#also rip they both look on the pale side because I had chose the colors when the background was white but by the time I remembered

[courtsees]

the lads play dress up

[abbysfrenchbraid]

Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 7

masterlist  /  playlist for reading

After we've arrived at the lowest point of this love triangle mess, it's now time to put the pieces back together. Eivor has to get a grip on things and the reader finally has to tell her how they feel. 

CW for blood/open wounds, food mention

inspo pic by @classicnovaproductions​

Promise

You were woken by movement behind you - Eivor had sat up and was cursing under her breath. As she stood up, you turned your head slightly to see what she was doing. The right side of her tunic was dark with dried blood.

With shaky fingers, she rolled up the fabric to reveal blood-soaked linen underwear and stained red skin. The tunic seemed to stick to the wound. Eivor pressed her lips together and ripped it off in one upward motion, letting out a small whine and immediately biting her knuckles to silence herself.

The gash on her hip started bleeding right away. It looked horrible. The flesh around it was purple from the impact and the wound was deep and gushing blood. You sprang up from the mattress and rushed toward her. Birna yelled in fright and protest and hid under the bed.

 “Eivor, oh God! Why did you not say anything yesterday? This requires stitches!”

The warrior was breathing heavily, trying to keep her composure as blood already started pooling at her foot.

“I thought it would close overnight, but my belt and the fabric must have made it worse,” she said, sounding both desperate and confused. “What do I do now?”

You were already rummaging around for the needle and thread you had used to mend her clothes a few days ago and threw her a clean rag.

 “Here, press this on the wound.” She caught it and leaned back against the table to keep her balance, then she folded the cloth and pressed it on her hip with both hands.

There were still a few last smoldering coals in the fireplace, so you added a few twigs and hung up the kettle with a small amount of water while you waited for the flames to come. The water started to boil quickly and you threw in the needle and yarn, then you tore up cloth into stripes and also put them into the water.

“Come here,” you ordered and Eivor stepped around the bed to stand next to you in front of the fireplace. Her face was ashen-pale. You took the kettle from the fire and fished out one of the fabric stripes with a spoon, letting it cool for a moment until you could touch it without burning the skin off your fingers.

You gently moved Eivor’s hands and the blood-drenched rag from the wound and pressed the hot fabric to her skin. She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, but stayed still and let you proceed. You washed the skin around the wound with the clean cloth and then went on to clean out the gash itself. It pained you to put Eivor through so much suffering, but you needed to prevent the wound from getting inflamed and foul.

Finally, you grabbed your sewing utensils and started closing up the wound. Eivor’s hands were now shaking vigorously and she buried her fingers in the furs on the bed trying not to move or cry out. You apologized over and over again while you tried to work as quickly as possible. When you were finished, you pressed the last hot rag on the wound and cleaned off the last of the blood.

 Eivor let herself fall back on the bed and put an arm over her face, trying to regulate her breathing. You sat down next to her and stared at your bloody hands. It had all happened so quickly, you were questioning whether you were really awake yet.

When you turned to look at Eivor, she was staring at the ceiling, a single tear running from the corner of her eye into the intricate braids. You laid down next to her and followed her gaze to the wooden beams above you. Your hands were lying next to each other between you, not touching but so close you could feel her warmth.

“I owe you an apology,” Eivor began quietly, “but I am at a loss for words. Where can I even begin? I put you into a cage even though you were wounded and scared, and I only noticed you were hurt when it was almost too late. I let Randvi treat you like a traitor even though you only helped us. I forced myself on you last night and you had to carry me back here because I was too drunk to stand. And now you save me once again, even though I have done nothing to ever deserve it.”

You stayed silent, waiting for her to continue. Should you tell her that you saw her with Randvi? She sighed.

“If you wish to part ways now, I understand. Sigurd will welcome you into the clan tonight. I will make sure to provide a roof over your head somewhere else in this village and you are free to do as you please.”

Her words were a dagger to your heart. She was setting you free, knowing how much pain she had caused you. But everything inside you was screaming at you to stay, to get closer, to stop speaking of separation, to only feel her lips on yours again. You felt your eyes well up. Carefully, you moved your hand in Eivor’s direction until your knuckles touched. The sensation made breathing harder, but it felt warm and consoling.

“However, if you stay despite everything I have done, I will be forever grateful to you. Everything feels wrong when I am without you, like thick fog limiting my vision and robbing me of all sense of direction. You guide me home.”

One of her fingers moved to brush over yours. Your heart was beating so loud that you were sure Eivor could hear it, too. You had to tell her. If this was your chance of resolving this mess, you had to tell her.

You pulled your hand away and turned to her, propping yourself up on an elbow.

“Eivor, there is something you need to know.”

Her eyes widened and you could see the fear behind them, fear of losing you forever.

“The night before the second raid, I went out looking for you.”

She understood immediately and closed her eyes, breathing out slowly as she waited for you to deliver the final blow.

Suddenly there were steps coming closer to your door and you could hear Valka’s voice singing a happy “Good Morning, Eivor! I brought food!”

Eivor shot up and pulled down her bloody tunic before rushing to the door, followed closely by a white ball of fur. You sat up as well.

Birna slipped out as soon as Eivor opened the door, then Valka stood in the room. She had brought a basket with bread and dried fruit as well as a bottle of a dark greenish liquid. She seemed surprised to see you here but greeted you just as enthusiastically.

“Seeing as you had to be carried to bed last night” - Eivor groaned and pressed her hands to her head - “I thought I’d come by to make sure you are still breathing. But first, would you mind telling me why you are drenched in blood? Did Y/N finally have enough of you?”

The healer gave you a sisterly smirk and placed the basket on the table. Before Eivor could even react, Valka had pulled up her tunic and let out a sound of surprise.

“Freya’s tears, what happened here?” She turned to you, still holding up the tunic. “Did you sew her up?”

You nodded and went to inspect the contents of her breakfast bundle before remarking that it probably would be best if she took another look at it to make sure it would heal well. Eivor was visibly annoyed at the fuss about her, but she did not dare to object. You popped some dried cherries into your mouth and lifted the green bottle against the light from the window.

“What is this?”

“Oh, the perfect brew for a morning after heavy drinking,” Valka explained, lifting the tunic over Eivor’s head. The warrior had bound her chest with strips of linen and now crossed her arms over her almost bare upper body. “Peppermint, ginger, and several bitter herbs. It tastes horrid, but it wakes you up and soothes an upset stomach.”

You threw Eivor a fresh tunic and she gave you a grateful nod, quickly pulling it over her body. Valka decided it was best if you joined her at her hut where she would prepare a fresh salve for the wound. Birna accompanied you on your way up the hill and, once inside, immediately chose Valka’s bed as her new throne.

Eivor bickered with her for a moment, then the cat moved over so Eivor could sit down next to her. You watched closely as Valka heated up oil and beeswax until they melted together, throwing in calendula and daisy petals, lavender, and buckhorn. The herbs soon started spreading their wonderful scent throughout the room and the oil slowly turned a greenish-yellow color. You helped filter the mixture through a clean cloth and caught it in a small clay pot, placing it on the windowsill to let it cool.

In the meantime, Valka had heated up water and thrown in a few cloves of crushed garlic. Now she placed another round of hot, wet fabric stripes on the wound and gently pressed them down with her palm. Eivor was clenching her jaw and clutching the blanket beneath her, but she endured the procedure without complaining.

Valka explained to you that garlic fought off illness and cleansed wounds even better than plain hot water, but she was happy with you for thinking of cleaning the wound before sewing it shut. She was also satisfied with your needlework on Eivor’s skin - the wound had stopped seeping and seemed to close up well.

As you both sat next to Eivor, waiting for the cloth on her hip to cool down, the silence grew thicker. Eivor kept her eyes closed the entire time, not showing any emotion. Valka was unusually late in recognizing that something was wrong. She gave you a questioning look and you just pressed your lips together and lightly shook your head.

After a while, the healer threw the wet rags into a basket and stood up to grab the salve from the window. She gently rubbed it into the bruised skin around the wound and handed the pot to you. Then she took a long bandage from a box and wrapped it around Eivor’s hips several times, fastening it with a knot.

“Here are two more bandages.” You took them from her. “Change the dressings twice a day and boil them after every use. Clean the wound and put the salve on before every new dressing. We should be able to remove the stitches in a few days so it can heal on its own.”

You helped Eivor up and thanked Valka for her assistance, promising to come by later so she could prepare you for your welcoming ceremony.

As you walked back to Eivor’s hut, she suddenly stopped. You turned around, raising your eyebrows at her.

“Y/N. I have been thinking about what you said. You saw me and Randvi, is that right?”

You nodded, feeling your throat close up.

“There is no excuse for what I did. I betrayed my brother and I turned from you after drawing you closer for days. Randvi and I were together for some time, but I ended it a while ago. She still wanted me and she found me at the right moment last night. All I can say for myself is that I was drunk, so drunk I could not think or feel anything anymore. I was lost, I was looking for love and I thought I could not place that burden on you, so I grasped my chance when Randvi came after me.”

She took a deep breath, holding your gaze.

“I should have never kissed Randvi, not the first time and not the last time. I was weak and astray, I still am. I often drink to find joy, yet I only find misery every time. I know that I should have come to my senses much earlier, I should have told you how I felt and I should have never kissed you without asking what you wanted.”

Her outburst shocked you; she had never been this honest and open with you. You could see she was hurt and ashamed, trying to save whatever still was left between you. You reached out a hand and she caught it between hers, her eyes full of fear and pleading.

“I can never make up for all the pain I have caused you. But if you choose to stay, if you choose to walk through that door with me and continue to be by my side, I swear to you by everything that is dear to me that I will never betray you, I will never lie to you and I will do everything in my power to make this work.”

She squeezed your hand with shaky fingers, her voice cracking at the last words. Your insides were in turmoil, you were completely overwhelmed with everything that had happened. But there, somewhere inside you, a tiny spark lit up. The smallest flame licked around the coals at the bottom of your chest. It was hope that had returned to you.

You knew that Eivor meant every word she had said. She would be lost without you, that much you knew already. You placed your free hand on top of hers and took a step closer.

“My wolf-kissed lady. It is true that you have caused me a great deal of pain. The last few days there was so much resentment inside of me. But we cannot choose who we love and we all lose our way sometimes. If you will let me, I would like to pull you back on a new path, one destined for us both. That path requires sacrifice, hard work, patience, and vigor. At your side, I am willing to try.”

Eivor pulled you to her and you wrapped your arms around her, careful not to press your body to her wounded hip. She stayed stiff for a moment, then she let out a relieved sigh and held you tightly, pressing her cheek to the top of your head and mumbling foreign words into your hair. Something brushed against your shin and you looked down to find Birna wedged between you, meowing for attention.

You smiled at Eivor through your tears and she picked up the cat, holding her to her chest and gently rocking her side to side like a newborn. The three of you made your way down to the cottage and Eivor opened the door for you, gently lowering Birna onto the bed. You closed it behind you and leaned against the hard wood.

Eivor stood a few feet from you, just a little bit further than an arm’s length away. There was an awkward silence as neither of you knew what to say, then you decided to relieve the tension. You sat down on the wooden trunk.

“I do not know how fast we will heal. But I don’t want to make you suffer, I believe you have put enough blame and hate on yourself already.” You looked down at your hands, rubbing them together nervously. “I know how you feel about me. I have felt the same way for some time. The things I saw the night before made it impossible for me to enjoy our kiss last night and I don’t think I could do so just yet. What I need is for you to prove to me that you mean it, show me that you are no longer interested in Randvi and that you really want us to be together. Once I know I can count on you and that there is nothing left standing between us, I will gladly find my way into your arms again.”

A weight was lifted off of you, now that you had finally lent voice to all your tumultuous thoughts and the feelings that had been waiting to spring free from your chest.  Eivor stepped closer to you and took your hands in hers again. Her eyes were clear now and she was standing upright, no longer carrying secrets and guilt in front of you.

“I devote myself to you, little bird.” She shook her head and huffed. “Who am I to call you little, when you have shown such courage and grace? I am the one who is small before you.” She suddenly chuckled. “Someone once called me a lovely dove. I was offended at the time, thinking she was mocking me. But is there a bird more devoted, more graceful and exquisite?”

Eivor smiled down at you and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I promise that I will do right by you, sweet Y/N, my delicate dove.” Her face was so close now that you could see the tiny hairs on her cheeks and the depths of her blue eyes. Her lips were almost touching yours. She was beautiful. You stopped breathing and closed your eyes.

The next thing you felt was her lips on the back of your hand and when you opened your eyes again, Eivor was still looking at you, kissing your knuckles one by one. Then she took a step back and nodded, determination visible on her face. She would do everything she could to prove herself worthy to you.

[mrs-hatake]

of love and gratitude

A/N: this was requested by my dear twitter friend alex ❤️

tw for blood, crying and mentions of death.

“You’re coming?” You asked in an excitedly incredulous tone of voice.

It’s been a very, very long time since you and your husband, Kakashi, have been on a mission together. Not since you assisted him in tracking and infiltrating Akatsuki. Ever since your husband had been officially assigned as the sixth Hokage, he had been caged in his office dealing with documents and formal stuffy meetings for months. And you can see how it affected your husband. He would often complain of how boring his job was, despite the importance of it, and how he would be glad to save a cat stuck in a tree if it meant he could leave his office.

“I am.” Kakashi replied as he contained the excitement in his voice. You could almost see his body shake with elation. “The mission is ranked as an S mission that even Anbu had a difficult time completing. I was requested to assist them on the behalf of the council. You’re joining us because of your exceptional skills with Katana and daggers.”

The silver haired Shinobi took a couple of steps forward to stand in front of you, “And because you’re my wife and I miss you.” He then leaned in and kissed your lips.

“Kakashi-sama, Y/N. It’s good to see you.” Yamato greeted, early the next morning.

Kakashi let out a groan. Not only was he woken early but he also made it on time to their rendezvous. “I liked it better when you called me senpai.” He muttered under his breath.

