#Sorry for clumping the treks

[idksmtms]

You Are Not One Of Us (Poseidon x Norse Goddess!reader) - Part 3

Full Request - Part 2

AN: I’m so sorry this is so late! I’ve been so busy with life and then I was so tired I kinda lost the motivation to write but I’m back now!!! Also, sorry this is so short, it's kind of a filler before all the big stuff happens!

Side note: I’m so proud of the way I choose to show their messaging systems - will continue in ending note - 

Summary: Forced apart, you and Poseidon try to find ways to communicate.  

Word count: 2,604

Trigger Warnings: she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, profanity, innuendo, age gap (even tho they are both thousands of years old), god racism?? Idk they act like “foreigner gods” is a bad thing, lusting, liking the fact that he looks older (is this a warning???), (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians characters. I do not claim to own any of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

After you were thrown from Olympus and forbidden to even be near your love, it stormed for two weeks straight. With every day of the storm, more houses were destroyed, more people hurt, with no sign of an end. The people trekked to Poseidon’s temples every day with offerings, they prayed until their voices were hoarse, but the rain didn’t cease. The people believed he had given up on them, that they had done something to anger him. They didn’t know the utter heartbreak that coursed with the ichor in his veins. They didn’t know that this was the true despair of a god, that it could destroy them all. 

You had been taken back to Asgard and cared for like you were newly-made, the Aesir tip-toeing around you and hoping not to set off any catastrophes. You had become numb since you had been brought home, moving around the halls of Valhalla like a lost spirit. Odin and Frigg tried so hard to bring you back, to do something that would return you to yourself, but it was all in vain. The only thing that you could possibly want was him. 

Every day you walked the fjords, standing right on the edge of a cliff, the breeze pressing on your back, hoping to push you off. You had roamed every inch of the fjords, combed every cliffedge. You waited for Pegasus to find you, to whisk you away to your love, but the winged stallion never came. You hoped for a sign, any sign that both of you weren’t lost to each other, but nothing came.

And then, when you were beginning to lose all hope, you looked down over the edge of the cliff, straight down and into the swirling waters that frothed and smashed against the sharp rocks. There was no pegasus, but a huge clump of seaweed. You had never seen the seaweed come up near the fjords before in your whole existence, not this much anyway. It was always deep under the water, or only a few specks of it floated up and washed ashore. But there was so much of it floating near the edge that it created an island on the water. 

Your heart stopped in your chest as you watched it float to the cliff wall and bump against it. Again and again it floated into the cliff, as if waiting for something before it would allow itself to disperse. You clenched your hands together, breath suddenly shallow, then took a run and jumped off the cliff. 

The water was icy, and your skin began to tingle as the bubbles floated up around you and to the surface. You waited until they had all disappeared then allowed yourself to push to the surface as well, treading water and staring up at the sky for a moment. It had been so long since you had gone swimming, since you had enjoyed the sea as you once had, and it felt immeasurably good to be immersed in it once more. You smiled, wider and brighter than you had ever done since being back from Olympus. You allowed yourself to drop into the water again and again, ceasing the swirling of your arms and legs to just float in it. It felt like a hug from Poseidon. Then you swam over to the island of kelp and began sifting through it. 

Carefully pulling each piece away and gathering it into your other hand. If it truly was a message from him you wouldn’t let any of it go to waste. It was slippery and a little slimy but you just held on tighter as you straightened out each piece and lay it in your other hand. Right in the centre of the bundle, you found five oyster shells. They were placed in a perfectly straight row in the perfect centre of the kelp and they were… perfect. You had never seen an oyster like that, perfectly black on the outside like a mussel but still rippled so you knew it was an oyster. You reached out and gently picked one up. Your hands shook and tears filled your eyes until the oyster became blurry. You wiped at them haphazardly, blinking until you could see again and the tears had mixed into the seawater. 

The oyster was just barely open, a thin crack that you tried to peek through, but you couldn’t see anything inside. You dug your nails into the opening and used whatever godly strength you possess to pry it open just enough without breaking it fully. It was a rather delicate task and you had to stop a few times for fear of cracking the shell, but when you got it open you found a beautiful pearl sitting in the centre. It wasn’t perfectly round (as you found that natural pearls rarely were) and was actually rather flat with its edges poking out here and there so it looked like a splash of water in pearl form. You picked it out of the shell, the oyster within not giving any resistance, and you held it in your palm. It seemed smooth, and glinted different colours in the grey light. You flipped it over, and you found that there were little scratches on the pearl. They were much too small for you to decipher at first, but as you brought it closer to your eye and realised that it was writing, your heart began to thunder. ‘To have and to hold’ was all it said. You stared at it, heart in your throat, and gently placed it back in the oyster, shutting it and resting it on its bed. The next was the same, except this pearl was smoother around the edges, almost like a flat oval. ‘For better or worse’ it said in the same small writing. The one after it was almost perfectly round but also flat and thin like a drachma. ‘For richer or for poorer’. The next pearl was sharp, its edges jagged and spiking out. ‘Until death do us part’. You caressed it, allowing the sharpest edge to cut into your skin and the bead of blood to stain the pearl. You whispered each word aloud as you opened the pearls, hoping that since you were in the water that he could hear it, that he would know. The final pearl was a perfect sphere and as large as the first segment of your pinky finger. The writing was inscribed around it, and you spun it over and over, reading the words until they were screaming inside your head, until you couldn’t read them anymore because your eyes were streaming with tears and you were sobbing so heavily that water splashed up and into your mouth. ‘I love you’ it read, inscribed over and over around the pearl so that it looked like it was scratched all over. 

You floated there for a moment, staring at the vows, at the pearls, then let yourself sink under the water, eyes closed. You screamed the words into the water, bubbles floating around your face, voice garbled, but you screamed until you had no air left and even your body began to tire. You wanted him to hear you, needed him to know. Then you surfaced, breathing heavily and feeling lighter than you had before coming to the cliffs. You looked at each pearl again, caressed them, then gently placed them back into their shells. You wrapped the shells up in the seaweed, creating a tight parcel and tying it up with the seaweed you had stripped away before. You stayed in the water a while longer, feeling the caress of it on your skin, pretending it was his arms wrapping around you, his fingers running up and down your arms. Then, when it became close to the time of the nightly feast and knowing the others would begin to worry if you did not show up, you grabbed the parcel and made your way back to your new home, a small house built at the bottom of the hills that led to the cliff edges. 

It was more of a hut, built in the viking style and furnished sparsely. You had lost all your taste for glamour in the last weeks, lost the feeling of being a goddess, and had conjured this place, quiet and secluded and right by the cliffs you had once enjoyed. You left the pile of seaweed in the hall of the house by the entrance, thinking of ways to decorate your house with it. You placed the shells in order on a shelf just above your bed. You didn’t want the pearls themselves to be exposed, just in case someone came snooping. You looked at them longingly and kissed each shell before making the journey back to Valhalla. You had to find a way to send a message in return. You had to. 

Poseidon sat on the beach he had once brought you to. He stared out at the water’s edge, watching a happy couple walk along it, a woman in a beautiful dress kicking up splashes of water and the man staring down at her with such devotion in his eyes. He watched them press close to each other, walk further into the water, let it roll over them. He watched them kiss, felt it on his own lips, then a wave crashed over the shadows and they disappeared into seafoam and the sparkle of sunlight on the water. 

Poseidon pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, sighing heavily and shaking his head as he muttered angrily to himself. Though he had been forced to stop the storms lest he flood all of Greece, the one in his head never ceased. You were his every thought, consuming him from the inside. He had gone to the lake on Olympus everyday for the week he had been forced to stay there after your banishment. Zeus has wanted all the gods together to feast and be merry for the return of his bolt. Poseidon had not spoken a word the entire time, glaring at his brother with such fire that even Hephaestus could not conjure a flame with such heat. The rest of the time was either spent watching Hermes, trying to figure out if all of this was really his doing, or making the trek to the lake to sit on one of the boulders, feet dipped into the water, and reminiscing on the time he had with you. 

Even since had returned to his domain, nothing felt right. The usually comforting embrace of the water now felt hollow. The feeling of the sand under his feet did not mean anything now that he couldn’t share it with you. He no longer felt like the god of the seas, just a god of… nothing. Everywhere he looked he saw something that reminded him of you. He could not escape your memory even if he were trying. Even now, sitting on the beach where you had first kissed, he could only hope you had received his pearls, his vows of marriage. 

A butterfly, blue and shiny, fluttered into view. He watched it flap its wings and fly in little twirls, as if looking for something. Then it began to flutter closer, circling its way to him.  He watched the little creature with a sad smile, wishing you were here to see it. He knew you would love it. But the butterfly kept coming closer, flittering and fluttering until it sat itself on the tip of his nose. His eyes crossed as he tried to stare at it, eyebrows knitting in a frown, as the insect flapped its wings once, twice, then laid them out flat and stopped moving entirely. Without the strength of its little legs gripping to his nose, the butterfly fell away and into his lap, laying on his thigh as still and dead as he felt. His frown deepened, staring at the creature with its legs poking up into the air and wings perfectly flat. 

The structure and pattern suggested it was a monarch butterfly, but they didn’t come in blue. It was old, at least for its species, around 6 weeks if he were to guess, right at the end of its life. With the gentlest movements, he dug his fingertips under the wings of the dead butterfly and lifted it closer to his eyes. He flipped it over and examined the backs of its wings, the beautiful blue that somehow shined even brighter now that it was dead. He stared at the black lines that swirled over the wings, creating little pockets of blue and edged with dots of white. It was in the black lines that he found writing, in the smallest letters possible. Where the lines swirled and made pockets, letters followed them. And there, on the wings of this butterfly that seemed to randomly appear on this beach and randomly choose to land on him, he found his wedding vows. Each one he had sent, returned in the beautiful writing of a goddess. And right at the bottom, in the biggest letters, ‘I love you’. He could almost hear your voice, a whisper in the wind, and he closed his eyes lest the tears fall. 

Years passed without a word from neither him nor you. You had settled into your life with the Aesir again, comforted by the pearls that sat above your bed. You opened the shells every night and gazed at them, whispering the words and hoping that somewhere in the sea he felt your love. He too returned to his palace underwater, the butterfly encased in clear ice to be frozen as long as he lived, a reminder that you had said yes, that you had married him. Both of you felt safer knowing he was yours and you were his. It was not a traditional wedding by any means, but it was yours, and you would cherish it until the end of your days. 

After the first three decades of peace and no sign of anyone knowing that you had sent messages to each other, you sent one more, another butterfly with a simple reminder that you loved him. In return you received a conch shell, not too large but still a hefty weight in your palm. When you lifted it to your ear, in the whisper of the ocean you could hear his voice, telling you he loved you. Every night you put it to your ear and let it lull you to sleep. 

So many years passed in this way, changes coming and going, empires rising and falling. Suddenly the modem age arrived, bringing its technology and skyscrapers and all of you gods into each other’s vicinity once more. Now the Greek gods were huddled in New York, living lavishly atop the Empire State building while the halls of the Aesir occupied Boston, hiding in plain sight. The battles continued, the monsters still roared, but things had become slow, the gods became lazy. While you kept your cabin in the fjords, your connection to Poseidon and your homeland, you were forced to spend much of your time in Boston to keep yourself alive, to keep your facade with the other gods. 

The clashes between the worlds of the Greek and the Norse became more frequent, though all the gods kept their promise of staying away from each other. It was not until the battle of the Draugur that this promise was broken. That after millennia you were face to face with your love once more…

A/N: I chose things from the sea as his messaging system because obvi he’s the god of the sea. But I chose butterflies for Y/n because I see her character in so many ways that I feel the butterfly embodies. I was thinking of the butterfly effect (a butterfly flaps its wings in one place and a storm starts in another) and that’s literally Y/n because she’s this small thing who’s seen as gentle and underestimated but she causes all these big things simply by existing. And then butterflies are seen as small and gentle and colourful but there’s literally a species of butterfly that drinks the tears of turtles and that felt so accurate to her character because she’s seen as small and pretty and colourful (and she is) but she can also be vicious and violent for survival. Anyway, thank you for coming to my ted talk. 

Taglist: @thicficbich1, @pasta-warlord

[ridreamir]

Hello! I just read your Drayton fics and they're soooo good I can't wait to read more stuff from you!

