#If I think for too long about the tangle tower old people I’ll start sobbing violently.

[ottosbigtop]

tagle tower. Puts my head in my hands.

[myaimistrue]

part two of the fic for my content creator celebration! in this one, cas uses bobby’s story to take care of five year old jack <3 

read part one here (you probably wanna read that first if you haven’t)

read the whole thing on ao3 here

Cas always pays close attention to his son. Jack is at the age where he wants to get into everything, where the whole world feels like it belongs to him and him alone (a common phase for children that seems to have only been exacerbated by Jack’s brief stint as God), so he spends a lot of time exploring their backyard and asking questions and pushing boundaries. Cas understands all of this—he’s read about it in many parenting books—and is always careful to keep an eye on Jack. So he is watching Jack play with legos on the back porch through the window, and he is perfectly able to see the precise moment Jack jumps to his feet to chase a butterfly into the yard, exactly how he goes tumbling down the porch steps without anything there to stop him.

“Daddy!” Jack is already wailing by the time Cas scoops him up in his arms, frantically searching his son for injuries. His knees are bleeding, and his little hands have gone raw at the bottom of the palms; Cas’s stomach twists at the sight of his son’s blood. “It hurts.”

“I know, honey, I know,” Cas says, carrying Jack into the house as quickly as he can. Realistically, he knows that though Jack has been hurt far worse in his life and that this kind of injury is typical for young children anyway, but some instinct within him cries out in fear and worry at the sound of Jack’s sobs.

Cas sits him down in one of the kitchen table chairs and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Stay right here, okay, Jack? I’m going to get something that’ll make you feel better.”

Jack only cries harder, so Cas moves quickly, digging out their first aid kit from the mess that is the pantry and laying it on the table. He mops up the worst of the blood before pulling out a small tube of antibiotic cream.

“This might hurt,” Cas says gently. “But I’ll be quick.”

“No,” Jack sobs. “No, don’t do it if it’s gonna hurt!”

Again, Cas’s heart twinges. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

That only seems to make it worse, and Jack’s crying reaches a fever pitch. Cas feels frantic panic rise up in him—Dean has always been better at this part, has always known how to soothe, how to turn Jack’s tears into laughter into just minutes. Cas wishes desperately that Dean would get back from the store, but it twists uncomfortably in his gut to picture what he’ll find: a hurt, crying child and a husband still too inhuman to know how to comfort anybody. Even at his gruffest, Dean naturally knows how to take care of the people he loves, something Cas still struggles with; he always makes Cas think of Bobby, the rough gentleness he would have about him as he patched Cas up and poured him a glass of terrible whisky.

And then Cas knows exactly what to do.

“Jack, how about this?” He says. “If you try to take a few deep breaths, I’m going to give you permission to do something me and Dee never let you do.”

Jack’s sobbing slows slightly. “W—what?”

“Take a deep breath with me, and I’ll tell you.” Cas inhales, long and slow, and Jack does the same, still sniffling and hiccupping as his crying slows to almost a complete stop.

“Good job, Jack.” Cas smiles fondly and smooths some of his son’s hair back from his forehead. “Now, I’m going to get you cleaned up and put some band-aids on. It’ll hurt. But,” Cas grins in spite of himself. “But, while I’m doing that, you’re allowed to say bad words.”

“Really?” Jack’s eyes go almost comically wide. He always wants to curse—it’s a holdover, Cas thinks, from his time as a sort-of-adult—and Dean and Cas have had to have many conversations with him about appropriate language for little children. “I can? You won’t tell Dee?”

“It’ll be our secret,” Cas says, winking. Jack giggles.

He starts dabbing the antibiotic cream on the cuts before there can be any more discussion, hoping that will be the best way to handle it. Jack’s face screws up in discomfort, and with the utmost conviction, he says, “Dammit, Daddy!”

Cas is almost surprised by the fullness and joyfulness of the laugh that punches out of him at that. He loves his son so much it hurts, a pleasant ache behind his ribs. “Exactly, Jack. Just like that.”

It doesn’t take long to patch him up, after that. Jack takes delight in cursing, going as far as a single “fuck” that sets him off into hysterical giggles. By the time Cas is done, Jack is smiling brightly and swinging his legs back and forth.

“Can I go back to my legos, Daddy?” he asks excitedly, all the tears and pain apparently forgotten. “I didn’t get to finish with my town. They’re having a talent show ‘n I gotta make sure it goes good.”

“Stay on the porch where I can see you from the window,” Cas says as he repacks the first aid kit. “And dinner will be ready soon.”

“Okay!” Jack hops down off the chair and zooms away, tossing a “Hi, Dee!” over his shoulder as he heads outside.

Cas glances at the doorway, and sure enough, Dean’s hulking an absurd amount of grocery bags into the kitchen. He dumps them all into a heap on the table and grins triumphantly at Cas.

“You know you could just ask for help,” Cas says, exasperated.

“It’s a matter of pride, sweetheart.” Dean presses an obnoxious, smacking kiss to Cas’s cheek, and Cas rolls his eyes but smiles anyway as he returns the first aid kit to its proper place.

“Woah, everybody alright?” Dean asks, eyes catching on the white and red case Donna bought them as a housewarming gift (“former angel, hunter, and God, or not, everybody needs a first aid kit!”)

“Jack fell down the back stairs earlier. He skinned his hands and knees,” Cas says. He looks at Dean, then folds himself into his arms—he wants to feel Dean’s steady warmth, and he can now if he wants; it’s been a while, but Cas isn’t sure he’ll ever get over the wonder of having Dean as his husband. “He was crying, but I managed to distract him enough to get him patched up.”

Dean hums as he runs a hand up and down Cas’s back. “Yeah? What’d you do?”

“Something Bobby taught me,” Cas says. He thinks of that night by Dean’s bedside, of the quiet hush in which Cas felt so much younger, somehow, than Bobby sitting beside him.

“Bobby?” Dean’s voice has gone heavy, the way it often does when talking about someone they grieve. “What was it?”

Cas smiles to himself. “I told Jack he could say any swear words he wanted.”

Dean starts to laugh, and Cas feels the vibrations of it through the entirety of his body. He thinks that if he still had his grace, he would feel it singing in joy at the sensation. “Oh, Jesus. I forgot about that.”

“Me too. But then Jack was so upset, and I couldn’t get him to calm down, and I remembered Bobby telling me that story.” Cas pulls back but tangles their hands together, because he always wants to be touching Dean. He glances to make sure Jack is still safely playing on the porch, then back at Dean. “It feels like so long ago.”

“It was,” Dean says. He squeezes Cas’s hand, and he looks a little sad, thinking about Bobby. But around that, there’s a comfortableness, a contentedness, that Cas has only recently seen in Dean’s eyes; it makes him smile. “Never woulda guessed back then that we’d have a kid of our own.”

“Me neither.” Without intending to, they both pivot to look at Jack, at his solemn focus as he rebuilds a lego tower. That feeling of home, of safety and warmth, suffuses Cas from head to toe. It occurs to him that the first time he ever felt that was in Bobby’s house, watching the boys goof around and laughing at them with Bobby. Cas thinks of him, wherever he is, with Karen and Rufus and all the people he’s loved, and for the first time in a very long time, Cas prays—for peace, for love, for comfort and safety. For home.

[sugarandspice-games]

Lucifer comforts an abused MC with a PTSD flashback

Wooo! Our first ever imagine! This one ended up being really long, so I’m sorry about that. If anyone else would like to request one, please read here!

[TW: PTSD, depression, allusions and mentions to past emotional and physical abuse plus quotes from abusers]

The week was... rough, to say the least. The blustering cold of winter started to encroach on the crisp air of fall, which meant that midterm exams were creeping closer. The lessons, which you had once found fun, started to get tiring since it was an endless slog of reviewing for the big test coming up.

Furthermore... you missed everyone. The brothers, Solomon, Simeon, Luke... Lucifer. It seemed that, because everyone was either studying (or preparing for the post-exam party) nobody had any time for you. You were lonely and depressed.

So, even though you wanted to do well on the test, your heart just wasn’t in your studies. It got to the point where you spent more and more time alone in your room, sleeping until you couldn’t sleep anymore. You even started zoning out during classes, which resulted in one or two teachers snapping at you. Some students also remarked that you were useless, as the only human student with no magic... a lot of them gossipped that you were only there because Lucifer liked you, which got back to him.

Eventually, enough was enough. The rumors compounded upon his worry, and he decided it was time to pay you a visit in your room on Saturday night.

You didn’t have any classes that day, so you were laying in your bed, scrolling on your phone, when you heard the knock at your door. It sounded... rather harsh compared to the usual rapping on your door, so you tensed. Something was wrong.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open. Lucifer stood in the doorway, his eyebrows knit together in a stern expression, and he sighed.

“Sit up.”

You groaned, pushing yourself away from the comforting warmth of your mattress, the heat tempting you to flop back down... but you managed, the blankets falling off of your shoulders.

“We need to have a serious discussion about your... lack of effort.”

Your heart and your eyes burned at his words, your face going pale. Luckily, your cheeks still felt dry, but you trembled as you spoke.

“I’m... sorry. I know I haven’t been trying as hard as I could have.” You fall silent, not able to say much more.

“Then why aren’t you making more of an effort?” He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Really, MC. I don’t want you to be unprepared for your midterms, but it seems that I’m alone in that desire. You’ve barely left your room or touched your textbooks. You should study in the library instead of your room if you get distracted by the urge to sleep. I already have enough trouble trying to get my brothers to pay attention. I don’t want to have to worry about you as well.”

“I’m...”

“I don’t want you to apologize again, I want you to work harder. I’m very disappointed in you.”

You were already zoning out again, but that final comment was the nail in your coffin. Your grip on reality finally snapping as your eyes lost focus, your mind drifted off to a dark place from your past, and before you could understand what was happening, you could no longer sense Lucifer or your current surroundings, only the cruel words from others you loathed to remember-- the ones you couldn’t help but remember:

“You’re such a useless, clumsy moron! This is why nobody wants to be around you!”

“I wish you would just die.”

“Why can’t you pay attention to anything? Is your brain broken or something? Nobody likes broken people.”

“You disgust me. You make me want to hit you. Do you want that?! Do you want me to hurt you?!”

But the worst echoed in your head over, and over, and over again.

“I’m disappointed in you. I can’t believe I made the mistake of thinking you were better than that.”

Your lip trembled as you finally managed to speak, in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

“P-please... st...stop...”

Lucifer rambled for awhile, mostly giving you advice on how you could improve in your studies, but he finally paused when he heard you whimper. He came closer, but you didn’t react to his towering presence. Your eyes looked wild and unfocused, and he cleared his throat.

“Excuse me? I didn’t hear what you said.”

You didn’t respond, still caught up in the painful memories.

“MC? Are you paying attention?”

Still nothing. And that’s when he saw it-- your skin losing its normal healthy hue, looking slightly grey and your quivering fingertips digging into your biceps.

“Oh... what have I done?”

Lucifer’s mind screamed at him to do something, anything, berated him for being so harsh to you. He knew you had a history with abuse before you came to the Devildom; he took you to one of the counselors at RAD when you experienced a similar flashback before. What he failed to notice was how on-edge you had been the whole week.

And oh, he could understand. The harsh environment that his ‘Father’ provided him, the pressure to be heaven’s perfect angel... he had experienced similar, though not quite the same. But he often fell back into old habits, pressuring everyone else to be perfect as well so that they wouldn’t be punished, even if there was no risk of that here.

Finally making himself focus on the situation at hand, he tried to remember what humans needed to ground themselves. Since you couldn’t see or hear him, he’d need something you could touch, or possibly smell. He took his cloak from his shoulders and draped it over yours, placing some of the soft, velvety fabric over your fingers and letting the fur collar tickle your cheek. The spicy scent from his cologne drifted over your nose, and you could feel the comforting, warm weight against you.

You blinked. And for a second that seemed to last an hour, you stared blankly ahead, finally getting a grasp of your surroundings before your gaze drifted down to Lucifer, who knelt at your bedside. His hand clasped around your thigh to steady you in case you were dizzy.

“I...” you began, but he cut you off.

“Please, do not apologize,” he said, “I am the one who is sorry. I was the one who was not paying attention... to you, or anything else. I was... worried that you would fail, and irrational as it may be to fear that, I was afraid you would get hurt if you did. I should not have been so harsh.”

Your eyes finally filled with tears, and you sobbed. Lucifer pushed himself onto your bed, holding you tightly in his arms.

“I-I just... I was doing the best I could, but I can’t focus and I-I... everyone is too busy, and I can’t talk to anyone! A-a-and then you said you were disappointed... Do you hate me?” you cried, clinging to him and soaking his shirt with tears and snot.

He ignored the mess and gently stroked your hair, cuddling you against him.

“Of course I don’t hate you, and I’ll tell you that as many times as you need to hear it. I could never hate someone that I love, no... someone I adore so much. My heart belongs to you, as yours does to me.” He placed a sweet kiss to the top of your head, trying to stifle his own tears. He had really hurt you, hadn’t he? And yet, you were the one worrying if he hated you... “I am sorry. I love you so much. I will try to spend more time with you if you are lonely, and perhaps I can help you if you cannot focus on your studies. We could review together, if you would like.”

You nod, too teary and shaky to form words as you snuggle against him. You both stay like that for a long time, tangled around each other in your bed, before you spent the rest of the night in his room, listening to music together and relaxing while he stroked and kissed you.

Tomorrow, he would help you get caught up on your studies, but tonight, he cared about nothing but showing you how much he loved you, even if people in your life before you came to the Devildom failed to do so.

[abraxos-is-toothless]

Undercover- Throne of Glass AU (5)

This one starts with a bit of Manon’s POV from last chapter when she and Dorian goes upstairs.

WARNINGS: Manon speaks about things such as suicide, rape, abuse and human trafficking. It’s nothing that’s in detail, it’s just mentioned. If I have missed a warning, please do let me know so I can change this!!

Full Masterlist.

Undercover Masterlist.

-------

Manon knew Dorian was in the room with her, he would always be by her side when she got like this, but still, part of her felt alone, cold, empty and dead. She was sitting at the foot of their bed and was vaguely aware that he’d come to crouch between her knees to clean off her hands, but she didn’t want to look at him, she didn’t want him to see what was going on inside of her head.

They’d met about a year and a half ago on Tower Bridge. It was the anniversary of her Thirteen’s- her best friends in life, the ones who had always been there -death and she'd been ready to jump that night until he’d showed up. It wasn’t particularly busy considering it was around three in the morning, only a few cars passing her. Of course they’d passed though, she was half dressed and stumbling all over the place, a bottle of vodka in hand as she stood on that ledge. The jump may not have killed her she knew, but it was extremely cold that night and that freezing water would have. People probably thought she was a drug addicted prostitute that deserved what she was about to do. It was almost true, she wasn’t drug addicted but was most definitely a prostitute but after all of this time, she’d accepted that what happened wasn’t her fault and dying wouldn’t change anything. One car had stopped though, very suddenly, sometimes she could still hear the tyres screeching. There was a woman’s voice, shouting, telling someone to get back in the car and then there was a soft, melodic voice saying “Ma’am? It’s quite cold out tonight, how about we get you down and somewhere warm, huh?”

His voice sounded like heaven and she’d found herself turning towards it, her foot slipping on the edge slightly causing her to lose her balance. Much of it was a blur after that and hard to piece together, but she remembered crying out and having arms wrapped around her. Dorian, or mystery man as he was, looked beautiful back dropped by fuzzy streetlights and she couldn’t help the words that had dropped from her mouth. “Are you my Prince Charming?” And then she’d blacked out, waking up hours later with a dreadful hangover and a woman telling her that she could have a home if she wanted it, she could have a purpose. It would have been dumb to say no, considering her circumstances if she had, and the rest was history.

They had never really talked about that night, not really, but the prince thing was an ongoing joke between them. Dorian brought it up whenever she wasn’t feeling the best, saying that ‘her prince had come to save her.’ He was ridiculously dramatic, loving and sweet, she hadn’t realised she’d fallen in love with him until it had crept up behind her.

Manon was brought out of her reverie when there were three gentle taps to her knee, and then Dorian had pushed himself up onto his knees so that his face was directly in front of hers. She tried to look away, but his hand cupped her cheek, pulling her back until her gold eyes met his blue ones and he started speaking in soft tones. “Don’t do that. We stopped hiding from one another long ago, sweetheart. Let me in Manon, let me help.”

She took several deep breaths before pushing forward a little and pressing her forehead against his, linking their fingers together and taking her comfort from the feel of his skin on hers.

“They knew they were about to die and so I think they were taunting me, hoping that somehow I’d end their lives fast. It didn’t work; it just made me go slower. I took out the one Aelin carved up first, he was the rapist. He said things, horrible things about the girls he’d...” She didn’t want to talk about it, but she had to, had to tell him or the thoughts would eat her alive. His face hadn’t changed, still the soft and loving expression he’d worn since she’d come home. “It reminded me of the things those bastards would whisper into my ear, about what they’d do to Asterin, to the others if I kept fighting them.” Her breathing turned ragged and her hands shook a little; she hated talking about what was done to them.