Sakura offered a wave, a small smile curving her lips. The pinkette had dark circles under her eyes, indicating that she had slept poorly the previous night. Her pink locks were tied into a messy bun and her clothes were wrinkled. You kind of felt sorry that she was accompanying you on your mission. The girl needed to rest and you wished you could give her that. Working at a hospital full time was no easy task, especially for someone as young as Sakura.

“It’s good to see you too, Yamato. You too Sakura-chan,” you replied warmly. It felt wonderful to be up so early for a mission instead of trying to get your husband to wake up early and shove his ass out the door to go to work. You cracked your neck and knuckles, eager to get the mission started.

“Alright, recap of the mission summary: Some Otogakure Shinobi rebels who still believe in Orochimaru’s ideology have been spying on Naruto to extract the Jinchuuriki and use it to their advantage. Our job is to apprehend the enemy and gather information on their group and if they had any allies in other villages.”

You and Yamato nodded your head at him.

The news of Orochimaru supporters was not new to any of you. Ever since the end of the Fourth Shinobi War, there had been hearsay on their reformation but no one had made any moves until just recently. Anbu had been suspecting a trader and tracked him down, only to discover that Orochimaru’s followers were active and plotting for battle. Unfortunately, the Anbu team was almost wiped out in a sudden ambush in the middle of the forest.

The journey to the outskirts of Konoha was spent in silence, save for the light ruffle of tree leaves being blown by the wind and the melodic chirps of the birds. It was quite, peaceful even. Almost giving you the false illusion that you were traveling for holiday instead of onto a difficult and long mission that could be life threatening.

You spared a glance at Kakashi and couldn’t help the small smile stretch across your lips. Although he had to wake up as early as five in the morning, Kakashi looked refreshed, as if he had a full night’s rest. Which was something quite rare since he was still haunted by the memory of his fallen teammates and father figure, Minato. However, they had lessened through the years, especially after he had met Obito during the Fourth War. It was difficult for Kakashi. He had confided in you that during the battle, he felt hope bubbling inside of him at the idea of having Obito back in his life. His mind played rosy colored images of them being the best of friends; visiting Rin and Minato’s graves, him introducing Obito to you, having Obito safe and sound and basically living a normal  life. But his mind was cruel, however, as it winded its thin and boney fingers around the images and ripped them to shreds. Robbing Kakashi of that short lived serenity. The copy-cat Shinobi couldn’t sleep for weeks afterwards, constantly crying in his sleep and waking up with a start. It was a while, but eventually, Kakashi was able to move on and promised his team that he wouldn’t take life for granted. That he would live life they way they couldn’t.

Kakashi spotted you glancing at him and offered you a smile under his mask. Your heart fluttered with love. Kakashi deserved all the love and support the world had to offer him and you were grateful that he wanted to receive them from you. To reciprocate those feelings to you. He chose you to be his backbone and he allowed you into his world to help him heal, feel and to live. It was a huge responsibility, nerve wracking almost. Though, you toughened it out and faced his traumas head on. It wasn’t one sided either. Kakashi had done the exact same thing to you. He was by your side when you felt alone. He held your hands when you felt scared to return to being an active Shinobi when you almost lost your life all those years ago on an S rank mission. And Kakashi brought you joy, love and safety. Soon, your worlds merged into one and you were both at your happiest. It almost felt too good to be true.

-

The team has been traveling for two days with minimal amounts of sleep. It wasn't until the third morning did you stop in your journey when Yamato had stopped at a clearing, staring intensely at a speck he found, a torn piece of pale grey fabric.  

“Could belong to Otogakure.” He stated once all of his teammates came to a stop and surrounded the piece of fabric. Kakashi nodded and, with lightning speed, summoned his Ninken. Before the wrinkly pub could utter his usual greeting, Kakashi held his index finger against his lips, indicating for the dog to stay quiet. Using the signals that he had trained his dogs with since he was a child - signals you’ve come to memorize by heart after dating Kakashi and being introduced to his Ninken - to debrief them on the mission you were all on. You then saw that your husband had instructed them to smell around the area, starting with the piece of fabric, and pick up any stray trail.

It took them about twenty minutes of them sniffing around before Shiba stood tall and alert. Kakashi and Pakkun both went to him and watched as the dog tilted his head this way and that, Kakashi nodding along every few seconds. When Shiba was done, Kakashi reached down, ruffled his fur and slipped a small dog biscuit into his mouth.

“The track is weak but Shiba could lead us to where the rogue Shinobi might be.” Kakashi announced quietly, “We head east from here.”

You, Yamato and Sakura all nodded your heads and followed after the light grey colored dog after Kakashi had dismissed the rest.

The track led you deep into a forest where the branches were thick and the leaves were colored a dark shade of green, your shadows moving and warping against the trees. Had you not seen the sun shining down on you in the clearing earlier, you would’ve mistaken it to have been night time rather than day.

Shiba suddenly came to a halt and rapidly sniffed the air around him. Before he could yell out his warning, six Shinobi had jumped out from the dark colored leaves and attacked.

The Shinobi were strong, Kakashi could see why so many Anbu had failed in capturing them. Through his peripheral vision, he could tell that Sakura was fighting against one of the enemies while Yamato was fighting with two, one was being flung around by the branch Yamato had summoned as he fought in close combat with the other. Kakashi tried searching for you but couldn’t find you. Just that moment, his opponent ducked and thrust his Kunai in hopes to slash Kakashi’s leg but he was too slow. Kakashi was so engrossed in trying to jump away from the Shinobi trying to slash at him every two steps, he failed to notice that his second opponent had slipped away from the fight and by the time he had, it was already too late.

It had all happened too fast. One second he just landed a strong punch, successfully breaking the Shinobi’s nose and rendering him unconscious and the next, he heard you cry out in pain. Whipping his head around, he watched with horrified wide eyes as your body slumped forward, a Kunai shoved deep into your back and dangerously close to your spine.

“Y/N!” Kakashi screamed and rushed to your side to hold you in his arms.

“K-Kakashi.” You gasped weakly as your husband tried to hold you up. Your vision blurred and it was difficult to stare at the silver haired Shinobi. A burning sensation filled your lungs with every breath you took and you struggled to keep your eyes open.

“Y/N, stay with me!” Kakashi barked, “Don’t close your eyes!”

There was a soft thud somewhere; could be closer or nearby the area. But you were too out of it to really tell. Though, you immediately felt another pair of hands grab onto your left arm and drape it across broad shoulders.

“Sakura!” A voice yelled urgently, however you don’t know why. Things were getting hazy and it was strenuous to stay focused on your surroundings. Everything became cold. Your limbs grew weak. And your head felt heavy. Everything hurt and you just wanted to sleep.

“Baby, stay awake. We’re gonna fix this, okay?” A voice that trembled with fear spoke. The words were fast and clumsy. You nodded your head in response despite your eyes closing fully.

“Oi, Y/N!”

And just as a tingling sensation grew into a strong sting on your lower back, you were pulled deep into an ocean of darkness.

-

White noise invaded Kakashi’s ears as he was being pushed about Konoha’s Shinobi Hospital’s ICU, overpowering the hustle around him. His hands were covered in blood, stark red against his pale shaking hands. His shoes, covered in mud that dirtied the white tiled floor. And his mask was dampened with all the tears he had shed.

Kakashi never in his life had cried in front of anyone, not even you. But when he felt your body become limp in his arms and you failed to respond to him, he had genuinely thought you had died. And Kakashi lost it. He shook with all his might, and if the Kunai shoved deep into your back hadn’t killed you, then your neck snapping from Kakashi’s abusive shakes would’ve. Yamato tried to stop him, to pry his hands away from your shoulders, but he was met with the harshest glare Kakashi had ever directed at him. It wasn’t until Sakura had slapped him after successfully stopping the blood from flowing out and closing the wound to a small gash, did Kakashi finally snap out of it. The trip back to Konoha was fast and short and you were quickly admitted into the hospital. One glance at blood covered Kakashi with tears streaming down his cheeks had sent the hospital into a frenzy.

The five nurses struggled to take you from Kakashi’s hands (he was too scared to let you go, that if he looked away then you would die) while two doctors tried to sedate Kakashi. It took two shots from Kakashi’s hands to go numb, though not enough to knock him out. He helplessly watched as the nurses laid you onto a gurney and sped through the doors for emergency surgery. That was six hours ago.

Kakashi’s vision was obstructed by a beige paper cup that was filled to the brim with black coffee. Elegant swirls of grey smoke twirled heavenwards and almost successfully tempted him into grabbing the cup and chugging the whole liquid, uncaring if it burnt his throat along the way.

“Just take it.” Sakura huffed after rolling her eyes at the way Kakashi had lowered his head in shame.

“It wasn’t your fault.” She spoke once Kakashi had taken the warm drink from her hand and into his. “You were both doing your jobs. It was just...the bastard was a coward.”

Sakura’s words did nothing to ease Kakashi’s self loathing. Y/N, his caring wife, had waited patiently for years for Kakashi to move on and live a healthier life. Stayed up all night with him to comfort him through his nightmares and his insecurities. Still, there were times when those bouts of anxiety would sneak in and mercilessly torment him.

“I spoke with the surgeon operating on her.”  

That had Kakashi lifting his head.

Sakura hid the smile that was threatening to stretch across her lips, she knew him too well,  “Luckily, the Kunai wasn’t shoved into deep to cause permanent damage.” She began slowly, “She will need to enroll in a rehabilitation program to help her walk again.” At the way Kakashi’s shoulders tensed, Sakura reached out and placed a hand on his right shoulder, “She’s going to be alright.”

“What’s the bad news?” Kakashi’s voice was raw. It sounded as if it was too painful for him to speak. Be it from the tears he’d shed or from the way he had screamed his wife’s name when she passed out, Sakura winced.

With a deep exhale, she replied, “She is to be dismissed from Anbu. Effective immediately.”

Dismissed.

From Anbu.

Immediately.

Kakashi’s ears rang with an annoyingly high pitched whistle. He felt dizzy and if he stood up, then he’d feel like the room was spinning.

Y/N took Anbu seriously. It wasn’t just a job for her. It was her legacy; her pride and joy. She spent most of her life in Anbu and Kakashi wondered how fate could be so cruel.

At least she didn’t die.

The voice in his head whispered.

True, had she died...Kakashi wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

He already lost so many people dear to him, losing Y/N, his best friend and the love of his life...Now that would be brutal, even fate wouldn’t be heartless to do something like that.

If only Kakashi was quick enough.

If only Kakashi was paying attention.

If only-

“She’s awake.” The head of the surgeon team interrupted his thoughts. His forehead glistened with sweat and his eyes dropped with exhaustion. But there was a small and weak smile tugging at his lips, proud of what he and his team had accomplished. “I wanted to debrief her on her surgery but she insisted that you be there, Hokage-sama.”

Weakly, Kakashi nodded his head and handed the empty paper cup to Sakura and stood up to follow the surgeon to where his wife was recovering.

“Hey, you.”

Her voice was light, playful almost. Though her skin was pale, her eyes grey and her hair matted to her forehead. However, she still greeted him sunnily, as if she hadn’t been in surgery for the past eight hours.

“H-Hi.” Kakashi replied, internally cursing at himself for stuttering and his voice breaking at the end. He knew that Y/N could tell that he had been crying. She could always tell from the way his voice broke at the end of his syllables and how nasally it sounded. He didn’t deserve her.

Y/N nodded to the empty chair beside her with great effort. Kakashi would’ve wept just then if the surgeon wasn’t waiting patiently behind him to step into the room.

“Y/N-sama,” The doctor spoke when Kakashi had taken a seat next to his wife’s bed and instantly took hold of her hand, gripping on it as if it were the life line that will rescue him from whatever darkness that was drowning him. “Do you remember what happened?”

“I do.” Her voice was scratchy and Kakashi hurriedly poured her a glass of water and handed it to her.

“Good.” The doctor wrote down on his note, “Thankfully, the surgery was a success. The Kunai wasn’t plunged too deep and thus did not damage any major nerves. However, due to the sensitivity of the surgery, two month of rehab is strongly recommended.” The doctor informed them before he hesitated. He met Kakashi’s gaze, as if asking him for permission for what he was about to say next. Seeing that Kakashi remained quiet and didn’t intervene, the doctor continued.

“As your surgeon, I have spoken to my team and the council in regards to your surgery and the post effects of it. It may have been successful, however, any strenuous activities could lead to long lasting aftermath. It was agreed that you are discharged from Anbu duty and as Shinobi. Effective immediately.”

Both the doctor and Kakashi were waiting for an outburst. For Y/N to throw a tantrum and beg the doctor for any other way for her to continue being an Anbu or be an active Shinobi. But their ears were met with nothing.

One glance at Y/N and they were both surprised to see her crying.

“Y/N!” Kakashi cried in surprise and jumped from his chair.

“I’m fine,” Y/N hiccuped as she hastily rubbed her tears away, “I’m just happy that I’m alive.” she choked. Kakashi instantly wrapped his arms around her, careful of her wounds, and laid his head atop of hers.

Sensing the need for privacy, the doctor discreetly excused himself. Though, his ears didn’t miss the choked sob coming from his Lord Hokage.

-

Six months later Y/N is fully recovered.

Her recovery wasn’t easy. There were a lot of frustrating moments and times where Y/N couldn’t stop crying. Having to relearn how to walk, something that was so natural to her, was laborious. She would stumble and sometimes trip on thin air and fall. She could only walk two steps at first before slowly walking five steps, then ten steps and so on and so forth until she could walk normally.

It was difficult, but just like how Y/N was with Kakashi, her husband was with her every single step of the way. Consoling her. Comforting her. And encouraging her. Kakashi was patient, endured all of her tantrums of frustration and was her shoulder to cry on.

[fanficsandfluff]

Hannibal: A Little Less Different

This fic can also be found on my AO3, where it was first posted, here.

