD to. Gripping your hips, he pulled you up to himself, one forearm supporting under your ass, and the other around your back. Touching foreheads, he nuzzled you lovingly.

You kissed him hungrily, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip before letting go. Hair mussed and giving him the darkest look, rolling your hips in his lap, you purred deep. Much to your confusion, he was the one to slow things down, smiling in his gorgeous blue eyes, kissing over your forehead, temples, eyelashes, nose, each lip.

“I wanna give you everything, babydoll,” he sighed, dropping his head to kiss over your shoulder.

Arching your back, you had him grip onto your hands and ease you, still spread over his hairy thighs, back onto the bed.

“Put a baby in me,” you demanded. He huffed out a sharp breath, puffing out his cheeks, before plunging two thick fingers into your cunt, scissoring his fingers to stretch you out. You shrieked and moaned in pleasure, arching deeply.

He could have been gentle but those five little words; that demand of yours. You were his new CO and when he received orders, he ploughed through at a punishing pace.

“Gotta prime these walls,” he grunted, thrusting his fingers in and out, turning his hand so he could rub sloppy juices spilling out of your cunt. Leaning over, he pressed his palm against the mattress next to your head and did something near a one handed push up, coming nose to nose with you.

“Why we gotta prime walls, baby?”

You whined as he flexed and slipped a third thrusting finger into your slurping cunt, begging for something larger to grip onto.

“We prime…” you panted, clawing across the tense muscles in his chest, “because you’re gonna… paint my walls… with your seed.”

Giving you his tongue, he withdrew his fingers and smeared his fingers over his precum-leaking meaty member. Just pushing it down to the right angle and you arched, digging your toes into his tree trunk thighs as you accepted his cock into your aching insides. You cried out, tossing your head back, but that just made him latch onto your throat and thrust into your cervix like a battering ram.

You screamed his name two, maybe three times, and he bared his teeth, growling and swearing, struggling to hold on, planking on his forearms desperate not cum yet while your smaller slippery body, squirmed and writhed under him. One second you were hissing and gasping, sinking your teeth and nails into his shoulders or biceps. The next you’d sob and dig your feet in, because you were so stretched and so sensitive. If he could just hold on that second longer, you’d grab at his ass, let your thighs open up and release your massaging death grip on his cock still buried as deep as he last thrust before you clamped down on him to begin with. Then he slowed just a bit to kiss your panting mouth as the orgasmic shockwaves relaxed. Your deep purr indicated you were ready for more, so he’d catch under your knees and fold you in half, pounding your body at a different angle.

When it was time, he bore his teeth and groaned, burying his face in your neck, getting sloppy with his thrusts until the last two that were exceptionally deliberate, seeding white hot cum directly to the source, his slit ground mercilessly against your cervix, for a direct shot at emptying himself into your womb.

When all was said and done, you’d toss him a pillow and he’d kneel between your legs, pushing the pillow under you to keep your hips elevated. Hooking his arms under your thighs, he kissed all around your sensitive mound. Kissing inside your thighs, he could thumb your swollen lips apart and see how completely full he’d filled you, to the point of leaking, but neither of you minded. If it wasn’t too tender, he’d clean you up with his tongue before lying down with you again, closing your legs, and drawing both your knees up over his hip.

You assured him every time that the pain was hardly anything as you shuddered and clung onto his imposing frame. It was only the last couple of months that instead of giggling and demanding ice cream in bed after what you both agreed was the best sex anyone on the planet was having, you just wanted to be held.

“Shhh, shhh... I got you, sweetness,” he’d soothe, drawing up blankets, rubbing you all over. He’d tuck you into his chest, and you’d curl up even smaller, your soft little body trembling against his twitching muscle always felt amazing before. But not when it came with tears. You hid your face away when he asked what was wrong, but he felt the little puffs of held breath and silent tears falling into his chest hair.

Finally, finally, one night spent cradling you in his arms and kissing your tears away, he convinced you. And you didn’t just break your silence.

You shattered.

“Doc told me years ago... it isn’t... I’ll never have…babies of my own. My hormones are all wrong for it. She said shots, maybe IVF but… even conceiving… even if possible, it’d be…”

The worried lines around his eyes and across his forehead smoothed out as he stared at the blinking red light on the smoke detector above the bed. He stayed quiet, putting an arm behind his head.

“I hoped I would have found a better way to tell you all this before now.”

“You knew before we met?” His voice was uncomfortably calm. “Five years ago.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean to—“

“Ya kept it from me. No indication whatsoever there were problems on the home front, though.”

“I hoped I wouldn’t ever have to say anything because we’d somehow be pregnant by now and—“

“Ya let me think everything was fine. Told me, “Come on home, soldier. Let’s try workin’ on that family again.’ And I did. Every tour. I came crawlin’ home to you.”

Sitting up against the headboard, he flicked on the bedside lamp and scratched his beard, eventually dropping his upturned hands on his thighs, displaying his defeat.

Even though you wore his shirt from the night before and he was naked, barely covered by the bedsheet, you felt entirely exposed. You wanted to dissolve into liquid and melt into the floor or shed your skin and slink into a nook and never come out again.

His wide eyes plead with you: ‘give me something substantial to grasp onto. Toss a rope and a damn good reason for all of the lies to a drowning man.’

There was only one reason, but you couldn’t bear saying it out loud. You couldn’t the entire time you knew him.

Slipping his hand behind your neck, he thumbed your chin up to look at him. “You thought I wouldn’t want ya if I knew, huh.”

Your bottom lip quivered but he didn’t let you collapse into yourself. Looking over your tense, teary, flushed features thoughtfully, he stayed silent. He had a way of looking still as a sheet of ice while a raging current boiled just underneath. That kind of stillness gave those under his command confidence because even amidst chaos, he made solid decisions. Ones that saved their lives, kept them out of harm's way.

In that moment, you felt no confidence. Sitting on your knees expectantly, you trembled all over. He moved his thumb down from your chin as he inhaled audibly, and furrowed his brow exhaling forcefully, wrapping his massive hand around your throat.

The moments waiting made your ears hot and the blood rush to your face. Tightness crept across your chest. You broke the silence first or you’d have lost your mind.

“You’re angry.”

He chuckled ruefully and went placid in an instant. “Angry. Mmm... Yes, that is one way to describe it, darlin’. Never more so, as a point of fact.”

Swallowing down tears, if he wouldn’t let you drop your head, at least you could close your eyes.

“No.” His calloused thumb stroked up and down the side of your neck. “No—no, you don’t get to do that. Not with me.”

“Please, Sy!” You burst, holding onto his wrist with both hands. “Please say something! I can’t take it!”

He sniffed and took his hand back, rubbing them together instead of touching you any longer. His broad shoulders lifted and dropped. “Not quite sure what to say.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t look at you, not entirely, so he arched a brow and gave a sideways glance. His voice was rough and deep with more emotion than either of you anticipated. “I was uh… unapproachable?”

Lifting your head from your hands, it made your heart shred into a pulp seeing the lifted brows and pained expression tensing his features. “What?”

“Unapproachable,” he graveled, cursing the emotion that made him choke up. “Fuck. I know I can be direct. I been tryin’ real hard to be gentle with you. Did I give the impression you couldn’t, ya know, tell me things?”

“No, of course not, Sy. I tell you everything.”

His smoldering ember pile only needed a breath of fresh air before it came roaring to life, consuming these new logs you’d placed on top.

“Gotdamn it. You knew this was important to me. The way you carried on, let me believe we had a life together. A future. With our family. Do I even know you?”

Smoke from the fire burning inside him made your eyes sting and water.

“Please, stop it, Sy,” you pleaded, pulling away from his grasp. “Please!”

The flames of anger - or was it hate - turned his pupils dark and made him somehow appear even larger with each deep breath.

“How do I know where the lies stop and you begin?”

Embers of his rage floated in the air and easily took to you like the driest kindling. You exploded unlike you never had before. Fists balled and panting, you squared your shoulders up and shifted your weight.

“You know what? Fine. Here’s the truth: I was barely 18 when the doctor looked at me and said, ‘consider adoption’. I wasn’t even thinking about kids then, only why I had cramps every month but no period.

“We’ve tried correcting hormones for years with so little success I’ve felt like a goddamn science project while my friends moved on, grew up, got married, raised families. Do you know how devastating it is to slog through one of those baby showers? Everyone is so warm and happy, celebrating new life and how their bodies produce something amazing.

“Meanwhile, all I can think about is how if I were to conceive by some fucking miracle, the chances of miscarriage are so high, it’d make more sense to plan some kind of memorial for a child I’ll never meet instead of a cute little fucking baby shower.

“And it’s the one thing you asked of me! What kind of a woman am I that I can’t give you the one thing you wanted?! A broken one. With a broken womb. So yeah, be upset with me. Hate me, Sy. But I promise you’re never gonna catch up. I’ve got years’ worth of a head start hating myself.”

Eyes bleary and completely heartbroken now that he knew your secret, your head dropped and you held it in pain from the headache that exploded from the tension.

You didn’t wait even thirty seconds before he nudged your head back up again with his knuckle. Your chest ached so badly from barely containing the sobbing. The moment you saw his arms were already open waiting for you to fall into, you gasped and let the tears come.

You leaned in an inch and he scooped you up the rest of the way. Helping you settle into his lap, thighs spread over his, he cradled you tenderly to his bare chest, wrapping you up in his entire upper body. Burying your face into his neck, you mewled his name softly when his lips pressed behind your ear.

“Sy, I—“

“Shh shh shh…” his baritone was so deep, you could feel and hear it as he dropped his head low to speak close like it was your own secret space to be alone together. “I’m sorry, sweetness. I know, babygirl, I know. Shh shh…”

Rubbing circles over your back, he gave you time to release through deep sobs some of that suffering you’d been dragging with you.

“I’m disappointed, shh—disappointed we can’t have our own, ‘course. But I think I’m more disappointed that you been upset this whole time over somethin’ we coulda sorted out together. Years ago. Babydoll, it breaks my heart to think of you bein’ this sad. Makes it a hundred times worse if you were upset ‘bout lettin’ me down. And you usin’ that ‘hate’ word in the same breath to describe the love of my life… Geez babygirl, that tears my heart right out my chest.”

Tears streaked down your cheeks. You pressed your palms against his hard as rock chest while he encircled you in his long reach. Tears rimmed his blue eyes as you wordlessly attempted to work out if he planned to let go or hold onto you. Eventually, you collapsed into him, exhausted.

“Look at me, Sweetheart. It’s important. What? Louder. Deep breath and one more time? Oh. No, I know it’s gonna make you cry more but imma make it better, I promise. Lemme see my girl. There she is.”

You sniffled and rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand. Your lips and eyes felt swollen from crying, and your hair was a mess, but he smiled in his soft blue eyes and stroked it back.

“Kids, no kids, doesn’t matter. I wanted you. Ask Parker or any other CO I work with. That very first night I saw you I said, “Imma marry that girl,” and here we are. But since we are married, I wanna know the things goin’ on inside ya. Not just ‘how ya feelin’, are ya hungry, are ya horny’ type stuff.”

You scoffed, kissing his cheek softly. He squeezed your hips tightly, lifting you closer, up higher on his pelvis, angling slightly back onto the pillows. He didn’t want you to get the wrong idea, but your heat, wiggling in his lap, and that you were starting to let go of some things inexplicably made the blood rush to his groin. You’d feel it in a second if he didn’t adjust your seating situation and lie back with you a bit.

“You’re not ‘broken’, sweets. And I don’t ever want to hear ya talkin’ ‘bout my girl like ‘at. You’re all woman, an’ the only one for me. You locked that right down in that pretty blue dress down on the pier years ago. Was it yellow? Nah. Really? With the little red… Huh. Color blind or not, this heart ain’t even mine no more so best be lookin’ after it. Yeah, you can cry now. Come here, babygirl. Daddy’s got you.”

When most of the tears were shed, he thumbed the dimples right above your panty line, just under the back of his lifted shirt you wore. Soothed very nearly to sleep, your fingers wound their way through his hair. He sighed letting his head fall back into your hands; he always loved when you scritched him like a puppy. Wrapping both hands behind your thighs, he held you in place, pressed to him and straightened up his neck when he really enjoyed what you were doing to him.

“Right there?” you cooed softly, raking your nails through his hair, down to the nape of his neck.

“Mmph,” he grunted affirmatively, tipping his chin down. He found one button on the shirt you wore straining against the fabric, exposing your bare skin right in front of his face. So he nuzzled into it. The unexpected tickle of his beard when he kissed inside made you gasp and arch back.

“Hey!” you squeaked and a mischievous smirk flashed across his face. He looped a finger inside his red flannel, releasing the fabric right below your belly button.

His eyes flashed up at you again as he pressed his mouth to your belly, swirling his thumbs in circles over your hips when he slid them inside the oversized flannel draped loosely on your body.

You closed your eyes, curling your fingers in his hair, and listened to the sound of the deliberate, wet kisses he placed from one hip to the other.

Hugging just under the curve of your behind, he ran his scratchy beard against your sensitive skin, but you still cradled the back of his head to you just the same. Finally kissing down to the apex of your sex, using his tongue to moisten the spot first, he placed a slow, suckling kiss that made your clit pulse and hips jerk involuntary.

“Sorry,” you mewled, pawing his hair. His jaw tensed and head lifted just slightly when your body responded so abruptly.

He nuzzled your skin and arched a brow up at you. “Don't be sorry, babygirl. Are you gonna let Daddy make ya feel good?”

A darkness fell across your features hearing that particular pet name for him. You tugged the shirt together.

“I don’t think I can do this, Sy. It’d be the first time not trying for... I can’t think about the… the emptiness. Feels like I’m giving something away too soon.”

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, collecting your hand from his shoulder. “Tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you.”

“Time… I guess. And you. Fuck, Sy. I must sound crazy. The way I’m talking, it’s like somebody died.

Here I am going on when you’ve actually witnessed people die.

I don’t want to diminish what you’ve been through with my nonsense.

Of course we need to do this.

We need to do this.

I want this.

I need you.

I need us.

I need this.

Fuck me, Captain.

Fuck me senseless.”

You made quick work shrugging out of his shirt and wrapped both arms around his thick neck. Fisting the mattress, he shouldered your ribs so quickly, it knocked you right off balance and onto his arm. Gripping under one of your thighs, he used that massive upper body strength of his to lie you back gently onto the mattress, holding your whole body up with just one arm.

As he eased you down onto your back, you went quiet and he leaned on his elbow to look down over you.

You stared up at the red blinking light on the smoke detector a long time while he pressed his large forearm down against your chest, between your breasts, and spread his palm over your sternum, attempting to give you an anchor point. Your arms laid limp, one above your head, one at your side, almost like you were having a nightmare except wide awake.

He’d seen that vacant look in the eyes of fresh infantry grunts after their first real battle and brush with death. But he never thought he expected to see it stateside, in the eyes of his wife.

Doing what felt natural to do, after all he was trained for it, he dropped his voice and redirected your attention.

“Eyes on me, darlin’. I know you’re feelin’ pretty rough inside. Grief is grief however it comes. Yeah, it’ll take time. But that’s why you’ve got your Unit to fall back on. Unit of two, you an’ me. Makes us a pretty elite team. I’ll do some of the heavy lifting for ya now that I know what we’re working with. I need ya to stay with me though, yeah?”

“Unit of two. I like it. Will you ever… Oh Sy, will you ever touch me like that again?”

He frowned, wrinkles lining his forehead. “Sweets, hell nor high water gonna keep me from lovin’ on you.”

*

Three months later, you returned home from a walk with the new puppy to find Sy standing in the front lawn, one hand on his hip and the other waving at the delivery truck to keep backing up.

“More wood?” you called from across the street over the roar of the diesel truck lift dropping green treated lumber along the side of the house. While your husband signed off on the delivery, you crossed to meet him in the grass with the puppy under your arm.

Looping a sweaty arm around you, he pulled you in by the hip and kissed the crown of your head.

“Thank ya, sir. See ya’ next Saturday,” Sy smiled behind his reflective sunglasses, shaking the driver’s hand.

“Next Saturday?” you repeated, glancing over your shoulder at the new pile of lumber that had been dwindling as he completed projects. Or at least it was. “I thought the treehouse was done, my love.”

“Oh, it is. Come have a look see.” He dwarfed your hand in his, taking you to the sprawling backyard. His truck was parked at an angle on the lawn with his tools laid out in the back and sketches drawn all over sheets on the hood.

Leaning in with his hip, he showed you his drawings, motioning with his hands as to where they should be or already were in the yard.

“Swing set? Done. Slides over there? Done. High and low bars - also done. Rope bridge, climbing apparatus, bouncer thing, treehouse, done.”

Tilting your face, you bumped your head against his chest appreciatively and he smirked. “I want to build out chairs that flip down on the deck. Not sure on the height is all. I don’t suppose you have any input?”

“All the social worker has said is to plan on three siblings from upstate. Two boys and a girl, between the ages of 5 and 10. Sorry I don’t have any help as far as height goes. I think we are more than ready for the little ones next week, Sy. Why don’t you come inside and cool down with me?”

Scratching the back of his neck, he glanced over his shoulder at the freshly installed fence blocking the neighbors’ view. “Better idea, babygirl. How ‘bout we give those swings a try first. Should hold both our weight, I reckon.”

Arching a brow, you folded your arms across your chest, pretending to be annoyed. “Oh, you ‘reckon,’ hm?” you repeated, patting his sweaty chest through his tank top. “Bear, we already have a sex swing upstairs.”

“Yeahhhhh...” he drawled, giving you his most sly smirk, “but this one is outdoors.”

“Captain! I can’t believe you!” you gasped, touching your imaginary pearls before pushing off the wall of muscle your husband provided when he folded his arms across his chest, launching yourself into a dead sprint across the grass toward the swing set. “Ladies first!!”

He chuckled, and jogged behind. “’Course, babygirl.”

~

Masterlist

[theshiniest]

How would you describe the best humanization of Tamatoa?

it’s mostly about his essence for me, i can overlook facial/bodily features just for the sake of seeing that man who has transformed himself completely into the best (according to his worldview) version of himself. a walking masterpiece. he’s bright, sparkly, bold, dramatic - eye-catching in general. give me a boy that gets ALL the looks when he walks in/by because of how flashy and over the top he is.

as for the physical features there’s already plenty of human-like things in his canon look, so just… add a nose to that, give him a more human skintone(or don’t! purple man! stunning!), slap on some hair and that’s pretty much it?

things ive personally been able to catch after looking at him for four years

obvious: those big round bulging eyes. i’m seeing so many humanizations who opt for that deepset narrow “hot boy” look… please don’t. his eyes are wonderful as they are.

big mouth. big, uneven, yellow teeth. people have a tendency to just draw this perfect hollywood smile, add a little gap and move on. like c’mon.

also teeth decorations. his barnacles have so much potential: switch them up for anything. gems, crystals, grillz, tooth piercings

his underbite aka the reason why he smiles with both rows of teeth showing

dark fluffy lashes. listen. if they decide to give a CRAB lashes - those lashes are important

the chub. his chin almost blending in with his neck. his full soft cheeks. man is fat

also goes for his body

note: with that, we kind of do have the canon reference for his body build - early concept art

and you can see that it’s not just fat, it’s muscle+fat. that good solid tummy. those arms.

his bioluminescent markings:

i did a rendition of them for a human face (+ added something to the eyes).

and by the way, the human face in question is my early artbreeder human!tamatoa attempt

artbreeder doesn’t really allow you to go into extremes with jewelry or makeup (as well as change the skintone without changing hair and eye color, so this is about as dark as I could possibly get him to be). and no underbite here as well :(

but i was really going for that ugly pretty feeling. like… he’s attractive to the point of being repulsive with his big blue eyes and everything, but he’s also repulsive to the point of being attractive. i feel like this constant confusion from the beholder’s point of view is what would make human!him captivating. the “hold on something isn’t right” or “hold on something in him is so cute”

also my next point

androgyny. tamatoa is androgynous on some level. even in canon form he’s got this combination of “strong/masculine” (physical size, deep voice, dominant presence, big heavy chin, his little barnacle beard) and “feminine” (big eyes, soft features, flamboyance). he’s based off david bowie, the androgynous icon, and HEAVILY queercoded.

adding to the queercoding bit. we kinda established the “flamboyant mlm”, but there’s another aspect to him that the fandom seems to miss

“story of shifting shape”.

his whole “i changed myself completely to fit what i thought of myself and now despise who i used to be”… this feels like SUCH a trans metaphor to me.

he never goes into detail about his “drab little crab” life and i’m pretty sure we figured out “l’histoire” is just a story moana made up to tell the kids - there’s no way she could know any of that.

considering this, i would really love to see some transmasculine human!tamatoas with their wonderful barnacle beards and inexplainable gender envy towards a certain demigod

his missing leg would be a WAY bigger deal in human form. ripping off a human(oid)’s leg would mean that maui makes him fall to the ground, which is pretty much a certain win. why didn’t he kill tamatoa? even if maui couldn’t for some reason/decided to be merciful, why didn’t tamatoa die from excessive bleeding/pain shock? in modern aus with both of them fully human, how does one man even cut/rip off another man’s limb physically? this requires sitting there and carefully cutting through flesh, muscle, bone (with no magic fishhook that could potentially slice it off in one hit) - let’s be real, maui can’t do that even to the worst person in the world. so, option 1: tamatoa’s missing a leg in general, not because of maui (or INDIRECTLY because of maui). born without one. car accident. any accident. bonus points if he believes maui’s at FAULT for that. pretty much the canon way. or, option 2: missing finger. 10 fingers of a human. 10 legs of a coconut crab. see the parallel? a finger can potentially be lost in a physical fight. not having a finger is a relatively small injury, but it interferes with your daily life just enough to absolutely bloody hate the person who did this to you. the leg missing is better character design potential though. just imagine how intricate and stunning his prosthetics would be.

and remember! tamatoa’s the best no matter which form he chooses to take on, guiding the hand of an artist ��

[philliamwrites]

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.1]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 5.2k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn't help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 2 There’s also a playlist for this story that you can find here and here.

Chapter 01: A High Destiny

A high destiny seemed to bear me on until I fell, never, never again to rise.

[Mary W. Shelley, Frankenstein]

    It starts as it will end: in darkness.

    Black dots dance in front of your eyes, merging into dark shadows clawing at your consciousness. A dull throb pounds in your temple, a steady rhythm that speaks of life but isn’t enough to allow awareness of your surroundings. Memory is a foreign word you can’t explain, and trying to think of the past 24 hours is an unachievable task. Every glimpse slips through your fingers like sand, and the only steady reference point is the solid ground pressing into your hands and back.

    Slowly, you open your eyes. Treetops dance in the wind, towering above you like silent guardians of ancient times. The sun winks at you through thick branchesa and dancing green crowns, indicating it’s long past daybreak—but how do you know? Your memory is still a vast pool with no bottom and no means to dive into, and yet you think there’s a voice calling out to you, a heart-wrenching young, boyish voice—no, those are real voices ringing through the woods, appearing close to you. Alarmingly close.

    “You’re awake,” a woman’s voice starts, moments later followed by a corresponding face. Round, lavender eyes surrounded by thick, white lashes peak from above at you, blinking curiously. It’s an expression far from friendly, but not exactly hostile either, and of all the things you can think of at this moment, it is how strikingly beautiful she is. But before you can say anything, another person joins, leaning too close in for comfort.

    “You got us worried there, stranger,” a young man chimes in, squatting down beside you. His uniform isn’t exactly what you’d call fit for travelling through the woods. A heavy yellow cape falls over his shoulder, more fanciful display than practical use. But something in his posture seems very attentive, his broad shoulders taut like a drawn bowstring that won’t miss its target. “Weird place to take a nap, but hey, I’m not judging.”

    “I wasn’t—” you start, immediately struck by a throbbing pain behind your right eye that reverberates through your skull and wretches a groan from you.

    “Take it easy,” another voice joins, and panic spreads through you because of the amount of people surrounding you. Where the first man is a picture of warm colours—gold and sun kissed skin nourished on warm summer days, the other man observing you with a worried expression is clad in blue and black, blond hair falling into a pale face that carries the most striking blue eyes you’ve ever seen. Or so you think, because surely a colour like this, a blue stolen right out of the sky, wouldn’t be easily forgotten.

    More movement and rustling of fabric, and a chill settles in your bones as you begin to fear that you’ve run into a bunch of ruffians who’ve only kept you alive for so long because they’re hoping for valuable information. More people emerge from the underbrush, carrying large sacks and backpacks with billycans dangling at their sides. Among them, a tall man with a beard, clad in robust mercenary’s gear, steps forward, concealing another young woman with sharp features and unusual greenish blue hair.

    The sight of her strikes you like a bolt. It tastes like familiarity and the relief of being reunited with a long lost friend. But that is impossible. This is the first time you meet her.

    Is it?

    “You brats, I told you not to head off too far,” the older man bellows, crossing logs for arms in front of his broad chest. The first three take one big, polite step away from you, but don’t look apologetic at all.

    “I’m sorry for our hastiness, Captain Jeralt,” the girl says, her eyes darting from you still sitting on the ground to him towering in his full height above them. “But it seems we would have otherwise not found this person.”

    “This person who wasn’t really much conscious a couple of minutes ago,” the boy in yellow adds with a crooked grin. “How bad would it have been if someone else would have beaten us to it?”

    “No need to make me look like the bad guy,” Captain Jeralt interrupts with a raised hand before the boy in blue can join his friends' justifications. Instead, he turns to you and regards you with a scrutinising look.

    “What are you doing out here?” he demands. “Where’s your family? Friends?”

    “Uhm, they’re—” you start, but nothing comes to your mind. Not only that. You don’t know why you’re out here, where you are exactly … and basically anything that should come to you about your own person remains shrouded in darkness. “I don’t know.”

    Jeralt nods like that explains the very reason you’re still sitting on the ground like a misplaced cargo of cabbage. He kneads the nape of his neck, his face softening the tiniest bit. “And what’s your name?”

    Unable to hold his piercing eyes, you drop your gaze to the ground, curling your trembling fingers into the fabric of your wool jacket. “I, uh… don’t know.”

    If you thought you didn’t have their attention before, now their eyes are glued on your face in different levels of shock and disbelief.

    “A case of amnesia?” the blond male says, not quite managing to achieve the right balance between blatant curiosity and polite worry. “Does this mean you have nowhere to go? Don’tknow where to go?”

    “Goddess help you, Dimitri,” the other boy groans, running a hand through his short, brown hair. “Be any more tactless, will ya?”

    “He isn’t wrong,” the girl says, observing you like you’re a fascinating new specimen in her collection of strange things. “You need a place to stay. And help until your memories return.”

    If they return, you don’t dare to say because despite all things, hope still clings to you in the deepest corner of your heart, not allowing you to follow that train of thought and what it will mean for your future.

    “Then by all means, if you want to join,” Jeralt says, waving a dismissive hand in your direction. “I don’t think you kids accept a No, so I’m going to save my breath.” He turns around with a grunt. “Get them your horse, Byleth. We’re late as it is, and another night of Alois talking my ears off will make me do something I’ll regret.”

    The woman called Byleth keeps staring at you even as Jeralt walks past her and gives her shoulder a solid clap. You can’t say if she’s mute or just speechless because she’s filled with the same strange overflowing sensation like you: like a basin filling with water but unable to drain off. It appears you’re the same age, a couple of years older than the other three but still much younger than Jeralt, and yet the moment your eyes lock, it feels like there is something far older than any of you together passing between you. Something ancient.

    “Well, first off, on your feet, little one.” Strong hands curl around your elbows, hoisting you up in one swift movement. A wave of dizziness hits you like an unavoidable spell, and the pounding from before settles back behind your right eye.

    “Amazing, Claude,” the girl hisses, and quickly steps forward to steady you, pressing one hand against the small of your back where her strong fingers curl against the curve of your spine. Her other hand gently holds yours as she helps you regain your balance. “Excuse his manners. I promise not everyone from the Officers Academy behaves like a brute.”

    “The what now?” you ask, hit by another wave of dizziness that might originate more from the girl’s soft lavender fragrance rather than the world spinning around you.

    “The Officers Academy at Garreg Mach Monastery,” Dimitri provides this time. His posture is straight like an arrow, the stance of a soldier speaking to his officer. “That is where we attend as students and hence are going right now.”

    “And you want me to come with you?” you ask like you have the option to refuse and go somewhere else. Strangely, the thought of joining a group of armed knights and mercenaries doesn’t fill you with fear or anxiety. You’re about to tread into foreign waters, and yet your heart is calm like a still compass guiding you in the right direction.

    Claude clasps his hands behind his head like he’s got nothing to do with you feeling unwell at the moment. “Unless you have another place to be?”

    Luckily, your head does come clear and breathing becomes a little easier. You nod to the girl and she holds you a second longer before she nods back and lets go. “I guess not,” you mumble, looking at each one of them. Byleth still hasn’t moved. By now you can’t really tell if she’s looking at you or through you. Surely, she would have said something by now if she thought you were familiar, right?

    “Then it’s settled.” The girl nods solemnly, throwing her silky, white hair over her shoulder. “We welcome you in our company. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Edelgard von Hresvelg, heir to the Adrestian Empire.” Edelgard gives you a tight-lipped smile that quickly thins into a white line when the other two introduce themselves as Claude von Riegan, grandson of the Sovereign Duke of the Leicester Alliance and Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, future king to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. None of these names ring a bell to you, but you nod, pretending to know exactly what they're talking about.