I left this ask mainly to compliment your work, but I may as well request if it's okay... Hm, what about a sort of cultural exchange between reader and Drayton huh? Reader transferred from X region (whichever you want, I personally like Sinnoh because snow and lore lol) to Unova and is new in school. Reader is good in battles and is here to get even better, has a good rank at the BB league. Drayton is curious and sees an apportunity to know more about them. Reader doesn't know that much about the Unovan mainland, maybe it can make for some good conversation, huh. What d'you think? (But if you're not feeling inspired please ignore the request lol np thank you for the good work <3)

Hello hello! I've been trying not to leave Author's Notes lately so as not to be annoying but thank you so much!! ;;;0;;; I'm supposed to be working on a 20K+ fanfiction centred around Kieran but tbh I'm kind of struggling on it (I've been struggling on everything recently, but that's neither here nor there) I know I've put out some not so great stuff as well, but hopefully we can wade through the rough patches together :^)

I went a little off script as per usual since I had an idea, I hope that's not too disappointing :'P It might actually be kinda bad I dunno :/ Well, anyway,

Imagine this: You're disoriented, but you remember your last ditch attempt to trek through an especially nasty blizzard. The winds had all but sapped the last of your strength, and last you remember was desperately fighting against a tumultuous sea of rapid falling clumps of snow. And as you're coming to, your eyes crack open to the glaring white of the outside from somewhere within a dark place. The world is frozen over, but the snow is serene, still, and untouched. You're in an alcove that's just by chance been spared from the onslaught of the flash storm, and there's evidence that someone's recently been judging by the knapsack and the, by the looks of it, aluminum safety blanket that's been carefully tucked onto you.

There's only one problem with that assessment. The people of Hisui do not have access to this type of thermal survival blanket. So unless one had by odd chance been leftover as spacetime debris chucked out from one of the rare phenomena aptly known as a Space-Time Rift, this blanket should not be here. Or, conversely, you're not where you're supposed to be. That is certainly evidenced by the white stone ruins perched atop a tall mountain that you see in the distance. The Snowpoint Ruins. The temple built to encase the Legendary Titan's sealing chambers. Your time in there permissed by the locals had probably amounted to somewhere near months studying the glyphs. The innermost parts of that temple fell frozen in time for likely millennia, and it noticeably felt not dissimilar to the unnatural gravity exposed you'd been exposed to in Distortions. Thick and heavy, inconsistent. Time and space remained still, and yet something outside of both seemed to shift and warp around you. In your first approach of the temple, of the Sinnoh that you once knew, you had only made it to the front gate of that once megalythic, then crumbling ruin. Though you felt drawn to it desipite a sinking sense of something being amiss, your trance had been broken. "Only the chosen may enter the Snowpoint Temple. I'm sorry, but you will have to leave." How ironic, you supposed. Of all the people to deny. But that was then, and this is now.

It's odd to think of the far distant future as 'back then'. And here you were, some ways off from where you'd started from. You hadn't made it that far, but somehow it seemed further than you could have gotten on foot in that horrible weather. Cool air still blowing through the entrance of your small refuge, you have a clear view of that mountain some ways away. There's another issue at hand. There's a lot more pinetrees blocking your direct line of sight than there should be, and the building seems to be cut off from the top. It's too small... it's... missing pieces. You can tell that, even from this far away. The deja-vu hits you in nauseating waves, and you have to bite back the acid that rises in your chest. You feel around for your Pokeballs, only to find them noticeably absent from your waist. In fact, your holster is missing altogether. You have no time to figure out what came with you on your person, as the rustling of the tin foil set over you in your shifting prompts a face to stick into the entrance of the alcove. "Arch-a..?" What. What in the world is that Pokemon. "Chalu-Chalu?" You tear off the foil and take a defensive stance. "Ch-che??" It seems to freeze up in confusion, and juts its neck back. It's, squeaking. The high pitched squeals sound aren't even close to matching the face of this thing..? You hold your defensive stance, though fighting this thing off is probably going to be impossible without a partner Pokemon to match its strength. "Archalu..!" It squeaks, an almost metallic, static-y noise distorting the sound. You don't move, but this thing has you cornered if it really wanted to attack. For its size and unfriendly face, it seems to be surprisingly docile. You hope that isn't a facade.

And just as your assessing your potential tactical options, an additional unexpected factor joins the fray. "Huh? What's wrong bud?" The voice you hear... has an accent. You don't know what that accent is, though. "Oh!" It's coming closer, and you're backing up. This is the most defenseless you've been since waking up in Hisui with little of your memory intact. There's a person there, in an all black snowsuit and chromatic goggles. You've not seen clothes like this in so long that your heart-rate spikes in anxiety. You shuffle backward, pressing into the rocky wall as far as you can. "Morning." Peaking his head through underneath the gargantuan beast you'd just been standing off against, he takes a moment to look you over. "You're not still disappointed about being turned away, right?-" The person, the, young, strange, male? Is making some sort of face at you, but you can't see his eyes. "Hey, c'mon, for real-- you okay?" H... huh? He comes a little closer, stepping into the little 'den' you've found yourself in. "Man, not again..." He sighs, his white, hair, thing, drooping with the rest of him. He really... emotes.

"You're not punkin' me or somethin', are you? S'not funny..." He mumbles under his breath, plopping unceremoniously down next to you. "Well, huh, I knew this might happen. You did warn me after all." He shrugs his shoulders, tilting his head back. "Well, I don't really get how this works, so what am I supposed to do?" He motions to knock shoulders with you, but he stops just short of you. "But I guess I feel a little special knowin' you trust the Drayster the most, hehe." He shyly rubs the back of his head. "Guess we'll be waiting this one out, yeah?" What in the world is he talking about? Is this guy delusional or something..?

"W-What..?" You croak, your voice sounding wrong. He reaches up, sliding his goggles down his face. "Somethin' about this place..." Whatever he mumbles, you don't fully catch. "Well, I want to tell you, but it should only be for a little bit anyway." He's not making any sense. "Maaan~ I'm exhausted-" He wasn't paying attention, but when he catches you looking at him, he flushes and averts his eyes. "What...?" He huffs, voice soft, there's something to it. "You're lookin' at me all funny..." "Archal-" Ah! Right!- That thing?! "Lu-ludon!" "D-Drayton-" The name stumbles from your lips but you're too anxious to realize what you're saying. "What is that thing?!?!" He blinks, making eye contact with Archaludon. "Oh? You mean my budster over there?" He scratches his cheek. "He's our friend Archaludon, my ace."

Ace... 'My ace'... That's right, there's trainers in the future. Pokemon are... friendly. That means this guy next to you is a 'trainer', sort of like you. "And... who are you...?" You ask, trying to understand the situation a little better. "Huh? So you don't remember me?" He seems shocked by this, for some reason. "Well, heh." He gets a mischievous look to him that you just know intuitively means trouble. "I'm your partner, hehe." And then your brain suddenly flooded with information. You are a Pokemon Trainer, and a traveller. You have a condition known as CPTSD.

"Oh! See, I recognize that look!" He giggles, slinging an arm around you. "You dragged me aallllll the way out here, that means you trust me~" He's mushing up on you, and your growing headache isn't the result of your condition. But somewhere in the recesses of your fragmented memories, you remember passing something to someone next to you. You're back inside the Snowpoint Temple, where you're supposed to be. You must've spaced out.

"Are you alright?" A young man asks. His voice sounds far away. You don't say anything. You can't see his face. But you remember his snow white hair, and slitted yellow eyes.

... "You loooove me-" "Can it, idiot."

[miguels-talons]

Kratos notices Atreus running around in wolf form and sees that his fur isn't in the best condition. He decides to brush it.

this was such a cute idea omg thank you 😭

i'm on mobile so idk how to make a "read more" button terribly sorry

---

The boy has gotten good at changing his form, Kratos has realized. Since he returned from his second trip to Asgard, Atreus has become able to shift almost seamlessly, body bending and morphing in a flash of light and sparks into the four legged shape of a wolf.

His pelt is made up of bright yellow and orange furs, a shade similar to that of his hair. His eyes are a beautiful contrast, shining blue like the sky on a clear day.

He likes to show off to his father now, effortlessly changing his shape and form as if he is breathing. Kratos acts as if he is not watching, yet catches himself staring at his son, amazed by his ability. When Atreus had asked if he could change into an animal all those years ago… he had merely brushed it off, chalking it up to child wonderment. Which, it was. But now, that wonderment had become reality, and Atreus could not be more excited.

He hadn't had the time yet to truly enjoy his new ability, so, while with his father, he'd begun to practice during their long treks. He'd run ahead of Kratos, circle him, leap over his head, all the like. He's figuring out the extent of his wolf form, and what right would Kratos have to interrupt? Atreus only experiments between fights and makes sure to pay attention to his father’s orders, so Kratos sees no reason to stop him.

That is, until he looks closer at Atreus. Kratos feels his eyes narrow when Atreus bounds closer to him, tongue lolling from jaws and ears pressed back by the wind as he runs this way and that.

His… his fur. Oh his fur.

From a further away glance, his fur looks pristine. The oranges and yellows glow in the light almost like embers from a fire, and it doesn't look like there are any problems. Upon further inspection, however, Kratos can see the knots and mats of fur as well as the leaves, mud and sticks stuck in his pelt.

“Atreus!” he shouts, causing the wolf to skid to a halt. Atreus looks back at him with his head tilted, ears perked high. He's alert, tail held up still, his muscles bunched in preparation to move at his father’s command. “Come here.”

With that order, Atreus bounds towards him, returning to his regular form in a burst of light and heat. “Yes, Father? What's up?” he asks, and Kratos swears for a moment he still has the wolf ears and tail. But he does not. Atreus has not yet held his human form with characteristics of an animal, if he can at all.

“Return to a wolf,” Kratos says. Atreus raises a brow at him, a tad confused, but listens anyway. He stares up at Kratos through his sky blues as Kratos kneels beside him to get a closer look at his fur. And yup, sure enough, as Kratos combs his fingers through the fiery pelt, they get stuck in knots and clumps of matted fur. “Your fur.”

Atreus’s ear twitches and he twists his neck, nose knocking into Kratos’s face in the process- he's still learning the new lengths and parts of his body in this form. However, he can't see, so he begins to twist in the attempt to. Kratos catches one of his shoulders when he's once again smacked in the face- this time by Atreus’s long tail- to halt him. Atreus does so and looks back at him.

“Stay still,” Kratos says softly. Head tilted questioningly, Atreus does so, not even his tail wagging. Kratos once again brushes his hand through Atreus’s fur, lifting parts up to search for twigs and leaves. He does not have a brush now, nor does he regularly (their household doesn't need one) so all he can do at the moment is pick foreign objects free. He’ll ask one of the dwarves or Freya later if they have a brush and then work on untangling the knots and mats out of his son’s fur. “Your fur is messy.”

There's a small, curious murr from Atreus, as if he is trying to speak, until he realizes that he cannot like this. Instead, he stares at his father imploringly.

Atreus is not used to hair care, because as stated before, they do not need to worry about it in their household. Atreus’s hair is short and needs no brushing, while Kratos and Mimir are bald and only need to worry about their beards. They have combs for such tasks. Because of this, Atreus most likely forgot to keep an eye on his wolf form’s fur because he's never had to worry about that sort of issue in his human form.

Kratos has some experience, however, even if he himself has never had hair. The most important women of his life did have hair, and lots of it too. He helped Lysandre and Faye take care of it when they were too tired or pregnant, wanting to take some of the stress from their shoulders. With Calliope, he enjoyed brushing her hair. It was a bonding exercise for them. When Kratos was home, she'd run into his and his wife’s room with a brush, demanding he brush it for her for that day.

He's also cared for animal hair; his horse’s in particular. It's not the same as fur, but he's sure that with this experience, he’ll be able to figure out how to care for Atreus’s fur as well.

“Back,” Kratos says. Atreus hesitates for a moment before he falls to his side and rolls onto his back to expose his stomach. It's even worse in his stomach fur than it was everywhere else. Kratos sighs heavily, because he realizes now that he has his work cut out for him.

[fallenclan]

Jattelik crouched amongst a clump of ferns, ears pricked. "What is it?" Sparrow wheezed, still catching her breath after the long trek.

"Shh. I heard something. Pawsteps." Jattelik wasn't in much better shape, his own heart racing like a hare being pursued by a rabid hound.

The pawsteps stopped abruptly, a brown tabby she-cat coming into view. A black and white tom was padding after her, tail dragging against the ground. Jattelik could immediately tell that the tom wouldn't be a threat, but the she-cat? The steady fire in her eyes told him all he needed to know. "We should wait," he hissed softly to Sparrow.

"Jattelik. . ." Sparrow whispered, her gaze rounded in shock. She was staring at the she-cat as if mesmerized.

"What?" he muttered, tail flicking in annoyance.

"I think that might be-"

"Who's there?" The black and white tom growled, ears pinning. The brown tabby she-cat's multi-hued gaze narrowed as well. "Show yourself."

"There's multiple of them," the she-cat hissed, her tone edged with cold fury. "Rogues."

"We're no threat," Sparrow mewed, cautiously stepping out from her hiding place amongst a swash of fronds. "We were just passin' through."

"Is that so?" The brown tabby took a threatening step forward.

"Back off," Jattelik spat, spine arching as he stalked forward, emerging from his own hiding spot. The black and white tom's eyes widened slightly upon seeing Jattelik.