As much as I adore all the art that’s out there for Hannigram, I really don’t feel comfortable writing for them. So instead I chose my other OTP, Will and Beverly! I seriously love their dynamic. So, enjoy!

Pairing: Will & Beverly (platonic)

Words: 2075

~~~~

It wasn't so much shame as it was embarrassment that Will Graham felt while sitting at FBI headquarters mere yards away from the morgue. Or was he closer than that? Yardage didn't matter. A probe was gently stuck into his right ear, bringing Will back to this present moment momentarily. It was an uncomfortable sensation. This physical reminded him of why he doesn't like doctors. Why take the physical at FBI headquarters, one might ask?

Will got hurt on their last catch. It was no one's fault, Will tried to reassure. There was a fleeting moment of uncertainty where Will experienced time-lapse, and he fell into a ditch. That was the first instance. While facing off with the killer, he was thrown into the corner of a mantle. Scathed but alive, that's what Jack called it. As much as Will demanded he be given leave to go home and heal, Jack wanted to make sure there was nothing more seriously wrong with him. It was his leg and back right behind his ribs that were the main sources of pain. Typical injuries and soreness, in Will's head. But Jack gave him that look and, well, here we are now.

"Lie down for me, please."

Beverly's calm voice resonated in Will's head as he obeyed her instruction. He'd just gone through the vitals checks, passing each with flying colors, he was sure. Will shivered when his bare back touched the icy metal table. Now he felt like he belonged in the morgue. A very corpse-like feeling encompassed him as the metal chilled his skin and likewise, he warmed the metal.

"Will."

Will's eyes focused on Beverly. She clearly had just said something to him and had gotten no response.

"I said loosen up a bit."

"The table's cold."

Beverly smirked, "I saw you shiver. Relax."

"In this position, am I wrong to have a fear that you'll start cutting into me?"

"Your only fear right now should be not listening to my instructions."

Will smiled. He was put at ease. Beverly rested her hands on Will's belly and started pressing around. Will could feel her cold hands through her latex gloves, but that wasn't his only thought as he sharply inhaled and grunted. Beverly paused and looked at Will's face. Having not worked as frequently with living subjects, she feared she was being too rough. She was checking for injury, after all, so maybe she hit a sore spot. She proceeded with slightly gentler touches. But again, Will tensed.

"You can let me know if I'm hurting you," she rested her hands on the table as she looked down upon Will's pale upper body.

"No, you're not hurting me. I'm sorry. Continue."

Beverly massaged just under Will's ribs and that one got him to shoot up from his prone position, arms coming forward to protect. Beverly stared with an agape mouth and was about to send him to the hospital for intense organ displacement when she heard a small titter.

New shivers coursed through Will's upper body and he made shy eye-contact with Beverly, "I'm ticklish," he admitted.

Beverly's look of utter alarm placated to a kind of smugness when Will came clean.

"Well, better that than injury. Lay down, I need to finish up," she let Will lay down once more before she continued. No organ swelling or odd lumps, though she did get him to giggle. When she felt just behind his right set of ribs, he winced from pain this time. Assessment with that finished, Beverly then rolled up Will Graham's pant leg and brushed her fingers around his leg. Swelling under his kneecap.

The crime scene investigator lifted Will's leg and rotated his ankle, "Does this hurt?"

Will responded, "It's uncomfortable."

Beverly finished her physical examination and peeled off her gloves after instructing Will to get dressed.

"Am I dying?"

"Not this time," she responded with her usual wit. Will liked that he could talk to Beverly like this. The jabs, the morbid humor. They bounced off each other well.

"Bruised ribs, swollen knee, and twisted ankle. Nothing a little R&R in bed can't fix," she gave her analysis to Will, "I don't know how well you're gonna adhere to my prescription."

"I'll do my best."

"I think I'm going to have to check up on you."

"Well, aren't I the special patient."

Beverly grinned, "Goodbye, Will."

"Goodbye."

~~~~

It turns out Will didn't listen very well, after all. Two days passed and he was keeping up with his day to day activities, concordant with his sleeplessness. He walked the dogs, worked on flies, thought about death and destruction and loneliness and mental illness... all of Will Graham's greatest hits.

He was rightly a little surprised when a knock came on his door on a sunny winter morning. He expected Alana, or Jack, or even Hannibal. They frequently checked on him; and it was always a worrisome house call. They'd be concerned about him or if it was Jack, he'd be picking him up to consult on the newest grisly murder. No one ever checked up just... cuz.

"Hey," it was Beverly who greeted Will when he opened his door for her.

"Oh," he sounded surprised because he truthfully was, "Hi," he looked past Beverly, thinking there was someone else with her.

"Can I come in?"

"I need house calls now?"

Beverly and Will exchanged small smiles. He stepped aside to let her in. She stepped inside and placed a hot coffee on his desk, "I didn't know how you liked it. I deduced no sugar, dash of milk."

"You would be almost correct. I like one sugar packet," he lifted up the coffee in his hand and took a sip.

Beverly groaned and snapped her finger, "Ugh! So close. I figured someone unstable might not want sugar."

"As in not want joy?"

"As in don't overanalyze coffee preferences."

Will smiled at that. Beverly walked around his home, taking a look at the bits and bobs of the place that made it home. She leaned down and pet a few of the dogs that brushed against her boots.

After Will took one more sip of the steaming, bitter coffee, "Can I ask why you're here?"

"We haven't had a new case since the last one, and no one's heard or seen from you since. I figured you needed something to think about."

"You figured I needed someone to talk to."

"That too," Beverly took a seat on the ottoman of a sofa chair. Winston came over and rested his chin on her lap.

"You're not a dog person."

"You can tell?" Beverly rested a gloved hand on Winston's head and gently pet it, "I always believed dogs gravitated towards people who they knew were uncomfortable around them."

Will smiled and he took a seat in the chair adjacent to Beverly, "To torture them?"

"To tease, or to convert."

"Is Winston converting you?"

Beverly set her coffee down on the floor carefully and removed her gloves. Once she did, she gave Winston a full petting and scratching. Will looked on.

"Thank you for the coffee."

"You're welcome," Beverly tucked some hair behind her ears after Winston trotted away from her to go to his dog bed, seeming proud and accomplished, "You haven't been relaxing very much, have you?"

"I'm doing the best I can."

"I don't want to be your nurse, I really don't... but if Jack needs you back in the field, he's gonna want Will Graham at 100%."

"That sounds like an impossibility. Will Graham has never performed at 100%."

Beverly watched how Will's eyes looked nowhere towards her. They didn't seem to focus on anything.

"Will you let me take another look at you?"

"You think you missed something?"

"No, I just want to do a little checkup. See how things are healing."

Will took another big gulp from his coffee and he walked over to his bed and sat at the edge of it. Beverly followed him and sat beside him.

"This doesn't seem like protocol."

Beverly looked at Will's face, his striking jawline. He was right. It wasn't. She cared about his wellbeing, physical and mental. If she could pay him a visit under the guise of medical work, then so be it.

She slipped her hand under Will's sweater to find the tender spot at the back of his ribs. The second her fingers made contact with the skin, Will gasped and he flinched.

"Your fingers are very cold."

Beverly grinned, "Being inside your icebox of a home isn't exactly helping," she teasingly traced her nails towards the front of Will's ribs and gave them a scratch. The consultant forced out a sputtering breath.

"I will repeat myself. This doesn't seem like protocol."

Beverly couldn't not smile now. She had Will here, in the safety of his own home, his dogs all around him, and now she was present. She needed to act on this, she may never get another opportunity to do so. Will froze, as did Beverly's hand. She kept her hand just barely touching Will's ribs, still under his thick sweater. It was just this extra pause of anticipation that bubbled up in Will's chest and he giggled sporadically when Beverly dug in. Will wiggled like a worm on a hook, unable to escape Beverly's hand.

"You're not a very good patient," Beverly teased and she introduced her other hand in the mix, all ten nails scratching and digging against Will's soft, tense skin. Will threw his head back as a louder laugh ripped through his lungs and he fell back onto the bed. It was very cute, Beverly couldn't lie.

"Beverly! B-Bev-- wahahait!" Will giggled away. He wasn't trying to shove at her attacking hands, nor really try to protect himself. It seemed all he was managing to do was wrap his arms loosely around his middle. Beverly was still able to access every curve and protrusion on Will's torso.

Beverly tried squeezing instead, and she latched onto both of Will's sides, allowing her thumbs to do most of the work digging into ticklish muscle. Will spasmed and he rolled side to side, his elbows pressing into his sides more now to try and lessen the sensation.

Will Graham's laugh was nothing like Beverly imagined. She didn't imagine it much, mind you, but she did think about it more than once. His laugh was deep and steady. Nothing she did really changed its pitch. Beverly scritched her hands to Will's belly and that's the first time Will reacted strongly to her tickling. He grabbed her wrists with his hands and tried pushing them out from under his shirt.

"Noho more, please," he giggled, face flushed red.

"You don't want a repeat physical?"

"More than anything, no."

Beverly shot her hands onto Will's belly again, even with him holding on, and she poked and clawed at anything she could. Will belted out more laughter. He snorted when Beverly scratched a nail around his bellybutton. When Will was snorting more than actually laughing, Beverly felt she betrayed him enough. She relinquished her ticklish hold on his bare skin and slipped her hands out from under his sweater. Will was panting on his bed, the tip of his nose having turned red from the fit of laughter.

"Is... Is it bad if I say I never want you as my doctor again?"

Beverly chuckled and she tucked hair that fell in her face behind her ear, "You're a pretty fun patient, I might have to recommend that we keep seeing each other."

Will smiled without provocation now and he sat up, "I really don't want to know how you're so good at that."

"Eldest child. Had a lot of practice."

Will looked at Beverly and his lips were quirked upwards. He had a friend in Beverly. It warmed his heart, almost more than the tickling warmed his body.

"Thank you for bringing me company. Just... don't tell anyone about... all of this."

Beverly smiled and she nudged Will's shoulder with her own playfully, "Wouldn't dream of it. Being ticklish definitely conflicts with your whole unstable, outsider persona."

"How so?"

Beverly considered it, "It makes you a little less different."

Will appreciated that statement. They sat in silence for a few extra seconds. One of the dogs jumped up onto the bed and made itself comfortable.

"I think I should take a look at that ankle now."

[hothian-snow]

Sparagmos: First Draft

To celebrate me reaching 32K with my WIP, here’s a bunch of drabbles which inspired the initial first draft. I might reuse one or two scenes, but not the stuff with Darth Zhorrid. Both Yen and her master has changed a lot through my second revision of the fic too, and so has my writing style. Enjoy!

Darth Kharopos knew damn well that he was intimidating. He must be, lest all the other Darths devour him whole. He was also acutely aware of the effect he had on Yennevyr. It was almost amusing, the sudden change in her posture, her back snapping straight the moment he stepped into the room. Her deference towards him, the soft words and lowered eyes. Was she eager to please, or eager to survive?

From her quick feet and mind, he thought it was the latter. Self-preservation was a necessary trait among the cutthroat Sith, but for his apprentices - his legacy - he wanted more. He thought with her keen eyes and her outsider’s perspective, she’d be able to see the Empire for what it was. To see beyond the rabble, beyond the rat’s race and see what truly mattered. Instead, her eyes were puffy and pink, the next morning they met during saber practice.

Pathetic.

And it wasn’t a one off occasion too. Every time she’d come back from a particularly grueling mission, her mind was elsewhere, her blows lacking the conviction he’d expect from an acolyte worthy of being called his apprentice.

Drawing his attention back to the current practice, he swung a saber at her, the saber deflected mid-swing by a well-placed parry. He stepped aside, and noted how her feet were firmly planted into the ground, readying the body to absorb the weight of a heavy thrust or jab. A defensive stance- again. Must he truly hurt her for her to finally switch to the offense?

The tip of her saber was shaking, her stamina running low.

With the ease of swatting a fly, Darth Kharopos knocked the saber out of her hands. Scowling, he walked away, not pausing to glance back..

*******

Something was different. Clearly, something had changed.

Yet, it was less of a change or a growth and more of a pot bubbling over, the pressure and the heat exploding, the fragile cage of a badly crafted glass teapot cracking, its jagged shards flying into the wall before smashing into sharp little pieces.

Something flared in her eyes and her single red blade came to life, slashing in his direction.

He stepped right and striked left. She jumped back, moving like a spooked jungle-cat, before bouncing back forward with an unexpected speed and thrusted her saber towards his form. He blocked her, catching her blade with the end of his own. Her stance buckled under his strength, and so she slid her saber away but not before suddenly twisting her grips - shifting form, right in the heat of combat, inches away from her enemy - and plunging the blade into where he stood. Darth Kharopos spun his double-bladed saber, creating a quick shield that deflected away Yennevyr’s weapon.

The weapon flew out of her hand.

He felt her clearly. Frustration. Loathing. Wrath.

Their force bond was never this strong, but now he could feel her closer than ever. The way her heart raced, the blood thumping in her ears, her ragged breath and barely held back sobs- it was a dam broken loose, her force presence like a whirlpool throwing the cold serenity of his mind into chaos. Decades of careful restraint and calculating control kept him from drowning in the waves of her emotions.

Yennevyr, with her lithe form and dancer physique, sent a butterfly kick towards his head. Darth Kharopos reeled back. He could’ve blocked her again, that he was more than capable of- but his senses were screaming, alarm bells ringing.

With that distraction - that uncharacteristic distraction, that daring, was so different from the cautious acrobat who used to dance in and out of his range - she summoned her saber back, the hilt smacking into her palm with a loud slap. Fluid like water, she leaped and swung the saber like a guillotine axe above his head. Eyes wide, Darth Kharopos raised his saber up to form a cover, digging his feet into the sand below as the impact hit him. Yennevyr was not relenting.

Her eyes were scarlet. Those amber orbs now glowed red, the color looking like freshly spilt blood against her snow-pale skin. It reminded him of the first time he saw a total lunar eclipse: the moon bled red, as if someone had stabbed its white soil and the wound began gushing glistening ruby.