“Hey, shh. It’s alright, I’ve got you, I’m right here.” He whispered the words into the space between their lips and Manon wanted nothing more to fall into his arms, just letting him hold her close but she had to push forward.

“I took out the trafficker next. He sold girls and boys off to whomever paid the highest price. Fucking prick sold them. How can you do that? They were children.” She could feel the tears building behind her eyelids but she blinked them away. “The last one, the one who gave Aelin the information, he was an abusive bastard. He said that women like me held too much power, that we should be beaten into submission. That all men need women for was to use them as some broodmare for breeding.”

She really did start crying then, at the onslaught of memories the pieces of shits had brought back. The sound of her friends’ screams and the sound of Asterin’s final words to her before she’d pushed Manon through that door. We will meet again, in a better world.

Dorian’s arms wrapped around her as he leaned back, pulling her down and onto his lap, cradling her against his chest and tucking her head into his neck. She cried, cried, cried until they turned into broken sobs and from there, just small, hiccupping sniffles. The whole time he just rocked back and forth, murmuring soothing words into her ear whilst he rubbed a hand up and down her back. They stayed together in the peaceful quiet of their room Dorian occasionally mumbling how much he loved her, until a voice, Chaol, called out from downstairs.

“Manon! Dor! Boss wants everyone downstairs.”

She pulled back from Dorian’s neck, staring up into bright blue eyes as he tucked a strand of her white hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to come down love, I’m sure she’d understand if you want to stay up here. You could shower and sleep, it would do you good.”

Manon shook her head before reaching up and holding his hand to her cheek, revelling in the warmth it gave her. “No, I’ll come down, it could be something important.”

He nodded and leaned in to brush their lips together, a soft whisper of a kiss that held promises of what later would bring when they were finally alone. Dorian stood, holding his hands out to help her up and she tangled their fingers and tugged gently, unable to stop herself from saying, “Let’s go then, my Prince.”

She would savour the chuckle he let out as they walked through the door until her last dying breath.

oOoOo

Aelin waited until everyone was inside of her office until she finally answered the phone. Elide, Lys and Lorcan had finally gotten back, Elide saying she’d fill her in on everything later. Manon seemed to be in better spirits, her face no longer dead and blank. As for Rowan, she didn’t know what to think of him. Visibly he looked better when he stepped through the doors, but she knew that was just what he was showing on the surface. Their moment in the garden had done something to her and she couldn’t quite figure out what. He’d basically pulled his heart from his chest and handed it to her. She wasn’t meant to get attached to people like this and yet, deep down inside of her, she knew it was inevitable that she would.

As soon as she tapped accept on the call, she gestured for Elide to start tracing it, everyone holding their breaths as she said, “Sardothien. What do you want?”

There was a slow, lazy drawl from the other end of the line and it made Aelin’s spine go taut. She could see that Lysandra was just the same; neither of them had heard that voice in years. “Now, now, is that anyway to speak to an old friend?”

“We were never friends, Arobynn, we were never anything. Now tell me what you want.”

He laughed gently, as a lover would, making her blood turn cold. Aelin met pine green eyes from across the room, and watched as they went hard and unfeeling at the sound.

“You know what I want, what I’ve always wanted. We could have everything, if only you let yourself realise what you truly want in life.” She couldn’t help the sneer that settled over her face, hands clenched into fists. Aedion received a glare when he moved as if to comfort her; she didn’t need that right now.

“I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again. I will not be your Queen,” she spat the word out, tasting like ash on her tongue, “I will not give you heirs. There will be no us.”

There was more laughter and it made her want to stab something.

“You will come to see that it is what’s best soon enough. How’s the pregnant one by the way? I heard my men were unsuccessful but no matter, I left you a present, hoping you might come around. If not, you know I’m not above forcing you to come home, Aelin.” Son of a fucking bitch. Everyone’s eyes widened around the room, the newbies clearly confused by the name, but she couldn’t focus on that right now, she’d deal with it later.

“What present?” She forced the words through gritted teeth, knowing it was most likely a trap for something but she had to know.

“Out in your dingy little apartment in Poplar, yes I know about that one, I left it there. I do hope it’ll persuade you to change your mind. All of my love.” And then the line went dead. She turned her head sharply to look at Elide, the other woman shaking her head saying that she couldn’t trace it. She upturned her desk, sending its contents flying and making a few of the others to let out sounds of shock.

“I thought I was fucking done with that pile of shit! It’ll get worse now, if I accept this ‘gift’ and don’t go home. He’ll say I’m being ungrateful and go after all of you.” Aelin sighed and rubbed her hand across her forehead, wishing for the headache that was now brewing would just fuck off. She looked up when Lysandra spoke from the other side of the room, voice steady and determined.

“You aren’t going back to that hell hole, Ace, you aren’t going back to him. We’ll go see if there’s actually anything at the apartment and then we’ll deal with everything else. Do you understand me?”

She sighed and nodded at her friend, wanting to get this over with so they could finally sleep. Her plans and schemes were better after she rested and she could think rationally. Slipping into their boss, their leader, she ordered, “Blackbeak, Havilliard, Salvaterre and Whitehorn. You’re all coming with me. We move out in ten minutes so get all of your gear together fast. We have to be prepared for everything.” They all nodded in consent and everyone began filing out of the room but not before added on, “Keep your wits about you, just in case he knows about this place too.”

Aelin went to start cleaning up and jumped slightly, realising that Rowan was still in the room. He was looking at her weirdly, but she didn’t have time to think about it before the look disappeared and he walked over to stand in front of her. Tentatively, he brought his hand up in front over her face, hesitating a little and searching her eyes for an answer. Words weren’t working for her and she could feel the heat of him in the space between them, and so she simply leaned into his hand. Rowan let out what seemed to be a sigh of relief, cupping her jaw and rubbing a thumb along her cheekbone. “Are you alright? What he said, what he was asking for, that was...”

He trailed off knowing that what Arobynn had said could only be taken one way. “I’m alright, I promise. You didn’t have to stay, you know, I won’t break.”

His smile was soft, happy and his eyes were full of something she couldn’t place, looking as though they sparkled a little in the dim lights of her office. “I don’t think anyone could break you, Aelin. What’s up with that anyway?”

She rolled her eyes at him, raising a hand to hold his wrist, squeezing lightly. “I’ll tell you, but later, we have things to do. Now go.”

The backs of his fingers stroked down her cheek, sending shivers down her spine before he pulled away. Her eyes fluttered closed at the touch but when she opened them again he was gone. Gods, he was making her feel things she’d never felt before, not even those days with Sam had made her feel like this. Aelin shook her head to clear it of the thoughts of silver hair and green eyes. She would deal with all of that another time.

Right now, she had to go deal with the wannabe King’s bullshit. By the end, she’d make him pay for every last atrocity he’d committed, and then revel in the aftermath.

------

Oooo Arobynn his being a little fucker... If you want to be added/removed from the tags then just give me a shout! I’m not sure iff all of the tags are working so if not I’ll keep trying to fix it:) More insight on the boys next week!!

Tags: @bryaxisthefaceofnightmares @fancyclodpaintercookie @empress-sei @acourtofterrasenandvelaris @tswaney17 @queen-of-glass @thesirenwashere @awkward-avocado-s @b00kworm @http-itsrebecca @eatmysandwiches @poisonous00 @flowersinvegas @julemmaes @mu-si-ca-l @spyofthenightcourt  @sis-it-dont-add-up  @mad-madeline-ace @df3ndyr  @jesstargaryenqueen @notyournymphetish @carbconnoisseur @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

@superspiritfestival

[normal-goatboy]

A Wedding

Pairing: Halsa Tabris/Alistair Summary: It's all over - supposedly. Warden Tabris and Alistair adjust to being heroes, or whatever it is you call them.

Read it on Ao3

For a moment, she thinks she’s dead, that it’s over. She’s blind from the flash, red staining the backs of her eyelids, dust clogging her airways. Senseless until she blinks and coughs and feels the stone reeling beneath her. She reaches for her hammer before she can think and finds its handle.

He must have done what she asked, against all odds. Before the tower and the sickly green sky come back into focus, all she can see is his familiar face creased with hurt and disgust, a fever dream.

“If one of us is to die, it should be me,” she’d said, and he’d said, “Right. Because of all my responsibilities.”

A muddy voice in the roar says, “Oh, thank the Maker.” A pair of brown boots rushes towards her, and Zevran drops to his knees and says, “I thought you’d gone off the edge.”

She follows his gaze, rotating her head on the stone to the ledge just beside her. Gingerly, she sits up and looks over. A few bodies on the ground, too far away to tell if they’re people or darkspawn.

“That would’ve been funny,” she murmurs. She stumbles to her feet and takes stock of her limbs. Her neck hurts, one knee refuses to take any weight. Zevran offers an arm, and she leans on him; he is covered in blood, but seems relatively uninjured.

“I found her,” Zevran announces. Wynne crouches over Alistair, a shimmer of magic surrounding them, and he darkens when he sees her. But still, they’re both alive. There must have been some feeling left in him.

“Are you hurt?” Wynne asks, looking her over.

It started that day, that one evil day in Denerim. The day she saw the alienage was blocked off, and Alistair dragged her away because she was making a scene. He wanted to make another stop, and her head was elsewhere, looking at them like through a dirty window, Alistair and...that woman. The one he’d been with in the Fade.

“I’ll live,” she says to Wynne. “Are you-?” she gestures at Alistair, sitting on the ground.

“I’m fine,” he replies. He won’t be nasty to her in front of the others; at least he gives her that.

It was creepy, his sister and all her children. Halsa watched them unsettled, half expecting them to turn into demons like before. She said something she regretted saying afterward, standing on the side of the road. “She’s just trying to get by, Al. She’s got no reason to care about you.”

He’d only wanted some comfort, and she’d had none to give. He took it well; he only said, “You’re right, of course,” and she was. But something was different after that.

Something was already different, not in the way she expected. The ring she’d kept, its weight gone from her pocket. She let him put it on her, tried to make it his.

Down below, the survivors are gathering. Cheering and hugging, drinking, weeping. They mob Alistair when he reaches them. He gives them his best smile, puts hands on shoulders, kneels down and talks to children. A few days ago, she told him he’d be a good king, and he’d said, “Go fuck yourself, Halsa.” He thought she was making fun of him.

She wasn’t. She looked at him in the Chantry at Redcliffe while he spoke with the Revered Mother, holding the ring Halsa’d given him from her pocket, and thought he looks like a prince. Like from a storybook. He smiled at her in her borrowed dress and her mother’s boots and said, “You look beautiful. Have you got your hammer in there somewhere?”  

He looked at her like a princess. She stood on her toes to kiss him, his hands on either side of her face.

He was wrong about her. A traitor, betrayer, a liar, she is. She went behind his back, let them convince her. “Alistair’s wishes are simply not possible,” Eamon said. He said, “You should consider the harm that could come to those most vulnerable,” and “Think of a ruler sympathetic to your people’s plight.” And she’d stood there helpless, out of her element.  An idiot, jerked this way and that. At least Morrigan held up her end.

She calls Onion, who pouts, upset with her for leaving him on the ground. She is going home, burning collapsed buildings rolling by at the edge of her vision. Someone calls after her, but she’s too far away to turn back. There’s a crowd at the gate, a tangled red head bouncing through. Shianni scrambles towards her, shouting her name. Halsa hobbles on her bad knee, bracing for the impact, and she’s crushed in her arms, held.  

“We made it, we did it,” she shouts into the top of her head. Halsa sways, burying her face. Her knee is ready to give out, and Shianni is talking still. “...were so many of them, Maker I never saw-” Soris arrives behind her with a bandage wrapped around his face, “-but we fought back, like you said. I can’t believe-”

“Pup, you’re smushing her,” Soris peels them apart and pulls an arm around his shoulders. They stagger to her house, to her pa, who puts arms out to hold her up next. She laughs, thinking of them passing her around like an especially heavy baby, and then breaks into a sob on his chest.

They don’t ask questions. They probably don’t know how. Funny how she can’t explain anything that’s happened to her to anyone who wasn’t there. Funny how quickly it all goes back to ordinary, like having a dream that lasts lifetimes just to forget it before breakfast. The house looks the same as the day she left, except dustier. It’s weird sleeping in a bed; she moves to the floor after a while. For once her head is relatively quiet. No old gods screaming in her ears at the moment.

The knocks on the door start before the sun is up. Everyone wants to talk to her. Their kitchen is laden with dishes, more food than the three of them could possibly eat. Mrs. Grayling from two doors down, who once called her a rotten potato, brings them a quilt. Halsa settles on the steps outside the house, crippled for the moment, her knee throbbing swollen.

There’s a lot to be done, and no one is coming to help, not here. Except there are humans about, she notices, suspicious. There’s a man helping sift through the wreckage of a burned house, and women herding stray children, and - Oghren. And Zevran, who sees her and waves.

“You can’t be rid of us that easily,” he says as they approach.

“How did you even get in here?” she asks.

“Ask your boyfriend,” Oghren says.

He sent people to help. The King of Ferelden, a man of the people, is touring the city today.

They stay, to her surprise. She thought Zevran would be long gone by now, but instead he helps Soris and Pa patch the roof. The kids are scared of Oghren until he makes faces at them and lets them climb on him. Leliana shows up after a while, and talks to Shianni for a long time. Wynne insists on healing Halsa’s knee.

It’s late in the afternoon, long after her arse has gone numb from waiting on the step, before he appears. He’s by himself, a hood pulled up over his head. He’s just Alistair right now.

“I think I’ve finally managed to shake my uncle,” he says, and the step creaks with their combined weight.

“He probably thinks you ran for the hills,”

“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.”

She glances at him from the corner of her eye. He looks as tired as she feels. “Thank you,” she says, “for sending people. For thinking of us.”

He shrugs. “For better or worse, Halsa, I am nearly always thinking of you.”

That hurts, a splash of acid. “I warned you about that, didn’t I?” she says.

“I do vaguely remember that.”

“I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this,” she says. “I knew I’d be shit as a wife.”

He sputters, a weak laugh, “I’d like to say you weren’t, but…” A pause while he shifts forward to lean on his thighs. “Well, how did you expect it to turn out?”

“I’dunno,” she says to her knees, “I didn’t think about it.”

“Halsa, you - you understand I’m stuck with this, right? For - I don’t know - til the moment I die? You really didn’t-”

“Alright,” she cuts him off. She can’t take another of these conversations. “I thought about it. And I thought about you, and me, and I thought one thing, then I thought another thing, and in the end, I thought it was for the best.”

She clears her throat and looks up at him. He’s not looking at her, or anything really. There’s a deep scratch on his cheek she didn’t notice before, and she wants to put her hand in the space next to it, to put both hands on his face and turn it towards hers like a child. She owes him an explanation, but when she opens her mouth only shit comes out.

“Look,” she starts again, “I know you don’t want it, but being rich and powerful and owning shit: that’s good. People want it. You know? I do too, but I can’t have it. But you can. And you don’t want it because you’re good and you don’t want to hurt people, but that’s why you should get it. Because someone’s gonna get it anyway.”

She holds his gaze, searching for understanding. “You’re right, I suppose,” he says slowly. “But what happened to ‘fuck all them?’”

That’s what she said when he told her. He’d said what they wanted him to do, and she’d said, “Fuck all them. Fuck their throne. I want you,” and she’d given him the ring.

Now she sighs shaky, and says, “I don’t think it works that way. I can’t just ignore them. I have people to protect.”

“And I wasn’t one of them?”

“It’s not my fault who your father was,” she bristles, a wounded animal. “And I did. Like it or not, you’ll still be safe. You don’t know what it’s like here.”

He looks at her, and she knows she needs to tell him the story, the one she’s been avoiding. Nothing makes sense without it. Before, she told him she was conscripted after she killed a guy. Now she digs the guy up and puts the flesh back on his bones. She says out loud what he did, and what she did, and the scourge she feared would come down on all of them because of it.

He listens with a hand obscuring the lower half of his face. When she’s done, he says, muffled, “Maker. I thought it must be bad, but-”

“I should have told you,” she says.

“You should have,” he says, “but you had your reasons.” He shakes his head. “They really do that? Just come in and start killing people?”

“If they think they can get away with it.”

They sit for a moment in silence. Pa and Soris keep glancing at them from down the way, but she doesn’t care. She scoots closer to him, and feels his arm move around her.

“I thought it was the right thing,” she says into his shoulder. “I didn’t want to.”

“I believe you.” He pulls her closer, tucks her head under his chin. “You’ve been honest with me, even when - well, even when you didn’t have to be.”

He’s talking about Morrigan, the decision that will surely come back to haunt them. The last in a series of bad deals, of compromises.