"I don't think so." The brown tabby scoffed. "You're on FallenClan land."

"We ain't trying to cause trouble," Sparrow murmured, gaze darting between Jattelik and the brown tabby. "Promise."

The brown tabby seemed to relax slightly at Sparrow's words, claws sheathing. "Fine, but you wouldn't be so deep inside FallenClan territory if you were just 'passing through.' What are you doing here?"

Sparrow glanced at Jattelik. Grunting in irritation, the tom grit out, "I'm looking for some cats."

"Who?"

"Silverbelly, Hailcrash, and Moonstep. Know them?"

"I-" The brown tabby flinched as if she'd been struck. "How do you know them?"

Jattelik took a deep breath, paused. "They're my kits. My surviving ones, anyhow."

"Oh." The brown tabby stared. "I'm Cherrystar. I'm FallenClan's leader."

"Jattelik," Jattelik muttered in reply. "This is Sparrow." He motioned towards the gray she-cat.

"I'm Ripplefade," the black and white tom spoke hesitantly.

"It's nice to meet y'all," Sparrow hummed. "Can you, uh, introduce us to Jattelik's kits?"

"Introduce?" Ripplefade frowned. "You mean he hasn't met them?"

Jattelik's ears flattened in agitation. "Stay out of it."

"I wasn't trying to-to-" Ripplefade stammered.

"Enough," Cherrystar cut in. "Jattelik, how do we know you're who you say you are?"

"Is my word not enough?" Jattelik bristled.

"I don't know," Cherrystar admitted. "This is just a lot to process." When Jattelik didn't reply, Cherrystar continued, "Hailcrash was my mother."

"Was?" Jattelik looked stricken, the loss of another child he'd never even met hitting him like a stack of boulders.

"She died earlier this moon. So did Silverbelly, a few days ago."

Jattelik squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," Sparrow murmured, pressing herself against Jattelik. "Moonstep is still around, then?"

"Yeah." Cherrystar was watching Jattelik closely.

When the tom regained his composure, he asked, "So that means you're my granddaughter?"

" . . . yes. Look, Jattelik, why don't we all go back to camp? I-I believe you."

" . . . thank you."

…

"This place is incredible!" Sparrow exclaimed, eyes twinkling with delight. "Golly, it's no wonder y'all have so many cats living here."

Ripplefade let out a pleased purr. "I can show you around, if you want."

"Would you really? Oh, thank you, dearie. Such a sweet tom. I'm glad Jattelik's grandkit has such a thoughtful mate." Ripplefade seemed to fluster at the compliment, looking away while Jattelik shot him a sour look. On the journey to camp, Cherrystar had revealed a bit about herself, including her relationship with Ripplefade. "Jattelik, will you be all right with Cherrystar?"

"Hm." That was Jattelik's way of saying yes. With a dip of her head, Sparrow padded off after Ripplefade, chattering good-naturedly the entire way.

"Where's Moonstep?" Jattelik asked the moment Sparrow and Ripplefade were gone.

"He's out of camp right now, actually," Cherrystar admitted. "He went out on a walk with Quailcall." At Jattelik's blank expression, Cherrystar elaborated, "Quailcall is one of our clan's mediators. They help cats process things, sometimes."

"Oh." Jattelik glanced around. Several cats were staring at him.

"Why don't we go back to my den? We can wait for Moonstep to get back. I'll have someone come fetch us once he's arrived."

"Sure." Jattelik padded along after Cherrystar, feeling as though he were floating. After all this time, he was really in FallenClan's camp. The same place his second litter of kits had been born. The same place Toro had made her home. The same place his kits had made their home.

Once they arrived in the den, which quite frankly was far larger than any den Jattelik had ever lived in, the two cats sat down. "Can you tell me about my kits? And. . . and my grandkits?" Jattelik asked, gaze sweeping Cherrystar up and down. It was still a shock to him that this strong, well-respected she-cat was his granddaughter.

"Oh, sure." Cherrystar fidgeted. "It might take awhile."

"I have time."

"All right. I guess I'll start with . . ."

…

"Thanks, Quailcall."

"Of course. You can talk to me anytime."

"Yeah." Moonstep's tail swished dismissively. Talking to Quailcall had helped some, but a part of him still felt that the she-cat was too young to truly grasp what he was going through. He hadn't been particularly close to Hailcrash or Silverbelly, but they were still his sisters, his last surviving siblings.

Now he was alone.

To make matters worse, he could feel his clanmates staring. What in StarClan's name was making them all look at him like he might snap? "Moonstep?" It was Pocket who finally approached him, uncertainty in her gaze. "Cherrystar has someone in her den who wants to talk to you."

"Someone?"

"A loner," Pocket explained. Moonstep's brows furrowed. Padding past the warrior who Moonstep knew to be hopelessly pining after his nephew, the tom made his way to the leader's den. It felt wrong calling it Cherrystar's den. It had been Maplestar's den only a few moons ago, it seemed, and Goldenstar's den before that.

When he poked his head inside, he was met with Cherrystar speaking softly with a tom who bore a startling resemblance to the clan leader. "Cherrystar?" Moonstep questioned. Two pairs of eyes snapped to him.

"Moonstep," the stranger whispered, seemingly entranced.

Moonstep rose a brow. "And who are you supposed to be?"

"I'm, ah, I'm Jattelik," the tom rumbled.

"Yes," Cherrystar mewed slowly, "this is Jattelik. Ripplefade and I found him and his," she shot a questioning glance at Jattelik, "friend wandering around FallenClan territory earlier."

"Okay. So they want to join?" Moonstep sighed. As much as it brought him pride to see FallenClan so welcoming towards outsiders, he also knew that realistically the clan couldn't keep letting in new cats, not with so many kits being born as well.

"No," Jattelik interjected. "I wanted to meet you."

"Me?"

"Yes." Jattelik shot Cherrystar a nervous glance, causing the she-cat to nod encouragingly. Moonstep's bafflement was growing by the minute. "I'm your father, Moonstep."

" . . . what?" Moonstep stared. "Is this some sort of joke?"

"Toro was my mate," Jattelik mumbled. "I didn't know about you until very recently."

"Oh." Moonstep sat down. Staring at the ancient tom, Moonstep could see the striking resemblance her bore to not only Cherrystar, but to Hailcrash. Moonstep knew if he looked at his own reflection, he'd seem the same set of shoulders, pointed ears, and narrowed snout reflected back at him.

"How did you find out?" Cherrystar asked.

"One of your former clanmates, actually. I always thought the fella to be quite odd, but Sparrow convinced me to ask him about Toro and, well. . ." Jattelik trailed off.

Suddenly tense, Moonstep hissed, "What was the cat's name?"

"Otterslip," Jattelik said slowly, gaze narrowing. Cherrystar's ears flattened. Moonstep practically leapt out of his pelt.

"Otterslip?" Moonstep seethed. "That two-faced mongrel!"

"What? Did he hurt you?" Jattelik leaned forward, an absurd protectiveness sweeping over his features, as if Moonstep, an elder himself, was only a kit in need of protection.

"Otterslip murdered Stormsight. He tried to kill Silverbelly!" Moonstep had to stop to take a few deep breaths. To think that treacherous friend had been gallivanting with Moonstep's long lost father.

"He what?" Jattelik's voice suddenly dropped an octave, cold fury sparking in his gaze. "That damn brute. I knew he was no good. I'm going to tear him to pieces the moment I leave."

"Leave?" Cherrystar frowned. "Aren't you and Sparrow staying?"

"Can't," Jattelik answered almost immediately. "We. . ." he trailed off.

"I get it," Moonstep hummed, the cold flames of fury still simmering in his chest. It would take a few minutes to banish them fully.

"We can stay for a few nights. Moonstep, I want to get to know you." Jattelik mewed earnestly. "I want to get to know the cats who showed Toro hospitality. I want to get to know my kits' kits. My son."

"I wouldn't mind getting to know you, but I don't want you to have any false expectations. Toro is the only parent I have."

"I understand." Jattelik deflated slightly, but still pressed on, "Even if I can't be your father, I'd still like to be something to you, even if it's just that strange tom who stops by occasionally. For as little time as I have left."

"All right." Moonstep nodded, feeling slightly overwhelmed. "Can we talk later? I think I just need to go lie down." Truthfully, what he needed was to go find Quailcall again. He'd prefer talking to Mudsplash, but the older she-cat was going through her own grief right now.

Jattelik nodded. As Moonstep vacated the den, he could hear Cherrystar offering to show Jattelik around. Moonstep knew that the she-cat would be subtly trying to convince the tom to join the clan at some point. Honestly, the idea was somewhat frightening to Moonstep. In a way, life had been simpler an hour ago.

With a sigh, Moonstep made a beeline for the medicine den, where he knew Quailcall would be inside talking to Bristleheart. Even if Quailcall was busy, perhaps one of the clan's medicine cats would be able to offer some insight, or even some solace in their grief.

What an exhausting day.

...

"How did it go?" Sparrow tilted her head.

"Okay, I guess. He didn't seem too thrilled to meet me." Jattelik sighed, burying his face into Sparrow's fur. "What if this was a mistake?"

"It wasn't, Jattelik. Forming any sort of relationship with your son is going to take time. It'll be okay, I promise."

"I know, I know." Snuggling deeper into the nest he and Sparrow had been offered, Jattelik felt himself begin to drift off. It was weird, sharing a den with so many other cats. He and Sparrow had been offered a place in the elder's den for now, with Moonstep agreeing to give up his nest in favor of temporarily sleeping in the medicine cats' den.

Nearby, a black tabby with a frostbitten tail lay snoring, a fluffy black and white tom pressed against him. With a pang, Jattelik realized the black and white tom must be Flyspots, one of Jattelik's apparently many grandchildren.

As Jattelik closed his eyes, he felt Sparrow begin to groom his fur, her affection and warmth washing over him.

At least if things didn't work out with Moonstep, he'd always have her. For now though, Jattelik would hold out hope.

Perhaps there was still time to fix things.

-🐉

AUGHHHH MY HEART..... dragon your fics always manage to grab my feelings like a squeaky toy and stomp on them (/positive). I love the idea of Jattelik meeting the clan and his kids,,,,

[lilhawkeye3]

night sky in your eyes

SWTCW ||| Rex x Reader (platonic or romantic) ||| 500 words

for @urfriendlyneighbornightfury for the @starwarsfandomfests 2023 Secret Santa event!

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

“Are you sure we’re heading the right direction?” Your words come out in a slight pant. The two of you have been walking for quite some time now, trekking along the snow-covered path through the forest. The latest storm’s effects were still visible as the trees bowed towards the path from the weight of the heavy snow on their branches.

Rex chuckles slightly. You feel a slight flash of ire at how he sounds unaffected by the hike, but it quickly fades to amusement as he turns to look at you, his nose and cheeks flushed pink from the cold. 

“I’m sure,” he reassures you. “I’ve been up this path before.”

“Not in the wintertime,” you counter. Rex has turned around again as he continues leading the way, so he doesn’t see you pause to scoop up a clump of snow and throw it at his back.  Your victorious laugh fills the air as he whirls around to only get nailed in the face by the second snowball you throw. He sputters in surprise, losing his balance and falling backwards into a drift.

“Sorry!” You call, stumbling your way through the snow towards him. “I was aiming for the back of your head. I didn’t think you’d turn around!”

Rex blinks up at you blearily. There’s still snow trapped in his curls and on the tip of his nose, so you brush it off for him. He quirks a smile when you offer him your hand to help him stand again. “Thanks, but…” He pulls sharply, and you let out a yelp as you fall on top of him and Rex rolls you over into the snow. It’s so cold, seeping in through your jacket and wetting your hair. 

“No fair!” You shriek, laughing as you try to escape, but Rex drags you down by the waist. At this point, you’re both equally covered in snow, so you give up and flop limply back on the ground. 

You close your eyes for several minutes as you both lie there together, faces upturned towards the sky, sides pressed against each other. Rex inhales sharply and you know he’s about to break the silence that’s fallen. “Thanks for bringing me out here,” you say, determining to speak first. “Even though it might be a bust, this has been a lot of fun.”

“What do you mean?” Rex’s voice is light but full of awe. “It hasn’t been a bust— look.”

You open your eyes and your breath catches in your chest. The aurora borealis, what you’ve come all this way to try and see, have lit up the night sky. The purples blend into pinks and greens, a neon watercolor painting against a black canvas. They move in a wave, dancing across the sky with you, Rex, and the stars as their captive audience. You risk a glance in Rex’s direction to find he’s already watching you, a smile still on his face. 

“I’m glad you came with me.” 

His expression softens at your words. “I’m glad I came, too.”

[crimson-calligraphyx]

22: The Worst in Me

A/N: Sexual content.