    “Okay, we need a name for you as well,” Claude proposes, tapping a slender finger against his chin. He has a strikingly sharp jaw that looks fit to cut stone. “Can’t have everyone call you stranger or little one now, can we?”

    “No,” you say. “Especially since we’re about the same height.”

    Claude laughs like you just told him the best joke he’s heard in years. “Soo, since we found you here … how about Glade? Or Woody?”

    “How about no,” you say with furrowed eyebrows.

    “Apologies.” Edeglard sighs and shakes her head, her expression a mix between disappointment and annoyance. “Claude isn’t much accustomed to the notion of consideration.”

    Claude rolls his eyes. “Then you come up with something, princess. Or is it impossible because you can’t take out the stick up your—”

    “Claude,” Dimitri half shrieks, his pale cheeks splotched with red dots. As he stumbles over his own words trying to apologise for Claude’s behaviour, Edelgard simply deadpans, “Bold words for someone in stabbing range.”

    The fourth in this round of strange people considers you with a blank expression, her steady gaze like a solid touch on your skin. Before a greater argument can break free between the students, Byleth says a name with a surety like she’s never said anything else in her life, and hearing it, this barely whispered word immediately lost to the wind, you just know it’s your name.

    “Yes, much better than what Claude proposed.” Dimitri nods, regaining his composure even though he’s still staring daggers at Claude. “It sounds more civilised as well.”

    “You didn’t even suggest anything,” Claude remarks, but the huff of annoyance quickly dissipates from his voice when he jerks a thumb towards Byleth. “That’s Byleth, by the way. Funny story is, we met her just a couple of hours ago as well.”

    “Fate must have brought us together here today,” Dimitri agrees with a solemn nod. “I swear on my honour as a noble knight from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus that I will see you safe to the Monastery. Lady Rhea will surely be able to help you there.”

    “Okay. Thank you,” you manage, unable to connect a face to this name in your head that feels like it’s about to burst any second anyway. The only course of action lies within those strangers who are so willingly offering help that you can’t stop worrying it’s a ruse. But without anything to offer them except your life, there’s little coming to your mind that they can anticipate in taking you with them. Tthe fact that Byleth knew your name doesn’t sit right with you as well. There’s something waiting to be grasped at the tips of your fingers, and yet you lack the strength to embrace it.

    Following the little group of soldiers and students through the woods, you remain silent on the journey, only answering questions with approving or denying hums. How did you end up in this particular forest? According to Jeralt, you’re currently moving away from a village called Remire and towards the mountains to the northeast where the monastery lies tucked away between two mountains. Judging from the clothes you’re wearing, you’re a commoner, and when Edelgard pushed a slim dagger in your hand, nothing rung in intuitive knowledge about how to handle a weapon. Your mind remained silent, like an untouched chord.

    There’s little you can say about the first impression those people left on you. There seems to be a unanimous dispute between the three students, hanging palpable in the air whenever an argument starts that’s pregnant with implied insults or passive-aggressive comments. From that you gather there’s tension between the governing fractions in Fódlan, something else you’ve learnt from listening to them squabbling.

    Byleth and Jeralt acknowledge their bickering as if it was flies buzzing around their heads. They keep more to themselves and their mercenary comrades, indicating they’re really as much of strangers to the students as you. Their conversations are a lot quieter as well, their heads leaning close together for the illusion of privacy. More than once you notice Byleth sneaking glances in your direction, and every time you lock eyes, there’s something close to comprehension when she looks at you. The further you march through the woods, the less you try to meet her gaze. Reaching the monastery is the first step to regain who you are, or so you hope, because the opposite would mean you’ll continue stumbling through the darkness with no lead to your past or why you’re in this particular part of Fódlan, and you can only hope that this Rhea person really will be able to help you.

    A sound from the underbrush cuts through your thoughts.

    Thinking it might be an animal, you don’t let it bother you too much. No one else seems to have heard it, so maybe it was just your imagination. But your brain refuses to let it rest, and fails to push it away from your mind because something about the sound doesn’t seem to be right. The more you try to focus on it though, the blurrier it gets; the less you understand its origin.

    Then, you hear a voice from within the woods. It sounds like a slurred whisper.

    “What was that?” You stop in the middle of the road, looking around the thick trees. Claude barely manages to avoid walking into you. “What was what?”

    “There’s something here.” Unable to explain further, you wave your hand around for emphasis. He looks at your hand, incomprehension written all over his face. “And that something is what exactly?” he asks.

    “I don’t know.” You wave your hand wilder. “But I don’t have a good feeling venturing further.”

    “You may be still tired,” Edelgard offers, not hiding her irritation that the journey stopped. “It won’t be long until we reach Garreg Mach. You can rest however long you need inside the monastery’s infirmary.”

    “I’m not tired,” you hiss, hand falling back to your side where it clenches into a fist. “I just really don’t think we should go further for now.”

    “And why is that?” Dimitri inquirers. He raises a hand and the soldiers following them come to a halt, a murmur of unrest breathing through their lines, and it’s just enough that you question if it would be better to play if off and admit your mind is playing tricks on you due to exhaustion.

    But whenever you blink, a red veil falls over your right eye, blurring your surroundings. Little red dots move slowly in the distance through the forest. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it’s some sort of life form far away, slowly advancing on your position. “Because someone is coming,” you finally manage, scratching the thin skin below your irritated eye that’s started twitching slightly. “Someone is coming towards us from southwest. And I can’t say if they’re friendly or not.”

    Three pairs of eyes consider you like you’ve grown a second head. Only Byleth stares into the woods like she might find the strangers you’re talking about waiting behind the trees if she just looks hard enough.

    “Little one, are you sure this isn’t just an aftereffect from you hitting your head?” Claude offers, squinting into the woods. You’re pretty sure he’s staring directly at the moving dots but for whatever reason can’t see them.

    “Unless amnesia is suddenly another term for going crazy, I don’t think so,” you snap, unable to hold back the irritation raising to the surface.

    A whistle echoes through the tree crowns. Byleth snaps her head in the direction of the sound, growing all tense. She raises her hand into a tight fist, and all movement stills behind you. When you turn around, you see the mercenaries waiting in the underbrush like a flock of crows ready to swipe down on their prey. Jeralt breaks away from them and approaches Byleth, a frown cutting a deep wrinkle into his forehead.

    “Bandits,” he says, and quickly signs a hand gesture to the nearest bowman. He nods and disappears between trees. “Another mile away. If we stay on this road, we’ll walk right into them.”

    “Seven hundred feet, actually,” you blurt. Jeralt looks at you like you’re a cockroach under his boot. Another whistle cuts through the woods, one long followed quickly by two short. Byleth exhales audibly, and only now you notice she’s moved to stand beside you. “Seven hundred feet,” she mutters, her eyes fixed on you.

    Jeralt tenses. “How do you know, kid?”

    “I don’t know,” you mumble towards your boots. “I just see.”

    There’s an uncomfortable silence falling around you, and you’re too afraid to look up and read distrust in their eyes.

    “Does it matter?” Claude finally breaks the silence, sliding his bow from his shoulder. “They won’t be a problem with the knights and mercenaries on our side.” He jerks his chin towards Byleth, already plugging an arrow from his quiver. “You should really see her fight.”

    “Wait,” you say, reflexively reaching for the hem of his cape. “Don’t engage them yet.”

    Claude stops, one eyebrow arched up in a curve. “Beg your pardon?”

    “They come from the woods. Which means this is their hunting ground and they have the advantage. They have dozens of archers. I think they’re waiting until you reach a glade. And then open fire.”

    “Which means we’ll end up as skewers.” Claude scratches his chin and twirls the arrow between his slender fingers. “I can think of better ways to shuffle off this mortal coil.”

    Dimitri perks up. “You’ve read the Tale of Hamelot I gave you?”

    “I’ll give it a six out of ten. His soliloquies were awful.”

    “Boys.” Edelgard snaps her fingers impatiently as Dimitri opens his mouth to protest. “Not the time.” She takes your wrist and pulls it away from Claude’s cape, her hard gaze like a sharp knife. “Are we simply ignoring the fact that we have someone in our midst knowing the enemies’ movement and deployment?” she cuts in harshly. “Is this a plan to lure us into an ambush?”

    “You think someone would give away their comrades’ position just like that?” Claude eyes her wearily. “Don’t be so suspicious of everyone.”

    She glares at him. “I rather be suspicious than dead.”

    Which is a valid point and a trait you willingly admit to share with her, but that doesn’t really solve the problem at hand. Luckily, Dimitri seems to think the same. He doesn’t unfasten the spear on his back yet, but his fingers dance swiftly over the handle, immediately resting on where he can easily pull it from the straps if needed to strike down an enemy. “Fact is enemies are approaching,” he concludes, looking at his fellow students in search for a consensual ceasefire. “We must put an end to them before they target defenceless travellers on their way out of the forest.”

    “Spoken like a true crowd-pleaser,” Claude says, either unable or not caring to hide the mock in his voice. “We can resolve our new friend’s condition after we take down the enemy.”

    “I don’t agree with this,” Edelgard declares, but nonetheless unclasps the double-bit axe from her back and swings it on her shoulder like it weighs nothing. “But I accept that this is a more pressing issue.” The easiness in the movement robs your lungs of air, and even though there are more important matters to focus on, you wonder how her muscles play under her black uniform swinging around a thing like that. Your admiration comes to a quick end when Jeralt and Byleth close the circle. Her hand rests on the hilt of a short blade as she scans the underbrush, her body rigid with battle anticipation.

    “Let them come to us,” Jeralt announces. “Let them think they have the advantage.”

    “Your knigths over there move slow through the woods,” you say, gesturing at the waiting man clad in heavy armour and armed with shields. “But their amour can resist some stray arrows coming down on us. It’s the rearguard that will take them by surprise from another direction and—”

    “And charge their flank or rear to finish them off,” Jeralt ends with a crude nod. “Indirect approach. I thought of that as well.”

    Your mouth goes dry. The idea plopped seemingly out of nowhere in your mind, but yes, now that you think about it, that is the indirect approach tactic, first recorded after the Battle of Nicaea in … Faerghus? Or was it Adrestia? The picture in your mind is still blurry, but now you can make out definite lines of objects: Books with drawn pictures of pointing arrows and coloured lines, each lettered with a name or an approach in a neat handwriting that isn’t yours. The picture triggers another wave of dizziness, disappearing as fast as it appeared.

    “They’re going to faint in three, two, one…” Claude’s voice rips you back to the present. You glare at him and raise a fist to show how close to fainting you really are. He only laughs at the tiny fist in front of his face.

    “Enough brats, get into position,” Jeralt bellows, and the students scatter with a bouncing step in all their strides as they take the lead of a small unit.

    You’re about to retreat to the furthest point away from battle when Jeralt blocks the way. “Not you. You’re going with Byleth.”

    “I’m what?”

    “Byleth,” Jeralt nods to the young woman ahead of you, “will be the commanding unit and you’ll help her.”

    The world tilts a little as panic takes hold of you. “I can’t. I don’t know how to fight.”

    “You seem to know enough to plan a counterattack.”

    “That doesn’t mean anything.” Your voice sounds horribly piercing even to your own ears. “It was just a lucky guess.”

    “I don’t know what’s the deal with you,” Jeralt says with a finality to his voice that doesn’t allow objection, and this time you clearly see the head of a mercenary guild, one that gives commands with every breath. “But that wasn’t a lucky guess. You see what it needs to win a battle. So you guide them.”

    He turns around sharply and leaves, not bothering to check if you plan to abandon them. It’s madness. You should abandon these people, should flee from the fight that will demand blood and death. One, two, three … six steps and you’re standing beside Byleth, taking deep breaths. It doesn’t help. She eyes you sideways with a raised brow, and you flinch at the metallic rasping sound as she draws her sword.

    “I shouldn’t be here,” you mumble, staring into the woods. The red dots are approaching faster, forming into more recognisable features of humans. “I’m going to die. Without knowing who I am or why I’m here. This is the worst day of my life. I think. I don’t know. It has to be.”

    Byleth hums beside you. You can’t tell if it’s a thoughtful or an affirmative hum. “This might sound crazy, but I do trust you.”

    “Maybe you shouldn’t,” you say, struck by a sudden fear that this all is a fever dream and you're about to lead them into ruin. It’s enough that you don’t even notice this is the first time you two are talking to each other since your meeting.

    Byleth studies you out of the corner of her eyes, then says, “A very persistent voice inside me tells me I shouldn’t.”

    “That’s your survival instinct. Listen to it.”

    “Yeah,” Byleth says, and there’s something like a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. You blink and it's gone. “I might do that.”

    You don’t really understand what’s there to smile about, but the moment quickly disappears as silence settles, only occasionally disturbed by a bird sitting in the trees above you.

    “So what exactly do you see?” Byleth whispers after a moment, barely shifting in her crouching position. You on the other hand really want to move your legs before they go numb.

    “I don’t know why you guys even believe me,” you mumble, and pinch the bridge of your nose with your fingers, trying to stave off another rush of dizziness. “And I don’t understand it myself. It’s the opponent, in a way. I see their strengths and weaknesses, their amour and weapons. It’s like … it’s like the flow of battle is displayed in front of me.”

    Byleth hesitates a moment, then nods like everything is pretty much self-explanatory. You wonder if to her it really does sound plausible, as she is someone who is practically born in battle, a daughter to a mercenary who breathes battle and fighting. Before you can explain anything further, she ducks more into the bushes and silences you with a sharp hush, her body tensed. The first bandits approach the glade, their bows and arrows ready to strike as the Academy’s knights engage them. Swords and axes clash against each other, battle cries ring through the woods. Byleth gestures you to follow her, and out of the corner of your eyes you see the students do the same, moving around the bandits. From the distance, you notice Claude gesturing wildly. It’s a mix between pointing at himself and then at the space a couple of feet away from his unit, and though you’re unable to fully comprehend it, you shake your head. He gives a thumbs up and slows down until he halts inside the thick cover of ferns.

    Just when you reach the right angle, Byleth looks back at you, waiting for your approval, and after briefly hesitating, you signal with a short nod to attack. Edelgard is the first to emerge from the underbrush. She has a dancer’s grace and a seemingly unerring instinct for what her opponent will do next. Her axe cuts through the first bandits who are too surprised to regroup in time. Dimitri and Claude are quickly to follow her. The crown prince of Faerghus wields his weapon of choice like he’s never done anything else in his entire life. The spear is the instrument to a deadly song they know by heart, and whoever stands in the way of their melody is cut down swiftly. Claude doesn’t disappoint with his steady aim either, his eyes sharper than an eagle’s. He nocks his bow, draws and impales a bandit that’s been running toward a mercenary with a crooked nose and eye patch. The mercenary gives him an offhand salute and goes back to fighting a thug twice his size.

    And then there’s Byleth. At first you don’t see her as the battle’s chaos swallows her and she disappears between moving bodies. But once your eyes catch up to her again, it’s hard to look away. Byleth moves through the enemies’ lines like an avenging angel on a mission. Her sword arm causes havoc as it conducts the tact of death’s complicated choreography and one by one the bandits fall to her deadly dance. Strangely, what describes it the best, you think, is divine.

    The battle is almost over. The last bandits fall or flee back into the woods as they abandon their comrades who lay down their weapons and yield. A miserable sound of relief escapes you when you see the end nearing with little casualties on your side, thanking whoever watches over you and guides your weapons in victory.

    That is until you see something, and at first you aren’t really sure you see it. Veiled by a red haze, a gruesome scene unfolds before you: As Byleth is focused on helping a soldier back up on his feet, a bandit strikes her from behind, wedging a dagger through her spine and into her heart. When you blink, the scene is gone and with it the red veil covering your surroundings.

    You don’t think twice. Jumping out of your hiding spot, you quickly recognise what will be Byleth’s murderer. Only he never gets the chance to approach her. With everything you’ve got, you charge into him and send him flying on the ground, you on top of him. The bandit groans, groggily turning on his back to see what struck him, and before you can start to fear for your own dear life, Byleth is beside you and rams her sword into his throat, silencing him forever.

    She looks down at you and you feel like she knows what just happened. Why you jumped in. It’s in those keen, piercing eyes that speak of a unimaginable wisdom. She reaches a hand out to help you up, and when you stand, the last bandits have been secured and the chaos finally settles. That is when the throbbing pain in your right eye doubles you ever, the pain akin to a pinprick of ice hammering into your skull. The pain makes you sick as stars explode behind your closed eyes, and the more they dance in feverish circles, the harder you press your hands against your eyelids, trying to smother the pain by pressure. It doesn’t work.

    Unable to breathe properly, your stumble, and when you move your hands, your fingers smear something warm and wet across your cheeks.

    Someone takes in a sharp breath. “Your eye,” Byleth breathes, a hand raised but remaining hanging in the air like she’s unsure if it’s okay to touch you. In the background you hear someone calling out you’re bleeding, and it takes a few seconds to understand where you’re bleeding from. Your right eye cries blood when the pain finally knocks you out, darkness falling onto everything.

[christinesficrecs]

Hi Christine, hope you're doing great! I need some Sterek fics where Stiles is grown up. Maybe after college or something like this. Have some suggestions? Thanks 💚🎈

Hey! I hope your weekend is awesome so far 💜 Oooh future fics! I live for all the things in a grown up Stiles fic. 😍 My faves are here and here. But there are so many more!!!

ADHDecaf by pleaseletmetouchyourbutt | 2.7K

Stiles is 25 and runs his own coffee shop. Derek doesn't know this. Derek, a mechanic, thinks that Stiles is 17 and jail-bait.

Misunderstandings ensue.

Murder, He Wrote by mklutz | 31.6K | Explicit

And that was how Stiles accidentally became a New York Times bestselling author.

The Curve of Your Clavicle by WhoNatural | 6.2K 

Wherein Derek's office rival might be the same person keeping him sane at night when the loneliness hits.

Layover by dr_girlfriend | 3.6K

Big, serious brown eyes were staring right into his from only a few inches away. The child had clambered half over the arm of Derek’s chair to study him at close range, her little rosebud mouth pursed in concentration.

“Uh.” Derek couldn’t look away as the girl reached out one pudgy hand and patted him gently on the cheek. Her scent was soft and sweet and somehow a bit familiar, just enough to keep Derek from shying away. Derek didn’t know too much about kids but he guessed this one was probably three years old or so, head still oversized in proportion to the short limbs and round little belly.

She seemed fascinated with Derek’s beard, eyes widening further under incredibly thick lashes as she petted Derek’s cheek some more, smoothing down the short stubble. Finally she grinned widely. “Good wuff.”

Coming Home by sheafrotherdon | 9.9K | Explicit

When Stiles comes home from college for Thanksgiving break, the last thing he expects to develop is a sudden, overwhelming attraction to Derek Hale.

i wait for you like a lonely house by bleepobleep | 4.5K

Derek isn’t sure why he buys the house. He doesn’t need the space, that much is certain. While it’s not as big as the one Derek grew up in, something about the cheerful yellow paint and the wide staircase (with banisters wide enough for children to slide down) draws him in.

Quack (Stiles Stop Calling It That) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) 15.9K

“Stiles, I’m serious, I need a favour.”

“That sounds like a trap,” Stiles Stilinski muttered sleepily into both his pillows. “You know,” he continued when the man in his room made no move to leave, “you’d think I’d be used to this. My dad, coming into my room, smacking my ass to get me out of bed, waking me up at the ass crack of dawn—”

“It’s almost one.”

Both your hands in the holes of my sweater by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie) | 2.2K

Laura Hale is trying to murder him. How dare she give Derek the softest, most adorable sweater! When she knows that Stiles' weak bisexual heart can't handle that level of cute from the man he's most definitely in love with. "It has thumbholes." Yeah, well thanks for that, Derek.

most important things by sarcaticfishes | 21.1K | Explicit

At first Derek didn’t know what to do with Romy. She was this tiny, squirming, pink thing that he had no idea how to read. But she was also his niece, and the only thing he had left in the world. He thought about giving her up and going back to California, but the thought of being so close to the place where his family had once been so alive hurt him, and so did the thought of letting her go. And so, in Chicago he stayed, and the Hills were forgotten. He didn’t want to go back. And no one came looking for him anyway.

You’d Be So Good To Come Home To by SylvieW | 5K

In Stiles’ final year of college, Derek decides to rebuild the Hale house. He keeps asking for Stiles’ opinion on the house plans. Stiles doesn't realize that Derek is building the house with a mate in mind.

The Courting Dilemmas of a Spark and a Werewolf Prince by greenleaf | 11.4K

Talia smiled calmly. “I am well aware that you are not a werewolf, my darling, but I thought this would be the best reading material for you to use as reference. After all, how would you know how to act during a courting ritual if you do not study it?”

“But I don’t... I’m not…” Stiles narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you setting me up with someone?”

[calebdumes]

this is a continuation of this. just some sad sappy fluff. 

fandom: star wars rebels

relationship: kanan jarrus/hera syndulla

rating: n/r

word count: 1k

~

After Jacen was tucked away in bed and the Dameron/Bey house was quiet, Hera snuck back out into the garden, he bare feet silent on the mossy ground. She crept over to the tree Shara had pointed out earlier and placed a hand on the rough bark. 

Warmth tingled up her arm, wrapping around her chest, the air around her humming with a melodic sound. Hera sighed. 

“Hello love.”

Hera turned and the lush heat of the Yavin night disappeared. She found herself standing in a bright, breezy courtyard unlike anything she had ever seen before. Stone walls rose around her, the sky a brilliant blue that was crisscrossed with air traffic. The air was warm and dry, a far cry from the wet heat of Yavin. But the atmosphere wasn’t nearly as compelling at the figure smiling at her.

Kanan stood before her, wrapped in thick robes of dark green and brown, his teal eyes sparkling. He had his arms folded in the deep sleeves, looking every bit of the Jedi Master he was. Hera laughed, bright and airy before she threw herself at him.

He caught her easily, spinning her around in the air. She wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her forehead against his.

“Long time no see.” He winked.

Hera rolled her eyes. “You’re insufferable.” She told him before kissing him gently.

She didn’t know how this was possible. Kanan had been dead for six years now and yet here he was alive and real, flesh and bone under her fingers. Unlike her, he didn’t look at day over thirty, his chestnut brown hair still tied back at the base of his skull with the beard he had grown on Atollon still firmly on his handsome face. Hera didn’t know how it was possible but she wasn’t about to complain, not when he was holding her.

Kanan set her down lightly on her feet, capturing her lips with his. “Yeah,” he said when they broke apart. “But that’s why you love me.”

Hera smiled feeling like a giddy teenager. “I guess.”

“I like the new cap.” He said, flicking the brown and orange cap on her head. “It’s nice.”

“I like the new robes.” She tugged on the brown cloth. “It’s nice, Jedi Master.”

Kanan scoffed, pulling her close. “So you want a tour?”

“Sure. Where exactly are we?”

“Well technically, you’re still on Yavin. This is…honestly I’m not really sure what all this is. The Force I guess.”

“Okay but this place.” She pointed to the building. “What is this place?”

Kanan blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “The Jedi Temple on Coruscant. It’s where I grew up.”

Hera blinked with wide eyes. She had spent a good chunk of her life around Kanan but everything about his past as a Jedi was never spoken about. Her breath caught in her throat.

“C’mon, I’ll show you around.” He took her by the hand and led her inside the massive building. A hush fell over her as she stepped over the threshold, feeling as if she had entered a holy place. Thousands of beings milled around the high vaulted hallways, the towering columns gleaming in the golden sunlight that streamed in through the windows.

Kanan pointed to some of the beings as they passed, telling her their names and all the fantastical things they accomplished in their life. Jedi Master Kit Fisto and his heroic stand on Mon Calamari. Jedi Master Plo Koon, the Kel Dor that had brought Ahsoka Tano to the temple and loved his clones like his sons. Jedi Master Mace Windu, Kanan’s Grand Master and one of the best Jedi to grace the Order.

Hera took it all in with wonder.

Kanan took her down a side hallway, into a room that was dotted with big leafy plants and a wide window that took up one wall. A bubbling fountain sat in the center of the room, two large cushions sitting at the end. Hera glanced over to Kanan, his face more relaxed than she had seen it in a long time.

“What’s this place?” she asked walking up to the edge of the fountain. Bright pink flowers floated in the water, their delicate perfume wafting up from the water.

“This was my master’s room.” Kanan said in soft voice. “It would have been mine too but I never got the chance to move in.”

“How come?”

Kanan sat down on one of the cushions, patting the space beside him for her to sit. “By the time I became Master Billaba’s padawan it was the twilight of the Clone Wars. We shipped out to the front almost immediately. We never did make it back.” He said.

“Is she here?” Hera asked, curling into his side. Kanan nodded, kissing he top of head.

“She’s around but I’d rather spend this time with you.”

Hera hummed in agreement and sank further into his side. He was a warm, solid presence next to him, a presence she had missed having near. There was so much she wanted to tell him, about the war, the crew, their son but she couldn’t seem to find the words. She just held onto him, letting his warmth wrap around her.

“I wish you could come back with me.” She muttered sleepily into his shoulder. “There so much you need to see. Our son, Jacen,” tears stung at her eyes. “He would love to meet you.”

“All in good time.” He whispered. Hera clenched her eyes tight. She could feel this illusion starting to slip, the sticky heat of Yavin starting to creep back in. Hera didn’t want to leave, not when she had just gotten him back. “Remember.” He said, his voice fading. “Look to the Force and you will always find me.”

Hera felt a sob build in her throat but she swallowed it down. When she opened her eyes, Kanan was gone. The room they had been sitting in was replaced with a burning Yavin sunrise, brilliant yellows giving way to soft pinks. Hera was sitting at the base of the tree, a woven blanket laying across her lap.

Shara sat next to her, holding a steaming cup of caf in her hands.

Hera brushed away the tears that clung to her eye lashes, smiling at her friend gratefully.

“Sweet dreams?” she asked, handing over the cup.

Hera breathed in the rich aroma of the caf. A gentle breeze curled around her lekku, warmth blooming in her heart. She leaned back against the tree, feeling lighter than she had in years. “The sweetest.”

[woshivn]

The fort is in a sorry state

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All you need is the beat of some good music, a great outfit and the right attitude.. There are over 20 additional taxes that the middle class will have enforced.. Someone at Asics wasn't paying attention, as the "dislikes" will testify.

[likehoneyandsilk]

Notes From Her - The Middle

Notes From Her - The Beginning

It was the big debut. Mat’s first NHL game as an Islander in the city of Washington. She had flew in the morning of, catching him in a warm hug after she rushed through the airport crowd.

“Excited for tonight?” She asked, beaming smile on her face, when she pulled back from their kiss. He studied her for a bit, trying to understand how he was feeling. Her smile fell short, confusion spreading through her eyes. With her small hands she gently held his cheeks.

“I’m nervous, excited but I’m so nervous. What if I get cold feet?” She shook he head at his response, smiling softly as she kissed him again.

“You won’t. And it’s completely alright to feel how you’re feeling. Just remember that you’ve worked hard, and you’re here tonight for a reason.” He nodded, reassurance spreading throughout him, and nuzzled his neck into the fabric of her blue university sweatshirt.

“I’m glad you’re here” she chuckled, squeezing her arms around him. “I wouldn’t miss for the world Barzy.”

Night fell soon, and the anticipation was high. Alongside his family outside the locker room, holding onto his sisters hand, she stood with a proud smile on her face, adorned in her very own Barzal jersey. He arrived in his game day suit, hair styled neatly, and the slightest nervous grin. Making his grounds he greeted down the line, starting with his mother and ending with her.

“Good luck tonight” she whispered into his ear as he pulled her in for a hug. They parted, Mat smiling at how unreal this seemed. Here she was, dressed in his jersey, cheeks rosy red like the morning of the first game she watched him play. “Thanks babe.”

. . .

“October 15 2016. Your big NHL debut. This one is for the books. I’ll be cheering loud! Proud of you Barzy. Have a great game, I love you!”

“Anything you wanna share Barzal? Smiling pretty big there.” Captain Tavares chuckled behind his new teammate. Here was Mat, dressed in his alternative Islanders jersey, wearing his name and number proudly. Tavares patted his shoulder, smiling at him, glancing into the note in his hands.

“Your girl out there earlier?” Mar nodded, cheeks flushed, tucking the note into his coat pocket. “Let’s give her a good game then huh?”

. . .

“Oh my goodness. Is that Sidney Crosby?!” She squeezed his arm her voice high and her tone surprised. He followed her bewildered eyes to the podium where the Sidney Crosby himself was answering questions from the media. Mat chuckled, turning to meet his girlfriends gaze. “Yup” it was so nonchalant, as he nodded his head, staring at him in disbelief.

“Wow” she whispered, as he continued to guide her through All Star Media Day. Camera flashed everywhere and the auditorium was packed. Mat was currently making his way towards his podium where he’d be answering his own set of questions, but he’d managed to find some time in between the cameras and questions to steal her from the other wives and girlfriends and give her a personal tour.

Although this was his first All Star Weekend and he truly was honoured, she seemed to be far more amazed. Her eyes traveled throughout the auditorium, her face lighting up everytime she saw a player she’d watched over the years. Not on for cameras and lights she stuck close to his side, stepping back as he was stopped for interviews and watching proudly from behind the scenes.