“I’m sorry about that too,” she says. “I keep fucking things up by staying alive, don’t I?”

“No, come on,” he says. “The Wardens will need you, and anyway you can’t just leave me alone now.”

That’s a funny way to put it. Like as long as they’re both still living, they’re together. “How long do you have?” she asks.

“Before what, they marry me off?”

“I meant before your handler finds you, but both I guess.”

“Oh, Teagan’s been planning. It’ll happen soon.” That sucks the air from her, even after everything else. There’s nothing she can do now. “He was arguing with some advisor or aide or something when I left,” he continues, “I’m sure he’s noticed I’m gone by now.”

They’re running out of time. “Do you want to meet my family?” she says, surprising herself.

She introduces him only as Alistair, but they know already. Soris and Shianni exchange amused glances; they’ll never let her hear the end of this.

A year ago and a half ago, no one could have told her about this. The King of Ferelden walking into the alienage and shaking her father’s hand, and telling him she’s the fiercest person he’s ever met. The letter she would get a week or so later addressed to “Warden Commander Tabris” with a map of the arling she’d been awarded. p.s. Owning things and having power - would you like to try it?  None of it would have made sense. She’s still not sure it makes sense.

“Will you come to my wedding?” he asks as she walks him out.

She almost says no, she’s already made quite an enemy of his bride, but he’s asking like it’s a favor. “You want me to?”

“Yes.” He embraces her at the gate, kisses her forehead and says, “I’d like to see my wife there.”

[flowerflamestars]

Shovels and Roses

Elucien, SO NOT CANON, Post- ACOTAR, in the months before ACOMAF Lucien couldn’t stop walking.  It was a gods damned stupid thing to do, but he kept walking, shaking off the shudder of repulsive magic as he passed under the wall and into mortal land. It was earlier spring here than the artificial season in Tamlin’s home, if Lucien closed his eyes and breathed in the crisp air, he could almost expect to open them and see endless trees with leaves like jewels.  He didn’t want to go home, but he didn’t want to go anywhere else either.  So many things had felt hollow since the endless years after Jesmindas death. But that this- this victory, this time for rebuilding felt that way, was an ache he couldn’t shake. Mother help him with her healing hands; for Lucien, having Amarantha to hate, having Tamin’s curse to break, had given him purpose.  And now? What was there? Tam looking for enemies all over again, Feyre’s fake smile like knife to the gut, the Spring Court full again with vipers. A healing land, but every bit had rot hiding in the shadows.  He wondered if the humans would kill him if they found him. String him up on a oak, red ties for binding, ash to take his immortal heart. The sentries knew better than the follow him, they’d only report his absence the next day. Tam would think he was hunting, probably. But Feyre- his first friend in a century, who he had no idea how to be a companion to, she would notice.  Out from under the old trees, larger than he’d imagine they usually grew here, fed with the ambient magic of the wall bleeding out, there were flowers. Grass and blossoms, manicured fruit trees just starting to awaken for the year. They were apple trees, tall and proud, like a blow to the heart.  Like an idiot, he followed them, the neat rows curving as they crested down a hill, until there before him was a human estate, green roofs bright under the clear sky.  Someone had planted a riot of wildflowers along the path, mixed and sprinkled them together so that they grew as a beautiful tangle. It was so unlike the tamed, static plants of Spring, so much more like his beautiful and vicious home.  Down Lucien went, resigned to follow his legs, to see this garden planted by passionate and unbridled hands.  The first thing he saw was the foxglove- every color from blackest purple to pale blousey parchment, grown tall and crowning beds from the middle. It was healthy and happy, the poison of it stinging at his nose. Peonies like sugar, just starting to loose into shape, tangled with lavender just barely awake. And roses- unmanicured at all, climbing and crossing one another somehow both the wild delicate blooms and their larger sturdier cousins.  Lucien traced a single, bloody blossom, thinking of how they used to float in the tea of his mothers sitting room.  “Oh, don’t touch that!” A female voice roused him, sweet as summer rain. “It’s just about to open- Oh.”  He’d turned to her voice, and she’d frozen, dark eyes so wide they were swallowing her face. The human girl, young woman, he thought, rocked back a step, hands white knuckled on a shovel nearly as tall as she was.  Lucien realized what he must look like to her. Dressed for the hunt bristling with knives, a bow at his back. The metal eye and terrible scars, even the his long hair, minuscule braids pulling it back from his pointed ears. To this beautiful girl, Lucien was a nightmare.  Easily, he snapped on a courtiers smile. “Hello,” he breathed, pitching his voice soft.  Lucien bowed, the last thing he noticed were her silken blue shoes, uselessly lovely for a garden. He was thinking about the delicate color, that this girl must be a noble, before he was hit hard on the side of the head and the world went dark. — The girl had hit him with her shovel.  Lucien groaned low in his throat, opening his eyes to sky and roses. He couldn’t have been out long, he could smell the girl nearby, her nerves tinging the air. She smelled like honeysuckle and oak leaves, like roaring campfires, like the warmth of the sun- and fear.  He sat up and there she was, just out of arms reach, clutching that shovel in front of her body like a ward.  “Look,” she started, voice high and fast, “I apologize for the impulse, my lord. My sister was taken by faeries. My name is Elain, and I’ll go with you wherever you want, as long as you promise that only I’ll be punished, that the staff and the estate will be left alone.”  “Take you?” Lucien echoed. Maybe he was concussed. A faery warrior and diplomat centuries old, brought down by a human girls gardening implements.  But there was something about her face, something that kept snagging his attention. Freckles and lovely creamy skin, flushed with both fear and temper he could smell. Big brown eyes, shot with gold, a full mouth and- and her mouth. Those were Feyre’s lips, her chin too.  Cauldron boil him and mother take him.  “You are Elain Archeron?” He didn’t want to give her time to be afraid, didn’t want to scare her anymore. Not just because Feyre would kick his ass if she found out, but because- because it felt wrong, that this beautiful girl should ever have anything to fear from him. “My name is Lucien, I live in the Spring Court with your sister Feyre.”  He’d expected smiles, hoped for them. Not for the pink flush to take over her skin entirely, for her face to crumple into tears. “Feyre?” Elain breathed, the shovel clanging to ground. “Feyre is alive?”  “Alive and safe and happy,” Lucien assured too fast. Instead of replying Elain let out a sob, and buried her face in her hands.  Could he not speak to mortals at all? Did the beautiful girl, did Elain hate faeries that much? Carefully, Lucien slid to his feet, moving slow in case she looked up. More carefully still, he reached out to bump her arm, handkerchief an offering in his hand. She took it, chocolate eyes roaming his face and shakily wiped at her tears.  “Perhaps,” Lucien began, painfully aware of how tall he was, how quick and strong towering over her, “you could write Feyre a letter? I’ll carry it back with my own hands.”  Elain squared her delicate shoulders and pushed back her curling hair, gracefully pulling together her tearstained face. “Yes,” she said, the girl who’d hit him with a shovel disappearing into genteel tones. “Tea, I think? With this chill in the air. I can write while you refresh yourself.”  Lucien found himself blinking at the transition. Had he ever sat and had tea time, in his entire adult life?  Elain was still speaking, “I have a solarium this way,” She pointed toward the southeast end of the estate, down a path lined with herb gardens just starting to sprout. “The maids don’t even come in, so no one will see you there. Miss Hilfridge, our cook, has been baking these darling little cakes with dried flowers from last summer, you’ll love them.”  And so Lucien followed Elain, her bright speech filing the air, a less than pleasant contrast to his pounding head.  The solarium was as elegant as anything that existed in Spring, potted orchids and palms and citrus trees filling the space with the smell of earth and life. Elain directed him to a silk covered chaise, every bit the consummate hostess as she ensured he was comfortable there and took his weapons. Took his weapons and left the room, still chattering brightly.  Mother damn him, she’d plucked the wicked knife from his boot with a tinkling laugh. He’d been too distracted by the sound- like joy condensed, the emerald brooks of home- to even object.  When she bustled back, a laden tea tray in her hands, she’d changed into a deeply burgundy gown, the painfully charming sunhat removed to reveal barely tamed deep blond curls. She was all pale gold, flushing again as he jumped to his feet and took the tray from her, unable to watch her try to carry the burden.  Was she blushing? Lucien shouldn’t care a whit if she were, this young, delicate woman. She perched across from him and poured, her hands steady as passed him a rosebud cup, a bone china plate piled with miniature scones.  “I’ll write while you eat?” Elain asked, smiling at him. This one, Lucien thought, so much more than Feyre, would have been a lethal courtier. He inclined his head in return, smiling his Spring Court smile.  Elain was the very picture of feminine grace as she wrote, filling pages with looping elegant penmanship, teacup delicate in her other hand. She was beautiful hitting him on the head with a shovel, now, she was confounding.  She sipped and looked up, smiling to him sweetly, politely. Lucien had always been told human food was ash in immortal mouths, the truth wasn’t far from it. The scones were odd, tasteless, the berries  inside them had a strange firm crunch that was honestly unpleasant. The tea, at least, tasted like tea, if tea had been brewed from hard water, a strange tinge of earth and metal to it.  Fae senses were nothing like human, he reminded himself, continuing to eat and sip mechanically, politely. He’d been trying to focus instead on the bright smell of the blooming citrus trees, so intent on that and not offending Elain further that it took him until the dregs of his teacup to notice.

The laugh that burst from his chest was too big for the quiet room, foreign to his ears. When was the last time he’d really laughed? “Are there iron filings in my tea?” Lucien choked out, trying not to guffaw.  Elain’s smile had gone clever, and very real. If not for the pulse of fear behind it, he’d thought she liked that he’d noticed her ploy. “Only to make sure you don’t decide to go after the staff.”  He set down the cup and picked up a scone, examining the bursts of red fruit baked inside with careful eyes. “And rowan berries in the scones?” Clever girl.  Clever, beautiful girl- whose knowledge was woefully wrong.  How had she survived this long? This close to the wall, and only fairytales to guard her against the very real monsters his people could be. Lucien could not allow that to go on.  “Elain,” he began, fighting to keep the delighted laughter far from his voice. “Iron doesn’t weaken faeries.” She gone still at his tone, was watching him with those careful, sweet eyes. Was Feyre’s entire family this stupidly, wonderfully brave? “Not salt in your pockets or blessed metal, not hawthorn or rowan or oak, not red thread and not hiding your face.”  Curls were sliding down her neck as she tilted her head, thinking. “What does work?” Elain asked, voice quiet.  “Only ash wood,” Lucien promised. “Carve it into weapons, or burn it and use the ash. Even the smoke will work somewhat.”  She was looking past him, out the glass wall, to her field of a garden. Out into the trees beyond, like she could see the wall itself, that poor safeguard.  “Elain,” he started again, how did he comfort her? This beautiful, brave girl. Who’d hit him over the head and tried to poison him, who’d offered herself up to keep her servants and their families safe. Slowly, so that she could pull away, so that he wouldn’t startle her, Lucien reached for her hand. “Promise me, if any other faeries come here, you use ash or run. You run to the wall, you get through to Spring. Feyre and I will keep you safe, no matter what.”  Elain blinked, and then again, dark eyes wide enough to swallow worlds. Her hand in his was as fragile as glass, even the callouses soft, her pulse under his fingers like a sparrow.  “Okay.” Elain said, finally looking back at him. “If anything goes wrong, I’ll come to Feyre.” Lucien wasn’t hurt to be left out of the offer, but it twanged the yawning emptiness that lived in his chest.  Elain was staring at his tan skin against hers, a wrinkle forming between her brows. Had he broken some mortal convention he didn’t know? Feyre touched people- faeries- all the time, but then again, she also didn’t give a damn about rules.  Carefully, like she didn’t understand what he might do, Elain squeezed his hand and let go. In quick assured movements she folded the letter into a neat square, binding it with bright ribbon. She stood, those soft skirts that begged to be touched flowing around her. The letter was clutched in both her hands, like treasure. “You’ll take it to her?”  “No one else will touch it,” Lucien assured. Elain smiled again, that real one, her cheeks dimpling.  Silently, he followed her back out into the sunshine. Lucien couldn’t think of a single thing to say as she fearlessly walked right along side him, her hair a riot in the light, her skin nearly faery fine. She smelled like warmth itself, and sounded like to too, her wordless happy sigh as she stoked a hand down the plants they passed.  Even with Lucien slowing his long gait as much as possible to meet hers, they reached the edge of the estate, the last of the apples trees too quickly.  Elain paused to look up him, dark eyes a serious that he wanted to know more about. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said, “please tell Feyre we’re all doing well, that if she can ever get away, we’re here.”  Lucien wondered if that love would still extend if Elain knew her sister was no longer human. Like an arrow to the heart, he was sure it would. The girl who had been brave enough to attack him in her garden had a fierce and unyielding spirit.  “It’s nothing,” he said, bowing once more to her. He made it three steps away, just into the thick forest shade before she stopped him.  “Lucien,” Elain called, her voice a caress on the syllables. She waited for him to turn, still smiling that dimpled, intriguing smile. “You’re welcome to come to tea again.”  Elain didn’t wait for an answer but curtsied and turned away, her skirt tangling in soft grass as she headed for home. Lucien watched her go, frozen. He was watching to make sure she made it, to make sure she was safe, he told himself.  But that bright, very real smile stayed with him. An ember in the dark, tucked away under his ribs. When he breathed, he smelled honeysuckle and thought of her audacity to try to poison him. Elain Archeron.  It wasn’t until he was nearly home, crossing to the estate grounds, that he realized she’d never returned his weapons.

[lawchan89]

“you are very endearing when you’re half asleep.” with Moonriver!

The morning bell clanged loudly in the castle’s highest tower, and fourteen-year-old Moon Butterfly’s head shot up from the desk. Had she really fallen asleep like this, slumped over paperwork and ink bottles in her mother’s old study? Every part of her body ached from cramped joints, and she very slowly raised her arms over her head trying to stretch herself out.

“Alright already, we heard you,” she muttered irritably to the incessant ringing bell. Time to start another day of pretending she knew what she was doing. The thrill of having taken care of The Lizard had worn off over a week ago, and now the real work had begun. And being Mewni’s newest and one of its youngest queens was very quickly taking its toll on her. Everyone constantly needed something from her, and it was draining. She had demanded the High Commission and all those ranked below them take her seriously, and they were true to their word.

Unfortunately, that involved a young teenage girl shouldering all of the burdens a grown woman could barely uphold. Any moment now, Moon felt as if she were going to collapse, with no relief in sight.

There was a soft knock at the door.

“Come in,” Moon said automatically, even though the last thing she wanted was a visitor. Especially if it was someone who planned to reprimand her for falling asleep at her work. Again.

“Moon?” came a familiar and most welcoming greeting, and her face instantly brightened when stout little River Johansen poked his head in. “Oh I’m sorry, I mean Queen Moon.”

“Just Moon is fine, River,” she insisted, hastily running her fingers through her long tangled periwinkle locks, suddenly self-conscious about how wrinkled her skirt and bodice were and the messy splotches of ink on her face. Since when did she care about how she looked around him?

“I was told to check up on you by Miss Mina,” River said timidly, twisting his fingers together in that nervous way Moon always found so adorable. “And she wanted me to do it before ‘that Mildew wakes up and does it first.’“

Moon sighed out a laugh, shaking her head. She had told Mina time and again to keep her nose out of her personal life, but it was always in one ear and out the other with her. She was a brilliant soldier, but far too forward when it came to poise and diplomacy. 

“I’m fine River, thank you. Just very stiff…” She gasped slightly in pain as she attempted to roll her head around her neck. “Oh dear–”

“Oh, allow me!” River bounded towards her eagerly. “My mother taught me the perfect solution for stiffness in the neck.” He went to grab her chair from behind the desk and pushed it next to her. “Please have a seat. You’re, erm, a bit taller than me, so you’ll have to sit.”

“Okay,” Moon said slowly, lowering herself into the chair as River stood behind her. Gently, he parted her flowing silky tresses, and Moon felt a spark of static electricity shoot up her spine as his plump fingers grazed over the skin on her neck. That had never happened before.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she answered immediately. Of every response she had given since becoming queen, none were more certain than this. She felt his hands cup the muscles between her neck and shoulders, wincing as he began to work his fingers into them. At first it was painful, Moon biting down on her lip until she nearly drew blood, then little by little, each crick and knot unraveled and smoothed out one by one.

“Better?” River asked after several minutes.

“Yes, but don’t stop,” Moon sighed, closing her eyes and feeling as if she had just slipped into a hot bubble bath. It was the most relaxed and contented she had felt in ages, as if every care and worry was disappearing along with the tension. 

“Should I bring you something to eat once I’m done?”

“Mmm, pancakes please. Stacked five high with lots of syrup and whipped cream. And chocolate drizzle.”

“Chocolate drizzle?”