Exhaling, I watched my breath swirl in front of me as the frigid air bit my nose and snow crunched under my boots. The fresh, crisp scent of pine infiltrated me as I weaved in and out of hundreds, maybe even thousands of trees. Stopping in front of one, I slipped off my glove and tugged at a section of needles, frowning when they came loose. This tree wasn't fresh; it wouldn't last until Christmas.

"What about this one?" Noah's velvety voice cuts through the silence. I avert my attention away from the saddened tree, looking up the path to see him motioning to a tree that was towering over him. I shake my head and trek over to him, "Noah, this is massive. It won't fit in my living room." "But it's fresh! See?" he tugs at the needles, proving that he was right since they held on. "Hmm, tempting. But no," I laughed and turned around to continue browsing.

I stopped dead in my tracks when I felt something slap the back of my head and roll down the collar of my jacket. When said thing made contact with my skin, I jumped from the sudden chill down my spine. "Noah!" I groaned, tugging at the back of my jacket to get it out. I turned back around, taking note of the branch that was slowly swaying back to its original position, bare of snow. "What?" he asks, a shit-eating grin on his face. "You are such an ass!" I scolded him, bending down to pick up my own snowball. I chucked it at him, having it go right by him. He turns and glances at the clump of snow behind him, then back at me with a smirk. "Really? That's the best you got?"

I scoffed and made my way towards him, bumping arms with him playfully as I passed. He grabs my wrist and spins me back into him, wrapping his arms around me. I look up at him, pouting while he gives me a bright smile, flashing his pearly whites. I wrapped my arms around his torso and melted into him, forgetting about how cold it was as he pressed his lips to mine.

When he pulls away, he gazes down at me, his espresso-brown eyes glimmering and crinkling my favorite way like they always did when he smiled. His normally pale face was tinted in pink as the air nipped his cheeks and nose, giving him this guileless semblance that I adored.

"I'm sorry for flinging snow at you, but your reaction was cute," he says, pulling his lips into a crooked smile. I rolled my eyes, swatting his chest lightly. "Yeah, yeah. I'll forgive you when you help me get a tree on top of my car." "You mean you can't do it yourself?" I shoot daggers at him. "No, I'm not six feet tall like you." "Six three," he corrects me, barking out a laugh when I roll my eyes at him a second time.

After we found the perfect tree and struggled for what seemed like an hour getting it situated, I wasted no time at all on pulling out the Christmas decorations. Noah headed into the kitchen while I began stringing the lights, starting from the top of the tree, and making my way towards the base. I plugged them in to make sure they all lit up just as Noah makes his way in, holding two steaming mugs.

"Just white lights?" he asks, handing me one of the mugs. The sweet scent of chocolate fills my nose as I take a sniff of it, and I grin. "I didn't know color lights existed until recently, you know." "Oh, right," he chuckles at himself, rubbing the back of his head bashfully. I winked at him, taking a hesitant sip of my beverage. I savored the taste of the cocoa, noting an extra spice I wasn't expecting. I perked an eyebrow and shot him a quizzical look, "Where did you get cinnamon from?" He shrugged and took a sip of his drink, "I brought it from my place. Do you like it?" "I do! It was a pleasant surprise, but you didn't need to make this for me." "I know," he presses a kiss to my forehead before starting to rub my back, "but I wanted to."

I lean my head against his chest, having him move his hand to my upper arm, and stared at the tree. I realized now that it was bland, but it was all I ever knew my entire life.

When we finished our hot chocolates, I continued to dig through the boxes of ornaments. I erupted into laughter when I noticed that none of the colors went well together; there were several different shades of blue and green, a few orange bulbs, some pink, some silver and gold, and a ton of red. Noah had no idea what I was laughing at until he peeked in the box. He chuckled, and shook his head when he realized.

After I settled down and wiped the tears away from laughing so hard, we decided to pick out all the silver and red ornaments, sticking with that color scheme. I was mesmerized by how the decorations shimmered under the lights; the silver bulbs sparkled with minuscule rainbows, the maroon orbs casting rays of ruby, seeming to glow. The garland added that extra highlight, making the tree pop.

Noah drapes an arm around my shoulders and points above the tree, "I think you forgot something." I looked up, realizing he was right; I forgot the tree topper. I gasped and immediately dug it out of the last box, smiling sadly at it as one of my childhood memories with my father comes to mind. "I can't believe I forgot about this."

My dad used to put me up on his shoulders when I was young, calling me his little Christmas angel as I set the topper. As I grew older, it transitioned into stepping into his hands, hoisting me up just enough to reach the tip of the tree, until one year I lost my balance and took the tree down with me. It wasn’t funny at the time, but thinking back on it now, it was hilarious. Ever since then, mom made him top it himself.

"Would you like help with that?" Noah asks as I eyed the distance between me and the top of the tree. I chuckled, "You wouldn't mind?" "Of course not... but it would be hilarious seeing you try to do it yourself," he winks, taking the star from my hands and effortlessly places it on top, plugging it in with the lights. "Man, you're really enjoying making fun of my height today, huh?" "No," he says as he leans an arm on my head, "I enjoy it every day. You're the perfect height for an armrest." "Careful," I warn, elbowing him lightly in the side. "The bigger they are, the harder they fall."

-

"Merry Christmas, Liv," I wake up to Noah's velvety voice funneling into my ear. It was low and gravelly, still laced with sleep. I grinned, my eyes still closed, and hummed as his breath tickled my ear. "Merry Christmas," I whisper back, wriggling myself closer against his chest. He delicately brushes my hair away from my shoulder, giving me a firm kiss to my neck. I feel a strand of his hair brush against my skin as he inches further up my neck, sending a tingle down my spine. I let out a quiet sigh; I feel his lips curl into a smile.

He slips a hand under my top, cupping my breast gently as he continues kissing my neck, eventually grazing his teeth under my ear. "Noah," I say under my breath, a mewl following after. He chuckles, "Yes, love?" He runs a thumb delicately across my nipple. "What are you doing?" I feel myself involuntarily arching my back, pushing my chest harder against his hand. He hums, amused. "Giving you your first Christmas present."

He presses against my backside, and I can feel his erection growing against my ass. A tingle runs down to the pit of my stomach when he takes my earlobe between his teeth, his warm breath caressing me. "It's too early for this," I state, groaning quietly. "You sure about that?" he asks, giving my now pert nipple a pinch. “I’m sure,” I answer, barely audible, not sure if I was trying to convince him or myself.

He trails his hand down my stomach and I can feel the heat pooling as he halts at the waistband of my panties. I suck in a shaky breath as I anticipated what was to come next. He cups me over my panties, rubbing me against the fabric. “Your body is telling me otherwise,” he chuckles when he feels they’re damp, and he knows he’s right. I don’t say anything as he sneaks a finger underneath my thong and dips into my wetness. I whine when he gets dangerously close to my clit, but purposely avoids it. He knew exactly what he was doing, knowing I’d eventually succumb to his touch.

I gasp quietly and part my legs when he presses a finger inside me, giving him what he wanted. “That’s what I thought,” he coos in my ear, adding another finger. He doesn’t move, just teases me with his digits inside me. I squirm against his hand, wanting him to keep going. “I thought it was too early for this?” he mocks, clearly amused with my need. "I lied," I mumble, wriggling my hips in hopes of urging him on. "Bad girl," he scolds in a low voice, pulling his fingers out of me. "Maybe you don't deserve your present." He drags his fingers over my leg, running my slick over my skin before palming my ass aggressively.

"I didn't ask for it," I retort. He hums against my neck, sending another shiver down my spine. "You know we don't ask for presents, love," he murmurs sardonically before biting my neck gently. I take in a shaky breath and bite down on my lip to hold back the moan I wanted to let out. With my skin still between his teeth he mumbles, "Seems like you want it, though." He slides his hand back down my panties and rolls his finger lazily over my clit, causing me to buck my hips forward. "Do you want your gift?" "Uh huh," I confirm, placing my leg over his hip and rolling slightly towards him, giving him more access to my sex.

I sighed as he slipped his fingers inside me again, slowly curling them against my walls—it wasn't enough. "Noah," I whine, grinding against his hand, begging him to go further. "So needy," he growls in my ear, "but I like feeling you melt in the palm of my hand." He was right; I was a puddle in his possession, and I swear I forgot how to breathe as I processed his words.

With him now pumping his fingers inside me, I fisted his hair and pulled his mouth down to mine, meshing together with passion. He groans against my lips, my nails digging into his scalp to keep him close. He forces his tongue inside my mouth while still fucking me with his fingers, my hips instinctively moving in time with his thrusts. I was getting close, the leg around his side beginning to tremble.

He breaks our kiss and pulls his fingers out of me; I whine at the sudden emptiness. Repositioning, he rolls me back onto my side and moves my top leg forward, pulling my panties down just enough for him to enter me. I moan out when he fills me, adjusting to the feeling of his girth at a different angle. He slowly rocks his hips into me, kissing my neck and cupping my breast again.

“You’re so precious,” he mumbles against my neck, peppering kisses up to my jaw. I look back at him, seeing his chocolate eyes shimmering with adoration as he grins at me, breathing heavy. My heart melts at the softness on his face, and I smile at him. I pulled him in for another kiss; our lips synced together, the both of us panting through our noses as he picked up his pace.

I felt euphoric, being so close to him. The way our bodies moved together, the way he caressed my neck with his lips, his breath dancing against my skin. The way his large hand would journey its way from my thigh, admiring each curve of my body before reaching my breasts and massaging them. My whole body was buzzing; I was completely captivated by him, drunk off him.

He kisses my shoulder before biting down, gently sucking on the area, and earning a quiet moan from me. I moaned louder when his fingers somehow find my clit, slowly rolling over the bundle of nerves as he continued to thrust into me. “Oh God, Noah,” I sighed, relishing the feeling of him all over me. I feel his lips curl against my shoulder before he takes my earlobe between his teeth. He chuckles, his breath tickling the shell of my ear and sending more heat to the pit of my stomach. “You’re enjoying your present, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice low. “Yeah,” I managed to say through a muddled mind, my body teetering over the edge. He hums and mutters a quick ‘Good’ before nipping at my neck again. He hooks my leg over his side, shifting me slightly as he continued to sink his teeth into me, his fingers gliding over my clit faster.

It wasn't long before I was a whimpering mess in his possession as he brought me to my climax, digging my nails into his scalp while my body quaked against him. "Fuck, Noah," I mewled, trying to pull his hand away from me with my other hand. He held on tight, grinding into me with such fervor, his breath hot and heavy in my ear. Tears prickled my eyes as he continuously struck me in the right spot, my bud throbbing, overstimulated by his abuse on it. He takes his hand away and places it on my hip with a chuckle when I cry out, showering me with kisses wherever his lips would land.

He thrusts hard once, twice, three times before he pulls my face in for a firm kiss, groaning against my mouth. I can feel him pulsing, releasing inside me, expelling shaky breaths through his nose with his lips still pressed firmly against mine.

"God, I love you, Liv," he whispers, drawing out slowly. He wraps both arms around me, tugging me against his chest and kisses the top of my head. My body was limp in his grasp as I tried to recoup. "I love you so much," I sighed blissfully. I lazily traced my fingers over his tattoos, becoming comatose as I listened to his pounding heart and admired the warmth radiating from him.

"I have a real gift for you," he says quietly. I giggled, "I figured, but I'd be perfectly fine with this as the only gift." He laughs and gives me a little squeeze. "I can give you that any time you want, though." "Any time?" I look back at him with a smirk. He shakes his head with a chuckle, "Well, maybe not now. Let me give you the real thing first, how's that sound?" "Fiiine," I fake whine, settling into him some.

After we showered and made ourselves breakfast, we settled into the couch with each other's gifts in hand. He insisted that I open mine first, and so I did—I furrowed my brows when I laid eyes on a tiny, 6-inch sword. Thinking it was just a trinket of some sort, I was surprised to see that the sheath could be removed, brandishing a blade. It was a pocketknife, but in the shape of a katana. "This is super cute," I smiled at him. "Is this for self-defense?" He shrugs, a goofy grin on his face. "Something like that," he motions towards the envelope sitting in my lap. "Use it to open that."

I squint my eyes at him with suspicion before I hesitantly slid the blade across the edge of the envelope. "Do you remember our conversation that very first time you were at my place?" he asks before I was able to slip the paper out. I scrunched my lips to the side, trying to jog my memory of that day. I don't remember much of it, other than waking up on his couch and having tea while we talked about the night before. I shook my head at him, unsure of where this was going. "What does a katana have to do with—" I gasped when it clicked.

I remembered that when I took in the decor at his place the next morning, I asked if the katana he had hanging on his wall was real, to which he confirmed it was. When he told me it was from Japan, I remember jokingly telling him to take me with him the next time he planned on going there.