The next morning she woke up next to him in the hotel bed. “Good morning All Star” her whispered greeting was warm, and her pulled her towards him, her nose pressing into his chest. Her lashes fluttered against his skin, and her grazed over his side. The San Jose sun beamed down on them from the large windows, painting them in gold.

His brand new suit hung across from them against the wall, and within in an hour a team would arrive to help him suit up. He had a red carpet to walk, and then it would be time for the Skills Competition. One she’d been looking most forward to.

Their solitude cut short, she poked his side. “We should get up” she mumbled, pulling herself away from him. Lifting her body off the mattes she towered abov him, her right arm holding up her weight. Her hair fell to one side of her face, strands resting against his broad shoulder. Mat smiled underneath her, his hair messy atop his head, his face freshly shaven. “We got an hour” he stared, his morning voice sending a surge through her veins, as he pulled on the collar of the shirt she wore to bed, one of many Islanders shirt that were far to big for her.

She shook her head teasingly. “Nope. No distractions.” And with a cheeky smile she lifted herself up, laughing as he protested. “Let’s go All Star!”

“Please tell Sidney Crosby I say hello! Have fun Barzy! Show McDavid what you’ve got!” Followed by a smiley face and a heart he chuckled to himself, as he got off the red carpet. She was waiting back in the locker rooms, adorned in his jersey while she chatted with another girlfriend.

He greeted her with a kiss, wrapping her hand in hers. “So I want you to meet someone” he guided her furthur into the locker room, towards the one and only. “Oh no I don’t think I should ...” her cheeks flushed as she protested.

“Sid! Hey, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend. You’re her second favourite hockey player.” Mat teased and joked with Sidney.

. . .

“I’m so sorry the team didn’t make it. But the effort and time it took to get where you are today as a team will not go unoticed. I love you.” A sad and heavy sigh escaped his lips. The Islanders were officially out of the Tsanley Cuo Playoffs, after a devestating loss to the Carolina Hurricane. The trip home has been tough. The season was over for him and the team.

He’d called her after the tough loss and as soon as he was on the bus home. T he wives and girlfriends had met up to watch the away game together, decked out their boys jerseys. The loss was heart breaking, watching as their men fell apart, the looks on their faces of disappoint. Knowing very well they wouldn’t be able to answer their phones the girls agreed to give the boys time, before all heading back to respective home, awaiting the arrival of what would be a devestated hockey player.

It was late when he arrived. Her textbooks were still sprawled across the kitchen table, the light above it still on. She could finally get back to the books. His fingers trailed over the thing pages aimlessly. She was always such a good sport. Combating an intensive and hard program in university while simultaneously going through this hectic journey with him, and working herself. He wasn’t sure how she did it, but she did and after the loss today he felt guilty of all she’d gone through this year with him, only to lose. A win was what they owed to their fans and loved ones.

He trailed into their bedroom. He could hear the bathroom tap running, the bathroom door closed halfway. He waited patiently by their bedroom door. He was tired, bruised and in need of rest. His mind felt foggy and his chest heavy. He hadn’t noticed when the bathroom door swung open and she appeared. He missed her surprised gasp, and then the gentle latter of her feet towards him.

“Mathew?” Her voice was gentle. His eyes met with her soft and comforting ones, her smile sad yet warming. The bedroom lamps cast a yellow golden hue in the bedroom, hitting off the walls and leaving her exposed skin glowing. Dressed in her blue cami pajama’s and an old grey zipped sweater. Her hair was held back in a loose ponytail.

“Barzy” she whispered, finally reaching for him and wrapping him in a tight hug. She held him for a few minutes, and he held onto her. Her fingers grazed through his hair. “It’s gonna be okay” he couldn’t help but let a few tears fall from his eyes, holding her closer.

“I’m sorry love. I’m so sorry.” She wiped his cheeks with her thumbs, “I missed you” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers. “I missed you too.” She rubbed his arms lovingly, but underneath her touch he was still tense

“Let’s get you ready for bed. You need to rest up.” He felt numb as he nodded, letting her guide him towards the bathroom. She motioned first him to sit on the vanity, while he watched her prepare the tub with a warm bath, filling it with soothing salts and oils. He laid out his razor, ready to shave off the outcome of what his playoff beard was.

Finishing up with the tub she turned back to him. “Are you sure?” She asked, eyes falling to the razor. “I’m sure” he stated, and without a another word she set to work. Her hands helped him out of his suit jacket, her fingers working through his tie, and then undoing all the buttons of his shirt. He watched her as her face focused on the sole task of helping him relax and somehow feel better.

His legs tightened around her body as he position herself between them. With time and attention to detail she began to complete the task of shaving his playoff beard. Once done and clean shaven, she smiled softly, holding onto his jaw as she pulled him close, and pressed her lips against his. He melted into her, holding onto her waist. Her hands trailed down his bare arms, and Mat groaned softly when she pulled away.

“I’ll see you in bed when you’re ready.” She motioned to the bath, and with a final peck to his cheek he watched as she left the bathroom.

30 minutes later and much less tense Mat arrived out of the bathroom. Clean shaven, smelling like musk and lavender. A familiar pairs of grey sweatpants hang off his waist, his chest exposed and brown hair messy atop his head after his shower. She smiled as she put her book down, laying on her side of the bed, her hair down and the grey sweater on the nightstand next to her. She’d fluffed his pillows and prepared his side.

“Come here” he followed suit, laying in between her legs and placing his chest underneath her neck. He breathed in her scent. Let himself loose as she held him. His arms wrapped around her waist. They stayed that way for a while, her holding him. As her fingers began to massage his scalp, and her heartbeat settled into his ear he spoke.

“I feel like I let everyone down.” Her fingers paused for a second. An then start abruptly. Mat knew this was her cue to let him finish. “I let down Coach, the team, the fans, my parents, and ... you” his voice cracked. She sighed, shaking her head.

“Mathew” her fingers trailed to his back, where she gently rested her palms. He shuffled beneath her, turning to his side and falling next to her. He searched her eyes for answers. She lay next to him, close as she could and rested her hand against his cheek.

She smiled softly, rubbing soothing circles against cheek. “You didn’t let me down. Please don’t think you let me down” he relaxed against her body, wrapping his arm around her waist. “And the fans will always be fans. It’s a loss for them too but at the end of the day you boys made it this far and for fair reason. Regardless of the end the season was successful enough to bring you into playoffs. There’s always plenty more Stanley Cup Playoffs.”

She paused, letting her words settle in him. “You’re team is going through the same thing you are. It’s a team effort to play this game. You can’t take all the blame and you can’t play the game alone. And your parents. Mat they are proud of every one of your achievements. You haven’t let anyone down”

Her words settled in, as he thought over them. “I know this is tough, and I know it hurts. I can’t imagine what this is like to be on your end. But I can assure you no matter what, you never let me down.” She pulled him in silently then, letting him relax against her and his eyes began to drift to sleep overtime.

“Thank you babe. I love you.” He whispered to her in the silence. “Of course. I’ll be here every win and every loss. I love you too Barzal, I love you too” 

. . .

“Good luck tonight!” Mat chuckled at the note she’d tucked away in his suitcase. She appeared through the hotel room door, shutting it behind her and catching his attention. “I see you’ve received my note” she teased. When he looked up he was speechless. 

“You look beautiful” he wrapped his arms around her a tight hug, before kissing her cheek. Her hair had been styled in waves and was placed perfectly to one side. She was radiating in a beautiful baby pink dress. She blushed, thanking him. “And you look dashing yourself” she pointed out, letting her eyes travel all over his figure, decked out in his special NHL Awards suit. 

She’d skipped out on the red carpet with his family, waiting inside the large Las Vegas Luxor Hotel and Casino. Now as they settled into their seats, the anticipation grew. Mat was nominated for the Calder trophy, and his entourage was sure he would in it. Mat’s parents and sister rose from their seats, smiling at the couple. “Gonna go say hello to some of the other parents! Be back soon.” his mom announced, smiling as she walked away with his father, arms linked. 

Mat sighed, beginning to get nervous. “Hey” she wrapped her hand in his, patting it gently. “It's going to be fine.” He leaned into her, nodding his head. “It’s a huge honor to even be nominated for this, let alone winning. You’ve worked hard and proved your worth. You have a real big shot at this.” her voice was comforting, her smile rewarding. 

And within a few minutes the award ceremony had begun. Over time more awards were given and more time was passing. By the minute Mat was beginning to get more anxious, and then they announced the next award they would be presenting. His mother patted his shoulder in reassurance, his father smiling at him. His sister sitting two seats down gave him a quick glance, biting at her lip hoping her brother would win this award. He turned to look at her next to him for a split second, sighing in relief when she smiled, nodding towards the stage. He reached for her hand, squeezing it in nervousness, and then they were ready to announce the winner. 

“The Calder Trophy winner is … Mathew Barzal!”

“Congratulations!”  she whispered into his ear after he hugged his parents, wrapping her in a hug, a proud smile on her face, and he kissed her on the cheek before making his way to accept his award. 

. . .

“I can’t believe Summer is almost over” the stars above them painted pictures in the dark sky. Down below they lay atop a pile of bedsheets in his old pickup truck, the hood of the trunk open and their shoulders pressed against each other’s. They’re hands interlocked between them.

“I know” he replied, turning his head to look at her. Illuminated by the silver scatters above, her cheeks still had their natural rosy tinge, lashes long and bright and her pink lipgloss faint from being worn all day. The pretty sundress rested atop her body, the straps thon atop her collar bone and the green dress with the white flowers brought out the glow of her skin.

After hockey season had ended and her Spring semester exams had been completed, the couple had set back to Coquitlam for the Summer holidays. With no hockey for him and no school for her, they’d agreed that the Summer would be spent back home. And now months later the arrival of school and hockey was soon coming upon them. The leaves were beginning to change colour and the Summer breeze that wrapped them at night was becoming colder day by day.

Summer was filled with time well spent with family, friends and one another. From lake days to backyard bbqs. The cliche parties with friends from the past. Drive ins and trips to the best tourist spots in Vancitt they knew by heart. Road trips and endless combination of milkshakes and fries at their favourite diner. Of course Mat took our time everyday to train for the season, and volunteered through plenty of hockey organizations to get back to the community. And she was volunteering at a local hospital, to gain more experience and knowledge of the career she was pursuing.

Needless to say the thought of heading back to New York was bittersweet.

“We should head home” she announced, turning on her side to face him. They packed up their makeshift mattress and settled back into the truck. Deciding to head back to her childhood house, having it all to themselves with her family out of town. Mat followed her upstairs to her old room, although he could easily navigate through this place with his eyes closed. As they approached the top of the staircase, Mat began to think of all the times he’d climbed her balcony back when they were younger. She’d left him a note one night, reminding him that her father could and would hear everything. Surprinsgly he never got caught.

Her old bedroom hadn’t changed much, most of her art and pictures still hanging on the walls, things she hadn’t taken with her to New York, having the peace of mind that this bedroom would still feel like hers when she came home. She parted from his grasp to close her balcony door curtains and Mat caught sight of an old picture of the two on her night stand. It was from the Workd Juniors, they’re smiles big, a Canada toque on her head and his jersey around her. She held him close and he held her. He turned the frame over in his hands, chuckling as he read the tiny note she’d taped to the back.

“World Juniors 2017. Good luck tonight! I love you!”

“I never got this one.” She settled next to him on the bed, resting her head atop his shoulder. She chuckled at the tiny note, remembering she had never given the note to him. “That’s because when I tried to be as smooth as possible and sneak it into your coat pocket, and it just didn’t go well.” They laughed at the thought. She gently peeled off the note from the back, placing the frame back in its spot.

“You can have it now if you’d like.” Holding out the note for him with a mischief look in her eyes. Mat studies her for a second, before shaking his head no with a smirk on his face. She withdrew her hand, shrugging and then getting up to place the note back on the frame.

“However” his voice rose in the air and with surprise he pulled her into his chest, holding her firmly while pressing his lips against her neck. “To make up for the missing note I have an idea.”

Her cheeks flushed red as she shook her head teasingly with a smile. “That’s a little unfair. Over a little note Barzy” She teased, her clumsy fingers aging with the strings of his hoodie. She bit into her lip as she waited for him to make his move, her eyes yearning for his offer.

“You be the judge of that. I’ll stop when you tell me to” with a smirk acros his pink lips he pressed his lips against her. She kissed back instantly, pulling him onto the bed above her. “I’ve made my decision. I’ll make it up to you.” She whispered against his lips, before he swept her away for a while, skin to skin and lips to lips.

. . . 

“Don't forget to come find me when it’s nearing midnight!” He’d been pocketing the note all night after a few girls had dragged her away from him. She’d arrived with him from the rink after their win, making a quick stop home to change for the party. Presuming that she’d be split from him seconds upon arrival, she’d snuck a note into his blazer pocket before kissing him on the cheek. New Years Eve in Times Square was grand, but this year the team had decided to celebrate together, as many of those who could, along with other friends. They’d rented out a cabin in New York to get away from the business of the city. And now as the clock approached midnight and the party guests began to get excited, the music began to die down and Mat searched for her in this over crowded cabin. 

He made his way up the stairs that lead to the balcony. There were only a few minutes left before the count down began. In relief he found her on the balcony, looking out at the fireworks that someone had already started to explode into the night sky, before it even approached midnight. “There you are!” he exclaimed, closing her off between the balcony and him, his arms cascading around her and hands resting on the balcony rails. She smiled, giggling at his remark. 

“It’s freezing up here. Aren't you cold?” he wondered, pulling his blazer off and wrapping it around her bare arms. She protested, but he shrugged her off, already wearing a sweater underneath and fairly warm. She looked remarkably pretty in her long black dress, that was sparky and scattered with white stars. Her heels gave her a light advantage to her usual height, but still not enough, that he leaned down to bump noses with her. “I know” she mumbled, pausing as the countdown began down below them. “It was the only way to get alone.” 

“5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1!” Down below them their friends cheered loudly, fireworks erupted all around them far and near. And Mat pulled her against him, kissing her so passionately. The taste of cherry Chapstick and faint traces of liquor merged together, and she smiled against his lips. Her arms snaked through the large blazer, her small hands resting against his sides. Pulling back after a while she sighed, her long lashes fanning over her cheeks as she closed her eyes for a second, content and processing everything.

“Happy New Year” she mumbled, before leaning in for another kiss. He chuckled, “Happy New Year babe.”

Notes From Her - The Future

[ngame989]

“Enough” - TGG SVTFOE Fanfic Collection Ch. 11

Writing: @ngame989​

Art: @toxicpsychox​

Musical Arrangement: @ubercelloczar​

Editing: @ubercelloczar​, @seddm​

Alternate fic links - FFnet, AO3

Summary: Star, Marco, Tom, and Janna reflect on their pasts, arrive at a crossroads in the present, and make decisions about their futures when Echo Creek Academy hosts a dance with an uncannily familiar theme.

Comic Page

Masterpost

Merry Christmas, happy holidays, happy New Year! This is a very special chapter, slightly breaking the tradition of having its poster be a Polaroid photo (though one of those will be coming soon lol). Also, this was inspired by an actual real life event, Google the date for yourself. MASSIVE thanks to my friend @ubercelloczar​​ for the musical arrangement - I can’t embed it partway through so I’ll just link it when the time comes. Hope you enjoy!

Red. All these years, and she was just now realizing how little red there was in her expansive collection of outfits. Star could probably count on one hand the number of times she’d worn anything in that color besides Marco’s oversized hoodies. Though for all intents and purposes she’d moved into Marco’s room over a year ago, most of her clothes were still kept in her old room at Angie’s insistence. You leave pajamas in the mailbox ONE TIME and suddenly everyone’s all “please use a closet, Star.” Her fingers fondly brushed over the fabrics of dozens of dresses and skirts she owned. The turquoise with the narwhal? Timeless classic, though a bit worse for wear after so many life or death incidents on Mewni. Purple with suspenders? Eh, not so much… for whatever reason she just hadn’t felt like wearing that in a while. Her sleeveless sky blue dress, on the other hand, had made its way back into her rotation after the dimensions cleaved. Why, she couldn’t say, though she tended to skip the leg warmers these days. The pink overalls with the cute skirt were one of her favorite buys on Earthni - the perfect blend of dimensional fashions.

Minutes passed as she reminisced, her wardrobe a library unveiling its stories as her eyes roved its contents. One random winter night came to mind at the sight of her rarely used fuzzy yellow jammies. The heater had been on the fritz, so she and Marco had cuddled up even closer than normal. Her brain had been too frozen to think straight at the time, but in hindsight it was one of her favorite memories - spending all night watching movies with family, hot cocoa by the gallon, and holding Marco tight did more to warm her soul than any heater ever could. Some more notable memories were captured in the attire too, like the lavender dress she’d planned to wear to her first school dance before ditching it to resurrect a clown; the Love Sentence concert tee she’d made; her green dinosaur dress, captured forever on that fateful photo strip.

Experiences shared with Marco stood out among the rest - they usually did anyway, but tonight perhaps more than most, and for good reason. She’d once obsessed over a tattered, stinky hoodie of his as a source of calm and stability for some of the harshest weeks in her life, but tonight she felt like she was at her highest point. When her eyes finally spotted her target, the reason she had even been rummaging around an old closet and choking on enough dust to fell an adult warnicorn, her small, nostalgic smile stretched into a wide grin laden with too many emotions to count. If there’s any night to wear red, this is it, Star thought as she slipped into the silky dress awaiting her.

After all, she and Marco were once again going to a Blood Moon Ball.

Six Weeks Earlier

“Not sure if we’ll be able to pull this off, Diaz. They’ve got us surrounded.” Steam rolled out of Star’s mouth with the words, threatening to give away their location. She shivered despite the warm pink fleece she wore; the wind today was so chilly that even Marco had donned a winter jacket over his hoodie. They were in the midst of a battle, nay, an all-out war. We’ve got one, maybe two dozen? We’re doomed.

Where Star faltered, Marco’s resolve was firm. “Our only option is a last stand. I can lead a strong forward assault and draw fire long enough for you to flank their offense.” They’d found a secure location with solid cover, but it severely limited their scouting ability. Marco lowered his hood and stole a glance above the metal behind them, ducking back down instantly. Snow had already accumulated on his lashes and glittered softly in the sunlight, but Star couldn’t afford to linger on that image. It was do or die.

He took her hands and pulled her close, almost touching their noses. “If I don’t make it, Star, I want you to take care of Nachos for me, OK?” He scooped up his armful of snowballs and moved into position.

She theatrically reached out a hand towards him right as he got to the threshold of safety. “I’ll never forget you Marcoooo…” she whispered loudly. The pair giggled as Star grabbed her ammunition. “Alright, enough of that. Ready?”

“Ready.”

Marco dashed around the playground slide and into the fray. Right as Star followed, she heard him yelp and fall into the soft snow coating the playground, three enemy combatants hovering over him and pelting him mercilessly. “Marco!” Star yelled and trudged over with the gleeful cheers of their enemy ringing in her ears. “Speak to me, Marco! Don’t leave me!”

“Star… Remember me...” He grunted and let his head drop into the snow.

“Noooooooooo!” With one final breath, she flopped on top of him and accepted death by a thousand snowballs.

One extra large hunk of snow, far too large to have been thrown by any of the kids, exploded on Star’s back and coated her entirely in soft white fluff. Star heard the warm rumble of Antonio’s hearty chuckles at his successful finishing blow. “Alright, kiddos, your families are here. Have a happy break!” His beefy hand grabbed Star’s own and easily hefted her to her feet before doing the same for Marco. How the heck he was OK in the cold with just an ear-flappy-hat and his usual flannel shirt, she’d never know.

Star dusted herself off and watched the children skip through the snow - a much smaller group than usual, since it was the last evening shift before Christumpmasday break. Most were eager to return to their families, though Star had to help two little girls finish building their snowlizard and take a few pictures before they were willing to leave without bursting into tears; in their defense, it was a ridiculously cute and fun snowlizard. And with that, it was finally holiday break time!

As they walked back to the Center with Antonio, Star took in the sight of the campus covered in fresh snow. The sparkling white planes draped across the pristine Earth architecture contrasted with the raw, natural aesthetic of snow and ice intermingled with remnants of a once-thriving Mewman village, but it all blended together into something unique and beautiful. She caught Marco transfixed with a goofy smile on his face, in awe of her as much as she was with the world, and her cheeks flushed a tiny bit more than they’d already done in the cold. The crunch of snow underfoot and the gentle whooshing of the wind as they swung their joined hands back and forth were the only sounds disturbing this peaceful, perfect moment.

“Merry Christumpmasday, Antonio!” Star shouted as she gave her boss-slash-friend a big hug, and he laughed and returned the gesture with enough strength to lift both Star and Marco off the ground a little.

“Same to you two. Thanks again for staying late, I feel bad about keeping anyone here like this. My husband’s still out of town until tomorrow so home, work, it’s all the same to me, personally. Wish your whole family the best for me.” After saying their goodbyes, Star and Marco walked back out into the cold where their ride was waiting.

“Hey, girl” Marco’s voice was tender as he adjusted Nachos’ cute winter cap and stroked her back. As he was testing his foothold to make sure he wouldn’t slip and faceplant while trying to hop on, Antonio peeked his head out the door.

“Wait, before you go… an elderly lady gave me this flier for some kinda dance.” He scratched his chin through his beard. “Dunno why she brought it here of all places, but since I had it, I thought I might as well pass it along.”

“Oh, is it for that big dance the high school is throwing for all the teens in town?” Marco asked.

“Seems so. Maybe she just got confused about what kinds of kids it was for,” Antonio said, lightly chuckling. “January 30, it says, and it’s an all-nighter; that’s quite the shindig. If Earthni parties are anything like my high school days, it’s probably best I give you the whole next day off,” he said with a wink and a smirk.

All night dance? Even the Bounce Lounge was rarely that crazy - what was so special about this? Antonio handed the flier to Star and Marco who took hold of the other side of it, moving it between them as they gaped in shock at its contents.

“No way, there’s no way, what the-” she and Marco muttered in perfect unison. “Are you- seeing this? It can’t- how did-” They started and stopped as their attempts to stop copying each other canceled each other out.

Marco blinked a few more times to finally pry his eyes away from the page. “Well, eclipses do happen pretty often on Earth, I guess...” They both glanced incredulously back and forth between each other and the flier before the tension in their shoulders finally dropped. An unspoken agreement had been made: they might as well give this dance a shot. Star took one last look at the flier before hopping on Nachos, stuffing it into her jacket and wrapping her arms around Marco’s midriff for the ride home, its words emblazoned in her mind.

January 30-31, 2018. Super Blue Blood Moon Eclipse Extravaganza at Echo Creek Academy! Come dance under the red light of the lunar eclipse!

***

Present Day

“OK, Diaz, let’s see what you’ve got. Sweat prevention, check,” he noted with a quick whiff of his armpits. “Outfit, check.” Bright red dress shirt, sharp black jacket, sleek black tie. Marco posed in the bathroom mirror a few times, getting everything in order for a night he’d been looking forward to for months. “Hair, check.” It was just his usual style, but it never hurt to make sure it was ready to go. Looking good, Diaz.

His stare lingered in their bedroom mirror for a moment too long as thoughts began racing through his mind. Was he nervous? Marco Diaz, nervous for a big night with the girl he loved? More often than not Star was his reason not to be nervous about anything, but this was their first big formal dance as a couple and he did have a pretty dicey history with those. And what were the odds that it was on the night of the Blood Moon again? He wasn’t exactly worried about the curse, per se - there was some caveat or another in demon lore that the Blood Moon could only impart its curse when shining through a special Underworld crystal, the very same one embedded in the roof of the Lucitor ballroom years ago, Relicor had assured them. And it’s not like it even did anything bad to them in the first place, right? Marco still stood by his own words - it was all baloney. Still though, it did leave him with a decision to make. He experimentally put on his Día de Los Muertos mask and turned his head a bit. Should he?

“I don’t think I ever told you how cute you look in that mask.” He’d gotten pretty good about anticipating Star’s sudden appearances but had been caught up in his own mind enough that he still jumped a bit, much to her amusement. “Buuuuuuuut…” she drawled as she swiftly stepped forward and snatched it off his head. “I like your face more.” She grinned and pinched his cheek before they both stopped to truly look at each other. They hadn’t seen each other’s outfits ahead of time but as always they’d been on the same page. “I like the rest of you, too,” she muttered, biting her lip. Marco felt his cheeks turn the same color as his shirt at the comment, but also at her own appearance. Two wavy strands of hair in front of her ears framed her adorable face, though her hair had otherwise been left down as normal. Her red dress had a lone heart clasp on one shoulder, a pattern of moons and stars on a dark band circling the waist, a knee-length wavy skirt that gently swished as she rocked back and forth, and black high heels.

“Wow,” he uttered.

“You like it?” Star asked hopefully. “I thought, well, I didn’t want to go too over-the-top and wear the old Blood Moon Ball outfit but I still wanted to fit the theme so-”

“You’re beautiful,” Marco stated. Not that she’d needed to be wearing an incredible evening dress for him to think that, and he knew she knew that too, but she was still making him a bit dizzy right now. “Wait-” he stopped her when she tried to move in for a kiss, leaning back to their nightstand. He grabbed her horns and gently placed them on her head, brushing a wayward strand of hair back into place. “Perfect.” He leaned forward to kiss her, seeing her doing the same as his eyelids closed, and-

“Mijos!” Star and Marco’s eyes opened, freezing in place so close together that her breath tickled his lips, staring at each other for a second before turning towards the door. Daaaaad. “Oh, sorry, did we interrupt a moment?” We? Rafael stepped aside to reveal all their parents, plus Eclipsa and Globgor, crammed into the hallway. Star took Marco’s hand as they separated.

“Eeeee!” Eclipsa squealed in delight. “You two are absolutely precious. Come downstairs, loves, we must take your picture.”

“I’ve got two backup rolls of film!” Angie chimed in as Moon herded them all down the stairs and out of the way.

Marco looked at Star, who was goofily smiling at him as she squeezed his hand. It wasn’t that he minded being affectionate with Star around friends and family - heck, his own parents were still the most overtly lovey-dovey couple in the house - but he couldn’t help a bit of embarrassment when they were the center of attention like that. After double checking to make sure they had everything they needed, the pair headed out and walked down the stairs together to the oohs and aahs of their families. Star’s parents merely watched while Marco’s both wielded cameras, snapping pictures fervently. Nachos wasn’t due for another few minutes, so they decided to just endure the gauntlet.

“Didn’t think a sort-of-school dance was such a big deal,” Star murmured. Eclipsa sat down on the arm of the couch next to Globgor while Moon daintily folded her hands in her lap on the opposite side with River squished between her and the size-shifter.

“Well, when Marco left for Mewni, we were worried he’d never get to have a prom,” Angie cheerily responded, having evidently heard Star’s comment. “This is basically the same thing, though. Raf, honey, remember our prom?”

“Oh, yes, it was delightful,” he said, finally lowering the camera and turning to address the others on the couch. “We had actually just broken up that morning and went separately, but your mother just happened to walk directly into me as the slow music started and we ended up waltzing the night away. That was the last time we had to get back together.” How many details about my parents have I missed? Marco wondered to himself, before realizing he likely didn’t want to know quite a few of them and shuddering a bit. Still, it was better than being endlessly fawned over, so Marco stood perfectly still and shut his mouth.

Eclipsa set a hand on Globgor’s shoulder, smiling fondly. “Globgor and I met at a dance too! Well, not quite a ‘dance’, I suppose... he twirled me out of the way of an assassin’s arrow, and I swept him off his feet, but the principle seems about the same to me.”

“I was about to eat a guard until she blasted me to the ground. She cast a spell on me in more ways than one.” Globgor laughed. “Though the literal one was very painful,” he added seriously.

“Well, River and I had been to our share of Silver Bell Balls and other royal festivities,” Moon chimed in. “Though when I was Star’s age we weren’t together yet, and I was very focused on the kingdom by the time things were calm enough to enjoy them properly…”

“And now our little girl is going to big fancy galas with a handsome young man. Next thing you know she’ll be setting out on her own, never needing her parents again!” River wailed, clutching Moon’s arm. Well, the diversion was good while it lasted.

“River, please,” Moon gently chided. “You two are quite the adorable couple, though. Though I never wished to interfere in your personal affairs on Mewni, I am certainly glad things eventually worked out as well as they did.”

Eclipsa strolled over and enveloped both of them in a hug. “You two look positively astonishing together,” she cooed before releasing them to take them in one at a time. “Star, darling, you’re as stunning as I’ve ever seen you. And Marco...” She paused, placing her hands on his shoulders. Her purple eyes were laden with unbridled affection as they looked him up and down, her lips turning upward in as sincere a smile as he’d seen her display. “Marco, you sweet young man… You’re quite lucky to have each other, you know. Perhaps it’s not my place to say, but I’m so proud of how you’ve grown these past few years. Now have fun tonight, this is great practice for a certain other first dance I see in your future,” she finished with a wink, causing his blush to return with a vengeance.

“Picture time!” Rafael singsonged, getting up close and flashing a camera near Marco’s face. “Do some fun poses! Give the people what they want! We are not going to miss any more of our son’s major life moments!” His voice was filled with determination to the point of sounding angry, and Marco’s eyes widened in part sympathy, part stark terror. Minutes flew by as Star and Marco supplied their families’ demands, exhausting both the traditional prom shots and their signature poses: back-to-back, too cool for school, Star pinching his cheeks, drowning in a monster’s stomach acid… the list seemed endless, and though goofing around with Star was always fun, he’d been anticipating the dance so long that every second of delay felt like torture. Finally, Marco breathed a sigh of relief when his dad moaned in dismay at the camera clicking without anything happening; he was out of film.