“Have you never had pancakes with chocolate drizzle? Oh and with the butter, it just melts in your mouth…” Her eyes flew open, her cheeks flushed so red they concealed her diamond emblems. When had she nearly fallen asleep? How long had she been rambling like a fool? “Oh, what am I even saying? I’ve got too much work to do! Ugh, I’m sorry about all that, River.”

“It’s alright,” the prince said shyly, letting his hands fall from her neck. “You are…very endearing when you’re half asleep.”

Moon’s face had darkened even redder, if that was possible. “I wish I could go back to the days when I could be happy about simple things, like pancakes and riding warnicorns around the field. But…that’s just not an option anymore.”

She stood from the chair and wandered dazedly over to the desk, letting her fingers trail over the ornately feathered quill pen. “This was my Mama’s. She made all of her most important decisions with it.” Moon swallowed hard, “I–I found some old drafts of hers in the bottom drawer last night, and – and she was planning to call a ceasefire. She was going to end the whole thing, and then–”

“I know,” River nodded, his round face solemn. “You…you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“But I do want to, River,” she implored him, her voice anguished. “I have to. No one wants to discuss my mother with me. They all avoid the subject as if they’re afraid it will distract me from my duties. And I know my duties are important, but…” Clutching the pen in her hands, she dropped back into the chair, her elbows on her knees as she hung her head. “I’m still just a girl who’s lost her Mummy. I can’t talk to her, I can’t ask her for advice, I-I can’t hug her ever again. This whole room still smells like her perfume, and I can’t bear it!”

River knelt at her feet, taking one of her hands in both of his. Her face scrunched up as she gripped his hands tighter, tears rolling swiftly down her cheeks and pattering onto her arms like raindrops.

“I miss her,” she wept, “I m-miss her s-so much…”

Bringing his arm around to encircle her, he felt her forehead drop onto his shoulder as she shuddered with long-repressed sobs against him. She didn’t need advice or direction – she had handled that all very well on her own after scaring off the Lizard army. She didn’t need people begging her for favors or opinions on everything from palace decor to warfare. And she certainly didn’t deserve to be thrust into the middle of all these executive decisions.

Moon was still a grieving orphan, left all alone in the universe. What she needed was a friend.

“Thank you,” the young queen whispered as she pulled back, wiping her eyes and nose on the back of her hand. “Thank you, River. For being here.”

“Of course,” he nodded, his own eyes wet as he handed her his handkerchief from his pocket. “We’re friends, Moon. And friends are there for each other, especially during the bad times. And – well, if you ever need to talk about your Mum again, you can always do it with me.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” Moon said, a small smile spreading at last. “You’re very sweet, River Johansen. And you have a big heart.”

“Really? Y-you think so?” He tried his hardest to keep the eagerness out of his tone, but his blushing face gave him away.

“Yes. And I need someone with a big heart in my life, when it seems like so many people don’t care about what I’m feeling.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Moon,” River insisted, patting her hand again. “They care in their own ways. Everyone just shows it differently.”

“Queen Moon! Are you awake?! Would you like me to bring you those pancakes you love?!”

“Speaking of caring in their own ways, Lord Mildew has arrived,” Moon rolled her eyes, hearing his booming voice echo from further down the corridor outside.

“I’ve brought you some extra pillows and a hot cup of tea, too!”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t be here.” River bowed slightly as he made to exit, but Moon placed her hand on his shoulder, still damp from where she’d cried her heart out on him.

“No, you can stay. I’ll take care of him.”

Perhaps deciding which boy she liked wasn’t going to be that difficult after all.

[hellcheer-munson]

Trip to Disneyland Paris (27/08/17-29/08/17)

Okay, so let me start by saying that Disneyland Paris was AMAZING! It wasn’t my first time going – I went age four, age nine, and then age 15 on a French Immersion trip at school – but it was still amazing and magical, of course. I can’t recommend going enough.

I’m going to go into detail about just how awesome this trip was because I’m happy and need to share it. Under the cut for people who don’t want it on their dashes.

Getting there

So I went with my family from Sunday morning to this afternoon (Tuesday) – that’s my parents and my sister. We had to get up on Sunday morning at five in the morning to get dressed, washed and pack last minute things before our Uber arrived to take us to St. Pancras. The drive there was actually pretty cool because we got to see parts of London like Madam Tussauds and Kings Cross Station. We also saw the Grenfell tower from quite a close distance, and it was really poignant. I was a little stunned at seeing it for myself. I learnt that the Harry Potter series didn’t film at Kings Cross but at St. Pancras which is across the road because the latter station had more of a gothic feel whilst Kings Cross was originally a little bit of a dump (my dad’s words, not mine).

To get to Disneyland, we had to take the Eurostar from St. Pancras to Lilles Europe, and then we walked to a station ten minutes away that went from Lilles Flandres to Marne-la-Vallee – which is literally just outside the gates to the resort. There’s a bus station where you catch shuttle buses to the hotels; we were in the Vienna Dream Castle hotel, so we took a shuttlebus to drop our luggage off before going back to visit the park. By the time we got around to going into the park, it was about four in the afternoon (French time – we lost an hour going from England to France).

The Park

As you can imagine, getting into the park from the first gates takes some time; first you have to go through a baggage check area where your bag goes through a machine and you go through a metal detector. My dad set off alarms for having a watch and coins in his pocket, so they had to wave a wand-thing over his entire body and have him empty his pockets. Next, one you pass security, you have to walk up to where the actual Disney hotel is and you have to put your ticket in the machine to scan it – this lets you into the main park, and you’re free to roam!

Quick clarification on the layout of the park: it’s split into various areas. There’s Discoveyland, Fantasyland, Frontier-land, Adventureland, the main street…we weren’t there for long, so we didn’t get to see all of it, sadly.

Sunday in Disneyland Paris

When you first enter the actual park (as opposed to the Studio park), you come out onto a street full of shops; they sell the same things in every one, pretty much, but there are also restaurants too. If you walk straight up, you see Sleeping Beauty’s castle in the background – which, trust me, is a really amazing sight even in broad daylight.

My dad suggested that we take the train around the park to look around so that we knew the park areas, so we agreed – and the queue, guys, was insane. Let me tell you now, at Disneyland Paris you have to learn to either not let people push or you have to push yourself. People really don’t care for being polite, they just want to do things ASAP. We queued for the train for like an hour, being pushed by a seven year old and surrounded by screaming babies before getting on; we made it to two different stops before the ride stopped and the staff said they couldn’t run rides because of the parade. We decided, fuck it, and left the train to watch the parade.

We were late so we didn’t see a lot of the parade but we saw enough to appreciate it; my dad had a proper camera and got way better shots than I did on my phone, so I’ll have to see if I can share those soon. After the parade (I can’t even describe it, it was that amazing), we went to grab a drink and then decided we’d head out for some other rides.

Before the rides, my sister wanted to buy Minnie Mouse ears and I decided to get my BATB baseball cap because the sun was really bright and it covered my hair. We visited Sleeping Beauty’s castle, looking at the dragon underneath, and then headed off for Fantasy-land. We went on two rides in Fantasyland, on my sister’s request; the first was a little boat ride that took you around to look at mini-versions of scenes from famous fairy-tales. Ciara loved the Rapunzel one (Tangled is her favourite, she says) whereas I love the Beauty and the Beast one with Belle in her village. This would have been a lot more fun, had the ride not kept stopping (I think it was because people were struggling to climb in and out of moving boats). The second ride was a “junior train” based on Dumbo’s circus train, and that was fun whilst also being tame.

Then my mum had the wild and random idea of doing the “Star Wars” ride – by which she meant Hyperspace Mountain (I’m not sure if that’s the name – it was something like that). She was like, “Oh, I never do rollercoasters, I have to do it for the guys at work” so we were like “hm, okay, we already regret this but…”

THIS RIDE WAS TERRIFYING. Basically, you’re held in by those things you put over your shoulder and you go hurtling through the dark whilst stuff flashes and shoots, and you go really high before dropping all at once and upside and… By the end of it, my mum was sobbing with mascara running down her face, my dad was queasy and had to run to find a bench, and I was almost-certain that I had, in fact, shit my pants (I didn’t) whilst struggling to stand because the urge to vomit was too strong.

There’s a reason that ride is not for young children.

After this, we decided that we were going to take a break on the rides until the next day; we found out that at eleven each evening there was the Disney Illuminations show so we had to kill time before doing that. We ended up eating something at a food bar before wandering around and ending up in Frontierland – i.e. the wild west. My mum pissed about trying to find a cowboy hat whilst I checked out the cute plushes (I don’t care if I’m 19, the plushes were adorable). My mum ended up not buying a cowboy hat that evening because she was worried she’d look stupid (she did buy one later).

We settled down to watch the show at twenty-past-ten – and it was packed. People had literally sat and waited hours to claim the best positions, so we only got to see the upper bit from the side. I bought myself a glowing-night-sparkly-necklace-thing (you know how people wave those flickering lights about? Yeah, like that).

I’m going to talk about Disney Illuminations properly on the second night because we saw all of it on the second night, but it’s amazing in every sense of the word. It’s incredible. More on that later, however!

After the show, the park was closing – and the mad rush of 50, 000 (at least) people trying to push their way to the exit at once was terrifying. My dad and Ciara got separated from me and my mum several times. We somehow managed to fight our way all the way out and onto the first shuttlebus to get back to the hotel where we had a drink at the bar before going to bed.

Monday at Disneyland Paris

After we showered and had breakfast, we set off early again – it took ages, of course, to go through security and all that, but finally we were ready to go. We had established a day plan at Breakfast: head to Frontierland, start with Phantom Manner and work our way around.

Phantom Manor was a little bit of a wait but not too long; that was pretty fun – not terribly frightening when you’re my age and have been several times, but interesting nonetheless. My dad chickened out of going on the Thunder Mountain train, so me, my Mum and Ciara queued for just under an hour to go on that – we all agreed it was worth it, and we were all laughing and having fun by the end. It’s a ride where you’re on a train and hurtling around an abandoned mine, but it’s outside and you can get a little splashed (which, given the weather, was welcomed).

After this, my mum finally relented and bought a cowboy hat for herself; we had a go at the shooting range (Two euro a go) before getting more drinks and continuing on. Everyone wanted to try the new Pirates of the Caribbean ride, so we set off to find that, well aware that we’d probably have to queue for an hour.

And then, as I was walking past the lagoon, I saw Peter and Wendy from Peter Pan doing meet-and-greet.

I have wanted to meet Peter since I came to the park on the French immersion trip but I’ve never been able to. The line didn’t actually appear too long, so after bickering over it with my family I went to queue up alone; they waited in the shade, looking pissed as hell. My sister and dad left, in the end, while my mum waited to take a picture (begrudgingly, I might add).

I want to write about meeting Peter and Wendy in a separate post because I feel that it really deserves a separate post of its own.

After the meet-and-greet, my mum and I went to queue up for Pirates, and by this point my dad and sister were near the front so we were an hour behind. It was an okay ride, just log-flumes really, though apparently my sister and dad had a far more interesting experience because their ride stopped and ended up getting bumped repeatedly.

We met them afterwards, in the gift shop; by this time, we were all shattered, it was nearly four in the afternoon, and my sister kept begging to visit the restaurant “Annette’s” (a 50s styled diner). So we walked for half an hour, our feet killing us, all hot and sweaty and sticky, and got there – only to find that there was a queue just to be seated. It took another half an hour for us to be given a table, though after that the speed was pretty good.

My dad found an unattended bag in the men’s bathroom and had to tell security. The food was delicious, don’t get me wrong – but I ate far too much. I would have probably been fine, if not for the combination of the Coke float and the Cookie Dough Ice-cream sundae. (I got glutty, I know)

It was so bad that for the rest of the afternoon/evening I was a) constipated and b) had trapped wind. That sounds hilarious but it was in reality very painful.

We all did a bit of shopping, staying together for some of it and then splitting up for an hour before meeting at a bench facing the castle – it was 7:30 (I think?) and my dad and Ciara wanted to go back to the hotel to go to the bar; me and my mum wanted to stay for the Illumination show. In the end, we won out and we stayed – but we had to remain seated on that bench for three and a half hours. I darted off a few times to a) watch the Disney princesses dancing a short distance away (so did Ciara and my dad, to be honest), b) get a bottle of Coke and c) get popcorn. By the time I came back with popcorn, it was dark and it was impossible to get back to the bench without stepping on someone who was sitting down and waiting. After that, we had no choice but to stay at the bench.

In the end, it all paid off because we got an amazing view of the Disney Illuminations show!

Disney Illuminations

Starting at 11pm each night, it’s a show where clips of various Disney films and the like are projected onto Sleeping Beauty’s castle whilst music plays; there are also fireworks, fire bursts, water splashing/bursting…it’s amazing, well and truly.

I’m not sure I should be revealing the entire show on here because I saw it with no idea of what to expect, and it was amazing. I will tell you that there’s segments involving Mickey, The Lion King, The Little Mermaid, Finding Nemo, Pirates of the Caribbean, Beauty and the Beast (2017), Star Wars, Frozen and then a big finale. It’s about 20-30 minutes long. If you really want to watch it, then I’m sure it’s available on YouTube.

I will talk about the BATB section though because it made me tear up! I wrote a post in my notebook about why Belle is my favourite princess and why seeing Belle when I was little/growing up really impacted me (a girl who likes books? Dude, that’s me sold!) I loved the remake, perhaps more than the original in some ways, and besides that – seeing Emma Watson’s face projected on a Disney castle was a little too much for my overly-sensitive ass to handle, so I ended up crying during the whole thing (in a good way – it was beautiful).

Things I bought

I went with eight-five euro, and I have hardly any left because of how expensive everything is!

So the BATB cap I bought was €24.99 – I think I posted a picture earlier.

I bought the necklace lights which were €6 (I thought they were 10, so yay on that)

I bought a small Mickey plush for €17.99 – and he’s TINY. I dread to think what the massive over-sized ones cost.

Finally I bought a Limited Edition Beauty and the Beast pin for €13.99 – it’s a book with “Beauty and the Beast” written on the cover, and when you open it (like a locket), there’s a picture of Emma Watson as Belle inside.

*

All in all, I really enjoyed my holiday – I wish we could have stayed for longer but…alas, we booked pretty late. If we go again in the near future, I hope we book to go longer because there just wasn’t enough time for everything. :/

But other than that, I had fun! :D It was the break I feel I needed to get away from stuff, so hopefully in the future I’ll be a little more chilled about things.

[mrshopkirk]

Unrequited Love (3.1/3) (end)

Well, here it is. The final chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it.

Characters: Steve x Bucky

Summary: Steve has been in love with his best friend for as long as he can remember and he will never stop, even knowing it will forever be unrequited

Warning: swearing, mention of torture, war, heartbreak, death, thoughts of suicide, violence, painful nightmares

Word count: 2887

Author’s note: Thank you @hellomissmabel for proofreading. I love you, sweetheart. I have taken some liberties and am not following the storyline of Civil War. Feedback is appreciated.

If you need warnings added, let me know.

*MASTERLIST*

Previously:

But I’ll try to protect you from that darkness now. I see what you really are, a light in a dark world. They tried to put out the candle, kill the root of the tree but they failed. You’re a fighter, like me, but smarter. You pick your battles carefully whereas I blindly punch and kick, waiting for you to guide me. I am no good without you. No matter what weapons they ever trusted into your hands, your hands were only made for caring. And I give you my all, my love. I place it in your hand. I don’t care if you hold it with your soft, warm right hand or the cold, tireless, dangerous left one, I trust you. And I’m begging for your forgiveness. Please, forgive me even though I’m too stubborn to actually ask you myself.

Now

The nights at the tower are awful. Everyone tries to act normal around Bucky so he doesn't feel like more of a freak than he already labeled himself. But the truth is they fear the gut-wrenching screams at night. At some point or another they have all found themselves in the hallway facing his door. Sometimes they fall asleep waiting until Steve emerges again after he has calmed Bucky down. They feel helpless listening to the torturous sounds of Bucky who is trapped in his own mind.

The one person that is always there is Nat. First because she wanted to make sure that Steve had back-up should he have to fight off the Winter Soldier. After a while because she wanted to make sure Steve knew he had a friend waiting for him outside that door. And after that because she wanted to help Steve pick up the pieces of his broken heart. She prides herself in being able to read people and while waiting on the cold tile floor of the tower she found a hidden chapter in the book of the life of Steven Rogers. Her stoic face doesn’t reveal anything but she’s figured it out. She found his weakness and his strength, Bucky Barnes, the love of his life.

“You know,” she gently places her hand on his shoulder while walking him back to his room, “times are different now. You don't need to hide this kind of stuff anymore.”

He whips his head at her but immediately knows there is no point in lying to her.

“Yeah, I do, Nat,” he sighs. “I need to hide it from him.”

“But-“

“No, Nat, he doesn't know, he never will and he will never feel the same.” He’s trembling, exhaustion and a lifetime of burying his feelings taking over. “I’m so tired, Nat. I’m trying to hold on but I’m so tired I just want to let go.”