He let her hit him.

*******

Despair was an emotion Darth Kharopos never experienced, not truly and certainly not personally. Whether that was an indication of mental strength or privilege, he didn’t know.

Lord Atala’s death hit them all hard; the empty space where his mother once stood still felt like a void. Darth Kratais second marriage with Darth Labrys could never fill that gnawing, missing hole, but the woman’s hands were tender and her gaze was warm and when she whispered words of comfort to him, it felt like he had a mother again. Her presence had gentled his father’s severe disposition, and when she brought about his half-sister - Tatyan - into the world, the younger Sith Pureblood felt like a tiny bird fluttering in his palms. She truly was worth protecting.

When his father passed, it felt like a bad dream had come again.

Except this time, mother was grieving and Tatyan was bawling and they all cried together.

“Never show weakness in front of outsiders”, Darth Labrys said. “But here, we’re family.”

Because of family, he’d never known despair.

He was used to inflicting it upon others, though.

Hearing prisoners beg for death, attempting to gouge their eyes out as if the act could wipe away the vision of seeing their loved ones writhing as lightning tore through them, was something he’d grown accustomed to. He saw it coming like a holofilm in slow-motion: the moment where a war veteran’s mind was about to break, their will and determination ready to be shattered into dust at just a single jab. He always made sure their descent into madness was quick- no need to prolong the suffering. Genuine torture was only reserved for the worst of his enemies. It was satisfying, forcing some arrogant Republic general to their knees and making them scream, or exposing some tough Jedi for the weakling they were, like ripping open a bandage to reveal the ugly pus beneath.

How then, had he become so numb to the agony of others, that he missed seeing the same signs in his apprentice?

She was in despair, so upset she wished she’d died.

The circular burns on her arms looked like the ones he was used to inflicting upon Republic foes. It was an easy interrogation technique: stamping a recently deactivated lightsaber onto bare skin, the still-hot metal like a sizzling brand. And when he gazed into her eyes (oh sweet Yennevyr, when was the last time he truly looked at her?), they were dead. Empty glass orbs that had given up on life, if only her heart would just stop beating and give up on her too.

“Do I disappoint you, my lord?”

There was no mockery, no snippy retort in her voice, only pain.

*******

“I’ve always wondered how the law would work out in the long run,” Darth Labrys said, her voice lilting through the holocall. She was referring to the law to bolster Imperial ranks with worthy slaves and aliens, the law which also applied to the Sith. “You can’t expect a slave or a foreigner with no background, no exposure to Sith culture or history to integrate smoothly into Sith society without intervention, much less demand top performances from them.”

Not to mention the consequence of overwhelming power suddenly awakening within someone never taught to wield it, Darth Kharopos thought. The dark side was intoxicating, and one could lose themselves to everything from bloodlust to misery.

“I’m not advising you to go easy on her… but do be understanding, Tyrkos.”

His mother warned that even with the best medicine or therapy available, it would take time, and heavens knew that the Sith journey was already difficult enough, requiring one to fall apart and be reborn from the ashes, to kill who you were for what you could become.

Trust between Sith, especially master and apprentices, was rare. Now, he doubted she’d ever place her faith in him beyond hoping to one day take his place.

*******

Is this how I die? Darth Kharopos thought.

Every breath felt like hot knives stabbing his lungs. The rebreather was dying on him, for he could taste soot in his mouth. Collapsed against the cool floor of his hideout, back leaning against a bloodied wall, his apprentice loomed over him. How embarrassing, for his apprentice to see him so helpless.

“What’s the meaning of this?” she cried out. “Master!”

He thought he’d take that secret to the grave, to ensure that the fallout was minimal. Sith Pureblood, heir to the Rosokor family, involved in a light-side conspiracy. Should he be exposed, the Dark Council would have his mother’s and sister’s heads.

He pleaded for her to understand.

And if she didn’t, he wouldn’t blame her.

Her left hand clutched his holocommunicator where the damning evidence of his treachery laid, and in her right hand was the scarlet lightsaber, poised for execution. In the months under his tutelage, she’d grown into a stunningly beautiful Sith assassin indeed.

He closed his eyes.

“Tell me how to help.”

In shock, his eyes snapped open.

Her eyebrows were scrunched up but whether in anxiety or concern, he could not tell. There was a flush in her cheeks, and wildness in her eyes. Against his every expectation, Yennevyr chose mercy. She chose a chance at the Light. She chose him.

Master, did you not choose me, on Korriban? You saw something in me. I see something in you, too.

*******

Yennevyr hated mopping up blood. She had watched her late father’s maids do it all the time, his underlings scrubbing a crime scene clean. She later played the role of the domestic servant, doing the same back when she was enslaved under the Hutts, whether it be with spilled drinks or bloodstains from a brawl. She wasn’t afraid of blood- the coppery stench just smelled revolting.

Her master bled liters, the liquid forming sticky pools beneath his broken body. Sealing the wound wasn’t too difficult once she found the medkit, although her clumsy handiwork would definitely leave a scar. What was even more concerning was her master’s breathing, the fact that it sounded agonizingly labored and worryingly irregular.

With effort, they managed to haul their way to the hideout’s medical wing before he slipped into unconsciousness.

When his armor was stripped away and it was only his form in plain robes on the simple bed, her master looked more exhausted than she’d ever seen him. Heavy fatigue was written all over his sleeping face. It reminded her of those times she woke up especially early to see the Kaasian sunrise, the soft orange peaking through grey, stormy clouds. Some days, she deduced how master had been running some secret errands the night before, and she’d spot him limping home, his feet dragging, with an uncharacteristic slouch burdening his usually proud posture. Logically, she knew her master was no more or less a person than her, but to glimpse him tired and worn out had shocked her.

She spent the night by his side, the implications of her actions becoming clearer with each passing moment.

To reform the Sith society from inside out, she thought. A lofty dream. When did I become such a cynic?

With curious eyes, she glanced at her master’s resting form, the sound of his still ragged breathing filling the room. She wouldn’t even need a lightsaber; all she had to do was wrap her hands around his neck, and squeeze. She wondered if suffocation felt like sleep.

Oh, will I ever see you this vulnerable again?

Instead, she gingerly placed a palm on top of his limp hand, entangling her fingers with his. His hand was warm.

*******

After the suspicious death of Darth Jadus, Darth Zhorrid - in her sick ways - sought to consolidate her position as a Dark Lord of the Sith.

As if the Council would stand her, Yen scoffed. After they’ve sucked her dry of whatever knowledge Jadus may have passed down to his daughter, she’s dead.

It was no secret that her master disagreed with many of the actions taken by Darth Jadus, but he’d always respected the chain of command, bowing whenever the Dark Councillor requested his presence, amicable before his superiors. This time, however, Darth Zhorrid asked for her master and would not expect anything less than absolute submission.

“Wait outside, Yennevyr. Do not interfere no matter what happens.”

Many may claim force cloaking to be an act of defense, like the Jedi Shadows who’d rather sneak past their foes than needlessly spill blood. Perhaps she truly was like that, in the past. Eager to run, to dart in and out unseen. Conflict-avoidant.

But a cloak was also a tool, like a viper’s green scales that blended into the grass, obscuring fangs and venom. To take it a step further: force cloaking was manipulation. It was to force upon someone a false visage, to bend the mind of onlookers to the point of them rejecting the evidence of their own eyes, denying the existence of a sword pointed at their head. On Korriban, Yen had figured out how to twist her force cloak, inverting it so that her opponents’ visions were plunged into darkness and the world became invisible to them.

It only took hearing her master scream for the first time for her cloak to become a dress.

The scent of ozone reeked through the semi-closed office door. By god, no matter how many times in the past she’d angrily fumed - fantasizing of sweet it would be to give her master a taste of his own medicine - actually hearing her master who had just barely recovered from his previous ordeal now screaming under the powers of some bratty Darth who probably did not even deserve that title...

Yen’s hands curled into a fist, and she was surprised by the anxious lump that formed in her throat. She took in a sharp inhale and when she breathed out, the Force coiled around her like serpentine tendrils, slick and cool. Shadows rested around her shoulder blades like a fashionista’s scarf.

Or for her enemies, a noose.

When her master stumbled out of Darth Zhorrid’s office, a hand clutching at his side, she took the opportunity to peer into the slit of the half-opened office door and caught the Dark Councillor’s sadistic gaze. Yen gave a smile.

*******

Yen had always been good at force cloaking. But this time, instead of projecting the lie of invisibility, she’d chosen an illusion- a glamour, a mirage. To project something false into the world required unwavering will and mastery over that image.

Her mask was fueled by hatred.

Never had she thought she’d one day hate anyone more that she hated the Hutts or herself, until she met Darth Zhorrid. That pathetic mix of insecurity and sadism was infuriating. She had read up on Darth Jadus’ treatment of his daughter. It took everything for her not to barge into that office and wring that sick woman by the neck and ask her if she thought she was the only one who had ever faced abuse. Everyone faced pain at some point in their life. Suffering was the story of all beings, especially so if you were Sith. Yet, when she hated herself, Yen only hurt herself. Unlike Zhorrid, she’d never tortured others as a way to lessen her own pain, to hide her weakness.

And for that, Yen wished Zhorrid was dead.

But not before providing use for her and her master, of course.

Wearing the Force - the fabric of the universe - as if it was a garment, was an act of complete domination. With a smile, she had sparked a flame of interest within Zhorrid. With a light touch of her fingers, she’d quicken or calm the Dark Lord’s pulse, the woman’s heartbeat hers to command at her pleasure. In a blink of an eye, Zhorrid would forgive her master for any misdeeds he’d supposedly done, and most importantly, Zhorrid would leave him alone.

Why pay attention to some grumpy old Sith when the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen was standing there in front of her eyes?

A drugged cupcake ready to be eaten.

Darth Kharopos felt his stomach sinking when he received the holocall requesting that Yennevyr go meet Darth Zhorrid in her chambers. His muscles tightened, as if readying for battle. He wasn’t scared of that snooty brat; anything she threw his way he could take. But Yen, his student, his ward, his protege, his apprentice-

She was smiling.

The Force swirled around her, draped all over her form like a dress blowing in the wind. It was as if she wore a robe of woven flesh, of slithering serpents and tendrils that wrap and cling and coil. There was a gleam in Yen’s eyes, her russet eyes mirthful, radiating confidence. The last time he remembered seeing his apprentice so self-assured was when he was bleeding on the cool tiled floors, her red lightsaber hanging over his head like a bloody guillotine.

“My lord, I am every bit your apprentice. Trust that you’ve taught me well.”

When Darth Kharopos was later summoned to Darth Zhorrid’s office, Yennevyr sat on Zhorrid’s lap like an overpriced poodle. What Zhorrid did not see was the undulating threads latching onto her, their ends sinking into Zhorrid’s skin like a snake’s fangs, or parasites whose teeth pierced her bloodstream, draining her dry.

“Ah, you’re here, Darth Kharopos,” Zhorrid said with a grin. “Very good, you look very nice indeed, perfect for the job.”

Darth Kharopos only nodded, his eyes glued to Zhorrid’s pale hand which stroked Yen’s hair as if she was some exotic pet.

“I need you to look into two places: Belsavis, and the Arcanum.”

Belsavis was a tightly guarded secret he was privy to knowing, but his heart skipped a beat when he heard the name ‘Arcanum’. The Emperor’s property. Jedis have died to get a glimpse of the space station, and there were words of a rogue Dread Master recently robbing the place. Was it even under Intelligence’s jurisdiction?

A squeal snapped him from his thoughts.

“So you do know about the Arcanum!”

Her voice went from a slimy purr to an abrupt shriek. He felt a hard shove and invisible cold fists pinning him to the wall. His legs hung in the air, and he glared at that wretched woman.

“My lord,” Yennevyr murmured, her doe-like eyes widening at Darth Zhorrid. “My master’s a Darth of Imperial Intelligence. Is it not his role to know all that is going on?”

The pressure released and soon he was free. Zhorrid made a noise of agreement, muttering ‘Yes, yes… you’re right, of course.”

Zhorrid began ranting, a semi-coherent monologue punctuated with giggles and sudden screeches on the unfairness of her fate and the need to prove her worth to the Dark Council. Before her anger boiled over, a force tendril planted soft kisses on Zhorrid’s lips, quieting the woman’s anxiety in one swift move.

When the Dark Councillor appeared distracted, Darth Kharopos broke eye contact and glanced at his apprentice. He suppressed a shudder, seeing the predatory glint in Yennevyr’s eyes. Everyday, they grew more scarlet.

You will drink my words, or I will pour them down your throat.

*******

Belsavis he took care of alone, but as per Darth Zhorrid’s orders, he allowed Yennevyr to accompany him on the mission to the Arcanum. It was perfect: with every eye glued to the young rising-star commander, a Sith not-yet-a-lord with the bewitching presence of a black hole, nobody noticed him slipping away, leaking whatever information he could find on the Emperor to Republic SIS. His heart thundered the whole way, but every time he looked at Yennevyr - black hair tied up in a bun, a saber and light armor ready for combat - he felt like he could breathe easy again.

The mission was a success. They tracked the thief, Lord Tagriss, down to Ilum. His dualsaber stabbed a hole in the Sith Lord’s chest, and he felt his apprentice’s pride flared through their bond the moment Lord Tagriss’ dead husk fell into the snow.

When they returned home, she was ready to be a Lord.

“From this day onwards, you are known as Lord Soteira,” he declared, his apprentice kneeling before him. “It means savior.”

His apprentice stood up. When she looked at him, something swirled in his chest.

You honed my blade and sharpened my edges until they are lethal. You scrubbed away the rust, and revealed the blood-soaked truth. Master, don’t feel guilty thinking you turned me into something I already wasn’t. I’ll try to reach for the Light as you want me to, my lord, but don’t pity me if I fail.