“Oh dear, only one left,” Angie echoed. “Let’s get a nice one of a kiss. Don’t be shy.”

“Well, Marco? Shall we?” Star threw him a flirtatious grin, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He opened his mouth to respond with a quip of his own when he heard wheels screeching to a stop outside. Sweet freedom. “Well, that’s our ride!” Marco stated a bit too forcefully, breaking away from Star and heading towards the door to greet Nachos. Flying in on a dragoncycle would be a major departure from whatever prom fantasies about picking up Jackie in a limo he’d had as a kid, but he still wanted to do something special with a traditional flair. She snorted and cackled when the door opened and revealed his grand prom surprise: Nachos with a top hat and bow tie.

“Marco, what did you do to her?”

“Well, it’s prom, so our ride needs to be the fanciest it can be,” he giggled as she rolled her eyes. “Only the best for you, m’la-”

When Star’s lips cut him off sweetly as she tugged him closer, suddenly Marco didn’t mind staying a little bit longer, and the snap of his mother’s camera seemed to agree.

***

Chaos. Compared to any dance Star had been to before, this was the best kind of chaos. The energetic beat of the electronic music thrummed in her ears as her hips swayed and arms waved in the air. She wasn’t sure exactly how many people had shown up, but the gymnasium of Echo Creek Academy was more packed than she’d ever seen it. Still, it wasn’t so cramped that she had no room to get her groove on; when her butt bumped into Marco beside her, it was by choice as she slyly grinned at her boyfriend in his red shirt, now sans jacket. He smirked back at her and set his feet in place, slicing his hands wildly through the air. “I thought you didn’t like the sword-hand dance,” Star loudly spoke into his ear, though it was a whisper relative to the volume of the music and crowd.

“Yeah, but if everyone else is gonna do it anyway, I might as well own it.” They locked eyes as she began to mirror him, mimicking his karate poses in time with the music. He abruptly grabbed both her hands and swung them up and down, laughing as they just shook everything they had without a care in the world. She yanked him towards her and spun them both around, their backs flush against each other as they kept bouncing to the rhythm.

“Woop, woop! Starco in da HOUSE!” Ponyhead stuck her horn between them, forcing them apart as she floated up and down.

Tom also made his way beside them, drink in hand. “Anyone else want punch?” He lowered the plastic cups he’d been levitating over the crowd into Star and Marco’s hands, and Pony’s tongue. “Gotta say, this is pretty good punch. What kind of blood is it? Centaur? Unicorn? Oooooh, I’ve heard that giraffigator blood is hot these days.”

Marco eyed his cup warily. “What the heck is a giraffigat-”

“WHAT’S THIS ‘BOUT UNICORN BLOOD?” Pony screamed, getting up in Tom’s face.

Star quickly separated them, holding her hands up to try and ease her friends. “Guys, guys, there’s no actual blood in it, I think it’s just citrus.” Well, she was fairly sure. She took one trial sip, tasting the sweet flavor of- “Wait, yep, this is blood,” she said disgustedly after she spit it back into the cup.

“More for me, then,” Tom said nonchalantly, as he snatched Marco’s cup and took another swig while Pony floated in circles grumbling. It seemed like the DJ was taking a break from the upbeat dancing music for now, so the group made their way to the outskirts of the gymnasium where they’d left their belongings. Star laid down on the bleachers, resting her head on Marco’s lap after he’d put his jacket back on and sat down. He stroked her hair with his thumb as they relaxed after an intense hour of dancing. It struck her that this was actually the first time she’d ever truly had carefree fun at a formal dance. The original Blood Moon Ball left her with very mixed feelings to say the least, and her one experience with an Earth dance had been a bit of a disaster even though she didn’t actually go. Time had largely expunged the lingering venom she’d directed at herself for her relationship mistakes after returning to Mewni, leaving some life lessons and fond memories; but even some enjoyable fiery dances with Tom didn’t change the fact that the Silver Bell Balls were stuffy political dramafests. She reached up and intertwined her fingers with Marco’s, squeezing his hand and beaming at him - this was more like it.

“You know, I will say, this DJ is killing it tonight,” Pony said as she returned. “I was kinda expectin’ something lame but this is the best party I’ve been to since the Bounce Lounge closed.” Star nodded in agreement.

Tom leaned back and crossed his legs a few rows below them, taking a sip from his second cup so far. “Oh, yeah, I know him, he’s actually the cousin of my old anger management coach. His name’s Kim H. Brian.”

“I thought your coach’s name was Brian,” Marco responded.

“Yeah, Brian Brian.”

“Get outta t- wait, the Kim H. Brian?” Star bolted up at Marco’s words and they stared at each other incredulously.

“The producer of Love Sentence’s most controversial album, Prison Breakup?” Star and Marco said simultaneously.

“That’s the one,” Tom said, chuckling a bit. “Only you two could still say entire sentences at the same time without a demonic curse.” He stared into his drink for a few seconds, his visage suddenly becoming completely somber. All three eyes closed as he took a deep breath before floating up and sitting next to the couple. “Look, about the whole Blood Moon thing-”

Hold on, was he still in a twist about this? “Tom, it’s fine!” Star said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We broke the Curse, you apologized, it’s all good.”

“I know, but it’s not that- after we went to the Severing Stone, deep down I knew that the Curse wasn’t why you two had those feelings, but I just kept pretending because I still liked you, Star. If I hadn’t been so caught up in that, maybe it wouldn’t have taken so damn long to sort our mess out. I know it doesn’t matter anymore, but… I guess the dance just got me thinking again about friendship and love and stuff. So if you’re OK with it, I actually asked Kim to do a little something special for you two later, to help give you the Blood Moon Ball you deserve,” he finished with a toothy smile.

Star’s eyes started to mist up; Tom had always been supportive of Star and Marco since they’d all sorted themselves out, but it never failed to move her. Star lunged forward, wrapping herself around him in a bear hug, and Marco followed suit. “Toooooom, that’s so sweet!”

“Yeah, man, that’s really-” Marco was stopped by the sudden intrusion of Ponyhead into their little moment.

“Hey, Lucitor, do you know where Janna went? I’ve been TRYING to ask her for the hot deets on totally eligible bachelors here. You know, name, height, bank account balance: the usual business. So anyway she hasn’t been, like, responding at all and I’m starting to worry I might not be able to score a good enough rebound to make Seahorse see that he made the biggest mistake of his life letting me dump him!”

Marco nodded toward the still-in-progress group hug. “Little busy?”

“Yeah, whatever, save your huggy feeltime for later, this is im-por-tant.”

“OK, fine,” Tom said, extricating himself from the embrace. “I haven’t seen her for a while but I can help look. It’s Janna, so she’s probably just splicing some gargoyle DNA to a class hamster or something.”

“Last I saw, she was by the old photobooth.”

Wait, that had survived? Star and Marco exchanged shocked glances at the thought of the site of their first kiss having survived the whole way to Earthni.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Marco asked. Star grinned and nodded, grabbing his hand to run off and make even more memories.

***

Janna Ordonia had never been more scared in her entire life. Okay, maybe that time a monster guy exploded into dust a few feet in front of her was more viscerally terrifying, but Janna was used to freakiness and death even before she’d spent so much time in the literal Underworld. Tonight, though? The pit in her stomach that left her unable to speak, unable to think, was something almost alien to her. She had so much unique expertise in dealing with all things mystical and macabre that it took something completely and utterly human to faze her, and now she found herself staring in a mirror struggling to cope.

Janna Ordonia had caught feelings.

She’d always known she had a thing for the spooky and supernatural, so an attraction to a half-demon with two horns, three eyes, and purple skin was basically inevitable. It hadn’t bothered her like this when she’d had a casual fling with a talking skeleton years ago, either. The only logical conclusion she could draw was that whatever she was feeling now was a different beast altogether. The night had started out so pleasantly: the Lucitors had invited her over for a casual dinner beforehand - whatever meat the Underworld used for burgers was damn good - and they’d taken the carriage together to the dance afterwards.

It just made practical sense, it didn’t mean anything, I don’t WANT it to mean anything. Some variant of this refrain had been repeating in her mind a lot lately, but staring at her own reflection, it felt thinner with every passing second. If it was true, she probably wouldn’t even be here now; she could be doing way cooler things with the night of an ultra-rare eclipse than drinking cheap punch and shuffling awkwardly on the dance floor to chart-topping pop trash. But Tom had seemed excited at the prospect, and the next thing she knew she had picked out a simple black dress with pink highlights - hell, it was even Tom’s nonjudgmental support that had given her the confidence to wear her secret favorite color more in the first place. One way or another, everything seemed to circle back to one simple fact. Each day spent learning about the Underworld and adventuring in its depths was obviously worthwhile on its own merits, but it was always better with him. If she couldn’t stop this storm brewing inside, then the only thing left was to take control of it on her own terms. Well, this is it, Janna. You have a serious crush on Tom Lucitor.

By the time her mind had finished processing its own confession, she’d already made her way back to the gym and meandered to a vacant corner to watch idly by herself, not unlike how she’d spent most of the dance so far. They’d arrived from the Underworld fashionably late and it had only taken a few minutes for Janna to ditch her friends and hide while she moped about her feelings, but of course as soon as she wanted company again there was none to be found. She huffed and pulled out her phone, switching between a few games to occupy the time.

“Hey.” She looked up to find Tom holding two glasses. “Anything fun going on in this empty corner?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty intense over here. Some dust bunnies got in a street fight.” She smirked and stole one of his glasses, raising it to her lips for a sip.

“Wait, don’t, that’s-” It tasted funny, fruity and sweet but with a metallic tang. “Blood.” Ah. She considered it for a moment before deciding to take another sip. She’d had worse. “Anyway, where have you been? We basically haven’t seen you since we got here.”

“Oh, you know, nowhere and everywhere. It’s what I do,” she deflected. “Where’re the others?” Star and Ponyhead were forces of nature when it came to stealing the spotlight, so Janna figured they were her best shot at getting through the night with minimal awkwardness.

“We were taking a break and then they ran off to a photobooth. I still don’t really get the hype, but you know how it is with them.”

“Yeah, it’s gross.”

“Yep…” They both fell silent, continuing to drink what was supposedly some kind of real blood punch as the dance droned on in the background. “Hey, so, uh, can we talk for a sec? About… us?”

She tried her damnedest to suppress the unexpected surge of conflicting emotions, burying her face in her cup until she thought she could reliably answer. One time, when they were in elementary school, she’d poured milk down Marco’s shirt at lunch and a few other girls had teased her, insisting that meant Janna had a crush on him. She never really understood that connection - she just kinda liked pranking Marco - but the taunts had gotten to her. There was a sort of pride she felt in being inscrutable, an enigma that could only be unraveled on her own terms. Had he figured her out so easily when she herself had been in denial? A mumbled “uh, sure” was the best she could as she ran through the last few months in her head trying to figure out if she’d betrayed her feelings.

“It’s pretty loud in here, can we head outside?” Janna only nodded in response, her own racing thoughts drowning out her surroundings. The DJ was announcing some kind of special song request as the gym doors closed behind them and they stepped out into the chilly winter air. “Oh, right, um-” Tom quickly took his jacket off, handing it to her. “Since it’s cold, and I can make my own fire, and-”

“Thanks,” she gruffly said, putting her arms through it. Damn him. She was cold, and he was being thoughtful and helpful, but it only made the upcoming conversation even more difficult for her to have. One hand idly pawed through the enchanted storage compartment she’d fitted in her dress (even in formalwear, she considered function most important). Damnit, she’d left her entire arsenal at home, save for a prototype glass bottle that would harmlessly evaporate on impact, which was filled with some leftover antigravity potion - no easy way out of this, then.

“No problemo,” he drawled, pointing finger guns at her before jamming both hands into his pockets and staring at the ground. “Since Star and I broke up, I’ve been trying really hard to just be my own person. Heck, you’re the one that showed me that’s what I needed to focus on. I had no clue what I was doing.... Honestly, I still don’t.” He paused again, turning back towards the school. “Being here, it just makes it hard to ignore how things have been kinda, you know, weird lately, between…” A little fireball coming off his finger zigzagged back and forth between them.

Why was he so insistent on bringing this up? “Look, Tom, we don’t have to-”

He turned back towards her “Yes, Janna, I think we do! If we don’t deal with it now it’s only going to get worse, and I don’t- I can’t-”

“Dude, drop it, OK? Let’s just go back inside so we can-”

“NO!” A puff of flame shot out of his head but quickly dissipated, leaving only a lingering sizzle and water in his eyes. “I can’t do this anymore! I like you, Janna. I really like you, and it’s screwing everything up.” ...wha? There were a few hundred possible ways Janna thought to respond, but none even made it beyond a guttural yelp in her throat, so Tom continued unabated. “I know you’re you, and you can stay really chill about stuff even when you care a lot, but I can’t, OK? You’re clever and fearless and everything’s more fun with you. You’re one of my best friends and that’s why I couldn’t keep doing this without telling you even if I’m probably making a complete idiot of myself right now.” Every second that Janna remained utterly paralyzed on the spot left Tom’s eyeliner even more streaked as his tears rained down, each tiny splash hissing on the cold pavement and melting the nearby snow and ice. “Yeah, OK, I get it. Look, forget I said anything, I just want to still be friends, OK? I- I totally get if you want some space for a while, so I’ll just- alright, bye.” He wiped off his face with his sleeve and turned around, floating off the ground and flying back into the building, leaving Janna alone on the sidewalk.

The oncoming shivers in Janna’s spine provided the final push to lift the dense fog clouding her mind. He’d just confessed to her, he had a crush on her, and she’d basically just snapped his heart in two. Pangs of guilt and sorrow and joy all ganged up on her; was this how bad things had been for Star and Marco? She almost felt sorry for ribbing them about their romantic struggles now. At this point the only thing left to do was to find Tom, so she sprinted into the building after him, braving the fray of the dance floor once more.

Can’t be that hard to spot a tall set of horns with three eyes. Even though there were all sorts of monsters in attendance, there were very few demons, but that didn’t seem to help her locate him. He wasn’t responding to her texts either, ugh! As Janna kept looking around, she realized she didn’t recognize anyone here. She’d left Echo Creek Academy at the same time as Marco but didn’t go to college, nor had she spent a ton of time with Mewni’s teenage population before the Cleaving. The Underworld was what she knew best; it was where she’d felt most at home, even with two whole dimensions merged together, and that realization spurred her to keep searching. Janna barged through another door into the hallway and rounded a corner, instantly colliding with someone.

“Ex-CUSE me! Watch your freaking face before I pulv-” Ponyhead shouted, shaking her hair back into place after being bumped into the locker. “Oh, it’s you, girl! Where you been? And is that Tom’s jac-”

“Tom. Have you seen him?”

“Oh, I see how it is, first Starco gets their own flipping song and runs outside to go boink under the moonlight or whatever, then my boyfriend runs off to sell a toaster or whatever, then Tom comes in here all moody and doesn’t want to talk to me, and now you’re abandoning me too? I feel like I’ve barely been around you guys lately, why does no one want to spend time with Ponyhead?”

“Wait, didn’t you dump- never mind, Pony, this is important, OK? I seriously blew it, I need to talk to him-”

“Hey, woah, is there some drama going on here? Shoot, why didn’t you say so? OK, so, he was floating around in circles out here for a bit. I came out here to do my bi-hourly makeup check just a minute ago and I do believe he was going back into the gym, mmhm, yes, that is where he was. Go do whatchu gotta do and give me the juicy deets after, mmkay?” Ponyhead winked and whacked Janna on the back with her horn.

Janna ran back into the gym and finally spotted Tom standing in the center of the floor, uninterestedly swaying back and forth to the beat of some crooning couple’s ballad. When his eyes met hers, his gaze became visibly pained as he turned to walk away. “Tom!” Her pleading shout was emphatic enough to keep him from running, but it also attracted an audience and left her standing there, too uncomfortable to speak.

Janna put one foot forward, then another, then another, willing herself forward against her better judgment. She’d frankly had enough: enough talking about her feelings, enough uncertainty about her own relationships, enough giving a single damn about “what-if”s. There’d be plenty of time later to tell him he was her best friend too, to assuage his doubts, and to put more meaningful words to her own feelings, but for now, she had settled on a course of action that began with reaching into her pocket to pull out the lone potion bottle within.

“Uh, Janna, what-” Tom stammered, a different kind of concern than the one he’d been stewing in all night bubbling up in his expression as the crowd backed up slightly. Some tiny voice in the back of her mind registered that they seemed nervous to the point of being frightened, and that comforting feeling pushed her to do the one last thing she needed to do. Before he could react, she slammed the bottle to the ground at her feet and felt the weak antigravity effect take hold. Janna closed the last few steps of distance to Tom, firmly grabbed both his shoulders, and kicked off the ground, crashing her lips into his as she hovered a few inches off the dance floor. Tom unconsciously did the same, letting her momentum carry both of them into the air until the confused, but cheering, audience was beneath them.

As he started to return the kiss, he hesitantly placed one arm on her waist and another behind her back to keep them from drifting apart, and Janna wasn’t sure she’d ever felt so secure.

***

Alright, that’s the last of them. Marco finished carefully stacking the photo strips in Star’s bag while he waited for her to return from the restroom. The photobooth had thankfully been a much more fun and much less emotionally exhausting experience this time around, though a very smug Ben Photino had still greeted them when they were done, $650 richer than before.

Now’s my chance, Star thought as she snuck up and affectionately pounced on Marco from behind. Nearly everything about tonight had been perfect so far - just her, Marco, and their friends getting a night of dancing and partying she wasn’t sure she’d ever forget. For so much of her life, it had seemed like nothing important could ever happen without a sizable dose of drama and conflict; by comparison, this all seemed like a dream, and she didn’t want to wake up anytime soon. Speaking of her friends, though… “Hey, where are the others?” She felt a bit guilty over ditching everyone else to go back to the booth for corn knows how much time, but she was certain they wouldn’t have gone too far.

“Not sure,” Marco responded, craning his neck and spotting a tuft of pink spiky hair and two brown horns across the gym. Why was he heading for the exit?

Marco started to lead the way across the gym floor when the sound system screeched with audio feedback and boomed with the sound of tapping a microphone. “Echo Creek, are we having fun tonight?” the DJ, Kim H. Brian, asked the cheering crowd. “We’re gonna keep this party flowing, but right now we have a very special song for all the soulmates out there, so get ready to twist and twirl your special guy or girl.” Star and Marco tentatively stopped in their tracks.

“Is that-” Marco started.

“What Tom was talking about?” Star finished. “We have to get him before he misses it!” What did you do this time, Tom?

(LINK TO AUDIO)

They had made it to the center of the dance floor when the lights dimmed and tinted red. It was obviously from a stage light, but the effect still flooded them with the same hopes and wants and fears from their run-ins with the Blood Moon. Marco gently smiled and took the lead, keeping one hand in hers and tugging her closer with the other on her waist. Piano chords opened the piece - a slow waltz - and Star and Marco were taking their first steps when the cello started to play a hauntingly familiar melody. It struck them both at the same time - this was the same tune that had played when they danced under the light of the Blood Moon only a few months into her friendship. Their moves grew more daring and flashy as the song went on, spinning and swaying to the rhythm.

“I always forget how good a dancer you are, Marco” Star dreamily sighed when he spun her around and dipped her down.

“My grandma taught me. She says that the only right way to dance is the fun way,” Marco laughed, lingering for half a second too long as the music swelled around them. Somewhere in those blue eyes sparkling with only love for him, he’d lost track of the world around them. Only after he noticed how the blonde curls in front of her ears shimmered in the red light did he snap back to reality and continue the dance, much to Star’s amusement.

“That’s good, because it’s always fun with you.” They stepped in harmony, slowly rotating as they box stepped to the same waltz that had once been a source of apprehension. Star took her hand off his shoulder and lifted it to his face, rubbing her thumb over his cheek. She knew the contours of his face inside and out, could describe every last detail of all the facial hairs that he’d given silly names, could picture every last one of the warm and loving ways his soothing chocolate gaze could pierce her soul, yet it didn’t stop her from being completely enraptured by it now. That intimate knowledge informed her when even the most trivial thing was out of place, which is why she decided to flick a spot just under his mole. “You had a fleck of corn.”

“In my defense, your dad’s cooking is really messy.”

“Yeah… it was cute, though. Like you had a second mole.” Something had changed in the waltz from what they remembered, a different theme slowly building until it led into a refrain that was entirely new yet somehow familiar in a way neither could place. It was a vibrant, comforting melody that felt right for them. Star shifted her hands to the back of his neck as the distance closed between them. Though Marco had grown noticeably taller than her, in her heels she found herself at nearly eye level with him as she rested her forehead on his.

Marco’s arms slithered around her waist, holding her tight as their lively waltz morphed into intimate, formless swaying. “This- this is really nice.”

“Yeah… I love it. I love you, Marco.” She paused a moment, leaning back to get a clear view of as much of him as she could; even after a year and a half of being together and years of friendship before that, she was still giddy over how much she truly loved every bit of him. “Nothing’s ever going to change that.”

“I love you too, Star. I’m not going anywhere.” Their hands joined once more as they resumed their spirited dance, their devotion to one another vaulting their joy to new heights. Neither cared about elegance or form anymore; their steps and spins and lifts came from the deepest places within, as if their very souls were mingling in the air above. Plucked strings accentuated the song as it grew calmer and entered what Marco was fairly sure was its final verse. A bittersweet sensation bubbled up from within his chest; he’d had plenty of moments with Star that he’d never wanted to end, but this one seemed to have an extra significance attached. The final chord of the waltz rung out, the pair both freezing in place in their final waltz pose, stunned at the beauty of what had just transpired.

The crowd’s clapping broke finally them out of their trance. “Woah,” they breathed out in unison. In her breathless state, Star idly wondered if the applause was for them, but she realized how silly that was as the full breadth of the outside world slowly trickled back into her senses. Shortly after, the dance went back to normal; had it been a dream? No, of course not, it had literally just happened mere seconds ago, but the impact it had on them felt otherworldly.

Returning from the daze, Marco finally recalled their goal of finding Tom, and the extent to which Marco wanted to crush Tom in a thankful hug and blubber into his shoulder gave it an additional sense of urgency. He turned to her with a determined look, and had it returned. “We should find Tom.” They went to the gym exit, but it was blocked by... Miss Skullnick.

“Oh, it’s you. Nice to see you, Star,” she saccharinely sneered. “Don’t be trying anything funny, you hear me? We’ve already had four couples’ ‘incidents’.”

A shiver ran through Star at the involuntary thought of Miss Skullnick catching her and Marco in a more... private moment, but she quickly brushed it aside for her own sanity. “Skullzy, we’re just trying to find our friend,” she whined.

“Well, too bad, you can’t use this door. The sidewalk somehow melted and completely iced over, and I don’t wanna be sued for liability!”

“C’mon, Star,” Marco said. “We can just go out the front door.” She was still indignant, but acquiesced and followed Marco into the main building and through a hallway. They rounded the corner to the main entrance and stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of Ponyhead passionately making out with Seahorse.

“Pony?!?” Star shouted.

“Oh, um, why hello Star and Earth Turd!”

“Greetings!” Seahorse added in his usual monotone chipper voice.

Star slapped her hand to her forehead. “I thought you broke up ‘for really-realz’ this time, Pony?”

“Well, yes, mmhmm, I do believe that is how I described the sequence of events that occurred. But then, well, you know how it is with him… we made up while y’all went off to take a bazillion pictures or whatever. That weird old human lady that kinda looks like a troll caught us while we were-”

“Pony!” Star yelled, cutting her off in shock. Really, though, the most surprising part was that Ponyhead had been responsible for only one of the so-called “couple’s incidents.”

“Lilacia gave a very high satisfaction rating to the Reflectacorp™ line of vibrating-”

Marco stepped in and clamping Seahorse’s mouth shut before they could be traumatized any further. Star rolled her eyes and took Marco’s hand once more, heading past the other couple towards the front door.

“Fine, I see how it is. C’mon, Seahorse, let’s go get freak-ay on the dance floor!”

“Reflectacorp™ disco technology allows you to boogie and/or woogie risk-free, guarantee-!”

The double doors shut behind Star and Marco as they stepped out into the cold. They walked around the building towards the gym and saw that Miss Skullnick had been telling the truth; but there was no one else in sight, only the snowflakes gently drifting through the air and a full moon above in the night sky. Star still wanted to get back to her friends, but the tranquil scene gave her pause as she stood beside him. Something had been subtly gnawing at her all night - though it’d been on her mind longer than that, if she was honest with herself. “Hey Marco?”

“Yeah?”

“When Eclipsa said earlier about ‘another dance’...” She swallowed, letting the implication hang between them. “Do you think that’s something that will happen?”

He glanced at her quizzically until the meaning sank in and his heart skipped a beat. Was she- did she- is she asking… His eyes blinked rapidly once, twice, three times while he processed the gravity of the question. But his surprise quickly dissolved; after all, he’d been thinking about it too. Maybe he hadn’t drawn that specific connection, but how many times tonight alone had he beheld the wonderful girl beside him and remarked to himself that he’d be happy with her for the rest of his life? He swiveled around to stand in front of her, taking both of her hands into his own. “If you want it to, then I know it will, someday.”

She sighed happily, lacing her fingers through his. It wasn’t even the first time they’d declared their love with permanence, but no matter how far they went, they couldn’t help but be concerned about how the other felt about the next step. “Didn’t a lot of people usually wait until they’re, like, 30 to get married on Earth?”

“A lot of them, yeah,” he admitted, “but, I dunno, I don’t really care about that.”

“Me neither,” she asserted, happily beaming at him.

“So we just… let it happen when we’re ready, I guess.”

“Mmhmm,” Star hummed, feeling a warmth deep inside that combated the chill prickling her skin. One of her hands left his and tangled itself in his hair, as her gaze fondly roved the face she hoped to see as long as she lived before finally settling on his lips. He had the same idea, leaning forward and sweetly kissing her. Their lips were a bit chapped from the cold, but it didn’t bother either of them; this signified something far more than physical gratification. She pressed them closer together until there was no distance left between them, the dual friction of his soft, inviting lips moving against hers and her silky dress rubbing on the coarse fabric of his jacket thrummed through her entire body.

When they separated, his eyes scanned the sky for a moment before sheepishly turning back downwards. “Huh,” he murmured.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s stupid.” Star raised an eyebrow insistently, the pair still in each other’s arms. “It’s just, I thought that maybe- maybe the Blood Moon would be shining, or our cheekmarks would glow or something. It’s dumb, I know-”

“Well, that does happen to us a lot,” she conceded. “But I’m pretty sure the eclipse isn’t supposed to start until, like, 3 AM.” “Have you ever thought about when we broke the Curse?”

“What do you mean?”

Star stepped away from their embrace, folding her arms and stuffing her frigid hands under her armpits as she frustratedly tried to piece together her complicated thoughts. “Like, when we were in the Severing Stone, I remember it took us back to the Blood Moon Ball and we started dancing… what happened after that? If it never changed how we feel, what was even the point?”

Marco shrugged; when he’d finally accepted his feelings once and for all, he’d dismissed the entire concept of the Curse as bogus, but since then he had considered it in some new lights. “If it was actually a curse, I’m glad we got rid of it, but… looking back, I’m kinda glad that the Blood Moon Ball went like it did. That was one of the first times I saw how special you are to me.”

“Same. Plus, that’s where I learned you dance good,” she growled with a smirk. “But still… sometimes I wonder if I told you I loved you while we were in there. Because I did love you then, you know. Even if I was trying to push it away.”

“Maybe we’ll never know.”

“I guess I’ll just have to tell you every chance I get from now on, then, because you’re stuck with me, Diaz.”

“So long as we both shall live. Do you accept?” He asked with a cheeky grin.

Her laughter, bubbly and playful and sincere all at once, was answer enough for Marco. Not one to be outdone, though, Star carefully lowered herself onto one knee, lowering her head and closing her eyes solemnly before looking back up at him. “I dooOOOH-” She shrieked as the icy sidewalk took its toll and sent her toppling sideways. Marco reacted quickly, stopping her from hitting the ground and helping her to her feet. “Maaaaybe we should go inside now.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he responded, draping his jacket over both their shoulders like a cape. “Still have to thank Tom.” She clung to him as they hurried back around the school and into its shelter from the cold - even shared body heat and emotional warmth could only do so much. Although they’d removed whatever eternal supernatural soul-binding curse the Blood Moon may have bestowed, Marco mused, they’d still shared a tender first dance and grown as partners under its light, once upon a time. Perhaps, in a roundabout way, it had always been a blessing, too. In a sense, they’d just cleaved their own souls together again with only a simple promise. No magic, no curses, just Star Butterfly and Marco Diaz... and that was more than enough.

They stepped back into the gym, ready for the hours of partying ahead of them, and were greeted by the sight of Janna and Tom floating in the air locked in a passionate kiss. Star and Marco’s eyeballs both nearly bugged out of their heads as their eyes whipped back and forth between each other and the spectacle in front of them, leaving them with only one possible response.

“WHAT THE-”

[ereborskingarchive]

     𝑻𝑯𝑬   𝑳𝑬𝑮𝑬𝑵𝑫   𝑶𝑭   𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑵 .

𝒊.     𝑻𝑯𝑬   𝑭𝑰𝑹𝑺𝑻   𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑵𝒁𝑨 .

NAME : thorin , son of thrain , son of thror . EYE COLOR : blue like chalcedony stones . HAIR  STYLE & COLOR : wavy , loosely curled at the ends , braided by either side of his face , and held by two clasps in the back . black with hints of dark brown in the sunlight , streaked with silver - gray . HEIGHT : four foot five , one-hundred and thirty - seven centimeters . CLOTHING STYLE : layers , velvet , armor scales , hems with geometric designs , different shades of blue , fur collars , gold embedded in his sleeves , and precious stones pressed into his belt . layers that make him look more imposing , wider , and take up as much room as possible . PHYSICAL FEATURES : large , yet sparse brows , a delicate mouth surrounded by a strong , short beard , calloused fingers from battle and hard work , long , curving lashes , big ears , hairy from head to toe , and scarred underneath his layers . should he have lived after the battle of the five armies , he would have had a long scar on his forehead that cut into one of his eyebrows , where the hair ceased to grow .

𝒊𝒊.     𝑻𝑯𝑬   𝑺𝑬𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑫   𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑵𝒁𝑨 .

FEARS : that the madness that claimed his grandfather and father will also claim him . that he will not match the greatness of his forefathers . more of his family dying . that the outside does not reflect the inside . GUILTY PLEASURE : he enjoys forging rings of all kinds . large rings , small rings . rings made for large gemstones , rings carefully detailed for ceremonies . he does not like to decorate himself and wear a lot of jewelry or beads , but he is fond of adorning his hands with rings . in the blue mountains , among his personal belongings , are ring designs sketched out on scrap pieces of parchment . AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE : reclaim erebor , rule under the mountain , move his people back to their rightful place and secure a better , more deserving life for them all . no more disrespect and hardship . to show them and himself that he is worthy .

𝒊𝒊𝒊.     𝑻𝑯𝑬   𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑹𝑫   𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑵𝒁𝑨 .

FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP : are they all still safe ? are they all still there ? WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT MOST : there is a constant mountain of things that occupies his thoughts . his father , erebor , proving himself as a provider , his brother , his grandfather’s sickness , and so on , circling endlessly without quieting . WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED : is it alright to rest now ? am i needed ? WHAT THEY THINK THEIR BEST QUALITY IS : his loyalty . his loyalty to the cause , to his forefathers’ visions , to traditions , to his willingness to forgo some of his pride for the chance of help ( when he deems fit ) . 

𝒊𝒗.     𝑻𝑯𝑬   𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑻𝑯   𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑵𝒁𝑨 .

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES : neither . it does not currently hold his interest , though he would court without a group present if possible . TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED : respected . it does not matter if dignitaries , some of the dwarrows , or even members of the company do not like him , so long as they respect him , his kingship , and his decisions . BEAUTY  OR  BRAINS : a sound head on one’s shoulders is a must . DOGS OR CATS : neither . like other dwarrows , he does not get along with animals in that manner . he prefers ravens .

𝒗.     𝑻𝑯𝑬   𝑭𝑰𝑭𝑻𝑯   𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑵𝒁𝑨 .

DO THEY LIE : he tends to withhold things , or simply not speak at all , rather than outright lie . he does not mind interrupting a conversation he does not want to partake in by suddenly turning and walking away . he will deflect the questions that he does not want to answer . BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES : he must . he does . perhaps not as deeply sometimes , but he is a king inside and out , and with such a destiny comes confident belief . BELIEVE IN LOVE : familial love is the one love he is familiar with . love for his kin . he believes in them , and thus , believes in the love that they share . WANT SOMEONE : there has not been the occasion for him to consider . a part of him believes that mahal has forged him to be craft - bound , rather than find his one . he has not let himself ask his feelings if he wants someone , however .

𝒗𝒊.     𝑻𝑯𝑬   𝑺𝑰𝑿𝑻𝑯   𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑵𝒁𝑨 .

HAVE THEY EVER BEEN  ON  STAGE : he has stood and spoken to his people many a time . he has had hundreds of eyes looking upon him , listening , yearning . DONE  DRUGS : tabacco smoking . CHANGED WHO THEY WERE TO FIT IN : when his work required it of him . men are incredibly prejudiced towards dwarves , as much as the elves , and he learned to endure and take with resolved silence the unkind words and remarks in order the earn his coin . while he never truly changed , he loathed those decades when he had to pretend to .

𝒗𝒊𝒊.     𝑻𝑯𝑬   𝑺𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑯   𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑵𝒁𝑨 .

FAVORITE COLOR : deep , dark navy blue . FAVOURITE ANIMAL : a raven . FAVORITE BOOK : he does not have a lot of opportunities to read , and would rather be inside of his head . he might read about durin the deathless , or other heroic tales that are inspiring . FAVORITE GAME : he enjoys watching the “ broken bone race ” , or the pony race on the last day of muhutuzakhmerag ( spring fest ) , because dwalin won the first one , and thorin has a good time seeing dwalin continually try to win the rest against the dwarrows and hobbits that enter the race .

𝒗𝒊𝒊𝒊.     𝑻𝑯𝑬   𝑬𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻𝑯   𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑵𝒁𝑨 .

DAY THEIR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE : december 31st . HOW OLD WILL THEY BE : 195 ( varies ) .

𝒊𝒙.     𝑻𝑯𝑬   𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑯   𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑵𝒁𝑨 .

I LOVE : deeply inside of me , hidden often in dark caverns , and for few does it shine . I FEEL : a calling , a guttering spark . I HIDE : the call of gold , the allure of bright yellow glimmering . I MISS : my family as it was before . I WISH : to prove that i deserve to stand tall among my ancestors in mahal’s halls .

     𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑮𝑬𝑫 𝑩𝒀     ;     @tharanduil​     &     @anamteine​.          𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑮𝑰𝑵𝑮     ;     whomever would like to do this .

[crutchie-with-a-y]

hey yo i love your stuff so much, i really liked your sarah and jack stuff, so i was wondering if you could do a modern one?? super angsty lol i'm in a mood

Thank You for the request, I’m so happy you like my writing! This isn’t as angsty as I would like, but I wanted to get you a response ASAP! Hope you enjoy!

Jack Kelly hadn't slept in two days. He didn't mean to, it just sort of happened. The first night he'd stayed up watching Disney movies with his girlfriend Sarah. The second night, well, he'd just been too stressed to sleep. Sarah had left his house slightly annoyed with him after he accidentally spilled a cup of coffee on her sweater. It was the pink one with Ms. Piggy on it, her favorite. And she didn't leave because of the dark brown stain, she was already getting ready to leave anyway, she had to go home and get her uniform for work in a few hours. She didn't actually seem that upset over it anyway. Or maybe she did? No, if she was she would have told him. Sarah was always so good at communicating. But maybe he made her really, REALLY mad, and she was too considerate to go off on him. But she could probably get the stain out anyway why would she be that mad? Either way, Jack Kelly had been overthinking the situation for the past 24 hours because of the exchange they'd had while she was leaving.

"Call me when you're off work, maybe I can get you pizza or something to make up for the sweater?" Jack had said, holding open the door for her.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever," Sarah had sighed as she stepped out the door.

But she had never called. And when Jack called her two hours after the latest she'd ever worked, she didn't pick up. And when she didn't respond for three more hours, Jack had called again, apologizing profusely. No response. He had texted a few times. Nothing. At about two am, Jack had tossed his phone behind the couch and given up, turning on the news and picking up his sketch pad. It was about 6 am, and a detailed portrait of Sarah giggling adorably in her Ms. Piggy sweater had found its way onto his page. He'd drawn it from memory, the image of her leaning against him with that cute smile on her face as Olaf sang about getting gorgeously tan in summer. He smiled at it, even in smudged granite, she was so pretty. And so mad at him, he thought, his eyes falling to Ms. Piggy's face on her sweater. God, how could he be so stupid? He let his forehead fall forward, resting against the paper with a sigh.

"JACK! JACK OPEN THE DOOR!" Jack woke up to a pounding at his door three hours later. He shot up. Sarah?

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD JACK GET OFF YOUR MOODY BULLSHIT AND OPEN UP!" Nope, Katherine. He scrambled towards the door, wondering what the cause was of such alarm. He pulled it open to see Katherine and Elmer staring at him with frantic looks.

"Why the FUCK haven't you responded to any of our messages?'" Katherine stuck her face in his.

"We've been trying to reach you for hours!" Elmer shook his phone in the air.

"I haven't been on my phone-"

"Ohhhh, he hasn't been on his phooooone." Katherine rolled his eyes.

"Kath, shut up," Elmer said and turned back to Jack. "C'mon, bro, we gotta go."

"Go? Go where?" Jack had dashed back into his living room to retrieve his phone.

"The hospital! Let's go." Katherine waved him back towards them. Jack froze.

"The hospital? W-why would we go there?" Katherine and Elmer looked at each other before turning back to him with a softer look. He felt his stomach drop.

"Jack," Elmer said. "Sarah was in a car accident last night."

"Oh my god, oh my god." Jack was aggressively swiping through his missed messages, tears brimming in his eyes.

"Jack it's going to be okay, the lady from the hospital said-"

"I don't CARE what the lady from the hospital said," Jack interrupted Katherine as they sped towards the hospital in her car. "My girlfriend was in a CAR ACCIDENT and I couldn't even be bothered to pick up my phone! Oh my god."

"Jack, it's alright, she's going to be okay." Elmer turned around in the passenger seat to try and calm him down.

"And why haven't you two been to see her?" Jack lashed out, upset at everything and everyone.

"We were on a road trip to Scarsdale visiting Katherine's Aunt when we got the call, four hours away. They said you were listed as her emergency contact but they couldn't reach you." Elmer's response only upset Jack even more, and he clenched his head in his hands as hot tears fell down his face.

"Jack, it's okay," Katherine looked at him in the review mirror as she turned the steering wheel. "We're here." Jack shot out of the car before Katherine could pull into a parking spot, almost getting hit by a gray sedan in the process. The car honked loudly, but he kept running, speeding through the revolving doors and up to the front desk as fast as his legs could take him. He didn't slow down fast enough, slamming into the front edge of the desk.

"I need the room of a...Sarah Jacobs," Jack said, holding his stomach as he tried to catch his breath. A middle-aged man with a black beard and thick-framed glasses looked up at him and then down at his computer.

"Uhhh, Yes, Ms. Jacob's in room 47, right down that way," The man pointed to his left. "May I ask who is visiting?"

"Jack Kelly," Jack said, pushing off the desk in the direction the man had pointed.

"Wait, you'll need this!" Jack turned around as the man tossed him a laminated visitor's pass on a bright yellow lanyard.

"Thanks," Jack pulled it over his neck as he sprinted back down the hall, narrowly avoiding nurses pushing carts and other visitors. "Forty-four, forty-five, forty-six, forty-" Jack stumbled backward in shock as he reached his girlfriend's room, tears brimming again in his eyes. Hanging on the door handle on a hangar with a plastic cover over it was the Ms. Piggy sweatshirt. And covering the coffee was a dark red bloodstain.

Right when Jack thought he would pass out, the door swung open as a nurse exited the room, laughing to someone over her shoulder. She turned her head and smiled warmly when she saw him.

"Oh! Are you Mr. Kelly?"

"Jack!" From behind her, a voice called Jack back down to earth. Jack darted past the nurse and into the room.

Sarah lay propped up in a bed against bright white pillows and bright white sheets. Her right leg was in a cast and a black brace gripped her hand. Her hospital gown drooped slightly off her shoulder to show a strip of gauze in the center of her chest.

"Jack! Jack, where were you? I was so w-" Jack walked right up to her bedside and delicately but passionately kissed her, cutting her off.

"I'm so sorry," He said softly, rubbing a cut he had noticed on her lip. "Are you alright?"

"Ah, yes, mmhmm," Sarah blinked. "Yeah, I'm fine. But what the hell happened to you? The nurse said you hadn't answered any calls. "

"Well, I-" Jack looked at his feet. He was embarrassed. And Sarah could tell.

"What?" She squinted at him with a smirk.

"I just, ah," He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip. "You didn't call me or respond to any of my messages, so I figured you were still mad."

"Mad? What would I be mad about?" Sarah tried to remember the day before, and suddenly she raised her eyebrows at me. "No, Jack. I know you didn't..."

"I don't know, it was your favorite-"

"Oh for fucks sake, Jack."

"It was a really big stain!"

"Do you hear yourself?" Sarah laughed exasperatedly. "You are trying to justify to me why I would be mad at you for something as stupid as spilling coffee on my sweater." Jack scrunched up his nose.

"Well, when you put it like that...."

"It's quite dumb, correct." She crossed her arms and huffed dramatically. They stared at each other for a minute before bursting out in loud, silly laughter.

"Can I get you a new sweater?" Jack chuckled as he pulled Sarah into his chest, who giggled as she nodded. And there, at that moment, she looked exactly how he had pictured her in her sweater watching Frozen. Exactly as he had drawn her. "And until Amazon delivers that sweater," Jack pulled back and reached into his pocket, pulling out a piece of paper, "I hope this can make up for it." He handed Sarah the sketch and she marveled at it, the intense detail, shading, and, of course, how realistic of a Ms. Piggy he had a drawn. She looked back at him.

"Only if you at least attempt to stop overthinking everything." Jack grinned at her.

"Deal," He said, leaning down and pressing a loving kiss onto her lips.

[beerecordings]

Poison - Chapter 4

(Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3)

This is the chapter that made me think “yeah, I would have to rate this mature on ao3.” PLEASE be careful with trigger warnings for death, gun violence, blood, convulsions, vomit mention, and major abuse.

Should be a couple more chapters after this one. Hope you enjoy :)

It's been months since Marvin saw Chase.

He remembers an absent-minded goodbye, his hand drifting across Chase's shoulder as he moved towards the kitchen for an early morning cup of coffee. Chase was too eager to wait around for further farewells. He hadn't slept all last night in his excitement to see Izzy and Hunter again, and his face was flushed red with joy, his fingers gripping at the black backpack straps around his shoulders and hugging the stuffed presents he bought them to his chest.

Marvin's fairly sure he was the only one who had a chance to say goodbye to him before he was gone. It wasn't til the next day that they realized he never made it to Stacy's.

And then, without a trace, he was gone.

Until today. Until now.

“Chase?” he whispers. “Is it you?”

The body Anti wears is skeletal, worn down to bones and slate-colored skin, so thin his fingers look almost fleshless. Blue and brown eyes sit, mismatched, in a face steadily hollowing out, somewhere between snow white and smoke grey. Chase's mouth is calm and thin, his tired gaze nevertheless watchful, a gun clutched stiffly, painfully, in his hand.

He meets Marvin's eyes for just a moment, and then, with steady, ferocious, murderer's hands, Cottonmouth takes her shot at the monster coming down the stairs.

Her aim is perfect. She does not shake. She does not hesitate.

The bullet never hits.

Anti vanishes and reappears in a flicker of an eighth-second, closer to her now, and she takes a couple steps back, shocked, stunned, but not as shocked as Marvin.

He is in the break between his convulsions, but now it is the sight of him that freezes him to aching, petrified stone. It takes him a long time to open that bloodied mouth, to breathe through his swollen throat, and to choke out, like the prayer of a dying man, the only two words left in the world that matters in the slightest.

“Chase! Chase! Chase, amata!”

“What the fuck are you?” shrieks Cottonmouth, aiming the gun again. She shoots and Chase's body is gone again, vanishing in a spasm of red and green and blue and yellow light, exploding back into existence on the other side of the room, with colors falling off him like stray coding.

“I am a great many things,” says his mouth. He turns an empty gaze to Marvin.

“Chase?” whispers his aching, struggling throat. “Carissima?”

“Oh, Carissima,” repeats his savior flatly. “Look, listen, he still loves me.”

A giggle echoes around Marvin's head and he shivers, staring at the man, who does not move, does not smile, only stares, the gun held loose in his hands.

“Silly cat,” Chase continues, tilting his head at him. His face has all the emotion of a beach full of clean sand, like the water has withdrawn, and the rocks were carried away, and nothing hides beneath its surface.

“Is it really you?” chokes Marvin. Hot tears spill down his face. “Or is it Anti?”

His black baseball cap is tugged down low, mussing the exhausted yellow fringe at the end of his stiff curls. His eyes are empty – no color, no pupil, like cataracts have swallowed his irises whole. Heavy white strings dangle from the sleeves of his filthy winter coat, tight enough that his fingers are faintly blue, and struggle to clutch the gun properly.

“I'm not anyone,” he replies, in a voice like a wind dying down. “I'm not anything anymore.”

He wipes a little of Killian's blood off his over-sized camo-green jacket and moves forward, staring Cottonmouth's gun in the face.

“Who the hell are you?” she snarls. “You're nothing like fucking Blue Mask.”

“'Who the hell are you?'” repeats Chase's mouth, taunting, his voice high-pitched and erratic. Marvin whimpers, recoiling from a sound distinctly Antiseptic. “Look, a little girl with a coke addiction and no baby daddy to kiss her good night. You think cat's blood is going to make you feel any better, child?”

“Shut the fuck up!” she screams, and the blast of her gun explodes through the prison room once again, only for Anti to disappear and re-appear, the bandages wrapped around his throat beginning to soak red, a wide smile on Chase's face.

“How did you know that? How are you doing that? I'll fucking kill you!”

“Oh, Marianne! I know everything about you! You think you just get to scoop my big brother off the streets and feed him goddamn rodent killer without having to worry about me? No, no, no, little girl. Blue Mask should never have scared you. No one you've ever bought snow off of or hired as a thug or paid to hide your enemies' bodies should have ever scared you. Not compared to me.”

“Twink-ass bitch boys with power complexes don't scare me.”

Her voice is the hiss of a snake on the defense, but still she makes herself laugh, finding her smile again, her eyes wildly lit, her long hair disarrayed in sweaty curls around her face.

“Okay,” says Anti flatly. “Now that was just rude.”

She aims that gun again – futile, desperate, snarling, laughing. “I'm going to bite the meat off your fingers and cook the bones into acid.”

“All talk, child. All fucking talk.”

“Fine, then,” answers Cottonmouth, drawing from her inside coat pocket a long silver machete, fat and gleaming. Her eyes meet Anti's in the glow of a shared and entirely insane light. “No more chatting.”

She cuts forward knife swinging.

Anti shrieks with joy and vanishes, appearing beside her and yanking a blade out of thin air, meeting her blow as she turns. He brings the gun up and it is Cottonmouth's turn to disappear, leaping aside before the bullet can tear her apart and striking like a viper at his head. Anti ducks the blow and lashes out at her legs, knocking her backwards and leaping up to pounce on her, only to catch a heavy slash on his arm. He lets out a short cry, so much like Chase's voice that it makes Marvin gasp, and stumbles back a little, laughing as blood soaks through his split jacket. Cottonmouth leaps back to her feet and then –

A gunshot.

She screams, a short burst of agony from her lip-sticked mouth. Marvin stares in horror at her shattered knee, the bone destroyed by Chase's perfect aim and Anti's perfect hatred. She crumples, Anti surges forward, he has her by the hair, shoving away the machete and the gun, and then –

“Anti, don't kill her, don't kill her!”

Anti points the gun at her head.

“Little girls shouldn't play with things that belong to me.”

To her credit, the Cottonmouth never screams, never cries out, barely even trembles. Looking her death in the face, she turns her eyes up to Marvin.

Faintly, on her mouth, a smile.

Hatred in wild eyes.

Marvin's ears ring from the closeness of the gunshot and Marianne's body crumples at his feet.

For a long time, he just lies limp in his chains, eyes closed, tears slipping down his face.

And Anti waits.

Anti waits for him to look up again.

Marvin seizes once, twice. There is, by now, perhaps a minute between each convulsion. He had never known that exhaustion can hurt this badly.

“This,” he whispers finally, with a mouth that drips blood. “Is horrible.”

“Yeah,” sighs Anti, swiping blood from his cheeks and stepping forward, that white-ocean blankness burning like static hell in his eyes. “Really not your best day, old friend.”

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

“No, no,” mumbles Jackie. “This isn't right.”

His eyes roam the walls for hints to tell him he's dreaming or dead. The cold slatted wood of the apartment stares back at him without feeling. It has nothing to hide, and nothing to tell.

“This isn't right,” he repeats.

Soft, stained carpet presses up against his boots. Toothpaste mint smell and a faint fume of blood wafts through his nose. Computers buzz softly beside the wounded old mattress puffing out fatly with cotton and wire.

“This can't be where Anti's been keeping him. It's too...”

“Jackie.”

Max's hand comes to sit on his shoulder. Jackie reaches up to clutch it, not sure why he can't seem to focus all of a sudden. Not sure why there are tears in his eyes.

“It's too normal,” he croaks. “Max, your intel must be wrong. This isn't where Anti and Chase have been living.”

“My best guys tracked him back here. Saw where he was in that picture, guessed at a couple places he might have come from, called in at a couple residencies asking after him. Owner here recognized the description, gave us a room number, and then we checked the security footage. This is where Chase was this morning, Jackie, and he's the only one the apartment owner is aware of who lives here. He's been here for months. Anti's just hidden him well.”

Jackie breathes hot, hissing air through his teeth and stalks forward to begin tearing up the apartment again, drawing a low sigh from a worried Max. Yanking open blank cabinets of the cramped, empty brown kitchen area and scrabbling at the corners of shitty carpet flooring, Jackie searches for any sign of the things he expected – Chase's hair, maybe, bloodied clumps of it in the bathroom, confirming that he has been thrown around and forced through whatever torments might take Anti's interest at the time, but there is nothing but quiet beard trimmings scattered around the sink.

Or chains, maybe! Why are there no chains? No rope to bind his little brother up like a dog, trapping him in this single-room apartment, leaving him to dangle by his wrists or be shoved into the closet all day, cramped and aching? Where are the muzzles, the ropes, the torture weapons and car batteries? Why is there nothing but a couple old bracelets Jackie knows Chase was wearing the day he lost him, set gently down on the windowsill?

Or there should be – oh, Jackie doesn't know – powerful sedatives or opioids to keep Chase docile and weak, maybe, scattered around the drawers to be used when his poor little brother resisted too much or too long, but there is nothing Jackie recognizes except a box of cheap band-aids and a finished bottle of Chase's Cymbalta still sitting sadly on the counter.

Jackie picks up the bottle in his hand. It feels like a tiny little doll or something pressed between his palm like this. He got him this prescription with some forged documents and a couple pushes to see him off to a therapist, and he remembers Chase telling him he liked the symbolism of it more than anything else – putting the tiny pill on his tongue every morning like a promise: “Another day and I'm still trying. Another day and I still refuse to let this kill me. Another day and I'll keep taking my medicine, and this will never beat me.”

A promise. A promise. His little brother, a fighter.

“Why wouldn't Anti throw this away?” Jackie whispers, rotating the bottle in his hand. “Why does Anti still have so many of his things? Why is there no sign of the struggle? I know he must be struggling. I know. Max, something's wrong.”

That warm, sturdy hand returns to his shoulder. “Jackie,” he says. “Look at these, shoved beneath the mattress.”

In Max's hand, there is a tiny lime-green journal and two stained, squished, sorrowful little stuffed animals.

“Oh, oh,” cries Jackie, taking them from him and holding them in his hands. “Presents for Hunt and Izzy. He was going to see them.”

A once perfectly rotund, chunky seal plushie has been flattened into a weary little pancake. The little purple dragon is no better off, its long neck askew and its pink ribbon of a tongue flopping out of its smiling mouth.

“Maybe Anti used them to upset Chase,” suggests Max.

Jackie tears open the journal, desperate for an explanation, stepping in circles around the room as he devours snippets of page after page, flickering through as fast as he can.

“Jack's name is all over, too,” Max points out, scanning the ceiling and the walls of the room. “Just in marker, sometimes, but sometimes scratched in. I think you were right, he's been looking for him all along. But he never found him.”

Jackie can't even hear him over the rushing of his blood pumping rapid through his head.

“Max,” he chokes. “Max.”

“Yeah?”

Jackie's shaking hands can barely hold the journal.

I didn't know it would fucking hurt! Stupid fucking boy! I can't extricate myself anymore! I think this is a fucking curse, I think the Cat must have warded this body, or maybe I rushed in too fast, but I can feel myself changing and I don't know what to do! What is happening to me? What is happening? I can't hear Chase resisting anymore, I just feel repulsed by my own presence, and I can't stop thinking about the things that Chase loved.

He tears to another section.

My mind is being devoured. I was Anti yesterday and Chase before that but I can't remember who I am today. I think they used to want different things but now I can't think at all and I don't know my name. I can't tell why the body is suffering but I can see my skin getting so white. I want to eat but the last time I tried I expelled everything within the hour and the vomit burned at me and the body fainted and brought my mind down too. Being unconscious confuses me for reasons I can't understand and I do not sleep. I think that is why the body grows so heavy. So heavy. So heavy. I want to be torn apart.

Max is trying to take it from him, calling his name, but Jackie can't be pulled away.

Where are my brothers? Where's Jack? I don't know why I want them. I killed a girl today and it made the body start to cry and laugh at the same time. I started to hurt, like the brain was insisting there was a wound or a sickness, but I cleaned my flesh for hours and couldn't find an injury. I think I'm dying and I'm afraid. I woke up crying for the doctor today but nobody came and I think if he had been there I would have slit his fucking throat open stupid doctor boy stupid body let me go I can't get free anymore I don't know who I am or what's happening I think I am going to die and I am afraid –

Jackie's ringtone explodes into the air, finally yanking him from his reverie, and he drops the book, gasping.

“Jackie! Are you okay?”

Setting a hand on Max's shoulder to reassure him – despite an internal panic as wide as the Nile – Jackie yanks his phone out of his pocket and tries not to be afraid by the contact name “ZE GOOD DOCTAH” lighting up his screen.

“Schneep! What's wrong? Is Marvin still – ”

“Jackie,” croaks Henrik, and Jackie stiffens hard, digging his nails into Max's shoulder.

“Okay. Okay. Whatever's wrong, it's going to be okay.”

“Jackie – Jackie – ”

“I know, bud, I know, just tell me.”

“Come home,” Henrik demands, a gasp in his voice. “Come home now. Bring a car.”

This tone of voice does not take further questions. Jackie closes his phone and sprints from the apartment where Anti has kept his brother prisoner within his own flesh for months now, skipping the elevator and charging down the stairs.

“Follow me in the car,” he shouts to Max, and then he is racing onto the pavement and slinging his body onto Chase's old bike, pulling on his helmet and shoving the keys into the ignition.

Traffic laws and the police car following behind him be damned, he's getting home faster than anybody has ever raced down these streets.

And the only thought in his head for the whole seven minutes and forty-three second drive?

Henrik just saw Marvin die. Henrik must have just seen Marvin die. Henrik was watching. Henrik, his sentry. Henrik just saw Marvin die.

But nothing is as he expected it when he reaches home.

He lets the motorcycle tumble onto the pavement, racing into the house.

“Jackie?” calls Henrik, and Jackie is darting down the hall towards his voice, tearing open Marvin's door and coming to stand at the end of the bed, his footsteps slowing, slowing, freezing as he stares.

Star-silver light makes halos in Jameson's eyes.

“Schneep,” whispers Jackie. “What's – ?”

“He woke some sort of power up,” Henrik replies, in a hush like a twilight.

That much Jackie can see. He remembers the first night he saw his first little brother wake him up with eyes glowing like lanterns, crying about a power he didn't know how to control. Yes, he has known the blue light in Marvin's eyes a hundred times over, and felt power make stiff and heavy the air around them, just as it does now. Jackie steps closer, standing before JJ, keeping him safe in his shadow.

“He says he can see where Marvin is. Can see the path he took last night and the possibilities that are before him now. We need to go where he tells us.”

A soft and shuddering breath passes between Jameson's teeth, his eyes fluttering shut. Henrik is holding him up, his arms hugging his shoulders, his hand squeezed in JJ's so tightly it will soon be blue.

Jackie crouches down beside the bed and takes Jameson's other hand, reaching up to touch his face, coaxing the light in his eyes to turn back towards him. James looks down at him, trying to straighten up at the sight of Jackie, pressing his fingers into the strong bones of his brother's white hands.

“Doing okay, Jay?” murmurs Jackie.

Jameson nods.

“Does it hurt, buddy?”

“No,” he shakes his head, pressing on Jackie's hands as he tries to rise. Henrik helps him get up, but the hand crushing his own has begun to be as much for his own comfort as it is for JJ's.

“Jameson,” says Jackie. “Can you take me to Marv?”

Jameson finds his footing and straightens up with Jackie, tilting up his chin. His eyes glow. He's always shone like a star to Jackie anyway.

“Yes, Jackie,” he says. “I promise.”

He cuts through the overwhelming world and Jackie's tired face rises into a smile. He knocks his head against JJ's and gives a strand of his hair a teasing yank, pushing him towards the door.

“Go get your shoes on! Max will take us in the car. Schneep, let me get a look at the livestream so I know what we're dealing with and then let's get the hell out of here! We got thirty minutes and a brother to find!”

He whirls eagerly on Henrik, but his brother is unmoving, staring down at the carpet.

“Schneep?”

Henrik bobs his head in a nod.

“What's wrong? Can I... did we lose the livestream?”