It’s the only night in his life Steve Rogers ever slept in a woman’s arms. The night Natasha Romanoff’s frail frame tries desperately to keep him from falling apart in a million pieces so he can get up in the morning and pretend that nothing is wrong.

Since his search for Bucky, Steve has always wondered if he’d go to heaven or hell. If it was God or the devil that answered his desperate pleas in those dark forests where he had forsaken his soul. He understands now. He’s already here. He’s already in heaven and hell right now. Life with Bucky is heaven and hell.

Be careful what you wish for, his ma once said. It might come true.

God and the devil kept their promise. They let him find Bucky but they denied him his love.

Some mornings Bucky doesn't say a word simply because he lost his voice from screaming for hours on end. Everyone hopes Steve’s presence calms Bucky but the truth is, it doesn't. Most of the time he doesn't wake up, doesn't acknowledge his presence. He is stuck. Stuck in his mind, stuck in his past, stuck in Hydra’s web, twisting and turning to free himself but the bed sheets just tighten around his body like restraints tying him down. The only thing Steve can do is free him from the bed sheets. That's all he does. And listen. Listen to hours of endless cries of his name. Bucky’s screaming for Steve to come and get him, to rescue him like he did before. He screams profanities at his handlers. Fights like a lion telling them to bring it on with everything they got. Begging them for death the next moment. Begging with a quivering voice to not use the machine followed by piercing screams, hours on end, repeating Steve’s name over and over again. Night after night Steve sits numbed next to Bucky on the floor.

The worst night of them all was a quiet night though.

“Why don't you come for me, Steve?” Sobs are heard in the hallway. “Have you forgotten me?”

Steve has been sitting slumped against a wall all night. Just like all other nights, deeming himself unworthy to enjoy the comfort of the couch while his friend relives all his nightmares as if it weren't enough to experience it once. He doesn't find the strength in him to walk over. He crawls to his friend’s side.

“Never. I have never forgotten you. How could I? You and I, we’re together till the end of the line, Bucky.”

“Steve? Steve, are you here?” His voice sounds horse. Steve turns on the little light on his bedside table and feels a calloused hand on his cheek. “Steve… You're really here.” Tears roll down Bucky's face, making the dark circles under his eyes glisten in the soft light and he smiles. “You came for me. I knew you would.”

Steve puts his hand over Bucky’s and leans into his touch.

“Can I get you something, Bucky? Water?” He gently sweeps Bucky's wet locks of hair from his face, obscuring it like a tangled web.

Steve makes his way to the door only to already find a tray with some crackers and water. A smiling Nat gives him wary a thumbs up. The rest of his friends are standing there tired and broken but with a somewhat relieved look on their worn out faces.

Bucky's nightmares diminish a little after that night, the night that changed the outcome of his past, the torture he endured. While he still screams and trashes around he somehow knows deep down Steve is there to help him wake up. He knows they are dreams. Steve is reality. Steve is good. Life can be good again.

Every night he asks Steve the same question.

“Will you stay with me?”

And every night Steve watches Bucky fall asleep.

My darling, if you knew how I felt, if I told you, would you stay? Would you still look at me the way you do now? We have both changed so much. There are so many new things I have to learn about you. I curse the time we have spent apart. I curse myself. You're the one I want to grow old with. See our bodies crumble, tired lines etching their way on our faces. I want to watch your body grow weak just as I saw it grow strong and I'll still worship it. You're beautiful in every shape or form. I was there when you turned from a caterpillar into a butterfly. I saw you after they tore off your wing and forced you to crawl at their feet, your beautiful colors buried under the dust of the catacombs.

At least that's what I thought you were, a beautiful butterfly. But you proved me wrong. You're not frail. You're meant for a longer life, for more than just a life in the sunshine. You're a Phoenix. You rise from the ashes and fly higher than ever before. You leave everyone in awe. They knew. Those fuckers knew. You are not a man to be brought down. They couldn't even handle you at your worst. I don't think I want to know what you can do at your best. You're starting a new life by arising from the ashes of your old one. You will create your own life now, write your own story from now on. I'll gather some of your ashes and keep them with me. I'll mourn over what I have lost but rejoice that you have been set free.

If you need to be reminded of who you once were, come to me. If you want company in your journey to find out who you are now, I will come. Please, let me come. I want to be part of you, all of you. Don't leave me behind even though I deserve it. After all, I left you behind once too.

“The right one? Who are you? Steve?” Bucky chuckles at Nat’s words. Who in his right mind comes up to a recovering Winter Soldier and asks if he's met the right one yet.

“Well, was there one? The one?”

He stares ahead blankly.

“I would have remembered by now, wouldn't I?” He looks at her. “I started remembering the most important people in my life in Bucharest. My ma and pa, my sisters, Steve and his ma. Part from that, a string of pretty faces and half naked bodies.”

Nat cocks an eyebrow and rolls her eyes in mild disgust mostly out of loyalty to Steve, an action missed by Bucky. He misses a lot of his surroundings when he focuses on remembering and memories.

“If there was a special girl I would have remembered her by now.” He turns his head to her and shrugs. “That's what I think anyway.”

A lopsided smile shows on his face and he shakes his head.

“If there ever was a special person in my life, it's Steve. He was always there, never ever let me down, never,” he stares at Nat intensely. “And I let him down so many times. I left his side so many times and for what? Some nameless pretty piece of flesh. He's been nothing but good to me. Best friend anyone could ask for.” The distress in his voice is obvious. He isn’t able to control emotions just yet.

Bucky is in that place where Nat likes her prey. That vulnerable place, their thoughts so focused they let down their guard. That’s when she strikes, quick and deadly. This is the time, the opportunity she needs to seize.

“So… he's the one for you?” She tentatively asks, knowing this is still a touchy subject for men from the forties, social prejudice embedded deep in their minds.

“He’ll always be the one,” a sincere but cocky smile on his face, the hardship of the life he endured softening for only a moment, “but not like you mean. I love him, more than I will ever love someone, more than I ever thought I could love someone, but I'm not in love with him.” He mauls over his words for a moment and Nat is patiently waiting him out, still hoping against hope. “I’ll stay by his side though, you know, till the end of the line.””

Nat looks him in the eye all the time, making sure she doesn’t miss a thing, doesn’t miss the hint of a lie but she comes up with nothing. It is the truth he's telling her. The naked cruel truth. It’s love, Nat thinks. True love. Jut not that kind of love. And Steve deserves more, more than Bucky can give him.

“What if you meet someone, a girl?”

“Girls are the last thing on my mind, Nat. Hydra did a good job at wiping out a lot of things they deemed unnecessary for an assassin. They made sure I didn’t want anything, that nothing could… happen.”

He casts his eyes down in embarrassment, at the admission of something so private, at the memory of the painful procedure Hydra enjoyed performing. He knows he can tell Nat. She understands but it still hurts to say it out loud.

It’s why he doesn’t care about naked women, about sex scenes in movies. It does nothing to his body. There is no desire. No need. No want. It’s why he can’t figure out if there’s maybe something more about Steve. They were always together and he remembers the touch of a man’s lips on his. Was it Steve? He’s afraid to ask because if there ever was something more, he doesn’t feel it anymore.

Bucky remembers some things now. Steve patiently answers any questions Bucky has about anything, everything, trying to piece back together his life. These things include girls. Of course they include girls, Steve thinks. They will always include girls, enough girls to last a fucking lifetime. He definitely fucked enough girls to last a lifetime.

“Steve?”

“Hm?”

“Did I,” he clears his throat. “Did I ever kiss a guy?”

Steve stiffens, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by Bucky.

“Never mind. I just-“

“Yeah. Yeah, you did. Just a one-time thing though,” he sighs.

A heavy silence settles between them. Bucky keeps throwing sideway glances at Steve, trying to figure out why his friend is upset but only coming to one conclusion, the most obvious one.

“So… uh, you’re opposed to that?” He cautiously asks. “To men being together?”

Steve shakes his head laughing at the wry irony of it all and does what he does best. He looks at Bucky and opens his heart this one last time, savoring the pain that comes with feeling the love he holds for Bucky, his Bucky that will never be his.

“No, Bucky. I think love is a wonderful thing, no matter who loves who. I never once thought it was bad, not even in Brooklyn when everyone thought it was just for perverted minds. Neither did you I may add.”

Bucky stares in the distance, giving Steve free reign to look at his features. They’re just as majestic as they were when they were growing up together. His jawline, the little dents in his ears, the long eyelashes, his skin a bit more tanned than his own fair one. They still have him mesmerized. And those long, soft, dark brown locks he has now. They make Steve’s heart flutter in his chest. What he wouldn’t give to run his hands through them. Just once. Tug at them. Just once. Burry his nose in them. Just once. Once.

“Why do you ask?” He just needs to know now. Afraid the subject will never be brought up again, even now when the times have changed.

“I had a vague image of a man kissing me, but I,” he sighs and his brows are furrowed. It pains Steve every time he sees it happen. He wants to tell him everything will be okay even if it’s the biggest lie he would ever tell.

“I didn’t know whether it really happened. Or when. Or who it was.” He blinks rapidly, trying to remember but failing. He turns to Steve, wanting to complete the memory, own it again. “Was it…uh, you?”

Steve forces a small forced smile on his face. “No.”

Bucky inhales deeply, not sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

“Some guy by the docks. That’s all you ever told me. I don’t think you knew who it was either.”

“Great,” Bucky chuckles, “kissed a total stranger by the docks.”

“He kissed you first actually.”

“I wasn’t even in charge, even greater,” his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. After a few moments he turns to Steve. “Do you know why?”

“You said you wanted to try it. It was new, exciting, and adventurous.” He sighs.

Steve replays that evening in his mind. He has done that many times over the years, thinking about the looks Bucky gave him and him biting his lip. Pretending it was for him, that he wanted him. Steve imagines it was him running his hands over Bucky’s arms at the docks. If he tried hard enough, he could even smell the salty water and hear it splashing against to dock. He only kissed Peggy to know what it feels like to have soft, warm lips pressed against his own so he could better pretend it was Bucky kissing him. It is the only thing he has that comes close to loving Bucky and he smiles thinking about it for the first time with Bucky sitting so close to him.

He closes his eyes and lets Bucky’s smell engulf his senses, feels his friend’s body radiate against his own skin. He’s here. He’s really here. He’s close, so close. I could touch his hand if I wanted too, he thinks. Slowly he opens his eyes, realization dawning on him. Bucky was never afraid to hug him, as a friend, but still it was hugging nonetheless. All these years in this new world, he has been deprived, and has deprived himself of physical contact. The only time he has held someone for longer than a hug was the night he spent with Nat. Steve longs for warmth. He craves it. He looks at his fingers, slowly moving on their own, inch by inch making their way cautiously over to where Bucky’s big calloused hand is resting on the ground. Just a touch. Just one touch. But it isn’t meant to be. It never was. Bucky’s voice sets his hopes and longings on fire, burning them in a fire so violent that nothing but ashes is left.

“I’ve had the hands of so many men on me, hurting, cutting, hitting” Bucky stares in the distance, “I don’t want a single man touching me ever again.”

Without missing a beat, Steve answers, the irony and sarcasm completely lost on his friend. “Don’t worry, Bucky. I’ll personally make sure no man will ever get near you.”

Bucky smiles at him, his friendship is unconditional. Requited.

Steve smiles back, his love is unconditional. Unrequited.

Ma was wrong after all, Steve thinks to himself. His heart is indeed big, but there isn’t room for anyone else. Bucky has claimed it all. Even after more than 70 years, it still belongs to him and only him.

Taglist: @callamint  @laterthantherabbit   @aubzylynn  @you-and-bucky   @harleyqueen7  @beccaanne814-blog  @hardcorehippos  @ursulaismymiddlename  @buckyywiththegoodhair  @hellomissmabel  @blacwings-and-bucky-barnes  @abovethesmokestacks   @eve1978  @winterboobaer  @howiseethesethings  @thatawkwardtinyperson  @emilyevanston  @s8sense

Stucky tags: @bone-of-my-bones

Broken tags: @brokennoone @10kindsofderp

[adoredykelano]

Like This

pairing: jasmine cephas-jones x reader

summary: reader and jasmine are long-time friends, who one day decide to hook up. no strings attached. it was a good idea in theory.

warnings: swearing, alcohol mention, D/s, bondage, temperature play, a tiny bit of spanking, sex toys (? is that something i need to warn about i don’t even know), i vaguely mention a couple details about the movie “remember me” which deals with 9/11 so if you’re very sensitive to that this might not be for you. i don’t mention any real specifics about 9/11 itself but better safe than sorry if this is a topic that triggers you.

word count: 5,014

a/n: ah yes day two of the @hamwriters write-a-thon!! here this is my inbox is open for comments concerns complaints etc love u happy reading

The soft patter of rain on the window of your apartment fades into the background as you hit “play” on the remote. Friday night movie nights with your best friend are even better when it’s raining, so you’re perfectly content with the storm outside. You pull the fluffy blanket up to your chin and settle into the back cushion of the couch.

“Really?” Jasmine sighs as she walks into the living room, bowl of popcorn clutched against her chest. “You had to pick the saddest movie on Netflix?”

You roll your eyes and stick an arm out of your blanket, making a grabbing motion at the popcorn. “It isn’t the saddest movie on Netflix, and I’m not the one who decided that on movie nights we could only watch movies set in New York.”

“I don’t see how that is the issue here,” Jasmine hands you the popcorn and flops down on the couch next to you, sliding under the other side of the blanket. “There are plenty of movies set in New York, it’s not like I picked some obscure setting like Buffalo or Manitoba.”

“Okay, you don’t get to judge my movie choice. Last week you picked that terrible mid 2000’s chick-flick with a fortune teller in it.” You pick up a handful of popcorn and shove it very ungracefully into your mouth.

Jasmine lightly backhands your shoulder as she frowns at you. “Just My Luck is a gem!”

You raise an eyebrow, popcorn crunching between your teeth loudly.

“Okay, Chris Pine is a gem,” she rolls her eyes and veers her attention to the television.

A hush falls over the two of you as you get simultaneously sucked into the film, Robert Pattinson’s voice and the occasional shuffle of popcorn the only sounds to be heard.

“Oh that’s fucked up,” Jasmine muters when a classroom bully targets the main character’s sister.

“Poor baby,” you lament. “She didn’t even see it coming.”

Jasmine shifts closer to you, her legs draped over your lap.

“Comfortable?” You snicker, looking over at her face.

“Shh,” she scolds, eyes glued to the television. “Tyler’s about to- oh my God.”

You squint at her for a second before turning back to the movie. The silence returns, and eventually Jasmine’s head leans to rest on your shoulder.

“No,” you shout as the main character heads toward the window of the office building. “No, get out of there, Ally needs you, Caroline needs you!”

Your lip quivers as the shot zooms out, revealing that the building shown is the North Tower of the World Trade Center.

“Whatever you do in life will be insignificant, but it’s very important that you do it, because nobody else will,” Robert Pattinson’s voice narrates over the characters in the film looking distressed.

The screen fades to black and you sniffle, trying to hold in your tears.

“I told you this movie was a bad idea, [Y/N],” Jasmine says, holding back a smile, laughter playing in her eyes for a moment.

“You always have to swoop in with the ‘I-told-you-so,’ don’t you,” you mutter as tears start to pour down your cheeks. “I- fuck, what the fuck,” you wipe angrily at your face.

“Hey, are you- come here,” Jasmine’s eyes soften with concern as she places her hands on either of your cheeks. Her thumbs brush away the salt water trails and her stare locks onto yours.

“It’s just so sad and- God, I’m an idiot, it’s a fucking movie,” you laugh once, averting your eyes. “It’s just a movie- a very predictable movie, really. And I’m over here sobbing.”

“You’re not an idiot, you’re just...soft. It’s okay,” she murmurs. There’s a brief pause before she leans forward and presses a gentle peck to your forehead.

Your gaze flits back up to her, “W- what was that for?”

Jasmine drops her hands from your cheeks and shrugs. “Um- I don’t know. You just looked really sad,” she gives you a small smile. “I thought it might help. I read this article that said physical affection helps with feelings of sadness.”

“Well,” you laugh lightly and wipe the corners of your eyes, “thank you, then.”

Her eyes look down at your smile before looking back up to you, “No problem.”

You tilt your head almost imperceptibly, a little confused at her expression. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just- well…” she trails off, gaze darting around your face.

“Jazzy?” Your concern grows a little. You’ve known Jasmine a long time, and she isn’t usually at a loss for words. “Are you sure you’re-”

You’re cut off by her lips brushing timidly against your own. Your body reacts before your brain can register what’s going on, kissing her back with a bit more certainty. Your lips move together tenderly for a moment before the kiss becomes a bit more heated.

Jasmine’s hands find their way to your hair, tangling in the strands. You turn, angling your body more toward her while you grasp her hips, pulling her to straddle your lap.

Her tongue brushes gently against your lower lip, and you’re about to let your jaw drop open when your brain kicks in.