I finally took the papers out of the envelope, seeing there were two plane tickets to Japan. My mouth dropped to the floor, astonished with what was now sitting in my lap. "No, you didn't!" "I did," he laughs. "Thank you," I shake my head at him in disbelief, "but this is too much, Noah. This must've cost you a fortune!" "You told me to take you next time I planned on going so," he shrugs again, a sly expression strewn across his face. "It doesn't matter the cost." I scoffed, "Noah, I was kidding!" "I know," he chuckles, "I just want to make you happy, because I love seeing you happy."

He palms my face between both hands and kisses me when my lips begin to tremble. "Stop crying," he whispers against my mouth. I pout, "I'm not." He pulls away from my face, swiping the apples of my cheeks with his thumbs. "Then why are your cheeks wet, hmm?" I grinned bashfully, giggling at the pointed look he gave me. "I'm just... appalled. You've seen the worst in me, and yet you still go above and beyond for me; I don't deserve you." "Shh, stop that," he disregards me and gives me a peck on the lips. "You absolutely deserve this after the shit you've gone through." "My gift to you doesn't even compare to this, it just seems insignificant now," I whined. He rolls his eyes and picks up his present, "That's not the point, Liv. I'm going to treasure your gift all the same."

I shrugged as I watched him carefully unwrap the box, a delicate smile forming on his face when he opens it. He immediately pulls the silver chain out from the padding it sat on, placing the pendant settled within the links in the palm of hand. He tilts it back and forth in the light, admiring the way the stone shimmered. "Sapphire. Reminds me of your eyes," he looks over at me, dangling it next to my face. I see his eyes shift side to side, comparing the color of the gem to my eyes as he chuckles. "Okay, maybe the sapphire is a little darker, but still. I love it, thank you." He takes my face between his hands again, planting a kiss to my lips. I grin into the kiss, relieved to hear that he enjoyed his present.

"Help me put it on," he says after breaking away from me. He hands me the necklace and turns around, piling his hair on top of his head. I chuckle and place it around his neck, clasping it. "I'm really glad you like your gift," I say as I wrap my arms around him and rest my chin on his shoulder. "I told you I would." I rolled my eyes. "I told you I would," I mimic him, giving him a kiss on the cheek before releasing my hold on him. "Now we gotta plan for a vacation." "Good thing we have four months or so til then."

|Chapter 23|

[chimeclan-tales]

Moon 1 - Newleaf

Moss and Directions

With clumps of fresh moss on their backs, the two cats trekked to the cave exit.

“We’ll let the others know of the gathering spot,” Beetail meowed with a swish of his scarred tail. “Do you remember the landmarks nearby?”

“There was… The sharpest rock we’ve seen…”

“And?”

“......”

“Stars above,” His mentor sighed. “Yes, we saw a sharp rock… But more importantly, we followed a small stream that nurtured the growth of moss. It’s to the left of the stream that leads to the Moon Falls.”

The apprentice nodded halfheartedly. He usually didn’t mind his apprentice duties, but… StarClan! He wished he wasn’t in this tight cave.

“Being observant of your territory is an important skill, Beaverpaw.”

“I know…”

“Then look at me and pay attention.”

“But I want to be out there!” He imagined the wind in his fur and his claws sinking into trespassers. “This is boring! When we were on the journey, we hunted eagles! Fought a wolf pack! We could be patrolling our territory now, driving out any foxes–”

“Those were all dangerous! Do you not remember our companions who died!?”

“I-I’m not saying we have to go back…” The apprentice flattened his ears. “It’s just… moss. Brushpaw’s out there hunting…”

The senior warrior’s tail twitched. He wanted to cuff the ears of this mousebrained apprentice, but he heaved a sigh instead.

“Beaverpaw,” He meowed firmly. “Sometimes a warrior must take on duties they may not find fun. Life during the journey was full of fighting, but that’s not all there is to being a warrior. We must provide for our clan, too.”

“As you know, hunting prey gives our clanmates food. It’s not as flashy, but gathering moss gives our clanmates warmth and a good night’s rest.”

“But I can contribute in other ways—“

“You wouldn’t want Badgerkit to sleep on the floor, would you?”

The apprentice’s eyes widened with guilt, and he ducked his head in apology. “You’re… right. Sorry. I was being mousebrained. I’ll be more attentive next time.”

The senior warrior nodded and continued walking back to camp.

“Good,” He said. “If you show some improvement, I’ll take you to the Gathering; there’ll be new cats to meet. Windstar said it was this halfmoon.”

“Really?”

“Only if you show some improvement. We have another batch of moss to gather, and tomorrow another survey in these caves.”

“Ah,” The apprentice shook the disappointment off his pelt. “O-Of course, Beetail. I’ll do my best.”

Moss was gathered. Beetail and Beaverpaw's relationship remains stiff.

Previous Moon Event - Windstar's Ceremony

Next Moon Event - The First Gathering

[enchanted-lightning-aes]

[ID: a green badge of a campfire with text that reads 'Sambucky Summer Bingo Camp, Campfire Stories, ESTD.2023 / finish ID]

Title: Exchanging Ancedotes By Nearby Bonfires

Square Filled: Campfire Stories

Warnings: references to mild gore

Word Count: 757

A/N: just a ficlet of a couple of guys sitting nearby a bonfire by five feet away, that's it. for the @sambuckylibrary for the summer bingo, camp edition.^^

also i'm sorry for the formating, i won't be on desktop bc of the experiment. so, i'll be posting on mobile for a while. ;-;

***

With flames crackling from a bonfire at the ground's center, two figures leaned back on their log seats. Their heavy bags lounged across from them, appearing to be equipped with numerous items. A silent wind swooshed by a clump of pine trees, shaking leaves.

Above, the moon gleamed against the dark blue stretch of the night sky. Thick clouds floated below, surrounding it from around each sides.

"To think we'd ever camp again," Bucky said, stretching a foot clad in a boot forward. He pulled a cap from a bottle. "Ahhh, thankfully, we had been prepared."

"It certainly feels good to be out at the woods." Sam inhaled and exhaled slowly, drawing in some fresh oxygen into his system.

"You know I've heard how sharing stories helps a bond grow." Bucky winked. "Looks like to me, it's probably not your thing."

"Ah, I got plenty of things to share," Sam retorted with a snort. "Including stories. And who smears my name with that nonsense?"

"Okay, okay, to be fair. . . it took a lot to convince you to let me crash in your place in D.C."

"C'mon, man, you were supposed to be in hiding."

"Point still stands, Samuel. Now get on with the story!"

"Sheesh, alright, you stubborn super soldier. Anyways. . . one time on a trip to the woods with my family, Gideon and I were out for a small stroll. At late night when everyone else were asleep. There's been some owls around and awake. We thought we'd take some pictures of them, you know? And then. . . and then we walked into something real disturbing. You see, I'm cool with tons of birds. They only get aggressive if you interact with them the wrong way. Those flock of owls. . . they'd been another thing entirely.

"They were gathered at the ground, only taking some bites out of. . . your imagination can fill the gaps."

"That's. . . that's gruesome."

"I guess we shoulda have ignored them when he had a chance. And I'm trapped with those images in my head. Sometimes, I have some damn nightmare over it. Often in 3-D unnecessarily. We told our parents and Sarah and they pointed out we'd been irresponsible for that. Hey, maybe I shoulda known better yet hey. It was. . . an experience, for sure."

"I knew you weren't always responsible, Samuel!" Bucky crowed, throwing a pumped fist in the air. "Vindication at it's finest."

"Pfft, you just had to take a dig at me for that, huh?"

"For a guy who prides in being responsible, it's ironic you get into plenty of trouble."

"Hey! At least, I'm not the one who jumps out of planes with no parachutes!"

"Well, I'm willing to acknowledge it."

"Oh, wow. Since when did you own up for being such things?"

"Unlike a certain someone, I have self-awareness."

Bucky grinned while Sam rolled his eyes, crossing his arms.

"You ain't getting a medal for that, ya know?"

"Ouch, Samuel. Ouch."

When Bucky burst out laughing, he flung a quick punch at his upper arm. His eyes riveted to his lips and throat then he shook his head, clearing his threat.

"Okay, your turn. Any scary camp stories you wanna share?"

"It was the thirties and minimal opportunities for camping. But I did it once, back in high school with some classmates, who dared me to go. I'd take Steve but his asthma would make it tough to handle. Anyways, we were roaming around, just setting up camp and all. And on our trek, we found a waterfall nearby."

"And you guys used it for skinny dipping?"

"Shush, you didn't let me finish! I mean we didn't because it was extremely cold and shit. We just splashed it on each other and stuff. Ya know like those nerf pistols you and the boys attack me with. Sorta like that but with our hands. To say we didn't get sick from that was a lie."

Sam started shaking while laughter escaped him. He threw his head back and pressed a palm over his stomach, which contracted from it.

"I take it, your family didn't let you live it down?"

"Yup. In addition to that, I've been grounded for a whole month."

"And Steve complains on how you're the responsible one."

Bucky snickered. "What can I say? A guy changes."

"Tell me about it," Sam replied, humming noncommitcally. "And you tell me I'm terrible at sharing."

"Pfft." Bucky rolled his eyes.

Regardless, both of them began cracking up. Their voices resounding throughout the forest, where it dwindled any other sound around.

***

[prettylightsbigcity]

The Therapeutic Influence of Goats

Had to pull myself out of my writing slump because one of my favorite humans on the planet has a BIRTHDAY TODAY!!! @foolofabookwyrm-activated does so much for this fandom and community, and we are beyond lucky to have her. Liz, I love you and I hope you had an absolutely fantastic day today <3 This silly little thing is for you; hope it makes you smile.

Read the full ficlet below, or over on ao3, if you prefer!

***

Baz

I knock on the ancient wooden door three times, rapidly. Old, cracking paint chips off beneath my knuckles and flutters through the air, a flake landing on the toe of my leather boot. I sigh. After a somewhat long wait, Agatha Wellbelove yanks open the door. Her blonde hair is piled on top of her head in a messy knot, and she’s wearing a lumpy sweater several sizes too big for her. Her feet are bare. 

“Baz,” she says in greeting, not sounding surprised to see me.

“Wellbelove,” I reply. 

“Who’s it?” a voice calls from somewhere inside the cavernous barn. 

Brody.

“It’s just Baz, he’s here for Simon,” Wellbelove yells over her shoulder. 

“So he’s here?” 

I can’t keep the relief out of my voice. Even though it’s been months, even though things are much better and improving all the time, I can’t help but worry when Simon disappears on me like this. Wellbelove nods and jerks her chin towards the hill behind me. 

“He’s up there. Said he’d come by for tea later,” she explains, softening a little, “you’re welcome to join us, of course.”

“Thanks,” I say, offering her a small smile. 

Agatha is already closing the door as I turn and head towards the knoll. I resign myself to a long trek; the back pastures are enormous, and there are no fences to stop the goats from wandering as far as they please. Fortunately for me, I find the herd just beyond the first rise. The goats are scattered about in a loose group, grazing happily on the clumps of buttercups and clover. I spot Simon under a beech tree, spread out on his back with his head resting against a rather plump goat. A tiny little baby one, no larger than a house cat, is sprawled across his legs, fast asleep. Simon sees me a moment after I see him and raises one hand. I walk over to him, careful to give the feeding goats a wide berth. They don’t like me; they’re smart that way. 

“I can go if you’d rather be alone,” I offer as I draw closer.

Simon shakes his head.

“Just needed some air,” he says, sitting up slowly so as to not disturb the kid in his lap. He cups his hand over his eyes and squints, looking up at me.

The older goat, presumably the mother, stands up and shakes herself, giving me a distrustful look. I sit down extremely cautiously and hold my hands up to her. She looks at Simon, then back at me, and trots off to graze a short distance away, keeping a watchful eye on us. I suppose she trusts Snow more than she fears me. The grass here is soft, and the wind rustles quietly through the branches above us. Simon lowers his hand and lets it fall in my lap. I hold it. We’re both quiet for a long while. Eventually, Simon takes a massive breath and lets it out slowly.

“Bad day,” he admits.

I can see him struggling to decide what he wants to say; his eyebrows quirk and draw together. I wait, rubbing my thumb against the back of his hand in little circles.

“I’m sorry I didn’t text you,” he starts, “I told my gran where I was going. Figured you would call her if you were worried.” 

I nod. 

“I would have, if I was. But I thought you would be here.”

Simon smiles crookedly.

“Guess you’re always right.”

“Hardly. I just know my favorite person, and I know where he likes to go to clear his head.”

I lift Simon’s hand to my lips and kiss his knuckles, enjoying his resulting blush.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

Simon shakes his head.

“No– well, not right now. I just wanna… sit. If that’s alright.”

“Of course, love.”

Simon’s expression shifts, and he peeks up at me from under his unruly fringe. He really needs a haircut.

“Wanna hold him?” he asks, taking his hand back to scratch the little goat’s head. 

“I…” I pause, not wanting to turn him down, but I know this impossibly small creature doesn’t want to be held by me.

“I don’t think his mother would approve,” I tell Simon. 

He looks over at the mother goat in question and shrugs. 