“Um.” Henrik wipes at his glasses, sniffing. “It was... cut off.”

“What? Why would she do that?”

“It wasn't her.”

“What do you mean?”

Henrik continues cleaning his glasses, never looking up.

“Schneep. Henrik. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Someone found him first, Jackie.”

“What? Who?”

“Who do you fucking think?”

Suddenly Henrik is shouting and Jackie flinches, reaching forward to grab his hands before he can crush his glasses.

“Who do you fucking think? Who’s always fucking haunting us? Stalking my family from a shadow that never dies away with the sun, hunting us like foxes!“

His voice breaks. Jackie takes his glasses from him and grabs his chin, forcing him to look up.

And if Jameson's eyes shine with power, well, Henrik's bubble up with deep blue grief, a bitterness twisted on his mouth and terror shaking earthquakes into his steady doctor's hands.

“He’s wearing Chase,” Henrik sobs. “Jackie, Jackie, you have to make him stop, he’s wearing Chase. If you had seen him - if you had seen him - oh, Jackie, he is like a dead man already.”

Jackie barely hears him. He is already stepping from the room, unable to breathe, his mind fixed on his tortured, stolen, poisoned, poisoned, poisoned little brothers, waiting on him to save them.

He doesn’t intend to fail.

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

“Anti?” asks Marvin. “Are you going to kill me?”

His rescuer stares back at him. Dazed, exhausted, hurting, Marvin does his best to look back.

“Anti,” he says, again, louder now. “Are you going to kill me? What, you don’t have an answer? Anti, what have you done to yourself?”

Anti has none of his usual wild glee, none of his intensity. He stands before Marvin with his body slack and his eyes slightly glazed, those strung up fingers twitching, that grey face hollow as a lightning-struck tree.

“Anti,” repeats his rescuer distantly. “Anti?”

“Yes,” snaps Marvin, baring his teeth. “That's your fucking name, isn't it? Or what, you really are some fucked-up, puppet version of my little brother? Huh? My little heart? Tell me honest this time, you horrible little virus – Chase or Anti?”

At this, a flicker of confusion betrays his apathy, and he purses his lips, reaching up to play absent-mindedly with a string of Marvin's hair, curling it around his finger. Marvin recoils, wheezing.

“Chase or Anti?” he repeats, cocking his head at him. “Chase or Anti? I think maybe there was a difference once.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” chokes Marvin, trying to breathe through his fear. Tears are running down his face so fast he'd be blinded even if he could make his stiff eyes move. “What have you done to my little brother?”

Anti – Marvin has to think of him as Anti, he cannot believe it is Chase – hums distantly and drums his fingers along the barrel of the gun, considering. “Don't worry for us,” he says, in a voice felt-soft. “It was frightening at first, but now there's just us. Now there's just us, and you.”

Marvin spits at his feet, feeling the convulsions beginning again, and fear comes pounding through his head. “You've worn his body so long you've forgotten you're not him,” he shrieks, as his shoulders begin to tug him up, and his jaw begins to chew, and his arms, like sticks, refuse to support him. “You're just a fucking parasite, puppeting his body because you don't have your own – ”

Anti slaps him so hard he bites his tongue clean through, and then he is seizing. He chokes desperately, trying to scream, his eyes suspended motionless in his skull, his face turning blue, and Anti resumes his patient speech while Marvin writhes.

“Try not to be so rude,” he snips, shoving greasy hair which has lost all of its curl out of his mismatched eyes. “I have feelings, you know! Anyway, I was just stalking you.”

He leans down to push Cottonmouth's body away from Marvin's feet, the better to watch him spasm. “I was bored. I've been hearing about people looking for you and the other... um...”

He pauses, confused. Blood courses down Marvin's chin.

“Jackie,” he remembers, clapping his hands together, a moment of distress flickering over his face. “Lately I think so much at once it's like I can't think at all... you and Jackie, anyway, people have been looking for you. Something about revenge and murder and true crime, I guess, it was all pretty cool. Some people started watching you, I started watching them – and then, what do you know! I wake up one morning and pick up on this magnificent broadcast.”

Marvin can't breathe. Marvin is dying. He can't take any more of this.

“Ch-ay-ay-ase,” he sobs, as the relaxation finally fucking comes back. “Chase, help me, h-help me...”

Anti's eyes flicker.

He stills, watching him, his mouth slightly parted.

“Chase, Chase,” moans Marvin, well past caring what Anti thinks. “Amata, adiuva me, it hurts, it hurts! S-stella amata, little brother...”

“Marvin,” mumbles Anti – no, Chase, Marvin has to think of him as Chase, Marvin cannot think of him as Anti, not when he says his name so gently, not when his eyes are ringed so deeply in exhausted grey, and the soft pads of his bloodied fingers come up, slow, to touch Marvin's shattered cheek –

“It's going to be okay,” he soothes, and Marvin dissolves into tears, spasming in his chains, choking through his swollen throat. “Aren't you so grateful little brother saved you?”

“Let me down, let me down,” begs Marvin. “Please, I can't take any more of this, just let me down to die.”

“Now where would the fun be in that?” answers Chase, his voice suddenly cold, his eyes very dark.

“Why is this happening, what has he done to you...”

“You're really dying, aren't you? This is so strange, I feel... shaky... I thought this one was excitement, but maybe it is distress... it's so difficult for me to sort them...”

Marvin stares at him, unable to move his stiff eyes away and trying hard to keep his gaze focused on him, on something, on anything. “You're... you're crying.”

He is. He stands quiet before Marvin, his hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, his calm mouth slightly parted, one eye brown, one eye blue, both glittering with tears.

“We cry often,” he says softly. “I used to try and make us stop... then I began to cry too. It was so scary. I had never cried before. Now we cry often, because I... I can't... I... Marvin...”

His eyes drift away with his words. Tears drizzle down his face, turning red as they meet Cottonmouth's blood, sprayed across his chin and mouth.

“I think I'm losing great parts of myself,” he mumbles thickly. “I think I am killing great parts of myself. I can't remember who I was before this. I just wanted... a body? Or was it to go see my children? My babies...”

“Stop, stop,” Marvin chokes, quivering in his chains, his mouth full of hatred and bile and love all together. “Stop pretending to be him! Fuck you. Let me die, Anti!”

Anti – Chase – he closes his eyes and breathes in deep, shaking his head slightly. “I lose focus so easily. We were talking. I was here to see you die. Did she tell you three hours? Nah, you've got more than that, dude. Look, this strychnine concentration is so low I'm surprised it turns the gophers into corpses. Besides, if you were really dying, you wouldn't be chatting, now would you?”

Marvin is beginning to miss the silent and staring version of Anti.

“You're being such a baby. Depending how hard you fight, you could make it another forty, fifty minutes? I mean, probably your little organs in your tummy are pretty fucked up, but you're still a little while away from dropping absolutely dead. Right? I think I read that. I'm doing my research right now and the internet's shitty down here in the basement. But the others are on their way, so we shouldn't wait.”

“The others?” gasps Marvin.

“Well, I think,” answers his little brother, glancing around the room, his eyes settling on the green bottle of gopher poison, standing up beside Cottonmouth's drink on the table. “Don't know for certain, but knowing our brothers, yeah, dude, they'll be here soon enough.”

He reaches out for the gopher poison – and then pauses, and takes the tea instead. Marvin watches through confused, blurry eyes as his tongue darts out to taste the droplets on the opening of the lid. He gives a small chirp of satisfaction and then throws the whole cup back, his throat working eagerly to quench its thirst. Turning to the almonds and tearing open the bag with long-nailed fingers and lighted eyes, Marvin is reminded of some sort of feverish raccoon tearing through the alleyway trash at two in the morning. He shoves a couple in his mouth and hums as he licks salt off his hands, pushing the bag into his backpack and then zipping it up tight again.

“I've remembered what I came for,” he announces, clapping his hands together. “Or I think so anyway! I want – okay, firstly – an answer to the deal I offered the big red one.”

“You're losing your fucking mind,” chokes Marvin. “What deal?”

“Well, I gave it to Red, or I think it was me, anyway. I offered a deal. I said I would give him back this body in exchange for one thing – Jack's location.”

For all that his mind is scrambled, split somewhere between Anti and Chase, that name has never disappeared. That obsession has never disappeared. Jack's location. Jack's coma. Jack, Chase's friend, Jack, Anti's creator, the one that damned him from the start.

Marvin didn't know that Anti offered Jackie anything in exchange for Chase. But it doesn't for a second matter to him. He trusts Jackie. He's always trusted Jackie. With his life, with Chase's, with Jack's. And he knows, immediately, the answer that Jackie would give.

“The reason you never got a reply is because he would never dignify that sort of bullshit with a response.”

Marvin's head is spinning. If this is the last of his strength, he's proud to use it defending his friend.

“You will never find Jack. You will never use Chase as currency for anything. You are falling apart, Anti, splicing yourself into Chase's brain just for one desperate moment of feeling like a body belongs to you. You've forgotten who you are. But don't worry, little brother. Some day Jackie's going to remind you of exactly what you are – a sick, twisted, hateful little murderer who chose to live in agony a long fucking time ago.”

Anti screams and strikes Marvin again, and, oh, yes, no more games, Marvin knows that it is Anti's fury that drives a blow like that, no matter how much he looks like Chase, no matter how deeply he has seeped into his little brother's head. Marvin knows what poison feels like.

“I'll kill you, I'll kill you, I'll kill you!” Anti is shrieking, tears flooding down his face, red, now, with hatred and despair, but it no longer matters to Marvin. He can barely feel the blows. Everything has dissipated into this far away agony, buzzing at the tips of his fingers, and he's afraid, but only because he's thinking of Jackie, and Henrik, and JJ, and his tortured, tortured Chase. Oh, but they'll have to grieve for him. They'll have to find him like this. They'll have to bury his body.

He never meant to leave them with this burden. He never meant to leave them at all.

Goodbye, my brothers, I hope you know I loved you, better than anything, better than I knew it was possible to love anything or anyone. I hope to see you again one day, in a place where the sun always shines and we are all of us safe... I hope I get the chance to hold you then, one more time and then a thousand more. I love you, I love you. Goodbye.

Something slams into Anti, halfway tackling him away from Marvin, a furious, airy little snarl accompanying Anti's shout of surprise. Marvin no longer has the strength to look up. His delirium is so hot now that he can't seem to put a coherent sentence together even in his head – apologies and final words and cries of pain whirl through his brain like somebody broke a washing machine and can't get it to stop spinning.

Faintly, he makes out a fight close at hand – Jameson pressing Anti to the ground, the gun kicked meters away and the machete pinned down to the cold concrete floor. Jameson hisses and shoves his long silver knife to the bandages at Anti's throat, drawing a stain of blood from his Adam's apple. His body spasms impossibly as he tries to glitch, but Jamie just whistles a shrill warning and presses the knife in tighter, making Anti choke and still. If he weren't wearing Chase, he would be dead already. Jameson's teeth are bared in a wild snarl and his eyes shine like stars.

To Marvin, all he is is a blur of silver light. He can taste his little brother's power in the air, but his brain doesn't connect it to JJ himself, and he shivers and turns his face away, afraid to be burned by the light.

“Marvin, Marvin, here I am, here I am. Oh, my brother. It's done, Marvin, it's done. I'm right here. I got you, I got you. Jackie, help me get him down.”

“I'm coming. Jay, keep him pinned,” calls a stronger voice yet. “Max, is there an ambulance coming?”

“I can't get any signal down here. I'll go radio for them upstairs.”

“Okay, okay. Here, bud, I got you, I got you.”

Arms wrap around Marvin's body, and he lets out a short, frightened cry – but then his chained hands are lifted up and oh, mercy of mercies, he is taken down from the hook that holds his straining body up.

Warm arms encircle him and carry him to the ground, cradling his head. He can almost breathe deep again! He can almost move! Maybe if he weren't so tired. All he can do is draw shallow, weary breaths through lips blood-stained and dry. He feels horribly swollen, like he is already a dead thing, and the stiffness is so painful he can no longer describe it in a meaningful way – he is wooden now, trapped within his own bones, aching to be free, motionless, it feels, for days and days and days.

And then – his cards!

A small cry of joy rises from his aching lips and someone gives a shaky, relieved little laugh as he clutches at the pack of cards pressed against his chest. Energy rushes through him – oh, almost painful, too much all at once. He sits back and tries to breathe through it, his fingers searching for the warm, healing magic of his hearts. Now that the cards have freed his magic, he hopes for a little relief before he dies after all. Maybe even some purification. He doesn't want his body to be so tortured for his brothers to find.

A cool, needle-less plastic syringe touches his lips, but he does his best to push it away with trembling fingers, trying to smile an apology at his captors. He can't drink with his throat so swollen. He's scared to choke. Don't make him. Let him go, please. He's ready for this to be over. A deep sigh falls from his aching mouth and he sinks back in the arms of the person holding him.

“Marvin, you have to take it.”

The syringe is back on his mouth. He groans, shifting wearily.

“Marvin. Marvin, hey! I need you to focus, please, you have to work with me. Jackie, pass me my – yes, thank you.”

A cold circle of metal touches Marvin's breast and he grumbles, hurting, trying to press back against the hands that hold it down to listen to his heartbeat.

“Is he going to be okay, Schneep?”

There's no answer. The cold metal moves down his chest. Someone's breathing has picked up above him.

“Schneep?”

“I – I don't know, I – ”

“What do you mean you don't know? We found him before three hours were up. That's enough! That has to be enough! Cottonmouth said he had three hours, it's only been two hours, forty-four minutes and – ”

“Give him the relaxant. Just – give him the relaxant.”

The syringe returns to his mouth. Marvin hisses, anguish mixing up with his pain. Leave him alone to die! Please! Why are they so insistent on him drinking it, anyway?

He cracks his eyes open and sees that it is not water that is being offered him. Dark and ichorous, it swirls before his mouth.

Someone shoves the syringe deep into the back of his throat and begins to push the liquid in.

“No!” he shrieks, trying to shove it out of his mouth. “No, no, no more poison!”

“It's not poison! Marv, stop!”

He is pinned to the ground by an earthquake's worth of pressure, making his spasming muscles burn with pain. Everything is bright, everything is loud, everything is painful, and he is not taking any more fucking poison. He's not fucking drinking that. They'll have to kill him before he takes any more of this shit. His hands tighten around the cards laid on his chest, something waking up inside him. Power warm as getting back into bed crashes through his stomach like a purifier, but it won't matter if his magic is trying to save him if someone is just shoving more fucking poison in his mouth! No!

He drops the Jack of Hearts and clutches at a Club. He doesn't need to look at it – he can feel the harsh burn of angrier magic. His eyes flicker open and his teeth snap around the syringe.

Henrik barely has time to register the bright blue glow in his brother's eyes before something explodes in his face.

Jackie lets out a scream in his stead as Henrik recoils from Marvin's side so hard he goes crashing to the ground, gripping at his face, unable to stop a ragged gasp falling from his mouth as hot, hot, hot iron magic burns into his cheek. Jackie is grabbing at him, trying to get a look at the burn, but Henrik can only clutch at his face, shocked tears coursing down his cheeks as the Six of Clubs burns, burns, burns deeper and deeper into his flesh.

“Max!” Jackie is shouting, looking up the stairs. “Where's the fucking ambulance? Marvin, stop!”

But Marvin is not listening.

He can feel nothing now but poison.

Throughout him. Filling up his blood. Without him. Spilled across the floor. Around him. He can feel a darkness. He can even feel somebody else's poison.

Underneath Jameson's hands, a being of pure poison.

Chase's heart beats weakly beneath his starving ribs, his face hollowed out with hunger and stress, his skin slicked in somebody else's blood and his face contorted in hatred.

“Amata,” croaks Marvin. “Chase...”

His whole body is shadowed by a heavy black poison.

And he cannot escape it alone.

How can he die knowing his little brother is in that much pain!

“P-purity,” he mumbles, pulling the King of Hearts from his deck with shaking fingers. A blue glow ignites in Marvin's eyes, to match the fervent silver of his little brother's across the room. “A spell for... a spell for purity...”

“No, no!” someone cries. “You don't have the strength! Please, no spells! You will die!”

Arms wrap around him, holding him tight despite the heat burning against his flesh, and he hears someone breathing close to him – crying close to him. Oh, Henrik's familiar hands, clutching at his shoulders, Henrik's head pressed against his own, his little brother hiding against his shoulder, whimpering for him to stop...

“Please, please.”

He's so tired. He's so tired of being scared all the time. He needs to have a happy ending for once.

The glow cools in magnificent eyes. Marvin pants, clutching at Henrik's hands, dazed. Hurting, hurting, hurting.

“Henrik,” he tries to say, but he cannot get his mouth to move. His swollen throat wheezes desperately. His heart races like a horse. “Henrik, this hurts.”

“Sh, sh, don't try to talk. I've got you, I know. I know. Let me make it better. Please, let me do it, Marvin, Marvin. Don't let me lose my big brother. Just trust me. Just put the card down.”

Marvin is sinking down against him, the energy draining out of him.

“Let me handle it, let me take care of you, it's me... the good doctor... or I'm trying to be... don't you trust me, Marvin? Don't you still believe in me?”

Ah, his Henrik. His brother.

Marvin drops his cards. One remains hovering in the air, the King of Hearts glowing with the power he summoned, but he stops trying to use it. He will let Henrik do the purifying for him – his little brother is right that he does not have the strength to be casting spells for his own healing or for Chase's. He has to trust his little scientist.

Henrik lets out a low, croaking cry of relief, holding onto Marvin's shoulders. Jackie crashes into the two of them, wrapping them both in his arms again. For a second, Marvin manages to turn his head towards them, smiling faintly, his eyes fogged over.

“Sh, sh, there you go. I’m not going to let you die, Marvin. I’m not going to let you die.”

Marvin lies still against his body as Henrik presses the syringe back into his mouth. He massages the relaxant down Marvin's aching throat, whispering assurances as Marvin sinks into silent tears against his shoulder, his face drifting as he slips towards sleep. Henrik spoons a mouthful of black medicine into his mouth. Jackie strokes his hair.

He's so filthy and so ugly and in so much pain, but they still hold onto him.

He wants to talk to them so badly. He doesn't even have the strength to move – no, no, wait! If he really focuses – if he really, really focuses – he can squeeze Jackie's hand.

He can push his head, just a little, against Henrik's.

He can look over at Chase and Jameson. See their faces again.

He was scared to die without seeing them again, but now he thinks he'd be ready to go. Yeah, he’d be ready. Doesn't know how his body would survive this much pain, anyway. Doesn’t know his heart could ever take this much hurt. He just needed to see them one more time.

“Love.” His mouth is trying so hard. His throat is fighting a war. His lips part like the waters of the Red Sea, but the word is a mangled mess on his mouth. “Love.”

And Jackie, Jackie, Jackie who has always understood him, from the day that he was born, back when he did not even understand himself – Jackie whispers, “Love you too.”

Marvin drifts beneath the warmth of unconsciousness.

[komahinasecretexchange]

Title: Traditions

Author: @dailyservingofhope

For: @hiddenkamukuraproject

Rating/Warnings: PG-13 (A few vague sexual references, Nagito joking about death, alcohol mention)

Prompt: Going out on Halloween and having fun

Author’s notes: AU where the tragedy didn’t happen. 100% pure organic fluff.

“You’ve never been trick-or-treating?!” Nagito smiled and raised his hands in a placating gesture, “Sorry, I had no one to take me when I was a kid. But it’s fine! It ended up being good luck!” “‘Good’?” Hajime asked pointedly as he rested his coffee mug on their kitchen counter. Nagito had a way of twisting things to fit his strange worldview. “I gave out candy instead. Since I could afford full bars of chocolate for all the other kids, I became sort of popular for a little while… at least until they got to know me better.” “That’s not the point,” Hajime said, “I just get upset when I think about your childhood. It’s not fair that you missed out on so much.” He felt robe-cloaked arms wrap around his waist and a soft peck on his forehead. “Don’t worry. I’m fine, promise,” Nagito reassured him. Hajime grumbled in response, wondering if it was okay to be annoyed at his partner’s cute attempt at deflecting. Sometimes Hajime felt that he was more bothered by Nagito’s troubles than Nagito himself. 'Fine’ to him often meant 'Not in the hospital’. How much disappointment and grief did he suffer in his youth before the bar lowered that much? This wasn’t about some silly holiday tradition, this was about making him feel included, and giving him access to experiences that most people took for granted. “You shouldn’t feel sorry for me, you know,” Nagito gently chided him. “I don’t,” Hajime said, worried that Nagito noticed his increasingly pitying expression during their conversation. “Good. Because I secretly switched your coffee with decaf.” “What?! Nagito!” “I’m just kidding. You always look at me like I’m a kicked puppy when I tell you about my past. I prefer it when you’re annoyed with me. Your voice gets this adorable lilt to it.” “No, it doesn’t! I… think?” Nagito chuckled. “Look, it’s not pity,” Hajime sighed, “I’m just worried you feel like an outsider because you had such a different childhood experience than many of us. It’s important to me that you feel welcome and have lots of happy memories. And if I have to take you trick-or-treating this weekend to make that happen, then I’ll do it.” Nagito’s face lit up, “You want to go trick-or-treating with me?” Aware that he just invited Nagito on a date involving an activity generally enjoyed by children still in the single digits of age, Hajime backpedaled, “Wait! I-It’s okay if you don’t want to! I know we’re too old for it, and we told Ibuki we’d be at her Halloween party, so we’ll get to dress up, anyway. There’s no pressure-” “I would love to! We can pick out costumes this afternoon!” Fear of embarrassment ranked high on Hajime’s list of top motivators, but it was nothing compared to Nagito’s sweet face. He couldn’t back out now. “O-okay! Sounds great!” ___ Hajime pulled a scarf around his mouth to warm the crisp, fall air flowing into his lungs. Yellowed leaves danced on the sidewalk with every breeze as he and Nagito strolled through the city. Their destination was a costume shop located in a quaint, less-trafficked district, popular among the dating crowd for its restaurants and shopping. They found it nestled between a cafe and a boutique clothing store. Walls painted black and covered in wheatpasted underground band adverts gave an eccentric touch that made it stand out from the conservatism of the surrounding businesses. Through the windows, there was a display of the typical bats and pumpkins, along with more unnerving props like costumed mannequins covered in fake blood and gaping wounds. Cosplayers and street fashionistas were the store’s year-round clientele, but nearing the holiday, they widened their selection to include Halloween costumes. Hajime pulled open the door for Nagito, “Have any ideas about what you want to be?” “Dead?” Nagito offered. “I really wish you wouldn’t joke about that.” “Aren’t ghosts popular this time of the year?” With a deadpan expression, Hajime poked Nagito in the belly. He then turned his attention to the racks and shelves, not wanting to take the bait. As they perused the aisles together, Nagito suddenly snatched a large package off a rack and hid it behind his back, “I’m going to try something on. No peeking!” Hajime continued to browse while his partner thrashed around in the fitting room. A rather seductive vampire costume caught his attention, and he briefly lost himself in a daydream involving Nagito and lots of sexy nibbling all over his body until he heard someone walk up behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. The glance turned into a double take. To say that Nagito was dressed up as a dog was about as true as saying The Big Bang Theory was a comedy. There was an element of objective truth to it, but it failed spectacularly to articulate that everything else about it was an abomination. The costume was like a long fuzzy tube, white on the belly and black and tan along the back, indicating it was probably intended to be a corgi. The head perched on top of Nagito’s head, its mouth gaping around his face as if it were a python swallowing its prey whole. His feet, which were only just visible from the bottom of the tube, were adorned with paw slippers. The hand-paws were so padded and fluffy that they appeared useless for any practical purpose other than being cute. “How do I look? Wanna be my owner for Halloween? I’ll let you walk me on a leash and give me commands! I know how to beg and lay down!” Nagito said as he shook his rear to make the stubby tail wag. Hajime blushed, looking around to see if anyone overheard, “Shhh! There will be kids around, so nothing… kinky!” “I would never do something I thought was weird around impressionable youth!” “That’s the problem, what you think is weird is a whole world away from what everyone else thinks is weird…” Hajime looked him up and down, “So why this, of all things?” “Most of these costumes aren’t really appropriate around children. What did you think I’d be? A sexy demon? A sexy cat boy? A sexy werewolf? A sexy…” “I get the point… they are a bit provocative, aren’t they?” “Don’t use big words like 'provocative’. I’m just a silly little dog!” he whined, covering his face with his paws in mock shame. “God, Nagito, can you be normal for like one second?” Hajime said, turning away to hide his laughter. Nagito closed the distance, picking up his hand and kissing it. He looked down into his eyes with a charming smile and whispered, “But this is what you like about me, right? There’s no way someone would ever go out with me for any rational reason. Doesn’t that make you abnormal too?” Hajime shivered at his touch. Even dressed in the most absurd getup he’d ever seen, Nagito was still hot, and when he cranked up the charm, he had a terrifying ability to render Hajime as helpless as a fawn. He pushed Nagito away, hoping he didn’t notice, “I-I guess I just don’t know how you do it. You can be so confident sometimes. I’d be afraid of wearing that in public.” “There’s a difference between confidence and being so resigned to loss that you stop feeling anxiety over the little things,” he said, a bit sadly. “Besides, it’s fun!” He waved his paws comically to accentuate the point. “Now we have to find something fun for you to wear.” “Okay, but let’s go by MY definition of fun.” “Whatever you say, Hajime,” Nagito beamed. His eyes darted around, then settled on a mustache and beard set which he handed to Hajime, “How about this? You can go as a grumpy old man. Bonus! You won’t have to be seen with me.” “Oh, come on.” Hajime said, snatching it from him. He looked it over then held it up to his face in front of a mirror. “Hey, I could go as Izuru Kamukura,” he joked, referencing their old high school’s founder. Nagito folded his arms and side-eyed him, “Don’t get all full of yourself now, Hajime.” He then backed away as Hajime approached him with a toy sword taken from a rack. “Wait! What do you plan on doing with that?!” ___ “Happy Halloween!” Hajime, who had been sleeping quite peacefully until then, would have fallen out of bed in fright if a heavy weight had not subsequently landed on him. He opened his eyes to find Nagito sprawled out over his lap. “Sorry, I missed you. I couldn’t wait any longer,” Nagito said. Hajime slammed Nagito on the back of the head with his pillow, “Being cute won’t save you this time.” “Noooo, don’t kill me! I’ve never been kissed!” “Yes, you have.” “Could you remind me?” Nagito said, puckering his lips. Hajime played along and kissed him, “There, now I can kill you.” Moments later, Nagito flew through the air from a good whack from the pillow. Their day went on with the two enjoying horror movies playing in the background as they enjoyed a peaceful afternoon together. After the sun set, they prepared themselves for the night ahead. Hajime had settled on being a black cat, largely because it worked as a couple’s costume, but also just looking at Nagito’s cumbersome outfit made a simple and light costume seem more appealing. The set consisted only of ears and a tail, with a fluffy black sweater and black jeans from his closet to complement it. There was also ancient makeup in the back of a drawer from his scene kid phase which was totally just an ironic experiment and definitely not anything he ever took seriously. He leaned over their bathroom sink to get a better look in the mirror as he used an old eye pencil to draw whiskers, a nose, and thick eyeliner with wings that swept out half an inch. “Who said scene was dead?” Nagito said, as he smirked at him in the mirror. “Hey, I can’t help it that I can do a perfect cat-eye.” “Can you do my makeup sometime?” “Oh please, Nagito, you don’t need it. People would kill for your lashes.” “You know, you’re starting to sound a little… catty.” Hajime groaned at the pun. He reached an arm behind him to blindly swat at his partner, only succeeding in stirring the air around as Nagito dodged the attack, “Is being sarcastic the only thing you’re good for? Why aren’t you dressed yet?” “I will, it’s just hard to move very well in it and I wanted to bother you more effectively.” Nagito draped his arms over Hajime’s shoulders and leaned in. “Actually, I’d like to thank you. I know you get scared of embarrassing situations, so for you to take someone like me out doing something meant for kids, knowing people will look at us funny… It’s sweet of you.” “Why do you think I’m putting on makeup? If all goes well, I won’t even recognize myself.” He chuckled, “But in all seriousness, you know I’d do anything for you.” Nagito buried his face into Hajime’s neck and said nothing. ___ “Everyone looks so happy!” Nagito said, gazing at the lively scene. Costumed kids flocked together at doors or ran around screaming and laughing in excitement. With jack-o’-lanterns on every porch and fake spider webbing drooping from trees, the neighborhood oozed Halloween spirit. Hajime caught himself staring at his adorable partner, “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. Are you ready for some trick-or-treating?” “Tell me what to do! I’ve never done this before!” “Come on, you know what to do. Here, try this house.” “What if they yell at me because I’m too old?” “In that case, we threaten to egg their house, then run away.” He responded, hoping Nagito wouldn’t take it as a serious suggestion. Nagito’s eyes swirled. “I wonder if we’ll get chased. That would be exciting,” he said breathily. “You seem a little too excited by that…” Nagito wasn’t listening, he was already halfway up the driveway of a house. Hajime remained by the street to watch while Nagito knocked on the door. An old woman appeared. She looked him up and down as his outstretched arms presented her with a wicker basket ready for filling. “Trick-or-treat!” She gave a tactful, patient smile, “You’re so cute, but aren’t you too old for this?” “My boyfriend is forcing me to do this,” Nagito said, “He’ll be angry if I don’t come back with anything.” “Oh my… well, here…” She dropped a few pieces of candy into his basket, “You look like a sweet boy, you should get away from that awful man. Good luck, dear.” “Yes ma'am! Thank you!” Nagito chirped as he skipped back to the street, somehow managing not to trip over his slippers. “I couldn’t hear you guys, but it seemed to go well?” Hajime asked. “She wasn’t going to give me a treat, so I tricked her.” “Nagito, she was like… 80.” “It’s the Halloween code. I don’t make the rules.” “What did you say to her?” “Nothing to worry about. Let’s go on to the next house!” ___ “Really? You’re trick-or-treating at this age?” “I’m dying of lymphoma, it’s my final wish to trick-or-treat one last time.” “Oh my goodness, of course! Have as much candy as you want!” “Thanks!” Nagito said graciously as he took a few pieces. Hajime looked at him askance when he returned. “Wow, you’re getting a lot of candy. I… honestly wasn’t expecting this…” he said, gesturing at Nagito’s nearly overflowing basket. It seemed like every house in the neighborhood was eager to give him everything they had. “Yeah! Everyone has been so nice!” “I’m glad you’re having a good time, but what are we going to do with all this candy? You don’t even like sweets.” “I had no intention of keeping the candy, Hajime, this was all just for fun.” Nagito’s smile transformed into a grin. “But now that you’ve brought it up, there’s something I’ve wanted to do all night.” Hajime watched as Nagito trotted towards a group of teenagers. Sneaking up behind them, he reached into his basket and tossed a chocolate bar over their heads. They jerked back in surprise, and as they turned to see where it had come from, they were immediately pelted with handful after handful of candy. The next minute was pure pandemonium. Children ran from across the street to join in the fun, grabbing as much candy as they could while it rained down on them. And somehow in that moment, with the kids cheering and Nagito laughing joyfully among that beautiful chaos, Hajime swore his boyfriend never looked so handsome. Yeah, even despite the costume. ___ Ibuki’s Halloween party was well underway by the time Hajime and Nagito arrived. Blaring music greeted them at the door before she did. “You made it! Look at Nagito, so cuuuute! And Hajime, Ibuki loves your makeup! Meowwwww!” Being a world-famous musician, she could afford the finer things. Her house, which better resembled goth night at a club than a habitable dwelling, boasted enough space to host a party with room to spare for dancing. Witch-house played from an expensive sound system that cost more than Hajime and Nagito’s annual rent. It went without saying, Ibuki threw the best parties. Hajime hardly had a minute to take in the surroundings before Nekomaru had him and Nagito locked in a crushing hug. “Hahaha! We’re all here now!” Nekomaru beamed. “You made it, I am so happy!” Sonia said. “Yay.” Chiaki added in her trademark 'not sure if sincere or not’ tone of voice. “Look at you losers wearing a couple’s costume.” Saionji sneered as she eyed them up and down. Mahiru cleared her throat, “We are too, Hiyoko,” remarking on their Sailor Moon outfits. Saionji pouted, “But it’s cute when we do it!” “It’s too bad Teruteru died in that freak accident involving the helicopter tour over that active volcano, he would have liked to be here right now.” Souda said, idly scratching his head. Tsumiki dropped a piece of food on the floor and bent over to pick it up, showing her rear to everyone, “I’m sorry I’m so clumsy! I’m ruining everyone’s good time! Don’t worry about me!” “It’s okay, no one is worrying about you. No one is thinking about you at all!” Saionji cheered. “Waaaaaaaaah!!” Byakuya shook his head in disdain at Hajime and Nagito. “You’re late for the party, you missed out on donuts. Where are your priorities?” Akane’s mouth was too stuffed to respond, so she waved the last donut at them in greeting instead. Gundham held out his arms, letting his hamsters crawl up into his hands. “My Four Dark Devas are enraged at your tardiness for the most evil night of the year. Now the ritual can begin in earnest. Count yourself lucky that they have chosen not to kill you where you stand.” Peko had the eyes of a predator fixed on Nagito’s fluffy animal costume, while Fuyuhiko grinned and raised a shot glass containing an orange liquid, “Hey guys, come drink up! I brought juice!” Ibuki squealed, “Baby gangster is so adorable, only drinking mixer!” “I don’t need to drink alcohol to be cool!!” Amid all the shouting and arguing, Nagito turned to Hajime, “You know, this might be the best Halloween I’ve ever had.” “Same here. And I think you actually taught me a thing or two about the spirit of giving. Wrong holiday though.” “Yeah, too bad it doesn’t count.” Nagito grinned. “I’ll just have to fill up a stocking for you when Christmas comes around.” “I’d love that, Hajime! I’ve never had a stocking for Christmas before!”