You pull back suddenly and look up at Jasmine. “W- wait, what’s-”

“Fuck, oh my God,” she shakes her head and quickly stands, feet getting tangled in the blanket momentarily, almost causing her to fall. “I should’ve asked first, that was- I don’t know what that was, I’m so sorry. What the fuck,” she mutters.

“I...I didn’t mind,” you say quietly, glancing up at her.

“You- what?” Jasmine asks incredulously.

“I said I didn’t mind,” you repeat, a bit louder this time. You stand and take the few steps it takes to reach her. “I mean, there’s no harm in two friends hooking up.”

“Are you...are you sure about this?” She asks, scanning for something in your face.

You smirk and put your hands on her waist, pulling her closer to you. “You’re my best friend, you’re hot as hell, we’re both single, and sex is fun. I don’t see what there is to be unsure about.”

“I thought you were dating Finn,” she squints at you.

“Fuck Finn,” you huff. “Finn, and Matthew, and Aaron, and however many other men I’ve been with who don’t give a fuck about me. This could be good,” you insist. “A detox from a long line of romantic and sexual tragedies.”

“Well…” Jasmine thinks for a moment before wrapping her arms behind your neck. “I think this could be the start of a beautiful thing, [Y/N].”

---

“Are you sure the rest of the cast don’t mind me crashing your bonding time?” You wonder, tugging your shirt back over your head.

“I’m positive,” Jasmine laughs as she shimmies into her skinny jeans. “You’ve been around the theater so much in the past few weeks that most people forget you’re not part of the cast, anyway.”

“Oops,” you snicker. You pull your ankle boots back on and zip them up.

“You’re not even sorry,” she tsks and shakes her head.

“Hard to be sorry when I have good reason to be here all the time,” you shrug.

“Oh? And what might that reason be?”

“It just so happens,” you begin, stalking toward her. “That my hot best friend is in the cast, and that they have an insatiable sexual appetite.”

Jasmine giggles, turning to fix her hair in the mirror. “I’ll tell Daveed to calm down, then.”

“Oh shut up,” you smirk at her. “Though, if you wanted to invite him I wouldn’t be opposed…”

“Right,” her smile falters briefly and she wipes the smudged lipstick from the corner of her mouth.

“You ready?” Daveed asks, peeking his head in through the door.

“Yeah,” Jasmine answers before you have a chance to. She grabs your hand and pulls you down the stairs and outside to the cab, where you settle in between Daveed and Jasmine.

“You look so hot tonight,” Daveed smirks, eyes raking over your figure.

“Thanks,” you blush lightly, fingers fiddling with the hem of your faux suede skirt. “You don’t look too shabby yourself, for an old man.”

He laughs heartily, head thrown back. “I’m not that much older than you, [Y/N].” His hand, once positioned on his own thigh, slides just a bit. His warm pinky grazes the exposed skin above your knee.

Daveed is a lot of things, among them being hot, kind, intelligent, and very talented. Subtlety, however, is not his strongest suit.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Jasmine mutters. She leans forward to look around you at Daveed. “I love you like a brother, Daveed, but if you’re just looking for someone to write more clipping songs about, pick someone that isn’t my best friend, mkay?”

Daveed smirks and raises his hands in surrender.

“Good boy,” Jasmine nods, flopping back against the leather seat.

You fish your phone out of your bag and send a quick message from the interior, not wanting Daveed to see the message.

Feeling a little bossy tonight, are we?

Jasmine looks at her phone and bites down lightly on her lower lip. Your phone buzzes a few seconds later.

Come home with me later and see.

The cab pulls up to the club before you have a chance to reply. Daveed takes one hand while Jasmine grasps the other, and you’re whisked inside past a sea of flashing cameras held by shouting men.

Daveed, the self appointed conductor of your daisy chain, steers the three of you toward the bar area where the rest of the cast is waiting.

“[Y/N]!” Pippa squeals, standing from the tall stool to throw her arms around you. “I missed you.”

You catch a whiff of tequila and stifle a laugh, patting her on the back. “I missed you too, angel. Even though it’s only been,” you glance at your watch, “an hour and a half.”

Pippa pulls back, a somber look on her face. “An hour and a half is much too long to be separated from my favorite person ever.”

You open your mouth to respond, but Pippa locks eyes with Daveed and squeals again.

“Daveed! I missed you!”

Jasmine shakes her head, laughing a little. She threads her fingers through yours and leads you to an open spot at the bar, leaning across the counter to order you a drink.

An amused grin spreads across your face as glance at her feet. She’s stretched up on her tiptoes to be tall enough to talk to the bartender.

“You know,” you remark as Jasmine hands you a vodka cranberry. “We’ve been friends since, what, freshman year of high school? And I still consistently forget how short you are.”

“Oh my God,” she huffs exasperatedly. “I get it, I’m short. You have this revelation every two months.”

You try to suppress your smile, sipping at your drink.

“You’re so annoying,” she groans, hopping up to sit on an empty barstool. “If you weren’t so good at eating me out I’d cut off all contact with you. Leave you a note saying I moved to Thailand to find myself or something.”

You laugh, nearly choking on your drink in the process. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Pippa forcing an astonishingly reluctant Oak out onto the dance floor. “Oh my God,” you turn to get a better glimpse of them. “Pippa is so...gone.”

“She’s a lightweight,” Jasmine says, setting her now empty glass on the countertop. “Anyway, dance with me?”

You down the rest of your drink and hop down from the barstool, holding out your hand for hers.

You’ve been dancing for a quite a while before the DJ starts a remix of a Rihanna song, which makes your eyes light up right away. ANTI had been the soundtrack to many of your escapades with Jasmine, so whenever a song plays you’re reminded of her. The two of you have taken to texting each other if a song from the album comes on when you’re not together.

Jasmine smirks, drawing your body impossibly closer to her. Your bodies move in sync, her hands finding your hips.

“What are you willing to do?” She sings teasingly, slotting her leg between your knees. “Oh, tell me what you’re willing to do?”

The flesh of your bottom lip sinks under your teeth as you tilt your head to the side, allowing her lips to press against your neck just under your ear.

“Kiss it, kiss it better baby.” Her hot breath fans out over your neck and you shiver slightly at the sensation, goosebumps trailing down your arms.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You tighten your grip on her waist, giving her a suggestive look.

“Depends,” she raises a brow at you.

“On what?”

“If you’re going to be good for me tonight,” she declares plainly.

“Shit,” your brain stops working for a moment and you blink a few times, surprised at her no-nonsense tone. “Fuck. Jasmine, I’ll be so good for you tonight, I promise.”

“I don’t know,” she laughs, letting go of your hips and weaving through the crowd with you. “The swearing isn’t very convincing, but I suppose you can have another try when we get back to my place.”

The wooden heels of your booties thump against the concrete as you make it outside, Jasmine hailing a cab.

“Your place, huh? What if I wanted to go to mine?”

“That would be too bad,” she turns to you with a mischievous look in her eyes as a taxi pulls up to the curb. “A surprise I ordered came in this morning, and I think you’d really love it. But if you want to go to your apartment instead…” she trails off as the two of you settle in the backseat.

“A surprise? What did you do?”

She turns lackadaisically to survey the busy street through the window. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

The two of you hurry through the lobby of her apartment building, navigating the three flights of stairs to her fourth floor walk-up.

“Fuck, I hate that you don’t have an elevator,” you sigh, leaning against the wall by the door.

Jasmine’s hand reaches out and swats gently at your backside, eliciting a shocked yelp from you. You clamp your hand over your mouth for a second before squinting at her.

“What was that for?” You whisper angrily, worried you’ve disturbed her neighbors.

“I told you no swearing,” she informs you coolly as she unlocks her front door. She makes a gesture to invite you inside when the door swings open and follows behind you.

“Sorry, ma’am,” you tease, rolling your eyes.

Jasmine raises both of her eyebrows as she drops her bag on the floor near the door. “Are you mocking me, baby doll?”

There’s a fire in her eyes and an edge in her tone that lets you know that she means business. You swallow harshly before responding, “No, ma’am. I’m sorry for swearing and disrespecting you.”

“As you should be.”

Your eyes are glued to her retreating figure before she spins on one heel to fix you with her gaze.

“I’ll call you when things are ready, and you’ll make your way into my room quickly. Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you nod eagerly.

“Good girl,” she smirks, pushing the door closed behind her.

While you wait for further instructions, you set your bag down on the coffee table and lean against the back of the couch. You consider stripping down at least partially, but Jasmine hadn’t told you to do so and you’d tested her enough for one night.

“[Y/N],” she calls. You stand quickly, nearly running down the hall and into the bedroom.

Jasmine is standing at the foot of her bed, a red lace teddy just barely covering her body and a black satin blindfold clutched in her hand. You sweep your eyes up and down her body, taking in the strappy lingerie and the black lace thigh highs before tearing your gaze away to look around the room. You gasp as you take it in.

She’s covered the top of her dresser in flickering candles and-

“Is that a...”

“A steel suspension bar? Why yes,” she props a hand on her hip, a smug look on her face. “Yes it is.”

“You remembered?” You stare at up at it wistfully, judging the distance from the bar to the floor.

“Of course I did. How could I forget my baby doll admitting that she’s always wanted to try standing bondage?”

You feel heat creep onto your cheeks as you continue to stare at the steel bar.

“Now, why don’t you be a good little toy for me and strip?”

Without hesitation, you follow her order. You slip your feet out of your shoes and unbutton the top of your skirt, letting it fall to the floor. The white blouse joins the pile of discarded clothing, leaving you in just your pale pink bra and panties.

“As much as I love that color on you, I meant all the way.” Jasmine takes a few steps forward to center herself in front of you.

You nod and slide your panties down your legs, tossing them and your bra into the pool of clothes.

Jasmine holds up the blindfold, but makes firm eye contact with you. “Before we go any further, what’s your safe word?”

“Pattinson,” you give her a sly smile.

“Very good.” She closes the short distance and wraps the blindfold over your eyes, moving around to stand behind you and tying it gently.

“Since we’re not actually suspending you, these are the normal cuffs that you’re familiar with,” Jasmine explains as she fastens them to your wrists.

She jerks your left arm upward and you hear the clinking of metal on metal, and then her warm hands disappear from your skin. She speedily repeats her motions with the other arm, leaving you with both of your arms held above your head.

You tug lightly, testing the strength of your restraints.

Jasmine pulls you back against her, her hands roaming the expanse of your abdomen before reaching up to knead at your breasts. As soon as you get accustomed to the feeling of her body pressed against your back, she’s gone.

You’re dazed by her absence for only a moment and then her lips find yours, hands tugging lightly at your hair. Your tongues tangle together before she breaks away, lips, teeth, and tongue grazing over your neck. Her hand slips down, fingers ghosting over your slit as she sucks a hickey onto your collarbone.

She disappears again and you let out a small whimper, hips bucking forward to search for contact.

“Now, now,” she slaps your ass, a hint of laughter in her voice. “You’ll take what I give you and be thankful.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply meekly. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. You’re so good to me.”

“I am,” she affirms, fingers crawling over your hip.

A cold sensation presses into the skin between your shoulder blades and you gasp, jumping slightly, your arms jerking against the restraints. Jasmine trails what you soon recognize as an ice cube down your spine, dropping a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

The ice cube resurfaces on your left nipple, then your navel before returning to your right and goosebumps shimmer over your chest at the chill.

There’s another moment of breathless anticipation, your mind racing with thoughts of what might happen next. You inhale sharply as her fingers dip easily inside of you, still chilled from the ice cube.

You moan as she thrusts two digits into you, her thumb pressing against your clit.

“You like that, baby doll? Does that feel good?” Jasmine purrs into your ear.

“Yes, ma’am,” you whimper while she picks up speed. “Feels so good.”

She hums lightly, continuing her ministrations. Your knees begin to tremble as your orgasm starts to build in the pit of your stomach. You let your head fall back, a loud moan tearing from your throat. You feel your thighs twitch, signalling that you’re incredibly close to coming- you’re so close you can taste it.

And then her fingers are gone.

“Wh-” You begin to question, but then she’s behind you, removing your blindfold.

“You’ve had your fun,” she sashays over to the end of her bed, settling on the edge of the mattress. At some point she’d removed her lingerie, leaving her in just the black thigh highs. “It’s my turn, now.”

A quiet hum fills the air as she switches on a sleek black vibrator, lounging backward onto the bed while she does so. She runs her tongue around the tip of the toy before dragging it over her breasts, giving attention to her nipples. Her head falls back as she moans softly, her hair fanning out on the duvet behind her.

You’re captivated by her movements, completely enthralled as she trails the vibrator down her abdomen and over her clit. Jasmine gasps faintly, her other hand reaching up to paw at her breast.

You don’t realize you’re trying to reach out for her until you hear the jingling of the metal chains, your eyes snapping up to the restraints.

“Eager to please, are we?”Jasmine smirks at you before slipping the toy into herself, eliciting a mewl from her lips.

“Please, ma’am,” you whimper, eyes raking over her body. “Please, please, I just want to make you feel so good. With my mouth, with my hands, however you want me to, whatever you want from me. Please, I need to touch you.”

“Mm,” she hums, tilting her head at you. “I suppose if you’re so desperate for me to use you…”

“So desperate,” you agree quickly, nodding. “So desperate, please let me make you feel good, please use me ma’am.”

Jasmine turns off the vibrator and stands, setting it down as she makes her way over to unbind your wrists. You quickly put your arms around her waist, pulling her close to kiss her passionately.

When you finally wake up the next afternoon, Jasmine is already gone. You stretch and roll out of bed, heading into the bathroom where there’s a sticky note attached to the mirror.

Sorry I had to leave early, had a yoga class early this morning. Last night was amazing. Coffee in the pot is fresh, there are pancakes in the fridge to be heated up.

You shrug and continue about your morning, showering and borrowing a pair of leggings and a sweater from Jasmine’s dresser. Padding out into the kitchen, you warm up your food and flop down onto the couch, catching up on your Twitter feed as you eat.

You nearly choke, eyes bugging out of your head when you see an article linked in your mentions.

‘Hamilton’ Star Steps Out with Longtime Friend—Or Are They More?

Jasmine Cephas-Jones, known best for originating the roles of both Peggy Schuyler and Maria Reynolds in the Broadway smash-hit Hamilton, was seen entering a nightclub in Hell’s Kitchen after last night’s show holding hands with none other than longtime friend [Y/N]. Patrons of the club say the two were very close, dancing only with each other the entire night.

Our inside source insists that the gal pals look at each other with “undeniable fondness in their eyes,” and notes “They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. They have indisputable heat and chemistry between them.”

You read the article twice, scrolling back to the top of the page to look at the picture of you and Jasmine outside the club. You copy the link and attach it to a message.

To: Jasmine — 11:47 AM

Lol look at this.

From: Jasmine — 11:50 AM

I’ve already seen it. I’m sorry.

To: Jasmine — 11:51 AM

Sorry about what? It’s hilarious. They think we’re in looooove.

From: Jasmine — 12:14 PM

Right, haha. Hilarious.

To: Jasmine — 12:16 PM

Anyway, today’s a two show day, right? Want me to bring dinner...and dessert? ;)

From: Jasmine — 12:32 PM

Nah, don’t come. I’m tired today. Think I’m just gonna nap between shows.

To: Jasmine — 12:34 PM

Are you okay?? When have you EVER been too tired for me to go down on you?

From: Jasmine — 12:47 PM

I’m just tired, okay? I have to go warm up for the show. I’ll talk to you later.

To: Jasmine — 12:48 PM

Alright, break a leg!!

You click the tv off and go back to Jasmine’s bedroom, gathering your clothes from the night before. It isn’t like Jasmine to tell you not to come to the theater, even if she’s tired and doesn’t want to have sex. You’ve spent a lot of time at the Richard Rodgers with her, eating and laughing and just having fun.

Something is off, and you’re not sure what. Could that article really have made her feel that awkward? They called you “gal pals,” for Christ’s sake. Gal pals. The two of you have often joked about the entire “gal pal” concept and how ridiculously heteronormative the mainstream media is. And now a stupid article is making her clam up because she feels weird that a couple people in the comments think you’re dating?

If Jasmine’s tired, you don’t want to leave a mess for when she comes home. You straighten up the bedroom, shoving your clothes into your bag and making the bed. When you’re done with the bedroom, you move to the living room and toss your bag on the couch, before marching into the kitchen to wash the few dishes that are stacked in the sink.

You make sure all the lights are turned off and you leave, heading back to your own place.

---

Jasmine doesn’t return any of your texts or phone calls for the next three days, leaving you no option but to show up at the theater to talk to her. You can understand being busy, but she’s never been so busy that she doesn’t have time to text you back. You’re best friends, after all.

Something’s not right.

“[Y/N],” Daveed beams when you walk in the back door. “It’s been too long since I saw your bright shining face around the Richard Rodgers.”