[firebrands]

Anthropocene: 2016 (Steve/Tony, soulmate au, civil war fix-it)

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, T, MCU / soulmate AU / Civil War fix-it, 4.6k words, chapter 8/8 | previous chapters | also on ao3

***

Steve wakes up with a jolt and reaches out to his side. His hand hits air, lands ungracefully on the pale gray sheets of the anonymous bed. He rolls to his side and sighs, wondering why he was expecting anything other than emptiness. 

Still, the images are clear in his mind: Tony’s hand in his, Tony’s lips on his, Tony, Tony, Tony. It felt too real to be a dream, each moment clicking into place, but—that’s all they were. Dreams.

He didn’t want to believe those images, those visions, were anything more. But there’s an ache in his chest that’s only gotten worse since these visions started.

Steve mindlessly heads towards the bathroom, splashes water on his face, cataloguing every detail from this last dream. Tony had blue eyes, again, and there was something about a tumor. They were in love, and Steve had proposed. Steve rests his hands on the sink and stares at himself in the mirror as he thinks, remembers, and relishes in those thoughts. He sees something in the corner of his vision and he startles so badly that his hand slips from the sink and he nearly knocks his head against the porcelain.

Steve whips his head around and looks around the room. Just then, he had seen Tony, lying on the bed, raising a hand to his face to rub the sleep from his eyes. Steve splashes water on his face again and shakes away the thought, resolves not to give these dreams any more time than he already has. 

Except, the visions get worse: Tony leaning on the counter, drinking a cup of coffee. Tony sitting on the couch, tapping away at a tablet. Tony waiting for him when the elevator opens.

He’s been so on edge from looking over his shoulder the whole day that he spills water on himself when Natasha asks if he’s okay.

“Yes,” Steve says, struggling to keep his voice calm as he wipes the front of his shirt down with a paper towel. “I’m fine.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow in response, disbelief plain on her face.

“Just woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Steve says lamely.

Steve spends the rest of the afternoon holed up in his room, trying and failing to read a book. It’s just that, in the corner of his eye, he can see Tony, blurry still, but there: sitting across him, reading a piece of paper.

He’s figured it out now, somewhat. These strange visions of Tony are only ever present if he’s not really looking, so he fights down the instinct to turn his head when Tony slams the paper down on the table and buries his face in his hands. Steve swallows hard, fights down the wild need to reach over and hold him close, because he knows full well that it’s nothing. It’s nothing.

Instead, Steve turns away, digs around his desk for a clean sheet of paper, and begins to write.

*

Tony’s alone in his room but even then, he’s not going to admit that his hands are shaking. He fumbles a little as he tries to find the catch in the envelope, eventually settling with ripping it open. 

He bites his lip and briefly considers just throwing the letter away; what’s left to be said, after everything? Surely he can’t hope to fix things now, this is what he wanted, after all. Still, this morning, Tony had nearly jumped out of his skin when he thought he saw Steve sitting at the breakfast table, eating cereal like he always did.

Tony tightens his jaw and unfolds the letter within. He only realizes he was holding his breath when all the air rushes out of him when he finishes reading.

He reads it again, and he’s alone, he’s alone, he’s alone, and he slams the letter down onto the desk, buries his face in his hands, and wills himself not to scream. 

  Tony—

I’m glad you’re back at the compound. I don’t like the idea of you rattling around the mansion by yourself. We all need family, and I know they’re taking care of you. I’ve been thinking about you, and I hope you’re doing well.

I’m sorry, Tony. I’m sorry that I lied to you, and I’m sorry that I hurt you. I convinced myself that by not telling you, I was sparing you of that pain, but I see now that I was really sparing myself from a difficult conversation—one of many, that I should’ve been brave enough to have with you. 

So here I am. I’m trying to be brave. 

I want to let you know that I’ve been having dreams about you, visions, even, and something in my gut is telling me that things shouldn’t be this way. I think maybe there was a reason we were always arguing, always butting heads. Maybe there was a reason that out of everyone in the room, I’d stop and listen to you. The irony isn’t lost on me, especially after everything that led us to this point. 

I’ll be in Canada three days from now, in the cabin we stayed in while Nat and Clint did recon on that Hydra base. I know I don’t have any right asking anything of you, but I hope to see you there.

Steve

  Tony keeps his head in his hands and does his best not to claw at his own face, instead focuses on taking deep breaths. Surely, Steve knew he’d go, of course he would. Even after everything, against his better judgment (not that there was much of that to go around), he’d still drop everything for Steve.

He refuses to think about what that says about him.

Tony’s rolling his eyes at himself as he throws some clothes into a suitcase. He continues to roll his eyes at himself as he walks toward the chopper. Tony’s rolled his eyes at himself so many times he barely notices Steve sitting in the living room, writing.

Tony stops, does a double take, and as expected, there’s nothing there. He thinks he should be a bit more alarmed over these sudden delusions, but it’s not high on the list of things he should be worried about — because on the top of that list is Rhodey, sitting on the couch, his brows knotted together as he looks at Tony, waiting for him to explain himself.

“I’m just going to a thing,” Tony says, waving his hand around imperiously. He knows it won’t work, but he tries it anyway, just in case this is the first time it does.

Rhodey continues to frown at him.

“I’ll be back in like. A week, or something,” Tony says. “FRIDAY’ll update you, won’t you, Fri?”

“I will,” FRIDAY intones graciously.

“See.”

“You really don’t want backup for this, Tones?” Rhodey asks, and of course he knows what’s happening. 

“Can’t see what else he could do,” Tony laughs mirthlessly, and Rhodey winces. 

“I’m coming with you,” Rhodey says, moving to stand.

“No,” Tony says, resting a hand on Rhodey’s shoulder and pushing him back onto the couch. “You’re not, platypus. It’s okay. I’ll be okay.”

Rhodey takes a deep breath. “Daily updates,” he says, and there’s an edge to his voice that Tony isn’t willing to test.

“Yessir,” Tony says, throwing Rhodey a lazy salute as he saunters out the door. “I’ll be good! I love you!”

*

Tony runs a hectare-wide scan around the cabin before he sets down the chopper, mollified by the lack of any human activity. He’s glad he made it there first, just because it gives him as much of an upper hand that’s possible in a situation he’s already lost.

The cabin’s dusty with misuse, and Tony knows this is why Steve chose this place: no else one knows this cabin, and no one ever will. 

Try as they might, they’re both sentimental at heart, and it’s things like this that give them away. This was where the dam had broken, when they’d finally seen each other for who they were, with the help of a broken heater and cabin fever. They spent a week here, alone together, at first snapping at each other like they always did, until Tony cooked soup and Steve tried and failed to build a fire.

Tony remembers how he and Steve scooted close together in one of the beds, Tony shivering in the cold. He remembers how he cursed the old radiator, how he seriously considered scavenging the armor for parts if it meant the safety of being away from Steve. Even then, his want scared him. Turns out he was right to fear it, because here he is, except now he’s brought the tools and parts to actually fix the damn thing.

He’d laugh at the metaphor, but it isn’t apt; he knows that there are some things that are simply irreparable. To assume otherwise is stupid. So why was he here? Even he can’t answer that question, and he doesn’t want to, anyway. 

Tony’s elbow deep in the innards of the radiator when he hears the doorknob jiggle.

“Tony?”

Tony extricates himself from the heater and sits on his haunches. He briefly considers not saying anything and just leaving Steve outside.

“Tony, that is you, right?” It’s so quiet that Tony can hear Steve’s annoyed sigh. It gives him a small glimmer of pleasure amidst the panic of figuring out what he’ll say to Steve once he does decide to open the door. 

Tony sits for a bit longer, not really knowing why he’s not opening the door, but not knowing why he should anyway.

In the corner of his eye, he sees that Steve has taken to pacing outside of the cabin, massaging his temples with one hand.

Tony realizes this is the best moment to open the door—there’s enough space between them that if needed, he can slam it shut. Not that Steve couldn’t break down the door if he wanted to, but he hasn’t yet, so Tony hopes it doesn’t come to that.

He should’ve known better to trust his periphery, after a whole day of seeing Steve in it. He lets out a small, surprised sound when he opens the door and Steve falls flat on the ground from where he was leaning against the wood.

They stare at each other for a second, surprised by each other’s presence and surprised at how suddenly, the world is bursting with color. Everything feels new, and full, and complete.

Steve reaches up and pulls Tony down into a kiss that Tony doesn’t even think to refuse. 

They kiss like two drowned men fighting for air, pulling closer and closer until they’re flush against each other, Tony on top of Steve, lying down on the floor.

They break away and stare at each other in shock. Tony lifts himself up off Steve and stands.

“Okay, wow,” he says.

Steve touches his lips in wonder, and then catches himself. He stands up and dusts himself off.

“Tony,” he says, by way of belated greeting.

Tony clears his throat. “Steve.”

“Can I come in?” Steve asks, and Tony wants to laugh because just a few seconds ago they were kissing, they were swapping spit like teenagers and now Steve’s asking if he can come inside? There’s a crass joke there that Tony aches to make, but it feels easier to just pretend it didn’t happen. 

Tony takes a step back and holds the door open. Steve nods at him as he enters the cabin, and now they’re standing in the foyer in total silence.

Tony realizes how desperately he does not want to discuss this, any of this. “Do you want something to eat?” he asks.

“I can whip something up,” Steve says, and walks towards the kitchen.

Tony sighs, grateful that at least for now, they’re on the same page about putting this off. He heads back towards the radiator and picks up where he left off.

*

Steve stares at Tony’s door and takes a deep breath. It’s his fifth, now, and he’d taken quite a few just willing up the courage to go upstairs. Tony had said something earlier about taking a shower, and he’s been inside the bathroom for half an hour, at this point. Steve irrationally thinks that Tony knows he’s there, outside, waiting to talk to him.

Steve raises his hand to knock on the door when it swings open.

They stare at each other for a second—they’ve been doing that a lot, over the course of the day, when they’d just catch each other’s eyes, and then quickly look away. Steve tries to avert his gaze only to notice the towel wrapped around Tony’s waist. 

“We should talk,” Steve grinds out.

“Maybe not,” Tony says, then closes the door.

Steve frowns. “Tony.”

“No.”

Steve thunks his head against the wooden door. “Please, Tony,” he says. “At least let me know if it wasn’t just me—if you saw the same things—”

Tony throws the door open. He’s still in a towel. “I didn’t just see them, Steve. I lived them.”

Steve takes an involuntary step back as Tony takes a step forward.

“I don’t want to think about this anymore,,” Tony says, walking towards the bedroom. “I don’t know why I came here. It’s done.”

“But it’s not,” Steve says, grabbing Tony’s wrist with the hope of stopping him. “It doesn’t have to be.”

Tony turns to Steve before shaking off his grip. “Steve, I have the right to arrest you. So maybe it is.”

For the third time that day, Tony shuts the door on Steve’s face.

*

Steve stops in his tracks when he enters the cabin. It smells like bacon. He cautiously pads inside and smiles to himself when he sees Tony, standing by the stove.

“You’re still here,” he breathes out, relieved.

“I’m as surprised as you are,” Tony says dryly.

“And you’re cooking,” Steve laughs.

“It’s a Christmas miracle.”

Steve hoists himself up on the counter and watches Tony cook fondly.

“So how did you think this conversation would go?” Tony asks without looking up at Steve.

“I don’t know. I didn’t think you’d show up.”

Tony snorts.

“Have you been seeing—” Steve chews on his lip as he thinks of the best way to word it “—have you been seeing me, even when I’m not there?”

Tony nods defeatedly. “I hate this,” he says.

Steve nods in agreement. “You think there’s an explanation to all this?” he asks.

“I don’t know, Steve,” Tony says testily. “I’m as lost as you are.”

“Sorry,” Steve murmurs. He follows Tony towards the dining table and pours Tony a cup of coffee before he pours one for himself. “I was hoping you’d know.”

“Well I don’t,” Tony says, before taking a bite of his breakfast.

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Let’s start over,” he says. “First of all, I’m sorry that I lied about Bucky and your parents,” he says. He’s surprised his voice doesn’t crack when he says it, but his heart is hammering against his chest and his vision is a little cloudy. “I know I said it in the letter, but I wanted to say it in person, too. I’m sorry. I wish I’d done it differently, but I didn't, and I hurt you. I hope that someday you can forgive me.”

Tony exhales loudly. “Really?” he says, pushing his chair back as he stands abruptly. “Over breakfast ?”

“There doesn’t seem to be a right time to do it!” Steve snaps.

“Maybe because you were going to fucking kill me!” Tony shouts. “Do you realize how fucking crazy it is that I’m here right now?”

“I do!”

“Good!”

“Thank you!”

“You’re welcome!”

They stare at each other, breathing hard. 

“This is insane,” Tony says quietly as he turns on his heel and leaves.

*

Tony isn’t surprised that Steve finds him standing by the lake, staring at the murky green water. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? How they find each other, despite everything.

Steve stands beside him quietly, hands clasped behind his back.

Tony groans in annoyance. “So where do we start?” he asks, finally. He feels bound by this place, and bound to Steve. Maybe this is what it’ll take to finally be able to leave.

Steve shrugs. “You wanna head inside for this?” he asks.

“No,” Tony responds quickly. “I’d much rather have all this space to run away from you,” he adds with a hollow laugh.

Steve nods and seems to steel himself before saying, “I’m sorry we didn’t agree on the accords.”

Tony feels his eyes bug out. “Wow,” he exclaims. “No beating around the bush or anything.”

Steve shrugs again. “I’d like to get a word in before you run away from me again,” he says, smiling a little as if to let Tony know he’s teasing.

Tony laughs, feeling faint. “Just like that, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well. I’m sorry too, that you don’t agree with me. I wish you did.”

“I know.”

They’re quiet for a moment. A flock of birds fly overhead. This place is too beautiful, Tony thinks idly. 

“Have you thought about them, since then?” Tony asks.

“Yes.”

“Have you changed your mind?”

“Have you?”

“That’s fair.”

“But—I’ll think about them some more. If that’s okay.”

“It is.”