[ofmenoetius]

✖ ▒ OH, WHAT A COINCIDENCE! i was just thinking of [ PATROCLUS SON OF MENOETIUS ]. most swear their resemblance to [ SEAN TEALE ] is unmistakable, but he has / they have been around since the [ BRONZE AGE ]. it is rumoured that the [ DEMIBOY ] was born in [ OPUS ] in the year [ 1205 BC ], even though they don’t look a day over [ THIRTY ]. what a shame, though: they were once famed for being [ HONEST ] and [ PASSIONATE ] ; yet now, they seem more and more [ RESERVED ] and [ MERCURIAL ]. but while [ PATROCLUS ] spends their days working as a [ HARPIST FOR THE LONDINIUM SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA ], they are already notorious around town for [ UNSENT LOVE LETTERS ADDRESSED TO NO ONE ; BANDAGED FINGERS AND CALLOUSED HANDS ; A BEAT UP OLD FLIP PHONE ; THE FAINT SCENT OF COFFEE AND CARDAMOM ]. when you live forever, you might as well make the most of it. 

hi, hello –– i’m bella + also the worst !! this is my baby patroclus who’s one part powerpuff girl, two parts physical embodiment of the eyeroll, and generally just has really bad frown lines from being in a Bad Mood for like thousands of years or whatever. ( will not get botox sadly, someone convince him ) anyway –– i am here for every single plot of every single kind !! just like this and / or hmu on discord @ halaldaddy#3725 !!

TASK ONE : THE RUNDOWN

▼ STATISTICS.

full name: patroclus, son of menoetius.

moniker / nickname: officially goes by patrick in 2020, and he has the fake ids to prove it. generally isn’t the biggest fan of nicknames. 

titles: tbd.

gender && pronouns: demi-boy && he / him + they / them. 

dob && age: april 24th, 1205 BC && really old –– about 3224 years old, give or take, but he’s been thirty for a really long time. 

place of birth: opus, greece. 

previous residences: opus, athens, larissa, cape town, cardiff, inverness, paris, milan, caracas, && londinium –– in that order. 

zodiac sign: taurus. 

ethnicity: white && venezuelan. 

sexual orientation: demisexual. 

romantic orientation: homoromantic. 

occupational history: perpetual soldier, squire, orange farmer, lutist, revolutionary, boxer, harpist. among others. 

▼ PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

face claim: sean teale.

height: 185 cm && 6′2. 

physical build: mesomorph && visibly muscular && painfully straight back from years of his father’s voice still stuck in his head. ( it’s 2020, maybe he really should go to therapy for his daddy issues, but how do you tell a therapist your dad died before the trojan war ?? asking for a friend. )

eye colour and shape: dark brown && hooded, really long lashes which he does oil at night && also lines his eyes with kohl. it’s habit. 

hair colour and style: dark, cropped, usually trimmed neatly. 

usual expression: bored, reluctant smile.

accent and speech style: heavily accented english, but it’s impossible to pin down where he might be from. speaks spanish and greek with more ease than he does english.

distinguishing marks / characteristics: both ear lobes pierced, gold studs in both. a shield tattooed on his left flank. plenty of scars –– one across his right eyebrow, scarred && calloused hands, a very large scar that refused to heal right on his left shoulder. 

clothing style: anything he can find, really ; athletic for the most part, but smart button-downs ( always button-downs, never button ups ) for work. 

jewellery and accessories: a thin, gold chain around his neck ; his an engraved ring hangs from it, tucked away. a deliberate collection of rings on his fingers: a curved edge, yellow gold signet ring from a third-generation foundry in greece ; a classic medusa ring picked up in florence during the renaissance ; a turquoise inlaid silver signet ring ; a silver plated band, worn on his left thumb.

▼ FAMILY.

father: menoetius, deceased ( thank fuck ). 

mother: philomela, deceased. 

siblings, if any: myrto, his sister. 

extended relations: none that he knows. 

significant other(s): achilles && only achilles. it could only ever be achilles.

children: none, except his –– 

household pet(s): he has two tabby cats named menelaus and ajax ( just a little fun joke for himself, okay –– don’t @ him. ) 

▼ FAVOURITES.

colour: gold ; every shade. 

weather: storms –– it reminds him of mornings spent inside, the air sticky and humid, sweat on his upper lip and a laugh on his tongue. 

food item: he’s a vegetarian –– he always has been, especially since he didn’t always have food, especially during the 1100s. so yeah, patroclus isn’t exactly picky –– anything veg and vaguely edible’s fine –– but he does love a vegan burger ( normal cheese, please ). the perks of the 21st century. okay, and he loves green olives. 

beverage: he’s a stereotype, he loves red wine. ( fine, he hates wine –– he likes tequila. )

time of day: late at night, late enough that the streets are quiet and the air feels thin and he can breathe deeply. 

television genre: not that patroclus has time to watch tv –– plus he’s got one of those old picture tube tvs from the dinosaur era –– but he loves a good underwater documentary. and shark week. and the history channel –– he likes to catch what they got wrong. 

favourite era lived: he’d do anything to go back to the day before he died –– anything. to say a proper goodbye, to say all the very many things he’d never said because he thought he had all the time in the world. but also, he really loved the ‘70s in londinium.

▼ PERSONALITY.

hobbies: boxing && reading && falling asleep in the sun. 

pet peeves: people talking in circles && liars. 

phobias: patroclus doesn’t like drowning. he’s died of drowning once && come back from it, but he absolutely hated it. he’ll take anything over it. 

allergies: coffee. which is fine, because patroclus likes green tea anyway. ( well, green tea with like three whole spoonfuls of honey. )

mbti type: isfj – t.

enneagram type: 

35% the challenger.

48% the skeptic.

22% the peacemaker.

positive traits: passionate && honest && loyal && dependable.

negative traits: reserved && mercurial && blunt && pessimistic && headstrong && forlorn.

morning routine: goes for a run every morning before dawn, goes to a boxing class, has breakfast at the bookshop on the way home, and gets to work at least an hour early. it’s boring and it’s too familiar and patroclus wouldn’t change it –– he’d rather have predictable than the alternative. he’s tired of losing people and places and old routines, so he’s holding on to this one until he has to move again in another twenty years.

beauty routine: nothing really ; patroclus keeps his beard neat and his hair trimmed. he oils and curls his lashes, oils his beard. he misses baths –– big baths that you could sit in and just stay in until you pruned. but he only has a shower in his apartment now. 

sleeping habits: patroclus hasn’t slept through the night since before his first death ; nowadays, it’s a few hours of sleep at a time, and plenty of nightmares to keep him company. the good thing is, he’s very used to waking up early –– rather than tossing and turning or watching his ceiling until dawn, he’s up and out of bed. 

oldest belonging: he doesn’t have anything –– nothing. patroclus always leaves things behind, always. it’s easier that way. and sure, he regrets it sometimes. but there’s no use crying over the past, right? not when he has an endless future. 

living space && home: it’s small –– it’s really small. but it has bay windows, a shitty little terrace with doors that the wind knocks open, and plants everywhere. there’s a kingsize mattress on the ground, one set of sheets total and they’re made of cotton-silk. orange, of course.  

INTRODUCTION : tw death ; tw war .

his childhood wasn’t pretty. patroclus was born too skinny, too weak –– maybe not sickly, but he wasn’t wanted. he wasn’t loved. he was born into a war, and his war was his father. his war was his father’s shame. so when he killed another by accident –– in anger, in frustration, by mistake –– his father was more than happy to ship him off ; and somehow, that was the greatest gift his father could have ever given him. thanks, dad. 

it’s been so long, everything feels like a dream. it feels too sunlit and too warm to the touch. it feels too easy. and sure, he can’t remember all that much about it. but he remembers achilles. he remembers being so happy that he felt sick to his stomach. but he doesn’t remember hector’s knife in his stomach or dying that very first time. but he remembers waking up to hades in the underworld, and he remembers the sickening realisation that he could never go back ever again –– he was here, and he was alive, and he still had to leave everything he once knew behind. 

patroclus didn’t want money or fame ; he’d only ever wanted a love to call his own and a place to call his home. and since he’d lost both already, he was tired. so he went off to work on an orange farm, right at the edge of the world –– or well, the edge of his world. he was still in greece, news travelling to them every few months or years, and it was alright. he was away from the rest of the world, labouring under the cruel sun and sleeping into the cool night, and waking up to do it all over again. he smiled at the kids on his way into town and gave them an armful of oranges each. and then when people began to wonder whywhywhy he wasn’t aging, patroclus moved on to the next village –– and then the next, and then the next. 

it was 1465 + he was in florence when he saw a lute again –– a laugh escaping him before he could start to remember when he last laughed out loud. it reminded him of home, of a long time ago. so he began to play for money and food and a place to stay. and it took him all over the world –– meeting people who’d die before he’d reach his next destination and learning things he’d never be able to forget. 

going to war became a habit. the crusades, the gallic wars, the jacobite rising, the war of the roses, the french revolution, the seven weeks war, world war i, the russian revolution, world war ii, and so very many more –– patroclus wasn’t really fighting, but he was trying. he was trying to make sure some good came out of them, that there was some death that he could stop, some blows he could take if it meant another lived. but at some point, he just couldn’t keep doing it anymore. his heart hurt and his nightmares followed him in the daylight. 

now, well –– he’s a harpist for the londinium symphony. patroclus has been her for all of about 12 years now ; he doesn’t want to move, not yet. but throughout his many, many lifetimes, he’s perfected and loved the harp –– it’s the only thing he recognises in this brave new world, and he’s going to hang onto it for as long as he can. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

survival of the stubborn: a mentor, someone patroclus met after a long, long time of being immortal, but someone who taught him to stop being completely miserable and enjoy the time they have. if it wasn’t for this person, patroclus probably wouldn’t have lasted all that long.

death becomes you: immortal friends ; the gang, the squad. the ride or dies –– so to speak. they can go decades without talking or meeting, but they get together again every fifty years and know they can rely on each other. plus, they can literally whatsapp each other now –– like, what. 

orange you glad to see me: he worked on an orange farm in greece after their first death in about 1200 BC, and met this person there. maybe this person owned the farm, maybe this person was just a guest of the owners, maybe they also worked on the farm, or maybe they just met each other in the village nearby –– but they met again years and years and years later and it was a lowkey lightbulb moment of oh, so i’m not alone out here for patroclus !! 

please turn the music off: musician friends + members of the orchestra ( mortal or immortal ) + anyone who’s into music and they might have met each other over the years !! perhaps a mentor or maybe they even totally hate each other, but just about any type of music relation !!

encore, encore: patroclus worked / played in a few different courts over the years –– always the lute or harp –– so this might be someone he might have played for !! 

tequila’s my best friend: drinking buddies !! what it says on the tin. patroclus is a miserable drinker, usually ends up spilling all of his secrets, sometimes ends up breaking things. 

the war followed me back home: patroclus served in plenty of wars until 1950 –– far too many, with new names and new titles and new ranks every time. to do some good in the world. or maybe they were just chasing their first death at hector’s hands. either way –– this is someone they might have served with !! could be a commanding officer ; a fellow soldier ; or even a doctor / nurse !!

old enemies, new friends: people he just doesn’t get along with. at all. ever. they’re always hated each other, maybe they even killed each other a few times, but just some sort of enemies !!

more to be added !!

[xxbyimm]

Enya’s unexpected journey - Chapter 23

For other chapters of this Journey: Enya’s unexpected journey. Or check out my Masterlist! 

I have nothing to say for myself. It took me 840237423 years to get this right, but here it finallly is! I hope you enjoy!! 

Chapter 23

Summary: Smaug attacks Laketown. But did he really think that a certain fire-witch with a short temper would allow him to?

Warnings: Enya being a badass... 

‘We are immortal We rise from the wraith We are eternal You are my blood legion My faith’

‘- I’LL SHOW YOU REVENGE!’

Smaug’s mighty, deafening roar rung through the hall. Still covered in the gold that Thorin had let come down on him, the fire-drake strode towards the other end of the great hall. His claws pounded into the floor, making the entire mountain shudder on its foundations. Sand and other rubble came down from the ceiling, covering the room and everyone in it, in dust. The dragon did not seem to notice and merely charged at the stone wall where once the main gate had been. The stone rumbled violently as it got crushed into nothing. The beast was loose. The silence that followed was quickly replaced by a strong wind that raged through the space. Its whistles got drown out by yet another, more malicious howl from the dragon. A heavy, flapping sound followed.

Wings.

Fuck! Enya opened her eyes. Although all her senses were on edge, she couldn’t seem to focus. The world was one big, glittering blur. In the distance, chains were clanging and a series of harsh Khuzdul curse words battered her ears. Slowly, she got up and regarded the huge opening where the sealed main gate had been in just minutes ago.

No. It had escaped Erebor.

She had failed.

Her feet seemed to have gained a life of their own as they started to move towards the gate, ignoring the jolts of pain that shot through her body with every step. She mumbled an apology when she almost tripped over the halfling, though he didn’t even seem to notice her. The poor chap had collapsed against the wall of the balcony and was staring into nothingness. There was molten gold everywhere, making the floor treacherously slick. The yellow liquid shimmered in the light, hurting her eyes. Enya winced when she slipped onto her knees. Her hands sunk into the molten layer and she heaved herself up, smearing the gold onto her breeches before pursuing her target again.

In hindsight, she should have known that slaying a mighty beast like Smaug was a dangerous, if not impossible- task. A fire-breathing, flying dragon was immune to flames and neither her air-bending skills nor her water powers alone were enough to kill. Smaugs’ hide was one of the toughest of its kind and the cunning nature of the beast made him hard to deceive. Although earth-bending could have been useful enough to choke the big beast to death, she had failed the one opportunity she got. She doubted she would get a second chance.

There was nothing for it. She had to use the last trick she had up her sleeve. If she didn’t, she would never be able to look Bard in the eye again. She promised him she’d give it her all. She had to try. Enya gritted her teeth. She needed free access to the lake, which meant she had to reach one of the higher levels around Erebor. Since the top of the lonely mountain would be a tad dramatic (and impossible to climb this fast), she had to settle with the second option.

She rushed past the gate, her eyes fixed upon the sky. Hundredths of meters before her, Smaug was soaring through the sky. Beneath him, Laketown was already burning. Enya’s breath hitched. Oh Bard… She broke into a run, her mind was solely fixed on the upcoming task.

Bring down the dragon.

Finally she had reached the overlook, standing in the exact spot she had been in during her vision. Her heart was hammering in her chest, blood pulsating through her veins. Smoke and fire blocked her view this time, but the cries of men and mighty roars from the dragon told her the fire-drake was very much still wreaking havoc on Laketown. She ignored her legs that were trembling and spread her hands. The smoke obliged and drifted away.

Nothing, not even her vision, could have prepared her for the chaos and devastation that was going on down below. Smaug was hovering over the town, setting fire to the few bits that somehow had managed to escape his fiery breath. The people that were still alive tried to get away using their boats, but the dragon made sure no one could reach the shore, as he caught up with them and destroyed their lives with one blow from his enormous claws. Enya swallowed hard. This was her fault.

A mighty rumble roared in the distance. She watched the huge dark clouds gathering above the hills on the other side of the lake. This was it. The storm was coming and this time, she was going to catch it. Her voice was no more than a whisper. ‘Come to me…’

‘ENYA!’

His voice was hoarse, sounding like he was on the brink of desperation. She turned on her heels, all focus suddenly forgotten.

Oh Thorin Oakenshield… she should have known. She should have made sure he stayed within the safeness of the walls. Of course he had gone after her. He would always come after her.

‘What do you think you’re doing!’ Thorin roared when he finally caught up with her. His hand enclosed her waist and he roughly pulled her against his chest. ‘It’s not safe outside!’

No, it’s not. For you.

‘Let go!’ she resounded while she tried to push him away, but Thorin was too strong for her. Enya gritted her teeth and tried to wriggle herself free. ‘You have to understand!’ she seethed. ‘I have to do this!’ ‘It’s too dangerous, and you proved that already.’ The king growled lowly as he pulled her with him. When she didn’t budge, he heaved a sigh and with ease he lifted her in his arms. ‘With or without your consent, you’re going back. Now.’ ‘Thorin!’ She rebuked fiercely, flames licking her palms. ‘Let me do my job!’

Across the lake, a flash of lightning struck. The king glanced up and hesitated for a moment, his eyes swelling with emotion before a harsh and determined look came over him. ‘No.’ ‘Put me down.’ Enya ordered again. Thorin turned and started moving towards Dale. ‘I will not do such a thing.’ ‘You idiot!’ she raged, but no matter how badly she struggled, he still held her firmly in his grasp. ‘Don’t you hear them? The people are dying out there!’ ‘I don’t care about the people.’ ‘Excuse me?!’ she cried out. ‘Did you really just say that you don’t care about the numerous lives this foul thing has taken already, just like it devoured the lives of your own kin decades ago? Didn’t you give a fuck back then too?!’ He came abruptly to an halt, his furious scowl chilling her to the bone. ‘What did you say?!’ She hit a nerve, like she knew she would. Enya licked her lips. ‘Just put me down.’ ‘No.’ He hissed. ‘I dare you to repeat that.’

She couldn’t bear to lash out like that again. Instead, her hands moved to cup his cheeks. Thorin was watching her with a livid expression displayed in his eyes, but he didn’t recoil from her touch. The bristles of his beard were rough against the soft skin of her fingers. Her touch left a faint trace of molten gold. His jaw was set in a harsh, determined line, lips pressed together. His chest was heaving up and down. Even when he was a mess like this, all sweaty and a mixture of gold and coal smeared across his face, she couldn’t imagine someone more perfect. He was her universe, her moon and her stars. She would never find a love like this again, nor would she ever long for another. Enya moved forward and pressed a gentle kiss on his unrelenting lips. ‘I should not have said it in the first place.’ She said softly. ‘I know how it devastated you. I’m sorry.’

Finally, Thorin lowered her down. But if she thought he would have let her go already, she was mistaken. Instead his arms slipped further around her waist, slamming her against his broad chest. Eyes locked, sapphire connecting with icy blue. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips.

‘I can’t lose more.’ His confession hadn’t been more than a low hiss, but she heard him loud and clear. Enya gestured shortly at the devastation that was going on behind them. ‘But I have to try. It’s our fault Smaug is on the loose. We should pay the price. Not them. They have done nothing wrong.’ ‘That’s debatable.’ ‘Thorin-’ ‘But if anyone should pay, it’s me.’ he muttered. Although he was still giving her a glowering look, his expression had softened a little. ‘Not you.’ She shrugged. ‘Erebor needs its’ king. I’m just a pawn in the game.’ ‘You’re not and you know that.’ ‘Not even in the beginning?’ Thorin inhaled sharply. ‘Do not mock me.’

A violent gush of wind almost blew them off their feet. Smaug had just passed them and there was no telling if he had noticed them. Thorin’s protecting hands grasped her to keep her in place, but reality had already crept through their bubble. The stench of burned wood and flesh burned through Enya’s nostrils and it made her gag.

Oh god, they had fucked up royally. They should never have entered the mountain, never should she have allowed Thorin to wake the monster. She should have heeded Bard’s warning and make everyone turn around. It have had been her who hadn’t been powerful enough to stop the fire-drake, as she allowed her love for Thorin to make her vulnerable to distraction. Deception. She failed her promise, and now the people were paying for her stupidity. And if that knowledge wasn’t bad enough, she was sure that Smaug would return to Erebor and finish the job. The beast would hunt Thorin down, and kill him. If that was their ultimate fate, she would take every effort to save his life. She would pay every cost. Even if it meant giving up her own life.

Another rumble roared above the lake. A faint smile curled her lips, her fingers caressing his chest. The moment had come. It was time for him to leave.

‘You have to go.’ ‘But what if…’ he began, but he then quickly swallowed his words as he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. ‘I don’t know.’ She replied truthfully, not daring to look up. Her eyes were glued to his chest, her fingers trailing the v-line of his tunic. The liquified gold on her palms still left its’ traces. ‘There is no choice…’ she murmured. ‘At least, not for me. My life means nothing compared to the lives of a whole town.’ His growl was hoarse. ‘Don’t.’ ‘It’s the truth, Thorin.’ Her eyes flashed up to his face. ‘Tell me, why would my life be worth more than hundreds of others? Just because I happen to have royal blood I wasn’t even aware of for most of my life?’ Thorin opened and closed his mouth. ‘Besides, I am one of few who actually have a fair chance against Smaug.’ Enya went on. ‘And if I have to bet between me and Bard’s black arrow...’ ‘What?!’ Thorin gulped. ‘The bowman has a black arrow?!’ ‘I’d choose me.’ she continued. ‘No. The bowman-’ ‘No Thorin.’ She insisted. ‘I trust that I’m strong enough. But then you have to trust me enough to let go.’

Thorin swallowed hard. His muscles were strained and she could almost see the mental battle raging in his mind. Protecting her against harm had always been a top priority for him and now she asked for maybe even more than he could give her. But there wasn’t a choice, not really. ‘I won’t forgive myself.’ Thorin finally murmured. ‘If you. Die.’ ‘Then it’s simple.’ She breathed. ‘I won’t.’ ‘But-’ ‘You have no choice.’ She told him. ‘Either you go back to Erebor yourself, or I will bring you.’

He gave her a soft glance. His sapphire eyes were brimming with emotion, still silently pleading her not to. His fingers reached for her face, gently brushing a few loose strands of hair away. ‘Do what you have to do.’ He finally rasped. Enya nodded slowly. ‘And should I fail…’ The king winced. ‘If I do.’ She insisted. ‘Make sure that bastard pays for all he has done.’ ‘How?’ Enya reached for her necklace and opened the lock. ‘No!’ Thorin protested heavily when she slipped it around his neck and secured it. ‘That’s yours!’ ‘Just to keep it safe.’ She told him. ‘But if shit hits the fan...’ ‘Blueheart.’ ‘Then you should head to Nogrod.’ She continued. ‘I believe this locket can-’

His lips claimed hers before she could share her thoughts, capturing her in a rough kiss. Sparks flared up in her stomach, spreading through her like wildfire. Thorin’s arms were shielding her from the cruel, outside world, his mouth pulling her into the realm of sheer pleasure instead. He didn’t know how badly she wanted to stay there and drown in his offerings, but...

With a groan, she tore herself away.

‘Enya.’ His tone was gentle, almost purring. The velvet baritone enwrapped her soul, soothing her fears. ‘Go.’ She said, while using the last moments to take in his gorgeous face. Her fingers followed his strong jawline and she moved closer to press a soft kiss on his lips.

He nodded and their hands slipped away when he took a step back. As he stood there, he seemed calm, subdued even- but only his eyes betrayed the depth of the emotions swirling under the surface. She knew there was nothing she could say to make them feel better about this. She didn’t even know if they would meet again.

‘OAKENSHIELD!’ Enya turned, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Smaug flying towards them. Oh fuck. So he had seen them after all, and now she was the only thing that stood between Thorin and death.

‘GO!’ Without thinking, she blew her One out of the way. Thorin gasped as a sudden gush of wind swept him off his feet, taking him backwards to the safe walls Erebor. ‘Give him a soft landing, please.’ Enya murmured while her hands crafted a huge wall between the dragon and his target.

Seconds later she watched as that same defense was crashed into nothingness when one fire-drake flew into it with a menacingly growl. Stone and rubble flew into every direction, covering the grounds with dust. Amidst the chaos, Enya saw a tiny figure struggling to stand upright. She quickly rose her hands to create a tunnel around the king, shutting him off from the grounds and leading him to safety. He probably was cursing her stubborn ass for once this time, she thought with a faint smile.

‘You again.’ Smaug hissed. He was standing amidst the rubble, eyeing her like prey. Though her initial plan had been to burn this fucker from the sky, she had to admit that facing him head to head was far more satisfying. Without destroying the lonely mountain in the process, of course. So with a smile, she saluted. ‘Hello to you too, oh Smaug the stupendous.’

Somewhere across the lake, lightning struck.

The fire-drake didn’t seem to notice. His muzzle was distorted in an awful grin. ‘You’ve got a lot of nerve, facing me like this again. Though I admire your persistency, you have nothing left to offer me. Prepare to die.’ ‘Someday I will, but not by your hand.’ Enya said matter-of-factly. Water started to trickle from her palms, pooling at her feet. Her body was on edge, feet at the ready. She knew that within moments, Smaug would launch his attack.

A scream escaped her when the dragon’s head suddenly shot forward and met her hailstorm. The beast howled in pain as the tiny, sharpened icicles met their mark. Enya jumped from the edge of the overlook and rushed towards the lake. As she ran, she heard wings rushing, telling her the dragon was ascending from the ground in pursue of his enemy. Without looking behind her, Enya sent another wave of fire and ice his way. A low hiss followed.