“She trusts me, it’ll be fine,” he says, already lifting the baby out of his lap.

“Simon–”

It’s too late, he’s putting the tiny goat top of my crossed knees, settling him in and getting coarse white hairs all over my navy trousers. I hold my hands in the air, afraid to move. Simon grins. I look up and make direct eye contact with the mother goat. She doesn’t blink. I look back to Simon, blue eyes lit up by the late afternoon sun. He looks delighted. I’m afraid to breathe. 

“Here, he likes to be held like this,” Simon explains, taking one of my hands in each of his and positioning them around the creature.

“I’m too cold, he won’t like it,” I hiss.

“He’ll warm you up,” Simon says patiently, like I’m the one being ridiculous right now. 

I have one hand cradling the goat’s chin and the other resting against his back. Snow was right; he is warm. Simon sits back, scooting over so he can lean against the trunk of the tree and spread his legs out. He’s still smiling. 

“I’m a predator, Snow,” I complain, “you’re teaching this baby terrible survival skills.”

Simon has the audacity to laugh at me. 

“These are Watford goats, Baz. You’d never hurt them.”

He’s right, but that doesn’t make this whole situation any less absurd.

“Just relax, babe,” Simon continues, “and try not to think for a bit.”

I snort, but I do try. Tentatively and gently, I let my fingers run over the baby’s back, again and again. He huffs in his sleep, an impossibly charming sound. The mother goat goes back to grazing. I take a few deep breaths. I listen to the wind. 

“There you go,” Simon says quietly.

I open my eyes; I hadn’t realized I had closed them. Simon is looking at me so gently, like he loves me.

He does, I remind myself, still. 

“What’s his name?” I ask.

“Ebb,” Simon says.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak, to not break whatever this moment is. We sit on the hill, Simon, Ebb, and I, until the shadows start to grow long and the light turns orange. I sigh. Simon nods.

“Let’s go bother Aggie for some tea and biscuits,” he says, standing up and stretching his arms over his head.

I look down at the goat, and his eyes are open, looking back at me.

“Time to go, little puff,” I tell him, and impossibly, he seems to understand. 

He yawns, squeaks, then hops off my lap and skips over to his mother, who is already turning to follow the rest of the herd down the hill. 

Simon reaches out a hand to help me up. I take it. 

[hournites]

Meeting Grundy

Rick introduces Beth to Grundy. 

~.~

“You used to make this trek every day?” Beth hops over a fallen tree branch in her blue rain boots, stopping to put her hands on her knees, catching her breath from their long hike. “With 12 cheeseburgers?”

“Or seven pizzas,” Rick says with a smirk. She gives him an amused glance as they continue towards Rick’s favourite spot in the early morning before school. It’s quiet in the woods. And muddy. But it’s peaceful, and Rick can’t stop smiling, so Beth can’t stop smiling, even as she’s secretly mourning the end of her clean boots.

“How did you get away with that for so long?” She pokes at his earth-toned jacket. “Every restaurant in this town must think you have six stomachs!”

“Who’s to say I don’t?” Rick moves a finger over his lips, shushing her. “A genetic disorder, the doctors say. Don’t tell anyone.”

“That’s worse than the dog lie. Which was mean, for the record. I was so disappointed you didn’t have a dog.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

“ Whoops ! ” Beth trips on a snapped twig. Rick reaches out for her hand, steadying her just in time.

“Thanks,” she grins breathlessly. They stand face to face for a moment. Rick’s eyes are soft, and a thrill runs up her spine when he doesn’t let go of her hand.

“Grundy can talk.” He pulls Beth along, interlacing their fingers. He slowly swings their arms in the small valley between them, and Beth is feeling a lot of things. Happy, lightheaded, nervous. “It’s kind of better than a dog.”

“I guess so.”

“You're the first to meet him. Or, Jakeem was, I guess. But this is official.”

“I feel honoured.” She does, really. But she still can’t deny she wishes they were walking towards a german shepherd.

“So the plan is to be careful with your movements, get him comfortable, then I’ll introduce you. I know he’s massive, but he’s pretty sensitive. He’ll know if you’re scared of him.”

“And he isn’t going to be mean, right? Since you resurrected him?” She bites her lip. “I just want to be sure.”

Rick gives her hand a small squeeze. “I promise, he’ll love you.” His gaze holds more words than that. Beth has to look down at the leaves on the ground, fighting the flush to her cheeks. “Okay.”

When they get to the big log bench, he sits her down. “I’ll go fetch him.”

Rick puts two fingers into his mouth, a crisp whistle echoing through the forest. “Grundy!”

Beth’s back goes rigid, hands tightly over her knees when the ground begins to shake.

Her eyes grow enormously wide at the mammoth of a zombie man that stumbles towards them.

Rick grins. “Hey, pal.”

“Rick….Friend.”

Grundy pats Rick’s back a little too hard. He loses his footing, converse shoes twisting in a clump of dead leaves.

“Rick!”

“I’m okay!” he reassures her with a laugh. He turns and taps on Grundy’s fingernail, half the size of Rick’s head. “Pal, remember what we talked about. Be gentle.”

“Gentle….” Grundy grunts. “Learning.”

“That’s right.” Rick chuckles, continuing to talk to Grundy. The zombie monster sits hard on the earth, causing another mini earthquake. Beth grips the peeling bark, fascinated by the discussion they’re having. Grundy soaks up every single word, expanding his vocabulary. Beth marvels at the light across Rick’s face. She’s heard the stories, the compassion he has for this…brute of a thing. But it’s another thing entirely to see it in action. Rick has such a huge heart for what he’s been through. He’s such a beautiful person. Beth would like to think that she’d show forgiveness to the weapon manipulated into killing her parents if she were in Rick’s shoes…But she’s not so certain she would. She can’t believe she gets to witness it in Rick, to be a part of his transformation.  

Grundy seems as calm as he can be, munching on the many bags of apples Rick had left by a tree stump.

“Beth.” He sweeps his arm at the colossal giant. “This is Grundy.”

She waves. “Hi, Grundy!”

“Grundy…This is my, um…This is Beth.”

Grundy swivels his head to stare at her. “Beth?”

“Yeah, remember? From the tunnels? I talked to you about her a few times?”

Beth bites her lip, trying to hold in her delight. Rick has talked to Grundy about her? What did he say?

“Beth…Your…Friend?”

“Yeah. She’s my friend.” Rick looks back at her. Beth flashes two thumbs up with a toothy smile, hoping that her nerves aren’t leaking through too obviously. She wants Grundy to like her. Grundy is important to Rick. And he stinks and looks like he could squash her flat with a burp, but she’s here and she’s trying. Rick sits down and wraps an arm around her as she tries to swallow down her apprehension. Seems like Rick can read her like a book. His touch is warm and the stiffness in her back and neck softens with uncanny ease.

“She’s…Actually, she’s family. It’s a little more than a friend.”

Her breath hitches, and she looks up at him. Rick’s thumb grazes over the leather elbow pad of her orange zebra jacket. She doesn’t dare move, not even breathe when he meets her gaze.

“She’s actually, weirdly enough, the one who brought me to you.”

Her brows crinkle with confusion. “Did I?”

“You showed me the truth,” Rick whispers, still staring at her intensely. “About my parents. About Hourman–And yeah. Grundy for the first time.”

“I had always thought that might’ve been a mistake.” She thinks back to the forest on the outskirts of West Farm, far from where they are now. Beth knew she needed a way to stop Rick in his tracks before he did something he’d regret, but the absolute devastation, the grief that played on his red-tinged, tears-soaked face had her doubling over. Rick’s pain was so cutting, she felt it like it was her own. Beth wasn’t sure she’d have done it over the same way, it was her first day ever as Dr. Mid-Nite, and she’s now more sensitive with the information she shares, and how she shares it.

But Rick is shaking his head. “It wasn’t. I needed to hear it. I needed to see that. It took a while, but, it saved me.”

Her breath catches, trying to find words to say.

Grundy interrupts them. “Beth….saved…friend?” He throws an apple core behind him. It lands on the river bank with a plop, and a group of birds squawks at the invasion, flapping their wings to get away.

He stands with a groan, looming over them, studying Beth again.

Beth stands too, swallowing hard, batting Rick’s hand away when he tries to pull her back. “Hey, you need to give her space.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “I got this. I think he just wants to get to know me, right?”

Beth turns, raising an eyebrow for agreement. Grundy huffs through his nostrils, which she’ll take as a nod.  

“Great. Okay.” She needs Rick again. “How exactly did you bond with Grundy?”

Rick scuffs his shoe into the ground. “I don’t know. Like this? Eating apples? I just started talking and he listened. Not sure how much he understands but it’s enough to get by.”

“I just have to talk? That’s not hard.” She sticks her hands into the pockets of her jacket and jokes, “We’ve been making a lot of speeches lately.”

Beth clears her throat. “You know when I first heard of you. I was scared of you. And when I saw you in that cage for that first time, I was desperate to get Rick away from you, because it wasn’t what we were supposed to do down there and I didn’t want him to try and hurt you, yes, but…It was also because I was scared of you. I still kind of am,” she admits quietly. “But you’ve earned Rick’s trust, and you taught him mercy, acceptance, patience and forgiveness…And, also how to lie really really badly.”

Rick chuckles behind her and she scrunches up her nose. Rick letting her tease him never gets old.

“Lying aside–You taught him those things, and…that matters a lot to me.”

“You’re not just some imaginary friend for Rick to talk to. Or a figment of his grief. You see in Rick what I do. You’ve been there for him.” Her back is to Rick and she’s glad, she’s not too sure she’d be able to continue with her voice so loud and clear if she’s able to see his face if she can see the slightest indication that he’s moved. “You’ve been there when I couldn’t be. You saved him. And Rick says the same of me. So, I think we have a lot in common, Grundy.”  

A hand lands on her shoulder–Rick with misty eyes. Beth melts, wrapping her arms around his middle and buries her face in his shirt as his hand slides soothingly up and down her back. She closes her eyes, breathing in the damp moss and musk and Rick’s new soap.

“And I know Rick’s really strong physically,” she continues, craning her neck up at Grundy, but still hugging him. “But he’s resilient, too. He doesn’t think it’s okay to struggle, but we know life–our I guess many lives– can be very hard. Lonely.”

“Beth…” Beth puts her hand on his chest. She’s not finished.

“And I’m just really, really grateful, that he has someone that’s even bigger and stronger than he is. I hope you can help me teach Rick that he doesn’t have to be strong all the time. Just keep looking out for him, okay? And I promise to look out for you.” Her voice breaks, “Because that’s what families do.”  

Rick presses a kiss to her temple. He croaks a tiny, “Thank you.”

Grundy groans, stomping to the tree base. Beth wipes away at the wetness gathering in her eyes before they smudged her glasses, confused. “I thought that would work.”

“Just wait…”

Grundy clops back and shoves the burlap sack of apples into Beth’s arms. She yelps, stumbling back into Rick as the bag jostles, twenty or so apples rolling around, dropping out of the bag and onto the floor.

“Apples. Yep.” Rick bends down to collect the ones that fell before they roll into dirt. “Told ya he’d like you.” He finds one, rubs it against his shirt and offers Beth a bite.

“I’d usually wash my fruits first, Rick…”

He shrugs and sits with Grundy on the log bench. “There’s a creek nearby if you want.”

“I meant tap water!”

Rick smiles wide. Beth digs into her jeans pocket and snaps a photo to capture it. Then takes a few more with Rick posing with Grundy.

Now she’s the only one not having a snack. She sighs, making a grabby hand at Rick’s apple and simply resorts to never telling her mother.

“This is nice.” She leans against his shoulder, listening to Rick’s healthy breathing, nature, and Grundy. “I see why you like coming alone here.”

Grundy reaches over and gives Beth a respectable non-back-breaking pat. "Family."

Rick’s smile never leaves him. “I think I like this better.”

[twilightstarr-zinnia]

Alhaitham Gets Group Hugged

"Finally, we're almost there!" Paimon groaned, as the mausoleum came into view. 

Aether didn't blame her for complaining on the trek. The desert sun was bright and merciless, and the endless sand added weight to every footstep, not that Paimon had to suffer that second part. It amazed them how Dehya and Cyno seemed unfazed by it, keeping an eye on their slower companions and consciously matching their pace. Still, Aether couldn't exactly say they were looking forward to arriving. 

"Aether," Alhaitham said, and when they turned to face him, he held out the divine knowledge capsule and his vision in his palms. "Can you keep these safe?" If he was feeling any emotional distress over the trade he was about to make, they couldn't perceive any sign of it.

Alhaitham had to hand them off to someone, of course, or Rahman would surely take them, but Aether felt certain they hadn't been chosen at random to safeguard such valuable and dangerous items. Honored to have earned this trust, they accepted, and found a place in their bag for the capsule and vision.