“Hey, Daveed,” you give him a small smile. “Yeah, it’s been a while. Have you seen Jasmine?”

“Dressing room,” the stage manager says from behind Daveed.

“Thanks Jason,” you dash up the stairs and knock on the dressing room door.

Renée’s eyes scan your face as she opens the door. She looks back at Jasmine and over to Pippa.

“Pip?” She remarks. “Let’s give them a minute.”

Pippa gives Jasmine a look and Jasmine responds with a curt nod. The two other girls file out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

“Uh, hey,” Jasmine smiles pitifully at your before turning to the mirror, fingers fiddling with her hair.

“What’s up? Where’ve you been?”

“Nothing’s up,” she defends too quickly. “I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy?” You laugh, shaking your head.

“Is that so unbelievable to you?” She turns toward you, fire in her eyes.

“You’re never too busy for me, Jasmine. You’re always there. You texted me in the middle of your fucking Hamilton audition!”

“I have a life outside of our friendship, you know.” She snaps.

You can’t do anything but stare at her for a moment, speechless.

Jasmine turns back to the mirror, pulling the top half of her hair back.

“What happened? Something happened, Jasmine, and I need to know what.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but you know she can hear you.

“Nothing happened,” she says coolly. “Like I said, I’ve just been busy.”

“Bullshit,” you snarl.

She whips her head around to glare at you, “It’s the truth.”

“No it isn’t,” you insist. “Tell me what happened.”

Jasmine doesn’t say anything, but you swear you can see her fingers shaking.

“Tell me, Jasmine. Tell me why everything changed.”

“Because I fell in love with you!” Her hands fly up to fist in her own hair.

Your heart stops and your breath catches in your throat. You can’t have heard her right. There’s no way.

“You- you what?”

She hangs her head, wringing her trembling hands together. “I fell in love with you. And I know this wasn’t supposed to be- this isn’t anything. I know that.”

You don’t say anything, you can’t. This is too much for you to process.

“That’s why everything changed,” she confesses. “And after your reaction to that article, I knew you didn’t feel the same. I just needed some time.”

“You’ve always been able to tell me everything,” you shake your head. “Time? Why did you need time? You could’ve told me. We could’ve worked through this together, and instead you-”

“Instead I tried to respect your feelings?” She chuckles darkly. “Are you really blaming me for that? This isn’t your battle, [Y/N]. If you don’t feel the way that I do, that’s not your fault.”

“You should’ve just fucking told me! I could’ve helped you get over this-”

“How? How would you have done that? I’m trying, isn’t that enough for you?”

“I-” you shake your head. “I don’t know. This wasn’t supposed to go like this. This was supposed to be fun and easy, just sex, no strings attached.”

“You know what, [Y/N]? I’m sorry I fucked up so badly,” she huffs, taking a few steps toward you.

“You didn’t-”

“No, let me finish,” she cuts you off. “I’m sorry I wasn’t what you wanted. I am. So why don’t you just go find someone who is what you wanted?”

You furrow your brow. “What?”

“Jesus,” she shouts in frustration. “Just, go fuck Daveed or something! Go back to fucking people who don’t give a shit about you, okay? I don’t even care anymore.”

Your gaze follows her and she strides behind you. She yanks the door open.

“Jasmine-” you call out, but it’s too late. The door slams behind her and you’re left alone in the middle of the dressing room.

[chameleonspell]

187: mother

Azurah tells you, her favoured child, who is no longer a mewling elfchick, and who has learned to keep secrets from Azurah, and so Azurah tells you. In the beginning were the twenty years of ancient days, the honoured antecedent, uncontrolled blood summoned blood to condone itself, in a frenzy of was and must-not. The Tribal law of all true Houses, where children were needed to share our happiness, which is to say, the shadow of the sacrificial concept. You were needed, to give birth to an earlier life, destined to merge with the simulacrum of your mother. An imitation of belief, more destructive than a flock of flaming larks. A ghost touch, only granted to keep one's tenderness intact, and which the ninety-nine loves of Sheogorath know never really happened.

The First Secret is the true way to make children. Lorkhaj made a box with an illusionary flower. Nerevar pledged upon the bones of his mouth. Boethiah relieved himself of Azura, whose sphere is the moon-shadow of the Indoril. Vivec's children will bury the needle at the five corners. They have learned from your predilections, broken like false fathers of Mystery, mothers turning somersaults inside their clockwork eggs, weeping for brass and pain. All singing, "In caverns dark, Fadomai gave birth today." The Eighth Walking Way is through the ears of the netchiman's wife. Remember the value of her womb. Trinimac was built there, against lost maps, there, where scoffers scoff. Surely, there is a proverb hidden in this solution. The colours run like children. This is the pearl - the seed of rebellion which, when unravelled, becomes the capital, the sacred city, bereft of the symbols of Mastery, and tide-predicted to share their doom. Ten Daedra came a-sailing, a-sailing on the sea, made from the salt tears of the feminine Altmer who can gather no seeds in shame-flooded fields. Therein is love's premonition, when Ayem sighed from Mercy's throne: "To whom must I give birth, now? If you don't want me to mother you, stop requiring mothering!" Similarly, an oft-used ingredient in childbirth is the gift of a world where dreughs took pity on the constellation of Vivec's mother. And then the eleven gates, through which relationships produce hour-later exasperations, regrettably fashioned restrictions, riddles laced with cornered spheres and bitter obedience. The Forty-First Trial is the Test of Padhome. Many touchstones try the Lattice, and Kagrenac fought for secrets, leaving a powerful thing in ash, an archaic veneration of the value in metal, the revelation of the hole closed up, and it is reborn, the Hortator of the immutable. Nirni is a glimmering rope through the House of critical harvest. Eighty-two, the number of Veloth and sundering, and of the wise, who may find one destiny inside another. The Dwemer said: ''Go, loosen your significances, broken like water. It is raining now, and so it means nothing!" Love is the deceit of my heart springing forth from Ahnurr's anger, giving birth to One-Clan-Mother-Under-Moon-and-Star, from first knife to last break. Six hundredth curse, Curse-of-Metaphors, of rituals and skies choked black, and of forests wet and female. Yffre said, "Poor Nirni, stop your tears. Azurah will take the finger of Mafala, and channel it to wring secrets from her dead child's hand. Her eye is shaped like a challenge, clawed like hunger, red with biting, wet with willing weal and woe. Sermon One Thousand and One. The counsellors of twilight, known dances and the gatekeepers of the moons offer instructions to honour the Altmer. NIRN, LHKAN, RKHET, THENDR, KYNRT, AKHAT, MHARA and its aftermath. They gift their strange son-daughter with the ability to hide behind their shape, to speak riddles to the ash-marshes and to misinterpret anew beneath tomorrow's sum. Vuh maeli, rilourbibi. All shall be as Azurah tells you. Afterwards, he only remembered the light. Of the rose-gold light, expanding across his mind as everything else went black. No, not only the light. He remembered his rage. How it screamed through him, crackling outwards like a shock-spell, clean and pure and bright. He had the strangest feeling he'd been back in his childhood bedroom, in the hymnshell pink cottage by the docks, feeling the heat rise in his chest, as his mother railed against Syonilis through the reed-screen wall. Sat rigid on the edge of his bed, clenching his fists till they ached, till the tension collapsed in on itself, and he was outside his body, watching himself cross the floor and slide open the partition. Watching her turn, stunned into rare silence by the sight of her child wearing a face she'd never seen before. How dare you. How dare you use him like this. He's worth a thousand of you, you salt-pickled bitch. You pretend you're so benevolent, that you know what's best for everyone, but you don't care. You just want to be right. The moment anyone questions your wisdom, you tear into them like a shark. I think you're jealous of us. I think you're scared we might figure out we don't need you any more. That nobody needs you. How many more people are you going to throw away, how many more lives will you curse and destroy, just to prove your point? None of it will fix who you are. Admit it. Admit you fucked up, for once, get past your world-crushing arrogance and see things clearly. Understand that this is about you, not him, and not me. I know who I am. Who he is. You don't get to change that, you don't get to choose. You don't get to look at my blood, or my stars, or your curdled idea of my destiny, and tell me any different. And you don't get to judge us, to decide which of us is worth your protection or your punishment. There's no choice to make. Whatever he is, I am too, and we want nothing from you, least of all your opinion. Fuck you. Stick each and every one of your plans up your dried up old cunt. You're pathetic. I hate you. I hope you hate me. I'll never be what you want me to be, and I'm glad, because at least if you despise me, perhaps I'm worth something, after all. When Iriel woke, his eyes were dry, but his throat was raw. The cavern door, twelve hours on in its sacred cycle, nudged him into awareness as it shifted against his head, and dawn seared open his eyelids. He half-crawled, half-rolled out of the cave and collapsed in the ash. Hey, his body prompted, your hand hurts. Unclenching his left fist, he found the Moon-and-Star, still on his finger, but twisted and crushed bloodily into his palm, sharp points deep his flesh. He whimpered, and found whimpering itself was painful. Careful probing of his face indicated his nose and right cheekbone were swollen. Could have been worse. Could have lost another fucking tooth. He almost laughed - or sobbed, he honestly wasn't sure -  but either way, it hurt, and he suppressed it. He stood, and his head blurred grey for a moment, mottled shapes blooming before his eyes. He knew it was pointless to scream Julan's name, but he did it anyway, until the pain from his nose and throat risked overwhelming his fragile consciousness. Panting, struggling for balance, he listened to his voice echo along the foyada. When the wind finally swallowed it, he held himself still, forced his breathing quiet. Then he saw the tracks in the ash, scuffed but identifiable. An ashstorm was brooding in the peaks, but for now, the air was clear. His bag was against the cliff where he'd left it - as was Julan's. He shouldered both, and began to walk. He lost Julan's tracks when the ash-strewn foyada gave way to the hard-beaten dirt of the northern badlands, but it didn't matter. By then, he knew where he was going. He marched long into the night, pausing only to shout abuse at any constellations that dared show themselves through the clouds. After tripping over one shalk too many in the dark (i.e. one), he slept, fitfully, in the doorway of an abandoned mine. At first light, he began walking again. He kept the waxed sackcloth he'd found to wrap himself in, which was fortunate, because as he reached the Grazelands, it started to rain. When he reached Mashti's camp, it was coming down in sheets. Driftwood and decaying refuse lay in sodden heaps on the beach, untouched for what looked like months. No life, but a curl of smoke above the largest yurt. Julan's yurt was unoccupied, so he approached the other. Bound to their sticks, the skulls dripped mournfully at him. "Don't give me that look, I'm a mabrigash," he informed them, pulling the sackcloth tighter around his bruise-swollen face. "Can't you tell?" Something blocked him, when he tried to push through the guarskin flap, something low and solid that made a guttural sound when his foot collided with it. He paused, hearing movement inside the yurt, shuffling and heavy. When nothing more happened, and all fell silent again, he went inside. Mashti Kaushibael towered before him, sickly green magelight at her breast casting her face into weird highlights and oblique shadows. Her black hair was a tangled knot behind her head, and her eyes were stark and glassy. As they focused on Iriel, they widened, and her entire body stiffened. "Outlander." She was straining to deepen her voice, to make it echo and menace, but she had no breath for it, and it emerged as a croak. There were sweat-drops on her brow, shifting in the light, and he saw she was swaying, her head brushing the top of the ceiling's domed arch. She's taller than me! She wasn't this tall, before! She was almost a foot shorter than Julan, so-- Then he saw the legs of the stool, visible beneath... not even a robe, he realised. Her lower body was draped in a threadbare blanket. "Out...lander," she rasped, again. "How dare... who... y..." Her eyes rolled upwards, her face went slack and he barely managed to catch her as she fell. next: 188: despair previous: 186: boundaries beginning: 1: numb

[kincreates]

Chapter 3 of my NaNoWriMo!

I wake to the sounds of chaos, and smoke filling my nose. Stumbling out of bed I quickly get dressed and look around wildly. Where was Tezor? I can feel my panic rising and I force it away, now isn’t the time to panic. I needed to get my armour and weapons and find Tezor.

I nod and push out of the room and grab my gear from mine, quickly getting dressed. The leather feels safe with how tightly the armour fits. Like when you were a kid and your older brother hugged you and it felt like nothing could harm you. I tug my bow down from atop my dresser and strap my quiver to my thigh, strapping a dagger to my other thigh.

Vilka isn’t here either which puts me further on edge then I’d been before. I take a deep, slow breath and reach for the mental bond I share with her only to find, nothing. It’s like the connection is gone, but I know it isn’t. My gut churns with fear, like a pit of lead in my gut.

I grab my boots and tug them on before racing out of the house. Outside, everything is burning. Dipsas tanks and trucks litter the field where a magnificent forest once stood. Corpses litter the ground around the camp, the stone wall that had been surrounding the camp now lay in ruins. Dipsas soldiers run around, slaughtering any who fight and either raping or imprisoning the rest.

Vilka roars somewhere behind me and I spin around just in time to see a tank bullet rip through her chest in a spray of bloody gore. It feels like time stops and I can faintly hear someone screaming as my knees hit the ground. The mental connection I’d shared with Vilka bursts in a flurry of knowledge and memories, I can still hear someone screaming. There’s something wet on my face and I am shaking with anguish. Vilka hadn’t deserved this, no one deserved this.

Hands wrap around my biceps and pull, Tezor’s voice in my ear. “Get up, we need to move.”

I can’t though, I can’t just leave Vilka. I try to tell Tezor, try to scream that we can’t leave her. Before I can try to get any sort of real words out Tezor’s fingers are jabbing into the pressure point of my neck and everything goes dark.

The next time I wake up I’m being carried, flung gently over someone’s shoulder. I groan softly blinking my eyes into focus, green grass finally focuses as whoever is carrying me steps over tree roots and loose stones. The shoes look familiar, pale grey leather wrapping up their calf, bottom of the boot flat but thick for travel. Magic runes grace the top, glowing a soft yellow. Why can’t I place who’s carrying me? Their name is just at the tip of my tongue and yet nothing comes to mind. Trevor? Taxon? No, no neither of those were correct.

“Tez-or..?” Yes! Yes that was it, Tezor. Everything else comes back in a rush that leaves my head spinning. A sob breaks from my lips. Vilka. Vilka was gone. Tears burn my eyes and the world churns as I’m swung right side up and set on a flat boulder. “Tezzy, Tezzy she’s gone!”

A hand cups my cheek gently, wiping away my tears “I know, I know. Deep breaths.”

I choke on another sob and shake my head harshly. I couldn’t, I was supposed to protect the camp. That’d been my duty and I’d failed. “How-” I cough and suck in a sharp breath. “How many fell?”

Tezor frowns, “Jaceon, that's really not-”

“How many!” My voice comes out sharper than intended and when I meet their gaze I nearly start sobbing again. Their eyes look so sad, like an ocean storm.

“I- It’s just us...I’m sorry.” They look away and I nearly forget how to breathe.

Just us? That couldn’t, that could not be right. Someone else had to have survived, we just had to find them. They probably went a different direction than we’d gone and that was all. All we had to do was find them.

Tezor’s hands cup my face and force me to meet their gaze. “Stop it, I know what you are doing and this was not your fault. Do you hear me?”

I swallow thickly, tears shining in my pink eyes. “I-” I pause and take a deep breath. “I was supposed to protect them though. That’s what I promised.”

Tezor sighs, “I know, there’s nothing you could’ve done though, especially with as close as your heat is. We’ll win this war, but sometimes good people die and there isn’t a damn thing we can do except keep moving.”

I bite my lip and nod leaning closer to their chest. “Okay.” I pause to breathe in their scent. Airy and light, almost like the ozone or the smell just before a storm. “Where are we?”

Tezor nuzzles the top of my head gently. “Do you remember the stories Mira used to tell us of where I was born?” At my nod they continue, “Well, I figure that place is probably still standing right? So we’re heading there. Maybe someone can help us or we can join their ranks in defeating the Dipsas.”

I nod thinking, “It’s a good idea. What do we do if it’s not standing though?”

Tezor bites their lower lip, “I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out together. Think you can walk? Your leg is still hurt pretty bad.”

I nod and stand up before curling into their chest and wrapping my arms around their waist tightly. “Just, just for a minute?”

Tezor rubs a hand along my spine comfortingly, “Only a minute little love.”

I blush at the old nickname and cuddle closer to them, purring as one of their hands tangle in my hair and nails scratch at my scalp gently.

Tezor nuzzles the top of my head gently pressing a kiss against my crown softly before straightening. “We need to go Jaceon.”

I nod slowly pulling away to stand on my own. They lean down to kiss my cheek gently, “Ready?”

I sigh softly, “As I’ll ever be.”

A hand curls around mine as we begin trudging through the woods. Trees towering over us with foliage dense enough to block out what little sunlight is left now a days. Tree roots poke out of the rocky, uneven ground. Some large enough that Tezor has to lift me over them. Most days I cursed my shortness, now though with Tezor having to pick me up and keep me close i found myself enjoying it. Was that wrong? Well, maybe a bit, but I couldn’t be bothered to care.