The conversation feels stilted and clipped, and of course it is. Tony finds himself wishing for an easy out, wishing that one of them would find the right string of words to just make everything okay again.

Beside him, Steve shifts his weight from one foot to the other, takes a deep breath, and then assumes parade rest.

Tony wants to laugh because it’s so obvious that Steve’s about to bring up something difficult, and wants to cry because damn him for still knowing Steve that well.

“I’d like us to talk about the visions,” Steve says, staring at the lake.

Tony sighs. “I think we were figuring them out, towards the end,” he says, glancing at Steve to measure his reaction.

Steve nods, all military efficiency, as if this were a tactical operation and not a conversation. Tony figures that it’s natural for them to fall into what’s easiest, because everything right now is so fucking difficult. Certainly explains why he’s been tugging his hand back from rubbing at his chest, worried about being as telling with his movements as Steve.

“They followed a certain pattern,” Steve says, and he looks at Tony. “And I think it meant to lead us to this.”

Tony frowns. “Is that why you wrote the letter?” he asks. “Did you feel like the universe was telling you something?” 

The tips of Steve’s lips turn down in a frown and Tony hates that he regrets not keeping the sarcasm from his tone.

“Like I said, Tony. It made me realize that there were conversations I should’ve had with you that I was too afraid to start. But it feels like it’s better late than never.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “And now you’re going to tell me you love me, is that it?”

Steve startles, then regains his composure almost immediately. 

“Tony, in all those dreams, in all those lives, we let ourselves love each other. Maybe it’s a disservice to each other that we’re not letting ourselves do that now,” he says.

“That’s a nice thought, Steve,” Tony turns away and looks around at the trees, the patches of sunlight filtering down and turning the grass gold. “But I wish you’d thought of that before you did everything you did.”

They’re silent for a while, listening to the sound of life burgeoning around them. It brings a strange dissonance.

Tony looks up when he sees Steve turn to him.

“I know,” Steve says softly. “I wish I’d said so, sooner. But it’s the truth. I love you, Tony. I’ve loved you for a long time but I was never brave enough to say it.”

Tony shakes his head, looking away from Steve’s piercing gaze. “But not enough, right?” 

Tony takes a deep breath before he continues: “Even after the universe telling us that we should just fuck already. Even if I see visions of you every waking moment that we’re not physically together. Even if in all those dreams we shared we made it work…” Tony pauses to massage his temples in an attempt to stave off a headache. 

“Whatever you feel—it’s not enough. Not really. That’s why we’re here. That’s why you’re just going to think about the accords but not actually sign them.”

Steve steps into Tony’s line of sight, as if insisting on his presence. “That’s not what love is about, Tony.”

Tony shakes his head to clear it of any sentimentality. “I don’t see what else there is to talk about.”

The sun’s high in the sky now, and it’s almost noon. Tony wishes he’d brought a tumbler with some coffee. Maybe even an Irish coffee. He wishes he’d eaten more of his breakfast, and drank some water before heading out. He wishes a lot of things, really, but not all of them deserve to be named.

“Can we take a recess on this?” he asks, running a hand through his hair, exhaustion suddenly weighing on him as heavy as the pollinated air.

Steve sighs and says, “Okay.”

*

They prepare lunch in silence, and sit beside each other on the sofa as they let the indistinct noise of the radio wash over them.

Steve washes the dishes and Tony makes them another pot of coffee.

Tony stares at the coffee percolating and wants to scream at how easy it is between them, how painfully domestic and wonderful, how he could’ve had this, how maybe, maybe, maybe, he still could.

“Tony,” Steve says softly, calling him out of his thoughts.

“Please, Steve, just leave it,” Tony says, not looking up from the pot.

“I know it’s going to take a lot to gain your trust back,” Steve says. “I know it’s going to take a lot to get you to even look at me for more than ten seconds. But—” 

Tony glances up at Steve, surprised by the abrupt pause. Their eyes meet briefly, and then Tony looks back down. 

“But I’d like to try, if you’d let me.”

Tony seriously considers pouring the boiling coffee on himself just to end this conversation, and what does that say about him? What does it fucking say?

Tony laughs mirthlessly. “I seriously just considered pouring this shit on me to get away from this conversation,” he says, still laughing a little, and maybe he’s about to cry but nobody has to know that.

“Please don’t,” Steve says gently, and takes a few cautious steps toward Tony, as if to ensure that he doesn’t.

Tony whirls around and looks at Steve, overwhelmed by the emotion bursting forth from inside him at the sudden tenderness. “What’s the point?” he shouts. “What’s the fucking point?” His hands fly up to his hair on their own accord, and he’s about to start pulling when Steve takes his hands in his and he grips them tight.

“I think the point is that we’re meant to be together, Tony.”

Tony snatches his hands away from Steve’s. “Don’t fucking spout that feel good bullshit on me, Rogers. Do you understand the statistical probabilities of us just hurting each other, over and over again? Do you recognize the extreme likelihood that I’ll fuck it up?” Tony’s breathing is labored and tears are stinging his eyes. He looks away, hoping that Steve can’t tell. “Let’s just save ourselves the trouble and walk away while we can,” he says quietly.

“You know,” Steve says, and he takes a step back as he gives Tony room to breathe. “In all those dreams, I think we did hurt each other, and that’s part of the risk of caring for someone, isn’t it? That we probably will hurt each other again, and I’m not saying it’s okay, or that I’m expecting it, it’s just, that’s the way it is. But that fear of hurt, of being hurt and of hurting, it’s not a good enough reason for me to ever stop caring for you.” Steve swallows. “For me to ever stop loving you.”

Tony’s cheeks are wet and he will not admit that he’s crying, but he is, he is absolutely crying and he hates it with every fiber of his being. He knows, he knows better than to believe this, knows better than to bet on it.

But then again, Tony’s always been about taking stupid risks. And this might be the one risk that’s worth taking, and doesn’t that make it the stupidest one of all?

Tony sags against the wall and buries his face in his hands.

He hears Steve walk toward him, feels his presence crouched down in front of him.

Tony focuses on his breathing, surprised by how soothing it feels just to have Steve breathe along with him.

“Can I hold you?” Steve asks.

Tony nods, and breathes in as Steve bundles him up in his arms. Their cheeks are pressed against one another’s and Steve murmurs apologies as Tony continues to walk himself out of a panic attack.

They stay huddled together like that for what feels like hours until eventually, Tony pulls away and gazes at Steve.

Steve bites his lip, then says, “I love you, Tony.”

Tony nods, and they untangle themselves and stand. Tony heads up to the bedroom and pauses mid-step to look back at Steve, who’s standing at the foot of the stairs, a small, hopeful smile on his lips.

Tony turns away before Steve sees the same smile mirrored on his lips.

*

Tony wakes up the next morning to the sound of a car engine starting.

He’s not thinking when he throws open the door and runs down the stairs, and he yelps as he nearly crashes into Steve.

“I wasn’t going to leave without saying goodbye,” Steve says, and looks a bit embarrassed. “It’s just a diesel engine and I was worried about the chill.”

“You would,” Tony says, laughing despite himself.

Steve’s smile shifts from embarrassed to pleased at the sound of Tony’s laugh, and Tony’s struck by how beautiful it is, to do that to someone.

He hates that he wishes he could do it all the time.

“Anyway,” Steve says after a moment. “I wanted to give you this.” He pulls out a prehistoric phone from his pocket.

“For me to donate to a museum?” 

Steve laughs a little. “No, to call me,” he says, and Tony’s half-annoyed and half-enamored at how earnest Steve sounds.

Tony takes the phone gingerly, and tucks it into his pocket.

“I know we haven’t really figured things out,” Steve says, and his hands move jerkily from his side as if he was going to touch Tony but thought better of it. “But I wanted to let you know that I’m not giving up on you, Tony. I think I’ve made myself clear about how I feel, and I want to give you the space to think about everything I’ve said.”

Tony nods, doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Steve nods back at him, then, this time, he does reach out to touch Tony, resting his hand on Tony’s wrist.

Tony takes a small step forward, eyes locked on Steve’s, and he raises his hand to cup Steve’s jaw.

Steve smiles at him, a small, secret thing, just like the emotion slowly unfurling between them. Tony smiles back, closes his eyes, and finally, in this universe, kisses Steve.

[snowbellewells]

“Bless What is Given You” (a birthday fic for @searchingwardrobes)

I am getting this in just barely under the wire, and I am truly sorry you’ve had to wait so long for your birthday present, Melanie.  Also, I’m really hoping you will enjoy this, because it morphed and took various forms as I went.  I set out to give @searchingwardrobes​ some Captain Charming Hood friendship and shenanigans, as well as some 3b canon divergence - perhaps fighting flying monkeys - and there is some of that, but I’ve also discovered that when I let myself write Robin Hood he tends to take over.  I always liked him and wanted more of him, and apparently when I intentionally include him in the story, he really wants to take over.  Anyway, there’s possibly less Charming and Killian than you might have expected, but I do hope you’ll have some fun reading this all the same.

I will add that Emma’s younger brother is called Leo in this - I just can’t do the whole “Prince Neal” thing. Maybe pretend somewhere along the line Charming and Snow learned the full, true story and so changed their youngest’s name -- in my head, to Leo Graham.  This has some 3b missing moments/divergence, and then some future fluff as well.  No other pertinent warnings I don’t think, expect maybe for turkeys being hunted for the Thanksgiving table. But I really know very little about hunting, so it shouldn’t be too disturbing.

You deserve the most wonderful birthday and coming year.  You’ve done so much for some many shipmates in this fandom to brighten their birthdays, and I just wanted to give a little bit back to you.  Enjoy!!

“Bless What is Given You”

by: @snowbellewells​

“Do you mean to tell me you think you know better than a queen?” Regina’s haughty voice practically dripped disdain from each clipped, precise syllable she spoke. The perfect arch of her sculpted brow rose in question, disbelief and disapproval clear on her challenging, flawless face, even if her tone had not made her opinion more than apparent. “My mother was Rumplestiltskin’s most prized pupil; he sought me out himself to train me as well, chose me to cast his precious Dark Curse… Do you honestly think the fact that you can scare off a few monkeys with your arrows and you’ve been squatting in his deserted castle makes you a better judge of...of…” Even though she spoke the “you” as though her mouth was swallowing something foul and her face scrunched up accordingly, it seemed that the formerly Evil Queen was at a rare loss for words to express just how ridiculous the very idea was.

Unfazed, the scruffy archer gazed right back at her cheekily, seeming more than a bit amused by her ruffled feathers and inability to continue. “Not sure that is quite the distinction you’re making it out to be, Milady,” he offered with a smirk.

From across the way, Snow couldn’t seem to resist chiming in with the outlaw who had once befriended a princess on the run; who, in what now seemed like another life had helped her fine-tune her skills with a bow and advised her on spots in the forest where one could most easily hunt game to eat without encountering Regina’s guards. Though Snow had long since made the choice to put their painful and sordid history in the past, there was something that teased a warble of delighted laughter up her throat at the sight of this bandit who once graced “Wanted” posters by her side agitating Regina to the point of losing all her icy, polished reserve. “It is a bit of a dubious honor, Regina, you have to admit.”

Charming beside her dipped his head to hide the chuckle rumbling in his chest as well, reaching across their round council table’s polished surface to squeeze her hand. The shepherd-prince consort would have been lying if he refused to admit there wasn’t a part of him who enjoyed watching her Majesty flounder for her unaffected poise. It went without saying that the curse they were speaking of had ripped he and Snow apart and taken their daughter from his arms almost the moment she was born; consigning them all to 28 lonely years of misery. The truth was that plain and simple, but he wisely held his tongue. At least since his recent pirate friend had gone off on his own after their arrival back in their land, Robin was someone to break a bit of the tension and who might lighten all of their dark and despairing moods once in a while.

As they returned to discussing the plan to raid Gold’s castle here in their home realm, knowing Zelena had holed up in the Dark One’s stronghold - with Rumplestiltskin himself still prisoner - it became clear it was really the only method they had left to try, to hope that the man who always knew so much more than anyone else would also know some way out of this mess, some way to stop Regina’s rage and envy fueled half-sister. Belle across the table looked pale and strained, her lips pressed together in a thin line but determined, needing to help in whatever way she could. Even if they couldn’t free her True Love, even if his mind were already too fractured by his near death, the half-possession that had held his son’s mind within his body as well, and then that son’s violent loss him, he wouldn’t want things to continue as they were; him under Zelena’s control and bent to her will. Belle had to cling to that truth if nothing else.