Satisfied, Alhaitham was about to continue, but Aether, suddenly feeling that they couldn’t allow him to take one more step toward the mausoleum, threw their arms around him. 

He didn’t push them away, but he didn’t reciprocate either. Of course he didn’t. Alhaitham was only working with the group out of a common interest. He’d said a couple days ago that he didn’t even see them as a real team. Even if he trusted Aether a little more now than he did then, he still wouldn’t want to be friends. What a silly impulse.

Aether withdrew, hastily apologizing. “Sorry, that was stupid, I don’t know what--” 

A hand on their shoulder caught them and gently guided them back into an embrace. “I don’t mind. I just… wasn’t expecting this. You raised no objections to this plan yesterday.” 

“I didn’t have any better ideas, but I’m still not happy about putting you in danger.” 

“I’ll be alright. Most likely.” 

Fortunately, Alhaitham’s hugs were more comforting than his words. 

Isak ran up to them and clung to to Alhaitham’s leg. “Thank you,” he said softly. 

“Uh… you’re welcome.” Alhaitham patted his head awkwardly. 

“Group hug!” Paimon declared, floating into the clump. 

“Alright, why not?” Dehya laughed, slinging one arm around Aether and one around Alhaitham. “You deserve at least that much.” 

“It’s really not necessary,” he protested weakly, making no move to stop her. 

“Get over here, Cyno!” Paimon called. 

“This is a waste of time,” Cyno said, arms folded and looking toward their destination. And yet, Aether caught what they thought was a fond glimpse in the group’s direction. 

“The sooner you join us, the sooner we’ll get moving again,” said Dehya. 

“Fine,” he sighed, approaching apprehensively.

Aether and Dehya made an opening between them, each giving him an arm. 

"Incredible. What has become of the fearsome General Mahamatra," Alhaitham taunted.

"Oh you be quiet!" 

"Shut up, Alhaitham."  

"Don't ruin this."  

Paimon, Dehya, and Aether scolded him all at once. Cyno elbowed him in the side, but didn't break away. 

"Alright," Alhaitham resigned, with a soft little laugh Aether hadn't heard before now. 

[slippinmickeys]

Three Part Harmony (8/?)

When they finally pulled up to the cabin — after a long and bumpy trek down a muddy, rutted driveway that wound through a hemlock grove choked with cedar — Mulder was beyond gassed, pushed to the limit of what he could endure. Shock, trauma, joy, distress. The gamut of human emotion, and nothing but highway hypnosis with which to ruminate on them all. Beside him, Scully dozed with her head resting gently against the glass of the passenger door, the white of her bandage just peeking out from between clumps of dark hair.

Between his eyes, in the very spot where — in his partner — a malignant growth had once threatened her life, a throbbing pain began to emanate; an aggregation of emotion, exhaustion, the swirling miasma of stress hormones on a brain forced into sustained fight-or-flight. He sighed and reached forward to switch off the radio, though the silence did nothing to alleviate the ache. Ducking his head to look up through the windshield, he peered at the building before him. SAFE , the waitress had written. He certainly hoped she was right.

The cabin was an A-frame, the hard planes of its roof slanting down almost to the ground, its ridge cap sharp and straight as an inverted knife. It was painted a dark gray with navy trim around the doors and eaves, and the front of the building was a near solid mass of both square and triangular windows crisscrossed with support beams. Reflecting the lights of the car for a moment as Mulder turned, it looked, he thought, like a brigantine tall ship with all of its sails unfurled. The light shone on it and then was past, the house sinking back into the murk of the trees that surrounded it.

He pulled over onto a cramped area of leveled dirt just to the side of the house and killed the engine. He glanced into the backseat at the sleeping baby, the boy’s face slack, a bit of drool wetting his ample lower lip. Mulder had, while on the run — before Scully had joined him — launched himself into the future during moments of downtime, and imagined a life in which the three of them existed; unhunted, unafraid, unruffled by the problems of the present, of the past. He would picture the most mundane of scenarios: the three of them sitting down to breakfast, how the boy's face might screw up while trying to throw a fastball, the way Scully’s voice would sound calling William in for dinner. It never went further than that — simple acts of domesticity — but the act alone kept him level, kept him sane, ground at the edges of his despair so that they were dulled, not sharp enough to prick him. Not sharp enough to draw blood.

“Scully,” he whispered.

She roused with a sharp inhale and blinked several times as she sat up, a look of confusion passing over her face as she fought to reconcile her surroundings with what they had been only the day before. She probably was hoping she’d wake to find it had all been a bad dream.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice still low. She nodded, and after a brief hesitation, brought her hand up to the back of her neck.

A flash of worry arced across his mind before he could turn it away. “Scully?” he said again.

“Anesthetic wore off,” she explained, giving him a small reassuring smile. “It’s just a little sore.”

He reached over and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. She returned the gesture and glanced briefly back at a still sleeping William before turning her gaze up through the windows of the car and to the cabin beyond them.

“This is it?” she asked, looking at the house assessingly.

“Yeah,” Mulder said. He had plucked the map the waitress had given them from Scully’s fingers as soon as she’d succumbed to sleep, flicking on the dome light for a moment every few miles to check their progress. There was nothing else around for miles.

“Sorry I fell asleep on you,” she apologized, her eyes falling to the worn, scrawled-upon sheet that now sat slightly rumpled in Mulder’s lap. “I was supposed to navigate.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine.”

She looked back at the cabin. “There’s no one else here?” she asked.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Mulder replied, turning to look at the house, too.

It sat, dark and stolid, beneath the canopy of dripping trees, though now that the car’s headlights were off, Mulder could see the faintest lambency from inside it, a soft penumbra of light glowing from a back room, as though someone had lit a hearthfire. It was a welcoming light, he thought. Honeyed and warm.

“I suppose one of us should go check it out,” Mulder sighed. He was run through with exhaustion and worn raw with nerves, but he leaned over Scully to open the glove compartment where they’d stashed the three guns. He grabbed the Glock, the closest one to hand, when Scully put a hand on his arm.

“Let me,” she said. “I’ve at least gotten a bit of rest today.”

Scully could, quite enviably, drop to sleep without the slightest provocation, and after the day they’d had, he couldn’t blame her in the slightest. Mulder imagined how rough he must look, eyes bloodshot and bleary, and handed over the weapon without a word. He would stay in the car with William.

Scully expertly checked the clip and the action, and finding it up to snuff, opened the door to the car and stepped out into the night. Mulder let his head fall back against the headrest, listening to the engine click and knock as it began to cool. Just as he felt himself drifting off, Scully was back, smelling woodsy, her breath curling up in twisting tendrils of steam.

“Seems okay,” she said, when she opened the door. She tucked the Glock into the back of her pants and ducked into the open passenger door to better talk to him. “There’s a lamp on in a back bedroom. Couldn’t see much beyond that. But there’s no movement.”

Mulder was aware – with that big bank of windows in the front – that the second they turned on the lights in the house, anyone outside of it would easily be able to see in. Not that there was anyone around.

He nodded. “You try the door?”

“It’s unlocked,” she nodded back. “I did a cursory check. I’ll do another when we get in. There’s no one there.” If she was certain, so was he.

Mulder rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Did you happen to see a bed?”

Scully looked at him with a sympathetic look.

“Come on, Mulder,” she said, “I’ll get William.”

Mulder didn’t even fight her, just unfolded himself from the car and reached in to grab a random selection of Walmart bags from the back. Scully unlocked the car seat and awkwardly maneuvered it into the front. She then pulled down the glove compartment and grabbed the other two pistols. Before Mulder could figure out what she was doing, she had walked over to him and tucked the Smith & Wesson into the waistband of his pants, leaning in to speak in a low tone. “Safety’s on,” she said, and then made her way back to the car to grab the car seat. “We’re right behind you.”

Mulder led the way through what there was of a yard, which was mainly gritty dirt overlaid with a damp layer of pine needles and last year’s leaves. They squelched over to the porch and up the waterlogged wood of the steps to the side of the house where he found a stark white storm door and a sodden welcome mat inlaid with flowers and words he couldn’t make out.

“It’s open,” Scully said again from behind him, and he pulled open the flimsy outer door and wiped his feet on the mat without even realizing he’d done so.

The main door stuck ever so slightly when he pushed on it, but he shouldered his way through and was surprised to be met with warm, dry air suffused with the faintest hit of potpourri. He dropped the bags near the wall and took the baby from Scully, who edged past him with her gun at low ready.

“Gonna do a quick walk-through,” she said, and he nodded, setting the snoozing child on the floor so he could shut and lock the door.

The area through which they entered opened into an open concept living room and kitchen, with a big fireplace at the center of the room that was studded with fat fieldstone masonry that went up two floors and disappeared into the ceiling. Past the kitchen, there was a single hallway that led to the back of the cabin, which Scully walked down a moment later.

“Think we’re clear,” she said, dropping the gun down to hang at her side.

“What’s the layout?” Mulder asked.

“Two small bedrooms and a bathroom through here,” she nodded toward the hallway. “I think there may be a loft up there.” At this, she tilted her head to a low wall that ran along the main room’s ceiling and ended at the chimney. She looked around a moment and found the stairs on the far side of the fireplace, reappearing a few moments later. “Another bed and a small bathroom,” she said, finally tucking her pistol into the back of her pants.

“Point me toward a bed and give me a shove,” he said wearily and she obliged, giving him a gentle push in the direction of the hallway. He plodded down it as though walking through molasses, each step feeling like more work than the last. Finally, he stumbled through a doorway, not even noticing which bedroom he’d entered, and fell, face-first, onto the small double bed he found there, which gave a plaintive creak. He considered toeing off his shoes, closed his eyes and knew nothing.

Xx

He awoke with a start, a hand squeezing his arm and a whispered voice in his ear.

“Mulder, there’s someone coming.”

He roused himself to consciousness with difficulty, his head feeling like it was filled with cotton batting. He could feel the hard nose of the pistol still tucked into his waistband, and his feet, still in the steel-toed boots he’d put on that morning, were half asleep. It was dark outside, and the lamp in the neighboring room shone dully down the hallway. When he stood, he could see headlights approaching through distant trees past the large windows at the front of the house.

He rose to his feet and got his bearings, sidestepped William who was still sleeping in his car seat next to Scully’s side of the bed and stalked down the hallway and to the front of the house, Scully right on his heels. The windows, as he approached them, leaked a frosty chill, as the air might sigh from a cellar.

“What do you think?” Scully asked, pressing herself to his side, peering out the glass of the sliding doors along the front of the house and into the night. There were headlights bouncing down the rutted driveway, getting close, and both he and Scully instinctively ducked down as they were briefly illuminated by the lights as they panned across the building. The car turned to back in next to their Grand Prix and parked, sitting for a moment with the engine idling and the lights still on. Scully had her gun out, and she was obviously asking if Mulder thought that the men in black had managed to find them.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Something tells me They don’t drive a Datsun.”

A moment later, the waitress from the diner emerged from the driver's side and crossed over behind the car – a waft of pinkish exhaust shimmering around her, reflecting the red haze of the taillights and making her appear, however briefly, like a saint in a religious painting. She disappeared a second later behind the raised deck lid of the trunk. Mulder glanced at Scully and watched as she moved the gun from one hand and into her other.

Then the trunk closed, and the waitress was awkwardly carrying two brown paper grocery bags, stumbling a little under their weight in the double-cone of light from her car.

As the woman approached the steps, Mulder moved to the entryway of the cabin and pulled open the front door for her, pushing at the outer storm door with more force than necessary, which clacked into the side of the building with a concussive thwack!

The waitress jumped back in surprise, breathing hard, and would have probably clutched a hand to her chest if they hadn’t been full.

“Hi,” Mulder said awkwardly, then stepped forward onto the porch. “Can I help you with those?”

“Hi,” she replied, fumbling a bit with one of the bags which Mulder took from her. “Thank you,” she said, following him into the house.

He closed the door behind her as she moved into the space, dropping the bag she still carried heavily onto the kitchen counter which was made of thick butcher’s block and scarred from use.

“I’m sorry,” he said, setting the other bag gently down beside it. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She heaved a sigh and leaned against the countertop. “Not your fault. I’m,” she swallowed heavily. “I’m jumpier than a virgin on her wedding night.”

Beside him, Scully surreptitiously tucked her weapon into her pants and pulled her shirt down over the handle.

The woman was still dressed in her work uniform, a short sleeved white button-down shirt with a red polyester skirt. She had the shape of an hourglass and wore hose that creased a bit around thick ankles before disappearing into sensible black shoes. She still wore an apron, and a name tag that was a little droopy.

“Rhonda?” Mulder asked, dipping his head toward the woman and holding out a tentative hand to shake.

“Oh! My manners!” the woman said, wiping her hands onto her apron before reaching out to shake Mulder’s hand.

“Steve,” he said, shooting a quick look at Scully.