She made it to the lake safely. With a snap from her fingers, most of the water froze, leaving the parts of Laketown untouched. There was no time to regard the devastation going on up close, for the vile laugh of Smaug echoed through her being. The hairs on her arms stood up, her heart hammered in her chest. Suddenly, she felt an strong urge to run for it.

But hell! No son of Durin nor one from the Blueheart family flees from a fight. So instead, she held her ground and faced the fire-drake as he was now hoovering over her. His massive wings created a nasty wind that surely had knocked her off her feet if she hadn’t secured herself on the ice.

‘The longer I know you, the better I understand you have no idea what you’re dealing with!’ The dragon cackled, clearly pleased with himself. Enya grimaced when the beast’s vile breath reached her nostrils.

Oh dear God. Someone still really needed to brush his teeth.

‘I know exactly what I’m dealing with.’ Enya countered. ‘You’re just a tiny lizard who needs to give back what he stole.’ ‘Oh, I am trembling with fear!’ Smaug nagged her. ‘No. I meant Oakenshield and his One.’

Ah, there it was again. The Arkenstone. ‘Or perhaps Dolvira?’ Her mind gulped. Enya heaved a sigh. This wasn’t the time to worry about cockroaches, nor the king’s jewel. She took a deep breath as the ice beneath her grew, rising her up high. Welcome to the real world, brain. There was no time to worry about heights either.

Smaug had suspected the move and he seared through the sky towards her, claws at the ready. Enya’s fingers moved and strands of rope appeared, weaving themselves into a web. The fire-drake roared with hatred when he understood what she was doing, but it was too late to change course. When the beast nearly met her net, Enya jumped. The ice that had steadied her cracked. Another ice structure, the top filled with snow, arose. She landed rather softly, though her trembling body would beg to differ.

She watched as Smaug flew right into her trap. He raged as the web closed itself behind him. His claws scraped against the rope, but whenever one broke, two grew back. He then unleashed his fire, but quickly concluded that his cage was quite fire resistant. The dragon’s eyes turned to his nemesis, watching her with intense hatred. ‘What?!’ Enya pestered. ‘Don’t like your new home?’

A flash hit behind her on the frozen lake. Although she could not directly see it, she did see the light reflect into the dragon’s eyes. The rumble followed and roared violently in the air.

At last. The storm had obeyed her call and came to her aid. Enya kept watching the trapped dragon, knowing that seeing the actual tempest would do nothing to calm her mind. She had to trust her instincts with this one. Instead, she took a deep breath and braced herself. Feet grounded into the ice and hands at the ready, she waited. Around her the air grew static. Anticipation surged through her body. Only her legs were slightly shaking, betraying how nervous she was. Smaug was suspiciously silent, though his golden eyes glittered maliciously. Enya briefly wondered if he knew what was coming, what she vowed to do… While her own heart was hammering in her chest, the fire-drake seemed totally calm. Enya swallowed hard. If Smaug wasn’t afraid of what was to come, she had to keep herself together too and channel the fuck of out that lightning. She was nearly there... She just had to...

Then it struck.

It was everything and yet nothing like she had expected. Power in its purest form entered the tips of her fingers and surged through her flesh into her hands, scorching it to the bone. She was ablaze in the deepest pits of hell, ever burning- never resting. She was bright and beautiful, but also dangerous and in excruciating pain. It wasn’t surprising that many warlocks and witches before her hadn’t even dared to try to channel nature in its’ purest form, or died in action. It was a fine line that she now too had to walk, allowing the storm to consume her but containing it at the same time.

The stench of her own scorched skin burned through her nostrils. Enya screeched. Her voice sounded like an animal in mortal agony, so distorted yet profound- it didn’t feel like her own. The lightning bolts vibrated as they went, up her arms and reaching her neck. It felt like a thousand claws were scraping her skin, peeling the layers of her being away and leaving her vulnerable for the cruel outside world. There was no focus. Just pain. And though her soul would have taken it, all that trauma and agony, her body just couldn’t.

First, her legs gave in and Enya crashed down on the ice. Her hands were still raised, like she was praying to some divine creature high in the sky. The storm raged through her, shaking her from head to toe. Everything hurt. She was burning, her heart bouncing in an unusual, irregular rhythm. Soon, it would not beat at all. She watched the dragon, still caught up in his trap. No. There was no giving up. Fire danced in her eyes, ready for her last defense. The cage was already burning. She could hear the soft hiss from her fire, calling for her aid… It needed her spark. If she would just redirect this massive force surging through her, if she…

A sharp jolt in her chest made her cower and instinctively, she knew. ‘NO!’ she cried.

She couldn’t. There was no way she could allow the lightning bolts to take all of her, just as she wasn’t ready to take all the force in return. If she did so, her heart would perish… Maybe even before completing her task. There had to be another way. She had to let go. With all the might she possessed, she dragged herself to the ground and curled up in a ball. Ice crackled as it grew steadily around its’ mistress, protecting her from any harm to come. Enya hissed as the cold soothed her wounded skin. The frozen lake rumbled as one huge fire-drake was fighting its’ cage. Enya closed her eyes for a moment. She had an inkling that her lack of focus had weakened the rope, but she couldn’t decide if she should regain a bit of strength before facing Smaug again, or move while he was still loosely detained.

The decision was made for her. Next thing she knew, her safe haven was hurled up and thrown down again. As she crashed on the frozen lake, her defense splintered away and left her bare to the world. As quickly as she could, Enya scrambled herself together and started to crawl away. Tears blurred her vision, but Smaug’s laughter drummed in her ears anyway. ‘I knew you couldn’t take it!’ he cackled above her. ‘You’re weak, Enya Blueheart. Weak! Like your king.’ ‘I’m not.’ She whispered softly, while watching her shaking hands. She could barely hold herself. ‘Not. weak.’

‘FACE ME!’ the dragon shrieked. As much as she would want to face the vile creature, she couldn’t. The wounds on her body simmered, sounds around her distorted into hollow echoes. Her vision clouded. A howl left her soul when one of the fire-drake’s claws grabbed her broken physique and roughly turned her over.

And as she lied there on her back, taking in the frightening features of the dragon, she realized that even in his evil- and angriness, Smaug was a magnificent beast. Deadly cunning and majestic at the same time. In truth, Enya loved all animals, even the true monstrosities among them. It was a shame the fire-drake was so vile, because she would have loved to have a huge dragon of her own. On that note… Was evil born or made? She couldn’t tell. ‘I’m sorry your life turned out this way.’ She murmured. The dragon sent her a deadly glare. ‘Save me your pity.’ He spat while his claws dug into her flesh. ‘Better worry about your own fate.’ Enya wailed. Her eyes lost focus and they fell shut.

‘I can’t decide whether I want to smash you with my mighty claws or burn you to death.’ The dragon mused. ‘Perhaps I should eat you and see if I can taste your fear.’

She wanted to tell the beast yet again that she wasn’t weak or afraid, but her body refused any action. What was left was an overcoming weariness. So this was it… At last the end had come. Now all she had to do, was wait until she met her fate.

‘You know, I’m actually doing you a favor.’ Smaug purred on, not seeming to feel her desire to end it already. ‘Oakenshield will never choose you over the Arkenstone, as his love for it is too fierce. Think of it like this: I’m sparing you all that misery.’ Enya felt his vile breath on her face and waited patiently for the final ache. It never came. Instead, everything seemed to happen as once.

First there was a low whistling sound which could remind someone of an arrow, but much bigger. Then, the fire-drake howled in pain as something hit him with a nauseating smack. Enya was freed from his firm grip, though one of his massive claws left a deep cut on her left leg. Blood welled from the gap. Her eyes flung open. Smaug was hovering over her, but he seemed too occupied with the thing that had protruded his back to notice her freedom.

Enya’s hands shot forward and an avalanche of snow and earth tossed the dragon into the sky. Smaug growled furiously. He turned and tried to find his balance again, but that proved not to be easy. The beast cried out, his howl reverberating over the frozen lake. His hind legs were hanging uselessly under his body. The tail followed suit.

The fire-drake flapped his wings furiously in an attempt to steer himself towards Laketown. It was painful to watch. Enya noticed the large arrow on Smaug’s back and by the looks of it, it had penetrated deep into the spine. That clever bowman… Bard was an excellent archer, she had to give him that. Paralyzing a dragon from the legs down wasn’t an easy job. Enya lied on her back, panting heavily and feeling relieved the attention wasn’t on her for a second. She watched Smaug tumbling in the sky. He could barely carry his weight anymore, but somehow he still managed to make the way to the burning city. He reminded her a bit of a drunk truckdriver who had lost control of the steering wheel. The landing would surely be ugly.

But then it daunted on her. Oh Mahal, hadn’t Bard said there was only one black arrow left? Though the arrow had wounded the beast to a great extent, it wouldn’t protect against a wrath of fire…Oh Bard… Somewhere she found the strength to heave herself up and sit. A shudder went through her when she regarded the state of her poor hands. The skin had a fiery red color and she was covered in blisters. She winced and then forced herself to stand.

In the distance, she heard a small rumble.

Laketown was an absolute, burning mess. Smaug was nearing a certain part of the city and Enya could see a little figure standing at the bell tower. Or… should she say… there were once had been a bell tower? The dragon hissed angrily and Enya swallowed hard. A soft gush of wind passed behind her right ear, humming softly. It was so quiet she barely understood the words, but suddenly all became clear. ‘Let go…’

She nodded slowly. All that talk of taking control, the need to be stable enough to yield all of her powers. The fear of death, the guilt over the lives of others. Yes, it all was important to her, as it should be. But the most vital part she always had overlooked in life, was acceptance. Trust, in her own resilience. Faith, in the ways of the universe. Maybe she would die. Maybe she wouldn’t. Only time could tell. There were no guarantees when she was using powerful sources like this. She could only guide it the way she thought would be best. She was the vessel and pain was her penance. Nothing less, nothing more. She had to let go, it was imperative to her success.

Her fingers moved. The lake shook and with a loud roar, a dome like shape appeared all over Laketown. The dragon yelped as it was, once again, pushed away by a force of earth and ice. He crashed down on the roof, where he wearily continued with a next attempt to rid himself from the black arrow. ‘Oh no, my friend.’ She thought. This was do or die now.

Her cry echoed over the lake. ‘HEY!’

Dead silence followed. Smaug looked up from his place on top of the dome and he hissed furiously. ‘You. You did this.’ ‘Yes! Me.’ Enya screamed. ‘You see, you’re wrong! I am many things. But weak… WEAK ISN’T ONE OF THEM!’ The fire-drake growled and tried to ascended into the sky, ready for the last strike. But his hind legs couldn’t support him and he helplessly flapped his wings like a fish out of water. Enya smiled. Though her body felt broken and every fiber of her being feared the ache that had to come, her mind was calm. So there it was. A paralyzed dragon against a severely burned fire-witch. Who would you bet on?

‘I’m yours.’ She whispered at the dark clouds that gathered above her. ‘And you’re mine. Let me guide you. Come and get me. Now’

With a yell she shoved the dragon into the sky, giving him a head start. Smaug roared, probably seething with rage because of her obvious pity and he flew towards her. And as the dragon made his way across the lake towards his opponent, lightning struck. It consumed her being, relaunched her into the deepest pit of hell, but she did not care. If she was to burn, Smaug would burn with her. So without thinking, she directed her hands at her target.

In the corner of her eye, a life-sized figurine made of fire appeared. ‘We’ll help you.’ She whispered in Enya’s ear. Her voice sounded eerily like Enya’s own, but yet more… unpolished, raw. ‘Yeah.’ Another, a slightly deeper tone added and the soft thud of something heavy supported her on her left side. ‘You were never alone, En.’ ‘Hold on, honey.’ The third hummed, so soft it was barely noticeable. It whirled around her. ‘You’re doing just fine.’

‘We’ll take it, ladies.’ A fourth, singing voice joined. Enya felt it steadying her feet. ‘Let’s do this. Together!’

Thank you so much for reading my humble story. Feedback is always welcome.  Next up... the goldsickness! Our hearts ain’t gonna like it, ready to get crushed?

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[paulvibe]

The Assistant (Paul McCartney x Reader) Pt. 4

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: Drug use, Sexual themes, Smut!!

A/N: hi! enjoy ;)

September 1968

After last weeks fiasco with Klein, you’d avoided Paul almost entirely. He could tell something was wrong, but never made a conscious effort to ask. In the meantime, he’d started to bring Linda to the studio almost everyday. She was like a little sliver caught under your skin you just couldn’t pick out. The sad thing is, you used to like Linda. You, her and Pattie would often get lunch together. Was this Paul’s fault? Yeah, maybe... it seemed that way. 

Everybody was already at the studio. However, you guys were in a small conference room waiting for more people to arrive. All the boys were dressed nice, in blazers, suits, and vests. Today was the day they were revising their contracts. Lawyers, managers, the whole big thing. You could feel their nerves, and no one dared to speak. You were standing near the door, John sat at the opposite end of the table, Ringo next to him. George was standing next to the windows and Paul was on the other side of the table away from the rest. 

“How’re we feeling?” You asked, surveying each of their faces. John scoffed and rolled his eyes. You were a little hurt by it, but brushed it off looking at the others.

“As good as we can be, darling.” Ringo spoke, his tone was a little dreary. You began to feel worse; they truly looked miserable… and to think only two years ago they were on top of the world. Rain started to patter against the windows, covering the silence with some white noise. You sighed, taking a seat against the wall away from the table. 

--

The meeting lasted nearly two and a half hours. You took notes when told to, as well as made tea and food runs. When the boys would get too heated over some negotiations Klein had to whistle loudly to interrupt any voices. You also helped the boys calm down and focus on the course of action. With all the people yelling, throwing fits, and causing trouble, by the end of it you were nearly exhausted. But, glad they had finally come to an agreement. Paul was going to leave a day after the last concert they had scheduled on the 30th of January; John around the same time. Both Ringo and George were also to leave, officially disbanding the Beatles. Though, that was still four months into the future. 

As everyone was leaving, Paul and you stayed behind cleaning up the conference room. He was quiet, gathering papers and pushing in chairs. Since you’d been ignoring him all week-- due to Kleins orders-- it felt weird to finally have a moment alone. Once he’d finished assembling his things, he walked passed you to the door. His hand, however, in passing, lingered on your lower back. You wanted so badly to speak to him, but when you opened your mouth, you couldn’t find the words. Just before the man opened the door to exit, he turned to face you. You could tell the meeting not only wore you, but Paul as well. 

“I’m throwing a party tonight, just for fun. I'd like for you to be there.” He focused on your face, a gentle innocent glance. You could feel your cheeks heating up as you stuttered out an answer. 

“I-I’d love to.” 

“I'll-” The man paused, his eyes looking you up and down as though you were a piece of candy, “See you there.” His gaze lingered on your body before he exited the conference room.

‘Now hold up,’ Your conscious spoke before you could gather yourself. ‘You just agreed to go to a party, which Paul will be at… and possibly Linda as well... Fool.’ ‘Well, it could be fun anyway.’ The otherside of your brain argued back. You let out a huff and quickly left the conference room.

--

You showed to Paul's home shortly after 8 P.M.-- of course, after battling your mind for hours whether or not to attend. The man had a valet service set up so they took your car to spare parking behind the lot. The home was already bursting with life and music as you passed through his garden to the front door. You entered the home, not bothering to knock, and immediately greeted packs of people mingling. Pushing passed the hot bodies, you kept scanning every open space you could to find the man. You’d ended up seeing a few of the crew, and even Mick Jagger with Keith Richards and Jim Morrison. You knew Paul was friends with them, but certainly wasn’t expecting that. 

You kept pushing forward, and did a loop around the home before the host finally appeared. He had a cigarette in hand-- though you weren’t sure if it was tobacco or another substance-- and a drink in the other while socializing with a few people you didn’t know. He must’ve heard you footsteps because he turned just as you got up to the group.

“Ah, love, I’m so glad you came.” Paul smiled. He leaned down, kissing your cheeks before quickly excusing himself from the group. The man was tispy; you could tell by how touchy he was. One of his arms snaked it’s way over your shoulder, and began guiding the two of you away from the crowds. He opened a door which led to his small study, and then followed in behind you, firmly closing it. To your surprise, nobody had taken the room for sex or drugs yet. 

“I just wanted to get somewhere quiet.” He commented, sitting on the tufted couch. You couldn’t help but notice his eyes as he scanned you up and down, and the subtle lip bite as well. You’d chosen a more revealing outfit tonight, wearing a pair of yellow pants with a collared, black crop top, tied in the front, as well as a large faux fur coat. He had changed from earlier also, now donning more casual clothes. He wore black slacks, with a pair of loafers and on top, a long sleeved red shirt. His hair was comb slicked back, and his beard was neat as well. 

“You’ve got quite the company out there.” You spoke with a snort as you shucked off your large coat, and started to walk around the room. Your fingers grazed the books he had on built in shelves. Paul’s study was your favorite room in his house. On one wall, there was a fireplace with two built in bookshelves on the sides of it; and a large dark oak desk was to the left against the wall. In the middle of the room, in front of the fireplace, was the seating area with one couch, a armchair, and coffee table. Paintings hung on the walls added a bit of life, and Paul’d even had a few guitars hung next to them as well. Two lamps lit the room just enough, as well as the fire which had been turned on to combat the cold air outside.

“Yes, well, it’s out of my control now.” He took another swig from the beer bottle, then relit the cigarette in his grasp and took a drag. You circled the room before sitting on a small tufted chair to the right of Paul. He reached out his hand, giving you the cigarette. Upon closer inspection, you saw it wasn’t a cigarette, but a joint rolled with papers that mimicked cigarette wrapping. 

“Clever,” You commented, then took a long puff from it. Paul watched you as you did so; he always liked the way your lips looked wrapped around things. His eyes, dark in the dim lighting of lamps, gazed at you; nearly burning a hole in the side of your face. You looked back at him, feeling butterflies erupt as you passed the marijuana cigarette back. His fingers grazing yours caused even more nerves to light up.

“I didn’t think you were going to show.” He added, taking a drag. You began to feel the affects of the marijuana, making the world seem in slow motion. 

“Yeah, well…” You started but trailed off.

“You’ve seemed distant this week, darling.” Paul sat up, and leaned towards your figure a little more as he passed you the joint. A sigh escaped your lips before you took a puff and answered him.

“It’s Klein. After the press conference, he told me to leave you alone. Except if you need me to do assistant work.”

“That dirty man. He’s always been skeevy.” Venom laced Paul’s tone as he drank from the bottle, then wiped his mouth. You nodded in agreement and glanced around the room once more before asking.

“Where’s Linda?” 

“She has business in New York.” He responded. You felt your heart-rate pick up and bit the inside of your cheek as a response. So, you were alone? 

“Ah,” You spoke, hiding your excitement.

 The two of you continued to chat, as well as pass the joint. Paul even left at one point to go gather some more marijuana and rolling papers. It was getting more and more hot in the room, but you didn’t mind. It gave you an excuse to wear your skimpy outfit. You hadn’t even known how much time had passed, but occasionally the two of you would hear the party rage on. 

Once you felt sufficiently stoned, you two sat in silence. By now, you’d moved so you were both sitting on the couch, instead of opposite chairs. With each movement, you two had scooted closer until your legs were touching from knee to hip. You looked into his eyes, the firelight causing them to shine brighter.

Paul looked at you through his black lashes. His doe like eyes seemed more intense in the dim lighting. The two of you sat cross legged on the floor, facing the other. Smoke swirled in and out of your vision and around Paul as well. Music could be heard, but was distant as you two were in a private section of the home. You took a puff off of a half smoked marijuana cigarette and made eye contact with the man as you performed a simple French inhale trick. His eyes focused on your lips, causing his to gently part in return. You could feel his energy in your hazy state. He wanted you, he wanted you so bad. 

Your sitting bodies felt electric together causing your heart to beat faster. Paul leaned towards your figure, a sensual expression across his face. You shifted your weight, leaning closer to him as well. His eyes glanced down at your chest gazing delightfully at your cleavage. It only gave you confidence as you rest your hand on the man's leg. His eyes came back up to meet yours as he finally connected your lips. You put your hands on the sides of his face, holding him there as you switched your position; as Paul sat cross-legged on the floor you straddled his lap still keeping the kiss going. You eventually broke the kiss, grabbing the Joint from a random ashtray you set it on. Still sitting in Paul’s lap, you relit it and took a large drag before handing it  over to the man in front of you. He too took a long puff before setting it back onto the ashtray.

His hands then moved and melded firm on your bum, as he didn’t want you to get away. You two began to kiss again, though it ended up morphing itself into a heated makeout. Your hands found their way to Paul’s jeans; slyly unbuckling his belt and with one motion undoing his button as well.  Your hand began to explore, finding his member semi hard and still tucked away behind his underwear.

In the meantime, Paul’s hands found their way to the zipper of your dress, he’d managed to unzip it entirely and then unclasp your bra as well. You broke the kiss while he pulled the apparel and undergarment off, freeing your breasts and leaving you in panties and socks. You’d skipped stockings tonight, having a knowing feeling about the events that were occurring. Paul’s mouth was swift to latch onto your breast. His tongue swirled your nipple, occasionally flicking it with the muscle.  The sensation only fueled the fire down south, and you began to grind against the man; underwearing being the only thing separating skin. You grabbed the Marijuana cigarette again, finding it still burning, you placed it between your lips and took another pull, blowing smoke around the man between your breasts. 

Paul adjusted your position shortly after, moving you from sitting on his lap to laying you on your back as he sat between your legs; basically putting you in the missionary position. The joint still sat between your lips and you kept puffing on it. By now you were extremely stoned; every little movement and pleasure Paul caused you was experienced tenfold by your senses.

 You two still lingered on the floor, however the bass player had placed your discarded dress under your head to act as a pillow. He gently took the Joint from your mouth and placed it into his own, now smoking it himself. You sat up on your elbows, palming his member through underwear as he carefully maneuvered his shirt off his body- not having to take the little weed cigarette from his mouth. You admired his body; he was slightly toned on his chest, however his shoulders and arms were more defined. He donned a small patch of chest hair, and a dark happy trail that led to a nice patch of dark pubic hair. His hair was messy, and he combed his fingers through, desperate to remove the strands from his eyes. 

Paul now stood on his knees, quickly shucking off his pants and underwear leaving the man completely nude. After that, he set the joint onto the ashtray so he could get to work with nothing in the way. You took the moment to ogle him in the warm lighting. He was already glistening from sweat, adding fire to the fantasy. He linked his fingers into the sides of your panties, gliding them down and off your legs all while staring at you through his lashes. Afterwords, he spread them, eyes gazing you up and down. He bit his lip, his doe-y eyes admiring your pussy. One of his hands left the grip on your leg and single digit ran up your slit, hitting your clit at the end of it’s journey. You squirmed and gasped at the sudden sensation, earning a head-cock from Paul. He redid the motion, this time with two fingers. You reacted the same, a squeal and squirm, gripping your hand onto his thigh. 

“Darling, so wet for me already.” He commented, voice heavy. “How would you feel if I have a little snack?” Seductive undertones laced every word.

 He leaned down and scoot back until his head came level with your stomach. With the last word escaping his lips, he kissed around your navel, working his way further and further down until a light kiss peppered your clit. Your hands flew to the man's head immediately tangling themselves within his hair. He took this as an eager invitation, and began to suck your clit. One of his free hands worked its way up and began to twist your nipple gently. The sensitivity of your body caused you to moan and tighten your grip on Paul’s hair. Paul’s free hand left your nipple and moved down to your vagina. He continued to lick and flick your clit with his tongue as he slowly inserted a single digit. You tightened around his finger, enjoying the feeling of it all as he began to finger you carefully. 

“Oh, Paul,” A breathy moan left your lips. Paul’s reaction was to finger you faster while he sucked your clit harder. His beard rubbing against your inner thigh felt so wonderful, and you nearly suffocated the man between your legs. The bass player began to move his fingers as though he was plucking guitar strings. He kept tapping your g-spot as he did so, earning even louder cries of pleasure from you. Paul could tell you were getting close, as you kept tightening around his fingers. He gently pulled them out, and gave one last sweet kiss to your clit before sitting up on his knees again. His dick was now fully hard and he nonchalantly jerked himself, scooting closer to your position. 

You sat up a little, reaching out to grab his member. Your hand replaced his and you switched positions once again, landing you on top. He now lay his head on your discarded dress. However, before he fully laid down, he grabbed an additional joint you’d rolled earlier and lit it. He knew what you were about to do, and he was going to enjoy it. You moved your hair from your face and leaned your head down so your lips were just above his cock. You gently licked the tip, earning a shudder from Paul. You were on your hands and knees now, basically switching the man positions entirely. One of your hands gently rubbed your clit, and the other held you up as you sucked the bass player off. Your tongue swirled around and you bobbed your head, making sure to keep your mouth as airtight as possible. Paul kept letting out delightful moans, occasionally letting his hand hold your head or fix your hair. He even used it to guide your bobs, keeping you on beat.

“Oh, love,” The man breathed. You cast your gaze up to his face, making sure to stay within rhythm. His usually hazel eyes were turned a dark brown from lust as he watched your pretty mouth circle his cock. You then stopped playing with yourself and used that hand to rub him while sucking. His moans only increased and became more frequent with each nod. You finally popped off, finishing with a few kisses around his navel. You wiped the corners of your mouth with a slight grin, sitting back on your knees. Paul was only harder now, periodically causing his member to twitch from need. You lazily jerked him with one of your hands as you straddled his lap again, placing you into the cowgirl position. You lined yourself up with him, your entrance just barely touching his tip. 

He passed you the fresh marijuana cigarette and rested both his hands on your hips afterwards. As you began to inhale, Paul guided you down onto his cock. You quickly grabbed the joint from your lips as you moaned, not wanting to drop it. His hard member filled you so perfectly as you sat down on him, giving you that warm feeling deep in your stomach. The room was still smokey, adding to the heat and charged environment. Paul’s hand stayed firm on your hips as he began to help you bounce up and down on his dick. He even began to thrust up, only resulting in his member going deeper and harder in you.

Each ram seemed to make his hard cock find your g-spot perfectly. Your stomach kept twisting with every thrust, getting closer and closer to your orgasm. Paul kept averting his gaze between your face and breasts while you fucked him. When you were able to, you would look into his eyes showing you how much you were enjoying him. He removed one hand from your hips and took the joint from between your fingers, swiftly putting it between his lips. You could tell how erratic his breaths were by his exhales of smoke. It gave you confidence seeing him so pleasured by you, prompting you to only go faster. 

Paul surprised you by wrapping his arms tightly around your bum, trapping his cock in your pussy, as he lifted and laid you on your back again. He then began to thrust more rapid than he’d done before. Slaps of sweaty skin echoed around the room but you didn’t care at all in the throes of pleasure. He grabbed the joint from his mouth while still fucking you and put it between your lips, allowing you the enjoyment of the marijuana. You moaned loudly, Paul as well, only fueling both of your satisfaction. One of his hands found their way to your clit and he began to rub with his thumb. Swirling sensations began to fill your tummy, prompting louder moans from both you and Paul. 

“Oh, baby, I’m going to cum.” You moaned, opening your eyes long enough to see Paul’s reaction. 

“Darling, cum for me.” He raised his eyebrows in bliss, immediately rubbing your clit faster and harder. In response you tightened around his cock as he thrust, causing the man to close his eyes. The pressure was building fast and before you knew it, an orgasm overtook your entire body. You wrapped your legs around the mans back, trapping him deep within you. He let out a loud moan as his thrusts became staggard. You could feel his cock throbbing deep in you as he collapsed and lay with his head snuggled in your neck. You both lay still, but breathed heavily trying to recover from the incredible orgasm you both just experienced.

Paul slowly sat up and pulled himself out of you, wincing from how sensitive he was. You felt his hot cum slowly drip out of your pussy, but you didn’t care. Your mind was so clouded it didn’t even cross your thoughts that he just came inside you with no protection. The man groaned as he laid down next to you, now both of you on your backs. You’d calmed down, but he was still breathing a little heavy.

“That was everything I imagined it to be.” Paul commented after a few moments of silence. You couldn’t help but let a giggle escape as your turned on your side to face the black haired man. Both of you were still stoned out of your minds, but didn’t even care. Right now, your worlds revolved around the other. 

You two laid there naked for what seemed like an hour before you actually had the energy to get dressed again. First Paul got dressed, then helped you get put together as well. His touch was so gentle when it came to you, he acted as though you were made from glass. Well except when it came to fucking. None of your ex’s had sex like that, it was a nice change from the typical bloke from the bar. 

In the tired bliss of after sex glow Paul’d managed to find a blanket and two pillows in the closet of the room you were in. He then made the makeshift bed and you two climbed in, snuggling up to the other. His hand gently rubbed your back as you cuddled into his chest. ‘You just had sex with Paul.’ Your subconscious screamed in your ear. You tried to push the thoughts away, but they refused. Reminiscing about the last hour and a half made you want to squeal and cheer. 

“Goodnight, love.” Paul spoke. You could see he was dozing in and out. Even though the room was lit up like a Christmas tree, you too were starting to fall asleep. You closed your eyes and lay your head on Paul’s chest before answering.

“Goodnight, Paul.”

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A/N: i’ve never written smut before, so like pls tell me how i did <3 more graphic, less graphic? idk. Also!!!! my wifi got turned off for three months, i cant afford to pay it rn, So i may not be as active! 

Pt. 5

Taglist: @vixenstail​