Seeming to sense her flagging spirit, Charming saw Leroy sitting next to her place a clumsily large, axe-calloused hand over her slender, tiny one and give it a reassuring squeeze. The dwarf leaned over to whisper encouragingly to the petite beauty, and the prince realized that even within his inner circle of friends and allies there were deeper friendships, and stories leading to them that he didn’t know, as Belle’s petite frame relaxed and her tense shoulders lowered slightly at the stout little man’s clearly welcomed assurances. The former shepherd thought he just made out the kind, if gruffly voiced, words, “Hang in there, Sister, the battle ain’t over yet.” Charming smiled; that might as well be a mantra for all of them.

~~~~~~~~~****

Robin of Locksley, otherwise known in the Enchanted Forest these days by his more colorful moniker of Robin Hood, simply could not seem to help it. He knew something about him - be it his cavalier attitude towards risk and danger, his leisurely and rather lax methods of ruling over his crew (can he help it if he’d trust them with his life and has never had cause to question their loyalty or skill?), or perhaps it was just his very form and person she objected to. Whatever the case may be, he couldn’t help goading her, rattling that posh control of which the woman seemed so proud. Behind the cool and haughty veneer Regina Mills carefully wore, he sensed something injured - fragile, even - though she would be appalled at the thought that any weakness showed, he had no doubt of that. The irony, of course, was that bit of a chink in her flawless armor was the one thing that kept him from dismissing her as another selfish, cruel royal stepping on the backs of those less fortunate to get ahead. Her tiny show of pained humanity, the loneliness hidden behind those large dark eyes, beguiled him no matter how hard he tried to resist; that drew his empathy where otherwise he would have had only scorn for her past actions and the villain she had been.

They were in the Dark Castle; seemingly, hopefully, having escaped Zelena’s notice so far, but stymied by a large door into the chamber where Rumplestiltskin had to be imprisoned. They had searched the entire rest of the castle and found it empty. None of them were foolish enough, however, to assume that the fact that they had not yet seen the Wicked Witch meant that the way ahead was safe or that she had not laid hidden snares for any intruders. Particularly not if this door were the barrier beyond which she was hiding the powerful being she meant to both use and prove herself to. There had been no other closed doors until this one, after all.

With a huff of impatience, as if she couldn’t be bothered to waste another second of her time - even with safety - the former Queen reached forward, her perfectly manicured hand nearly to the golden inlaid handle despite the Princess Snow’s warnings for caution and the Lady Belle’s wise suggestion that they wait. What appeared as bold unconcern and decisiveness radiated down her spine of steel, held ramrod-straight, but there was a slight tremor in those pale fingers, one he would have missed if he hadn’t been seeking it, just before they closed around the polished metal.

Some strange shiver of foreboding knowledge borne of a life in the forest, in the shadows, constantly on the move, pursued and on the run, made a shiver of more than tangible knowledge run through him, and Robin’s limbs and muscles were reacting before his mind issued a conscious order. Knowing the proud woman plowing ahead would not heed any words he called out anyway, he had silently reached over his shoulder, pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocked it to his bow, and let it fly before another moment passed, startling Regina enough as its course whistled past her ear to make her jerk back several steps.

The feathered missile embedded in the heavy oaken portal with the solid “thunk” of a shot ringing true, but to the horror of all, rather than remaining there, vibrating from its landing, the arrow was lost from sight as the entire door was engulfed in instantaneous flames.

Watching the blaze which would undoubtedly have devoured her as well had he allowed her to touch that door before loosing his arrow, Regina paused for mere moments before whipping around, dark eyes flashing, to arrest him angrily. “That arrow nearly took off my head!” she barked, voice as sharp as jagged glass.

Robin shot back, unable to keep himself from rising to the bait. Her lack of gratitude didn’t even surprise him by that point, but he hadn’t intended to be chastised for his quick-thinking aversion of danger either. “Where I come from a simple thank you would have sufficed.”

The regent’s black eyebrow rose in eloquent derision, making her opinion of where he came from quite clear without speaking a word. Yet, despite that hateful, snarling facade he could see the slight tremor he had previously noticed in her pale hands become a full-body quivering that, while still not plainly visible, had to be making it hard for her to remain standing, much less glaring at him with such vitriol. Her full, blood-red-painted lips trembled minutely as well until her perfect white teeth bit into the lower one, stilling it and making him swallow heavily with some reaction he couldn’t explain. She was shaken; that much he knew. But he could understand refusing to admit fear, not being able to let it show for the sake of those who follow, who must see strength to stay their course.

Thankfully, the clearly magical blaze soon expired and the way before them was as clear and unbarred as all the previous entryways they had encountered. Not without a bit of trepidation, but also as brave and determinedly as he had long since learned their hero contingent to be, Prince Charming and Snow pressed forward, followed anxiously by Belle (whom Robin’s heart panged for as she clearly ached to find the man she loved still able to recognize her and navigate his own mind) and the rest of their group.

Regina just to the side, looked for all the world as if she were in no particular hurry to enter and see her former mentor, but could instead care less one way or the other. Hanging back, the outlaw of Sherwood Forest made sure the others had passed through the door and into the other room, well out of hearing, before he stepped up to Regina’s side, drawing almost nose-to-nose with her. He then leaned forward practically brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured. “There’s no need to pretend you’re made of stone, your Majesty…” He put precise emphasis on the title that she had let him know in no uncertain terms that she preferred upon their first meeting in the forest. “In fact, with the present company, I believe you might get much further by letting them see that you have doubts and fears, just as they do. I know I like you much better seeing you as more than the Evil Queen.”

At her sharp intake of air with his last pronouncement, he pulled back quickly, half expecting a slap to be stinging his skin at any moment. Instead, he found color rising hotly up her neck, her chest rising and falling strenuously in that ridiculously low-cut corseted gown, and her generally looking more flustered and affected than he had ever seen her before. She opened and closed her mouth soundlessly for several seconds until her tart tongue seemed to return to her, then spit out a quick, “Insolent bandit,” before moving to brush past him and follow the others.

Something in Robin snapped and surged to life in answer of her challenge; not allowing her to push him aside, he grasped her upper arm firmly and held on, her back to the wall and crowding in close to her, until their breaths were mingling in the same air, their faces were so close. Even as his pulse pounded and his heart rate skyrocketed, Robin wondered what had come over him. The woman had maimed and killed, schemed and plotted for her own selfish ends, and stood for everything he had devoted himself to toppling. She was nothing like his beloved Marian had been; someone with whom he would not have imagined sharing a thing in common - and yet he couldn’t fight the pull he felt. The need to imprint upon her not to put her life at risk so needlessly again.

Sweeping forward, he dove into an all-consuming kiss, taking her mouth with his and giving no quarter, delving further instead, and swallowing the whimper and hum that escaped her throat unconsciously, despite her best attempts to remain unaffected.  

Regina’s hands grappled blindly at his biceps as if trying to steady herself. She scrabbled for solid support before helplessly melting against him, opening for his questing mouth and giving herself over to the heated embrace.

When they finally broke for air, she was breathless, and he huffed out a winded chuckle himself when she managed, “Well, Thief, that really was quite pleasant… Even if you do still smell of forest.”

”~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~***

Several realms, curses, and years later, in Storybrooke

The three men and their half dozen offspring of various ages creeping through the woods on the border of Storybrooke out near the town line are quiet and intent, completely and unabashedly focused on their prize. Up ahead, atop the small rise of a hill as the sun climbs fully into the cold, clear November morning sky, their prey struts proudly, stopping occasionally to offer its warbled call or peck at the rough ground beneath its feet. They have been tracking the large turkey for some time now, since before day fully dawned, and the time to strike has come at last.

Briefly, the thought flits through Robin’s head that this could be the same tom that had escaped himself and his Merry Men in this same forest years ago, when the hunt had been interrupted by the nightmarish interruption of a winged simian attacker and LIttle John’s subsequent transformation - to this day the large and otherwise unflappable man stays far away from this particular section of the forest and refuses to go anywhere near the town line on foot. A quick glance at David and his preteen son to the right, then Killian and his little girl and second son to the left, gives him the hint from both men’s expressions that they are also remembering that rather ill-fated day, as bows are readied and last instructions offered.

He can only hope they will face nothing so unexpected this fine morn. The turkey before them has been promised to grace the main table of the large community Thanksgiving feast, and between the three men and their brood of adventurous junior hunters it is a matter of pride that they not return empty-handed today.

Roland was promised the first unobstructed shot, and the young man, just barely a teenager but already capable and thoughtful as an adult, has already taken aim and is readying his shot to fly, much to his half-sister Margot’s displeasure as she stands just behind her big brother at Robin’s elbow. She is as untamed and mischievous as Roland is quiet and serious, and was much put out at the decision that Roland as the oldest child should get first chance, arguing rather heatedly that Roland might be biggest but she was the best shot. His blond-braided, green-attired second child is one of the best shots he’s ever seen at barely ten, but if she doesn’t learn to keep her temper and her slightly spoiled younger sibling petulance under control, he is certainly in for further trials in a few years.

Even in the few silent moments afforded him as they all hold their breaths, Rob feels the gratitude and love he has for his children, and the friends and adopted family surrounding them, surge through him with new strength. He had so very nearly left this world, numerous times over, as had the men on either side of him, and the women each of them loved. It was part of the heavy mantle they wore when standing against the Darkness in the world and fighting it back from the light and good time after time. Still, what better time than the present holiday to give thanks for the fact that they are all still standing and present to celebrate together?

Roland lets out a soft breath and then releases the arrow, just as a sharp cry rings out to the left.  His son’s aim is true, but the bird is startled from its perch just in time to have the shot glide by beneath its talons as it takes flight. David on his right is already directing Leo to adjust his aim quickly and get off a second shot, even as Robin’s eyes sweep to where Killian is picking Hope from tripping over a jutting tree root and brushing off her dark leggings as she clearly struggles to hold back embarrassed and disappointed tears.

What he hasn’t banked on is his daughter’s inability to wait her turn or hold back any longer. Quick as whip, Margot lets fly, striking the bird right as she intends and sending it toppling from the sky. Mouth falling open in surprise at her audacity and her skill in equal measure, Robin can’t help the surge of pride at his daughter’s prowess, even if he knows he should admonish her for taking Leo’s moment from him and wondering if he should be making certain Roland doesn’t feel overshadowed.  

However, his eldest spares him the trouble when he whoops and claps Margot on the shoulder, crying out “You got him on the fly, Sis! Nice one!”

When the whole group converges together, he decides to let the lecture about abiding by the rules and taking turns slide for the time being upon noticing that Leo looks rather relieved that the pressure to prove his mettle before their quarry escaped has been taken off of his shoulders. Instead, he claps his little girl on the shoulder, squeezing with gentle affection until she looks up at him, beaming.  Like her brother before her, she is growing much too fast, turning into a young lady before his eyes, and so for a moment, he lets himself revel in the fact that she still wants to spend time out in the woods with him and wishes to make him proud. Her papa won’t hold the favored spot in her heart forever, so he may as well savor it while he can.

He thinks Killian’s youngest, barely old enough to be tromping around out here with them in truth, looks a bit teary at the downed and unnaturally still bird before them, so he hurries to bag their prize for the journey homeward and puts it out of sight over his shoulder while Killian picks his tired youngest up off his feet and begins asking him how many different types of trees he can recognize from their leaves on the way back. That seems a bit difficult for a five-year-old until little Liam David begins happily babbling (suitably distracted thankfully) and pointing out oaks, maples and scotch pines as the pirate’s unerring sense of direction leads their whole troupe out of the forest toward the main road where they’ve left their trucks, Margot takes his hand, and Hope her grandpa’s, and Roland and Leo fall in behind talking amiably and carrying the bows. Apparently they have a budding naturalist in their midst as well, and Killian Jones - as usual - knows exactly what he is doing.

When he, Roland, and Margot trail back into the mayoral mansion some time later, discarding their muddy boots by the door, but still scattering crumbled leaves and dirt in the entryway, Regina stands in shaking her head, and directs the children toward the laundry room to discard their outerwear before heading upstairs to wash for dinner.  

She looks at him as if trying to muster exasperation, but is unable to do so. That flawless Queen is long gone; she has come a long way since they snapped and snarled at each other in self-preservation back in their home realm, neither wanting to fall in love and risk heartbreak again.

Snatching his jacket collar and pulling him in close, she nips at his lips playfully before murmuring against his scruffy cheek, “You still smell like forest,” she mocks, “but somehow you’ve managed to steal my heart.”

He shakes his head, offering back words she’d stunned him with once long ago, “That’s not quite the way I remember it.  If I recall, your heart was given to me,” he whispers, emotion taking over the jest, “and a person can’t steal what’s been given to them.”

All in all, he’s been given much more than a simple archer from Sherwood Forest could have ever hoped to deserve.

[bitchin-b33]

Akumanette

So this is a challenge I want to create because I am unable to come up with a good akumanette design and I think it would be a helpful way to get some creativity rolling (Not that it isn't already lmao) This challenge is going to show up in my fic (Be it an animatic or comic or written, idk yet.) so anyone who wins will get linked and properly credited for the akumanette design. That being said, I'll begin to describe the parameters for the designing. You can make the object, weapon, and look whatever you wish. I only ask that the name I chose remain (Memoire, getting to that in a bit) and the power in general (Ability to force people to relive her worst memories.) And the fact it was caused by an argument between her and Alya over Lila and Marinette 'claiming' she's lying (Yes yes, overused, bite me.) So I chose to use the name Memoire because the memories of Alya hurt her plus I thought it was cheeky and would fit in with other names of akumas. Her power is through her weapon, which in my orginal design for her had been the akumatized object (A picture of her and Alya ripped in half.) and turned into a whip. I wanted her to look like a vengeful spirit, all pale and creepy. Almost like a forgotten memory (Y'know, how you can't remember someone's face and their exact colors right. How things look off and you can only go off of pictures or the feelings you remember of this person.) Her power is because of that forgetten memory bit and why she was akumatized (Her anger and grief. Anger at Alya and grief of the pain of memories together.) However, that was just my initial design and you can feel free to change that (as I said). 