My leg throbs with every step and I can feel my stamina waning.Still, I have to get back to the camp. I need to find survivors. If I can make my injuries appear worse, we’ll probably stop to camp for the night. Then all I’d need to do is knock out Tezzy and leave. Tezor stops where they had gotten ahead of me and frowns, “Do we need to stop to set up camp?”

I nod smiling gently, “Please?” They seems oblivious to my ploy, more concerned for my well being.

They nod and make me sit on a nearby rock and sets about building a stone circle for a fire. I watch them move about, not caring if they catch me staring at them. Long legs flow up to their curvaceous hips and waist. Long torso with a slight curve to their chest and equally long arms leading to delicate hands. Their pale blue skin seems ethereal in the sunset and I know it to be more so in the moonlight. It’s a shame I’ll miss the beauty of it tonight. But work has always come before pleasure, and this work was very important. Not to say Tezor wasn’t important; they were highly important. People could still be alive and in need of aid though and that took precedence. It would always take precedence.

“Jaceon?” Tezor’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts and I blink at them quizzically. “Could you gather some of the dried moss next to you? I need it for the fire.”

I nod and set about gathering the dried moss, so dry it nearly crumbles in my hands. It’ll do nicely to feed the fire. Heh, feed the fire, made it sound like something from a Miyazaki film. I smile fondly at the memories, and  though the name escapes my thoughts, it was still a nice movie.

Figuring I had more than enough moss I turn and walk over to where Tezor has knelt down and is starting a fire. I smirk, “My good sir, could I interest you in some moss? Freshly harvested and grown right here special!” I put on my best salesmen voice.

Tezors glum mood dissipates as they burst into laughter, clutching their gut. “Oh stars, you sound like the old man from the market!”

I grin and laugh, softly nodding, “Yeah, got you to smile didn’t it?”

They smile and stand up to kiss me softly, nearly causing me to drop the moss I’d just harvested. They pull back grinning and cup my cheek softly. “I love you.”

I blush brightly and duck my head, “Love you too…”

They lean down to nuzzle me and take the moss gently. “Thank you for gathering the moss.”

I nod and pull a log chunk closer to the fire pit before sitting on it. Plenty of room for the both of us. And, as a bonus, later on there would be more than enough room for Tezor after I ditched them to find survivors.

Tezor finishes and sits down next to me shifting so they can curl around me comfortably. A purr rumbles my chest and I snuggle into them happily. They hum and tangle a hand in my hair gently, their other hand settles on my hip and squeezes gently. “How do you feel?”

My teeth dig into my lower lip and I press closer shrugging. “Well, it’s kinda cold out here.”

They huff and nip the tip of a pointed ear, causing me to squeak softly. “Don’t joke.”

I kiss at their collarbone and nuzzle their neck in apology. They trace a hand down my spine gently and nuzzle me. “I’m okay. My leg kinda hurts, but this is good.”

Tezor nods softly and kisses my temple. “If you begin to feel worse let me know.” I nod my agreement and press closer to them. It really was cold out here. I hadn’t entirely been joking. They shift and throw a leg over my hips, effectively pinning me down and I huff out a soft laugh against their neck. “Scared I’m gonna disappear?” They hum quietly, “Knowing you? Always. I feel like I need to get you one of those backpack leashes overbearing parents get for their kids.”

I laugh and press closer, trying to ignore the pot of guilt already forming in my gut. “You wouldn’t really put me in one of those dumb things.”

Tezor sighs, “I suppose not, even though you do seem to be disappearing more and more frequently.” Before I can say anything else they’re tilting my face up to theirs, lips meeting mine in a soft, loving kiss. “I do not wish to lose my mate, it’s by far one of my biggest fears.”

My breath catches in my throat and my eyes widen. Their mate, they’d called me their mate. I could’ve squealed I was so happy. Instead, I settled for kissing them again. Our lips melded together easily and I let my hands wander. One gets lost in bright blue waves and the other finds warmth beneath their shirt. The feel of my icy cold fingertips cause them to gasp against my mouth. “You-” Another wet gasp before they tug my hand out of their shirt. “Your hand is freezing! It’s like an ice cube!”

I laugh softly grinning, “I know. You’re really warm though.” I pause before smirking deviously at them. “Warm me up?”

When they grin at me it's full of mischievous intent. A shiver races up my spine and I squeak when I’m abruptly pushed onto my back. Tezor chuckles and leans down to rub their cheek against mine gently, “I love you.”

I blush darkly and nuzzle back, in the back of my mind though I know if I’m to leave I have to act now. Shifting a bit to tangle a hand in their hair, near the base of their neck. Easy access to the pressure point on either side of their neck. I wondered how hurt they’d be when they realized what was happening, how betrayed they would feel. My heart aches at the thought, but I know they won’t go back to look for survivors. I have to do this, there is no other option. I tip my head slightly to brush my lips against theirs smiling gently, though I know if they were to meet my eyes they would see the war I’m waging with myself.

Tezor sighs happily into the kiss, letting their eyes fall shut. Now’s my chance, i just had to jab the right spot and pretend I wasn’t about to make them feel awful. I shifted the placement of my hand and jabbed my fingers into the pressure point on the side of their neck, grunting when they immediately went limp and flopped on top of me. Idea good. Execution of said idea? Not so good.

Groaning I wiggle out from beneath their larger bulk and settled them comfortably across the log. Snagging a blanket from their bag I cover them up quickly and lean down to nuzzle them gently. “Sorry Tezzy, but this is mega important. I can’t leave innocent people to die just because you’re scared of losing me.”

I straighten up and turn to craft a torch quickly before checking that I’ve got all my weapons and standing up. Spinning around in a circle proves fruitless. I have no idea which direction I need to go.

A heavy sigh of frustration leaves my lips and I shove a hand through my hair. Tezor groans behind me and I curse softly before running in the direction I assume to be East.

Jumping over fallen branches and exposed roots, I run until I can no longer see the light from Tezor’s fire. With every step, the ache in my heart grows stronger until eventually it feels as though I’m being stabbed, forcing me to pause and double over trying desperately to even my breathing. I take a deep, slow breath and examine my surroundings. Tall trees, intense foliage, mossy greenery. It all looks the same as before. My eyes wouldn’t be of use to find my way out of the dense woods. I needed a different approach.

Straining my ears I hear nothing except wind rustling the leaves and the crackle of a fire I can no longer see. A wolf howls in the far distant, so distant I can barely hear it. No Dipsas army sounds. No burning village, no sounds of distant camp survivors. Seems like my hearing wouldn’t help this time.

What else did I have though? My nose had never been very good at picking up scents, touch was out of the question. I could climb a tree, but there was no guarantee that would be helpful. Sighing, I realize climbing is my only option and run towards a tree. Jumping up, I kick off and spin mid-air to catch myself on a higher tree branch. Pulling myself up so I’m sitting atop the branch I look around for my next target. The one directly over me would have to do; I couldn’t reach any other branches from here. I carefully make my way up the tree, leaping and pulling myself until I reach the top. I take a deep breath, panting and lean against the trunk of the tree carefully.

I look around as I catch my breath. I can see the smoke from Tezor’s fire, and there. Off in the far distance I can faintly see smoke rising out of a clearing; the camp. So I needed to head, I look up at the sky searching for the northern star. Grinning when I find it, based on its position I needed to head north. I nod and begin to climb down from the tree, I was going to find survivors, damnit. And if the Dipsas had taken every survivor hostage, I would free them, no matter what it took. The Dipsas had taken enough. I would not let them take anymore. No one deserved the kind of agony they could cause.

Dropping down from the lowest branch I grunt when my feet hit the ground. Heading north I let my mind drift. So many had been lost this war; and really could it even be called a war anymore? The Dipsas had completely taken over the planet save a few small camps of rebels. Anyone not in a camp or in hiding was a prisoner to the Dipsas. I shiver just thinking about them. Beady, snake like eyes and tough, sometimes slimy scales. Fangs that dripped with a highly toxic venom and claws sharper than any I’d ever seen. And on top of it all they were so colourful. Bright vibrant shades of pinks, greens, yellows, and blues. With four arms, well, they could definitely hold more weapons. Bile rises in my throat, with so many arms it was easier to pin someone down. Two hands on each arm and thrust after agonizing thrust until blindingly painful barbs shot from them, locking them into you.

My still weak legs give out and I cough harshly before puking. Thankfully, my bile is more normally coloured this time. I didn’t know what had been going on with the blue thing, that’d been weird. It paints the ground in chunks and then it's finally over after dry heaving for what felt like hours to me but was, realistically, only a few minutes. I spit harshly coughing and wiping my face off. My gut aches from heaving and my body feels weaker than before. I need to get up though, I need to stop panicking about the past. What if the Dipsas were at the camp right now raping someone else? The thought makes my gut churn again and I grit my jaw, determined not to puke again.

I use a nearby tree to push myself to my feet and start staggering north once more. Once more my mind drifts to the past, before the war had been so horrible.

My mom and dad sit across the table from me. Mom has her hands clasped in front of her and dad has slumped in his chair, head tipped back to stare at the ceiling. Mom’s usually vibrant purple skin looks sickly pale and she keeps fidgeting. Dad’s just tense. He generally is from all the stress of raising twins in an ongoing war but he does the best he can.

They’d called a family meeting, of course I’d been the first to show up. Kilka was still at work and Mark was at an after school club. I’d wanted to start my homework but mom and dad had insisted I have a snack first. Though I was under the impression something else was going on and they just wanted to keep me closeby. I didn’t mind that much, especially with how stressed out they looked. Like they were at their limits, stretched far too thin and about to snap.

It killed a part of me to see them so distraught? but what could I do? I was just a kid. I didn’t know how to handle adult problems, even though I was already 16. I still had so much to learn.

Finishing my sandwich, I push myself up from my seat and set about washing my plate and putting it in the dishwasher before turning back to the table. Mom has folded her arms on the table in front of her and has her face tucked into them. Dad's arms are crossed over his chest and he looks like he’s about to start crying. Stars above, I didn’t know how to fix this and it was killing me. I’d do anything, give anything, just to make them happy again. Even if it was only for a little while, they’d been so stressed for so long. I wanted to make it better, but I just, I didn’t know how.

Shifting on the balls of my feet draws mom's attention and she looks up, gives me a sad smile that looks forced. “It’s okay sweetie, why don’t you start on your homework until your brothers get home?”

I frown, brows pinching together in a way that was definitely inherited from her. “But mom…”

She shakes her head no and waves me off gently. “Go, wouldn't want to fall behind in your studies now would you?”

I run a hand through my hair and chew at my lower lip. Both nervous habits I had picked up from her before sighing heavily. Stepping around the table I lean down to hug her tightly. Arms curling around her shoulders as I shove my face into the back of her shoulder. She stiffens ever so slightly and I start to pull away before she turns and gathers me into her lap. “Oh honey, come here.”

I suck in a sharp breath and curl into her. Dads chair scrapes across the ground as he moves and a warm, heavy hand settles on my shoulder. A gentle kiss is placed against my temple and dads stubble scratches slightly but I cant find it in me to care. The scratchiness of stubble on my temple is something that makes me feel so safe.

Moms hand rubs up and down along my back in slow, gentle circles. Dad runs his hand through my hair and I shift a bit to blink watery eyes up at him. He gives me a small smile and leans down to kiss my forehead lovingly. “What's the matter kiddo?” His voice is deep and rough, like he’d just woken up.

I sniffle softly and burrow deeper into their embrace. “I-” My sentence is cut off by a watery hiccup. “You and mom look so upset and I dunno how to fix it.”

Mom's face crumples and she nuzzles the top of my head gently. “Oh lovebug, you don’t have anything to fix. Your father and I are just fine. Just knowing that we have you and your brothers here is more than enough to brighten even the darkest days, okay?” Her hand cups my cheek gently, cold claws shorter then I remember them being. I sniffle again and nod, her pink eyes gentle and so filled with love I couldn’t argue the logic presented.

The door slams open loudly and I flinch violently, shoving myself into mom's chest. I can feel the panic rising in my gut, cold and tight and it makes me wanna hurl. She shushes me gently rubbing my back “shh shh it's okay, it's just your brothers, love, it's okay. Remember to breathe.”

I hiccup and cling to her and whine loudly when dad pulls away. A hand settles against my back gently, still warm but significantly smaller. I jolt and whip around, eyes still wide with panic. Mark grins sheepishly at me, “Sorry for slamming the door open. I didn’t mean to trigger you.”

I blink at him confused looking around. Sliding glass back door was still shut tight, cabinets were all in place, dad and Kilka were standing in the doorway watching me. “The...The snakes aren’t here?” My voice comes out small and scared.

Mark shakes his head now grinning widely. “Nope! And even if they did come I’d beat ‘em up! Like, pow pow pow,” he gestures his arms around widely shouting. I giggle watching him smiling.

His forms horrible, and he looks paler than yesterday, but he’s still here, and that's what matters to me. I knew he was sick, knew he was probably going to die soon. Stars if I would bring that up to him though.

He pauses in his actions to cough harshly and I frown rising from mom's lap to make him sit down in a chair. Kilka sets a glass of water down in front of him, “I’ll get your meds kiddo.”

Mark nods still coughing harshly and I have to help him raise the glass to drink in slow, easy sips. Too much at once and he’d throw it up.

Studying him I make note of his features, always more human looking than I was. Pale white skin, black hair that he had cut into a short undercut. Strong jaw, gaunt face with overly defined cheekbones. Like he hadn’t been eating but I knew he had been. Bright blue eyes sunken into his sockets and rounded ears tinged pink. Lanky limbs with bones that seemed ready to break through the skin.

Dad clears his throat from where he's standing in the doorway of the kitchen still. I turn to look at him, head tilted slightly like I did when I was questioning something. He sighs heavily, “Okay, everyone sit down. Your mother and I have something to tell you.” His voice sounds somber, reluctant even. It makes my gut churn with anxiety.

I pull up a chair next to Mark regardless of the rising anxiety in me and accept his weight easily when he leans into my side tiredly. Kilka walks over to drape a blanket around Mark gently, ever the caring brother. I blink up at him and his eyes are filled with worry. One pink and one blue watching Mark, brow creased tightly. I chirp softly, trying to get Kilka’s attention. He blinks down at me and sighs softly, “It’s alright kiddo. I’m just worried, I’m the older brother, it’s my job.”

Dad sighs, “It’s actually the parent's job to worry about their kids, it's your job to be kids and have fun.”

Kilka flushes lightly and ducks his head, “I- uh, I knew that.”

Dad laughs softly and walks over to ruffle Kilka’s red hair. I grin up at them and dad leans down to drop a kiss to Mark and I’s temples before pulling away. “Okay, now then your mother and I need to te-”

Mom laughs softly smiling. “Dear, you’ve already said that. Come sit down I’ll tell them.”

Dad ducks his head sheepishly and returns to his seat next to mom. Mom leans over to kiss dad's cheek smiling softly at him. “Now then,” She pauses to look at Kilka expectantly. Who is still standing behind Mark and I.

He blinks at her confused, “Mom?”

She sighs, “Sit down. This is a very heavy topic.”

Fear pulses in my gut and I look at her, brow creased harshly. Mark shivers against me and I curl my arms tighter around him, running a hand up and down his spine gently. I can feel every bump of his spine and it makes my skin crawl. Kilka nods slowly and pulls up a chair on the other side of Mark.

Mom gives the three of us a tight smile that doesn’t come close to reaching her eyes before taking a deep breath. “Mark’s doctor called today.” Every muscle in my body goes rigid and I stop breathing long enough that Mark pinches my side, causing me to yelp startled.

He frowns softly, “You stopped breathing again. Do you need your inhaler?”

I shake my head no and bury my face in his hair, fear making my throat feel tight.

I hear mom take a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. “As I was saying, Mark’s doctor called today. The test results came in.” Her voice cracks against the last word and my grip on Mark tightens, just a bit. Just enough that there was no mistaking who I was so desperately clinging to.

“They all came back positive, he suspects Mark only has-” She pauses and takes another deep breath, sob breaking through her voice. She was trying so hard to stay strong and I knew it and I was shaking. I couldn’t help it, this was my twin. What was I supposed to do without him? He couldn’t just die! He couldn’t leave me, leave us. I wouldn’t let it happen, not for anything in the world I didn’t care if i had to sell my soul I would not let him die.

Mom starts speaking again, “They suspect he only has a week left, more if we take him into the hospital, but I thought I would leave the choice up to you Mark.”

Mark nods quietly, the quietest I’d ever heard him. “I wanna think about it.”

Mom doesn’t speak immediately but I suspect she nodded, “Of course sweetie. Whatever you want, okay?”

Mark nods, burying his face against my shoulder before mumbling, “Can we go make a cuddle nest?”

I nod and pull away, trying really hard to ignore the tears streaking my still chubby cheeks. “Yeah, let's go.”