“I’m Lisa,” his partner said, reaching forward and taking Rhonda’s hand. “And please don’t trouble yourself over etiquette. You’ve invited perfect strangers into your home. We’re incredibly grateful.”

The woman waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not my home,” she said. “This place belonged to my uncle. He used to come out here to fish. It’s mine now. A little rustic, I admit. I use it when I need to get away. You’re welcome here. Don’t you give it another thought.”

Mulder’s eyes were pulled toward the headlights of the car that was still idling in the drive.

“Do you want me to go turn off your car?” he asked.

“Oh, please,” the woman said, and he didn’t wait for another word, just trotted out the door and down the steps so he could covertly check out the woman’s car.

He swung into the driver’s seat and looked around, as if orienting himself. There was an extra apron with five or six pens sticking out of the pocket folded neatly in the passenger seat and an empty coffee cup with a small half moon of lipstick around the lid in the cup holder. The rest of the car was neat as a pin. He turned off the headlights and turned the keys in the ignition, looking at the house once before tilting down her glove box and peeking inside. There was a battered owners manual, a couple of pieces of loose paper; the car’s registration and insurance information, and a small flashlight. The name on the registration was Rhonda Fitzsimmons. He closed everything back up the way he found it and pulled the keys, exiting the car and walking back through the night. The woman seemed to be who she appeared.

When he walked back into the house, Rhonda was just asking Scully a question.

“Where’s the little one?”

Mulder saw Scully stiffen, but she answered politely enough. “He’s asleep.”

As he approached them both, he held out the keys, handing them to Rhonda, which earned him a smile of thanks. Mulder gave his partner an All Clear nod and watched as Scully leaned against the counter opposite Rhonda, mirroring her stance. She looked as tired as Mulder felt.

“I have to ask,” he said. “How did you know we needed help? How did you know about the men in the diner?”

Rhonda sucked on her teeth for a moment, scrutinizing him. Finally, she ran her fingernails along the countertop in a horse-like cadence and said:

“Well,” her soft lilting accent making the word sound like ‘whale.’ “I didn’t like the way they looked and Shandricka didn’t like the way they felt.”

“How do you mean?” Mulder asked.

“That smile,” Rhonda shuddered. “It was off. Too big, you know? Capital gums, lowercase teeth.”

Mulder had to suppress an almost hysterical urge to laugh. “And…How did they feel?”

“Like they’d steal the sugar out of a cake, Ricka said.”

“But you gave us that map before those men even came in,” Scully said, narrowing her eyes. “I never even saw them.”

“Y’all were scared,” the woman narrowed her eyes back at Scully. “Y’all are scared.” She turned her eyes to Mulder. “I know from scared.” She said this last phrase with a lift of her chin. With the look of someone who’d swum through a river of adversity and came out the other side. “And when they came in, well… I’m just glad you’re here. I followed them, you know.”

The tired look on Scully’s face disappeared.

“What do you mean you followed them?”

“Those men. After they left the diner. Ricka took over my shift and I followed them. A ways back, they never saw me, don’t you worry. They went out Route 30. Pulled into old Doc Shepherd's place and gawped around like they’d lost their keys. I’d bet twenty bucks they’re still sittin’ in that parking lot hollering at each other,” she said. Then she added, almost confidentially, “I wouldn’t know cause I kept driving on past.”

“You’re sure no one followed you?” Scully asked.

“I’m certain,” Rhonda said with enough authority that Mulder didn’t hesitate to take her at her word.

“Doc Shepherd,” he said, gleaning an idea. “What kind of doctor is he?”

“Doc Shepherd is a she,” Rhonda said. “A veterinarian.”

Xx

Not long after that, Rhonda had insisted that they get some sleep. She’d be staying in the loft, she said, and would be up late reading. She assured them that she was a light sleeper and could hear anything from up in the loft – that the acoustics of the house funneled sound right to her and she’d know the minute anyone entered the valley, much less the house.

Mulder and Scully, overcome with exhaustion, capitulated.

They shuffled into the bedroom, William on the floor close to where Scully’s head would rest. The room was dark but for the light coming in from the hallway, vaguely illuminating knotty pine walls, amateur paintings of woodland scenes, antique furniture too small to be of much use. They each pulled out their guns, hiding them under the pillows, and Scully hid the third one in the small bedside cabinet. She kicked off her shoes and pants, pulled her shirt over her head, and slid into the small bed in just her undershirt and panties. Mulder closed the bedroom door softly, and, feeling like he needed to be ready to leap into action at a moment's notice, took off only his shirt and toed off his boots, getting into the bed in the tatty jeans he’d been wearing all day. Normally, Scully would have clocked the infraction and complained loudly, but tonight, she held her peace.

The bed was narrow, small, and his feet hung off the end. Nevertheless, it felt cozy and calm with Scully close at hand, the warmth of her seeping into his side. Outside, he could hear the wind pushing through the branches of the trees, and just beyond the hallway he heard Rhonda puttering around, opening and closing cupboards, putting away groceries. Beside him, he swore he could hear the beat of Scully’s heart and the soft, elfin sounds of William’s whistling breath.

Scully reached over and grabbed his hand, squeezing it. After a moment, a thought occurred to him, and he reached deep into his pocket.

“Sit up,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Sit up,” he said again softly, and Scully obeyed, looking at him curiously.

He pulled out the soft gold chain and held it up in between fingers and thumbs, the tiny cross sliding down to sway gently from its middle.

Understanding dawning on her, Scully bowed her head. Without a word, he slipped the chain around her neck and fastened the hook, bending forward to press a long, soft kiss to the skin just below her bandage.

Then they each eased back, the bed softly creaking and rustling under them, and slid into the horse latitudes of the night where everything went quiet and still.

[chakotaybodypillow]

❤️Favorite Canon facts about Chakotay :D❤️

-He has a twisted sense of humor as stated by belanna. His sense of humor was always very subtle and easy to miss, I think his best example of his twisted sense of humor was in the episode revulsion when he was teasing harry about his obvious crush on 7. Harry needed that tbh 💀

-He can't dance. I can't even imagine chakotay dancing, so this makes total sense to me, like he probs has rhythm. Im sure he knows how to rock his shoulders to the beat, but that's all he's got. I can imagine him at some starfleet ball being asked to do some basic ballroom dances and completely tripping over his own feet. The that of that brings me immense joy. idk why lol.

-He doesn't like fried food..... can't get behind him with that, major L opinion my guy 😞 fried food is what makes the world a better place

-He listens to jazz. He just like me fr 😫 I love me some jazz, bossa nova to be exact. It was a bit refreshing to see because it seems like for some reason all trek characters only listen to classical, with the exception of Tom. Which is like..... boring, I get their smart and all but smart people can listen to other genres. I realize jazz is a "smart people" genre as well, but it was a step and I'll take it.

-He's an anthropologist. Good choice and a good field, all though he does mention that he wanted to do paleontology???? I actually don't know what he was now that I think about it, but both make sense for the character. It was always so cute to see him get excited about anthropology and the alien cultures. We got so little of that :/

-His clothes were beemed off of him in a transporter accident 💀... I needed more details on this story cause wth lolol

-Gonna clump these together he can cook, he likes sand art, he's a lil handy man :3. He hates carrots and pudding??? Random, but I'm grateful for the smaller details they should've shown him poking around a bowl of pudding, i wouldve enjoyed that. Such quaint little traits.

(I actually hate this episode sm. Like who was this little weirdo. It was awkward and hard to watch. It felt like they were trying too hard to get me to sympathize with this random character, and trust me, I was not sympathizing, lol. It was uncomfortable watching a character share so many intimate details about him, and I know that chakotay was a very private person, so I feel like he was uncomfortable the whole ep too. He ended up being a lil hoe in the end, though 💀💀 sorry for the rant had to get that off my chest lol)

-The fact that dude was a full-on terrorist. I always felt they did a poor job at showing his growth. Most of his development from when he was maquis up until him becoming 1st officer was not propely displayed on screen. It seemed like it happened within the span of a single episode. I wanted TO SEE IT. Voyager fell victim of that quite often though, but that's a whole other conversation to be had.

Bonus: he can't use chopsticks lol can't relate 💁🏾‍♀️ what a bozo

[voidedleylines]

FFXIVWrite Day 2: Bark

*Immediately thinks about Hien and the place you go with him in the lvl 89 Endwalker ranged quest.* so i wrote a little scene of him there pre-canon, just after his coming of age ceremony.

I care him. Muchly.

Hope you enjoy!

Rating: Gen. No CWs apply.

It's been ages since he’s stepped foot in Plum Spring. Ever since his mother died and ever since the Empire has grown more and more oppressive in his homeland, he and his father haven't tried the trek here. The pink leaves mix with the stark white bark and he's instantly transported to a time where he was only a few yalms tall and clinging to his mothers legs.

He remembers her laugh, “Come now, Shun, you must learn to stand on your own two feet!” she’d say. His father stands tall beside her and gives a silent nod.

Shun -now Hien- wishes nothing more than to see his mother’s face again, but those days are long past. It's been three summers since and the pain in his heart still lingers. He places a hand on the tree in front of him and closes his eyes and bows his head in reverent prayer. He hopes the Kami are keeping her safe.

His skin starts to itch inside these ceremonial robes like they always did these days. It was hard not to feel it was performative, less meaningful than it should’ve been. His coming of age was supposed to be a joyous time, a chance to prove himself to his father and his nation. His free, liberated, nation but that's not what it was. It was veiled and stained with the Empire's influence. Guards surrounding the festivities and always watching. Making sure no one got any ideas on revolution. It made his stomach burn that all he could do was smile and say his lines.

There were people he knew, friends, spies, that urged him to demonstrate something at the ceremony and he wanted to. Had half the mind to talk to his father about it, but the King of Doma beat him to it, and squashed any talk to revolt before it was even struck with a match.

It's a thing he and his father never agreed on, and maybe never will, and it always made Hien feel many things. Things one is usually taught not to feel towards a father, so he pushes it down and does as he's told, as that is the role he was born to play.

He kneels to the ground and takes out the trinket he’s been carrying in his pocket. He smiles down at the well loved monkey and gives it a tiny squeeze, thumb running over and smoothing out its face.

He digs his free hand into the dirt and begins pulling the clumps. The white of his sleeves quickly became stained brown. The pulled up earth smelled almost relaxing to him as he already began to pick at the dirt under his fingernails. He can feel his mothers voice in the back of his head, scolding him for his manner. He smiles and whispers sorry.

With the hole deep enough to have him satisfied he looks at his monkey again and kisses its forehead.

He gently places it in the dirt and begins the process again, grabbing clump after clump. He smoothes the earth down and bows to kiss the spot for good measure. There's a weight off his shoulder that's lifted, and it makes him feel lighter.

He sees the sun crest below the mountains that line this alcove and he knows he must return home before his father notices his absence, if he hasn't already. As he walks towards his falcon he looks out onto the Spring one more time. He doesn't know when he’ll be back her, but he hopes it will be soon.

[pseudomonacarriea]

❛ i was worried something happened to you ...... ❜

Aedre's voice trailed off as visibly wilted. She'd definitely gone against his instructions to only go out of Dawn Winery when one of the others or Diluc himself accompanied her, but .... Vision blurring despite herself even when she's been doing her utmost to cry less, her throat felt like it was burning. Fingers clutched at the hem of her uniform's skirt as her lips pursed.

"I .... I-I thought you left me behind again .... "

A Forgotten Meme -- Not Accepting! -- @getofflikeagun

He stands at the door as he listens, a frown appearing on the redhead's face. He had left for a time, sending notes and gifts back to the mansion. However, he didn't expect to be gone for so long, or for some of the mail to be halted -- either from bandits or other means. the last trek he went on, he was stuck in a dungeon for a few days longer than he had anticipated.

Seeing how worried she got about his absence, ever since that bastard visited

A hand slowly raises up to Aedre's head, but does not come down on top. There's a heavy pause, the words don't come as he wants as they formulate in his head. While he knows what to say, how to say it is another story. Diluc takes a deep breath through his nose, the sound of grass and clumps of dirt crunching beneath his boots. While a simple hand gesture, whether it being put on top of her head, or on her shoulders would be enough -- he decides against it. The norm doesn't work.

The warmth of his palm can be felt against her cheek as he makes sure to gently swaddle her face in his hand. Thumb brushes over the soft wetness that's come down her face, even as he sees her trying not to cry.

"I'm sorry."

I'm sorry for making you feel that way once more.

Removing his hand for a moment, he slowly starts to take off his coat. Wrapping its weight and warmth around her, he keeps his hands upon her shoulders, pulling her closer to his chest. Head tilted down, one hand begins to stroke her back. His grip on her shoulders is tight, but there's no hint of malice in it.

He cares -- he cares far too much for the woman in front of him that it generally worries him. It also brings dangers that he hasn't had to deal with in so long.

"… I would never abandon you."

Never again.

Diluc would never change that for the world.

I would never leave you, Aedre.