I will be choosing the akumanette for the fic by the end of August, and I will hopefully announce the winner of this competition by first week of September (Depends on the amount of entries, though I doubt I will get that many.) I also want to take the time to go over some scrapped akumanette designs I had now since I have had many ideas for Marinette's akuma form but none of them ever seemed good enough. Perfecta- Caused by anger at Chloe because she gloated that she was all perfect and that since Marinette wasn't perfect Adrien would never get together with her. The akuma is in either the lucky charm that Adrien gave Marinette or it was the umbrella (I could never decide, part of the reason it was scrapped.) She would make people more imperfect than her, and she would finally be perfect enough for Adrien. Her hair is out of the pigtails and into a ponytail (or tight bun), she wore a floor length dress with a high collar (but sleeveless), elbow high gloves, and she wore a masquerade mask that covered her entire face and was "perfect" (Unmarked face, perfect makeup, ect.) The object would fire a pink blast that would make people imperfect. The idea was scrapped mostly because I didn't like it/didn't have a story/couldn't decide the object. The mixture just soured the akuma concept for me. Her name also fits in with the other akumas and y'know "Perfect"... Perfecto? Bam, I had the name. (I had thought Perfectionette at one point too.) Miss Fortune- After getting embarrased in front of Adrien and getting angry at her own luck she decides to take luck into her own hands. The object would be the the lucky charm, which she would measure someone's good and bad "luck" (Basically if she liked them or not), and if it was good she would place a blessing (Basically becoming her servant.) or if it was bad she would place a curse (Something relating to how they might've hurt her in the past or something about them she didn't like. For example, with Lila it would be that she would be forced to tell the truth. Or that the lies about herself that impacted her negatively would come true. So like her tinnitus.) She is probably the one I most visually liked, but I could never find a place for Miss Fortune. She has bi colored hair (One side is the normal black, but the other side is red.) and bicolored eyes (Blue/red), and her outfit is much of the same. She has on her normal jacket, but the inside is red and the outside is black. Her jeans are the same way only reversed. Her flats are also bicolored as red and black too. Her skin is white aside from the half and half drama mask on her face. I wanted to keep her as normal looking as possible mostly because I couldn't come up with a better design in clothes and such. Spyder or Weaver- Based on Alya digging too deep in trying to get LB's identity or get her and Chat together (was undecided and if I were ever to do something with her maybe a mixture of both?) It was technically a LB akuma, but still, akumanette. The object really wasn't decided, but probably her phone (Har, Alya caused it and the object is the phone. Oh the irony.) And she was very spider based, obviously with the name. Her power really wasn't the best, but she could trap people in her web and they would be forced to divulge any information that she wanted to get out of them (Secret identities being the most angsty thing I thought of after reveals of what people truly thought of one another.) For the second name I thought maybe being able to weave something into existence. This akumanette was mostly scrapped because I couldn't think of a design, finalize a name, or even really a power. It was all just rough drafts and I never continued entertaining the idea of her. These three(four?) were really my only other ideas for an akumanette. I've probably had more, but I can't think of any. 

So yes, if you want to draw out an entry for this "contest" I'd love to see it. I like seeing people's designs and why they chose it, so be sure to submit the post under #MagicMariAkumanette so I can see it. Also if you want to be sure I see it, DM me the design and your reasoning for the design. Once again, you have only until the end of August before I start to go through the tag to decide an akumanette. Any original akumanettes will be glossed over though, sorry (But I'm sure you put a lot of hard work into it and I'd be grateful to see it!) Have fun arting everyone!

[hobimysun-shine]

bts as billie eilish songs

I love both artist so much because they are so diverse, so driven and in love with their art, so here’s what my mind created at 2am when i actually gotta study for an exam, but anyhow, enjoy

Jeon Jungkook - Ocean eyes 

“Can't stop thinking of your diamond mind Careful creature Made friends with time”

- color scheme: Venice lavender; purple rain; valor blue 

- grey clouds, quiet ocean, salty air, cold sand, bare feet, long sweater, careful wind, watery eyes, 

- angelic, naive, trusting, incapable of stopping emotions

- a feel of uncertainty for the future, because you still have so much to experience in life, it’s hard to know who to trust, where to go and what your tears mean, who you should give them to 

- young love, pain

- it basically speaks of someone who is impressed by another human - love based on instinct and intuition, when you’re young you just feel things, even if you don’t know where these emotions come from (jungkook-namjoon relationship) ; 

- trusting someone by the feeling you get around them, without being able to trust your common sense,

- have you seen jungkook’s beautiful, ocean, doe eyes ?? (if not, then wth you doin’ with your life))

Park Jimin - idontwannabeyouanymore

“I just wish you could feel what you say Show, never tell But I know you too well Got a mood that you wish you could sell

Tell the mirror what you know she's heard before I don't wanna be you anymore”

- color scheme: pale smoke; scotch mist; apple blossom 

- cold air, morning dew, raindrops at the bottom of your window, the fabric softener your mom uses to wash your sheets, soft breathing on the side of your neck, white mirrors 

-  self-persuasion, self-critique, inner conflict, serenity, content, libra’s aesthetic approach

- if you have listened to lie and looked at the lyrics, you know why i chose this song for jimin 

- you basically get the feeling that the person is speaking to himself in this song, trying to find an answer, as to why he puts himself through all these hardships, when he could break free from this vacuum of perfectionism he created for himself

- let’s be real, we all know what jimin had to go through and maybe is still going through with being too harsh on himself, with his body image and his appearance on stage, i hope he is doing well now and is content with himself, cause he is a 100/10 and we all love him so much 

Kim Taehyung - hostage; my boy 

“I wanna be alone Alone with you - does that make sense? I wanna steal your soul”

“ My boy's an ugly crier but he's such a pretty liar”

- color scheme: concord purple; red wine; aurum gold

- big windows, night sky, city view, studio apartment, dark walls, smell of acrylic paint, ripped jeans with that paint splattered on them, acoustic guitars on the walls, quiet jazz music, film paper smoke, deep laughter, strong arms around your waist

- artistic freedom, no fear of judgement, mutual understanding, chest butterflies, assurance, hope, soulmates, in tune with your emotions, who cares if the world doesn’t get us, we get us

- hostage just reminds me of two people, who connect on a soul level so much, that what happens is their love turns into mutual engagement, similar to keeping each other as hostages in their hearts, however i wanted to turn the meaning of that song less toxic for taehyung,, 

- i believe that if there’s a member that would want to connect with people in such level as the song suggests, it would be taehyung

- as for my boy, idk it just gives me a similar base line as in singularity, and i don’t know it’s just probably my fave song of billie and i feel like it is just taehyung’s vibe when i listen to it 

Jung Hoseok - bellyache

“ Everything I do the way I wear my noose Like a necklace I wanna make 'em scared like I could be anywhere Like I'm wreck-less

I lost my mind I don't mind “

- color scheme: marigold yellow; apricot orange; candy red

- summer heat, tan skin, blushed cheeks, endless roads, loose shirts, scratched knees, rich kids away from home, one backpack and a shiny red ford convertible from your bf’s dad’s garage, loud music, lips, swollen from kissing, night fireworks

- fed up with everything, escape from reality, that one summer you will never forget, vibrant love, point of no return, rhythm, gut intuition, boldness 

- i don’t know exactly either, it’s just these are the connections i make when i hear this song, and all of that screams hobi to me (aries moon) 

- also am i the only one who imagines he would make a killer dance routine to that song (but again he could probably dance to a water drops going down a pipe, so,,)

Namjoon - bury a friend; copycat 

“What do you want from me? Why don't you run from me? What are you wondering? What do you know? Why aren't you scared of me? Why do you care for me? When we all fall asleep, where do we go? “

“ Perfect murder, take your aim I don't belong to anyone, but everybody knows my name”

- color scheme: pearl river; silver fox, steel wood

- empty stage, burning projectors slowly being turned off, microphone heavy in your hand, as the words that went though it start to make sense, sweaty hair, footsteps echoing in the vast space, feeling of falling down, unexpected, but comforting hug, security, the calming scent of someone you know in this new environment, tears of fear and excitement at the same time, new life, new beginning

-  words said out loud, revenge, mixed feeling of content and fast approaching emptiness, always racing thoughts, insomnia, trying to fill a void, searching for an overall meaning, 

- so bury a friend is just has all these questions man. they remind me of rm’s mind. i feel like all of them are things he had already asked himself, or themes he implies in his songs too 

- copycat is for namjoon swiftly leading a group that got a ton of criticism in the beginning and is still getting hate, but regardless he manages to stay on top, write what he feels, be a real artist and throw everything people said about bts failing back at their faces 

Min Yoongi - lovely ; you should see me in a crown 

“Oh, I hope some day I'll make it out of here Even if it takes all night or a hundred years Need a place to hide, but I can't find one near Wanna feel alive, outside I can't fight my fear”

“ You should see me in a crown I'm gonna run this nothing town Watch me make 'em bow One by one by, one”

- color scheme: marble white; smoke ember; royal silver;  

- dark room, cold hands, shaky breath, unable to look at each other’s eyes, fear of the outside and the inside, pocket money, long fingers pressing the out-of-tune piano keys, weary smiles, small steps

                                          (....)

 steady hands, marble walls, scent of freshly printed documents, looking through a box of old photo albums your mom sent, turning the pages a larger hand stops you from flipping the next page, two teenagers than look awfully like you two are staring back fearfully, low chuckles, eyes full of love  

- strong minds, growth, stability, strength, control, prosperity, hard work, passion, ambition

- lovely is in here because i feel like it portrays struggles with mental health and depression very well. you feel trapped and you feel like there is no one else who understands your personal hell and you are the only one who has to find a way for yourself to get out of that place. yoongi has been in such places before as we’ve heard from him and his lyrics, so i though lovely represents his struggles when he was younger

- you should see me in a crown. literally that’s all i can say, he worked for his success and he got it and he deserves it and he is killing it right now

- yall don’t know the amount of respect i got for this man and everything he has been through and i feel like these two songs portray his lowest and his highest in life and take account every struggle along the way and how he truly deserves everything he has right now 

Kim Seokjin - when the party’s over

“ Don't you know I'm no good for you I've learned to lose you, can't afford to

Don't you know too much already I'll only hurt you if you let me

Quiet when I'm coming home and I'm on my own I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that”

- color scheme: night snow, onyx black, muddy grey

- smell of liquor, messy steps, blurred vision, flood of thoughts, the darkest time of the night, dried streams of tears on your cheeks, your boyfriend’s hand quietly holding yours, but them you have to split ways, walking alone on the dead street, cold wind air hitting your face, but you find comfort in it, you reach home, but you can’t seem to go in; so you sit on the sidewalk, looking down; you hear distant steps; he sits down in the snow next to you; the sky slowly, but surely becomes lighter 

- quiet sadness, deeper understanding of the world, human relationships seem harder, yet simpler, timeless feeling, a sense of maturity

- this song is just a masterpiece. hear me out, i don’t think i would understand this song as well as i do now, if i have listened to it a few years back. I would have been like “oh yeah it’s sad”

-But like. no. It’s not just sad. It’s a song that shows so much maturity and experience with life that first of all, idk how billie is so young and is able to create music like that. Second of all i don’t think anyone else of bts would fit better to it, than jin 

- people tend to overlook his deeper emotions because he tends to distract from them, he always acts “silly” and tells jokes, but i feel like in songs like epiphany and awake we can see that jin really sees the world and his abilities from a much more mature point of view than other members. And i get the same vibe from billie’s song, so i feel like it would fit best for jin. 

So actually this was way longer than i planned, but yeah, this is just strictly my opinion and it was just an idea i had at 3am now, as i said, hope it’s fun to read :))

im off to bed, because i’m so sleep deprived i will start hearing colors soon 

[nozomijoestar]

1-10 for an oc of yr choice (since i don't know any of yrs (yet))

meme here

I’ll use my FFXIV OCs bc I’m finicky abt sharing anything on my manuscript OCs in public

Vaste/U’ralhana Odh:

1. What is/are your OC’s nickname(s) and how did it come about?

Her name situation is a little messy but theres a reason behind each one both canon and non-canon! The game by default gives the WoL many titles across the game to reflect your progress to NPCs like eikon-slayer, Azure Dragoon, khagan etc. all tied to feats or positions earned in the MSQ. 

For non canon titles and nicknames I’ve given her Desert Dragon due to her origin of birth from a desert tribe and their guardian animal being Drakes (as well as the fact that she’s a Dragoon and DRGs are traditionally a class associated heavy with dragons), Nine Lives because of the Echo preventing her from true death which also fits with her being a cat race etc. For more personal nicknames one of her younger brothers calls her Rala after her Sun Seeker name being U’ralhana Odh, dearest is also the most common pet name Yugiri has for her, aside from having the privilege of calling her only by her first name for her Sun Seeker side

Her formal naming convention gives her three viable names,

U’ralhana Odh - name the Sun Seekers gave her when she was born to them, the U designates tribe affiliation, followed by her given name, the surname is her father’s first name indicating he sired her (official FFXIV Sun Seeker naming convention) together the name means Ralhana of the Drakes, daughter of Odh

Osha Tayuun - this is the name her mother gave her before she left to rejoin the Moon Keepers in The Black Shroud, she never learned it was hers until the day they finally met well into her adulthood as the WoL, because Moon Keepers are matriarchal unlike Sun Seekers, the last name is also her mother’s while the given name is a normal girls name (i also made it start with O and try to sound similar to her mother’s first name, Oghii)

Vaste Valescoere - she gave herself this name after once being taught a few ancient Garlean (irl Classical Roman Latin) words by a traveling scholar from what little outside contact the tribe saw, once she made the decision to leave to be an adventurer forever she was banished for forsaking tradition, thus she felt she died and needed a new name - this was the first name i gave her because when i first started playing FFXIV i didnt know the races had naming conventions so i just wanted something that sounded like a fantasy name ( i literally just looked two words up in my latin-english dictionary fddjfd)

2. What is the color of your OC’s eyes/hair/skin?

Blue hair with natural black highlights, green eyes, light skin but not pale- all generally Moon Keeper traits but when i was starting out i knew none of that and did what i wanted, her bizarre appearance once i decided she was from the U tribe influenced her being half Sun Seeker and Moon Keeper 

3. How tall is your OC?

5′2 but only because i thought the CC slider meant 5′6 (cuz it lists height in inches and i didnt bother to check ujhghugj shes sometimes embarrassed by her height especially standing next to much taller people, shes still taller than Yugiri though so she enjoys the slight height advantage

4. What is a noticeable physical attribute of your OC?

Her hair, then her eyes

5. What does your OC normally wear? What would your OC wear on a special night?

She’s usually in her armor with her current spear glamoured to appear weaker than it actually is because the simple style reminds her of what she used as a teen before leaving home:

^^ necklace and earrings are different but the second necklace is more typical

im weak for the one arm/shoulder armored while the other isnt or not as much aesthetic

For more special/formal occasions w/o armor she likes wearing this:

6. What is one word you would use to describe your OC’s appearances?

Every time she shows up there’s something dramatic (but not always over the top) happening

7. Does your OC have any markings, such as a birthmark or a scar?

She has the usual pinkish red stripes on her cheeks all Sun Seeker women are born with, in addition to a scar across her nose bridge she got during her huntress rite of passage when a sundrake struck her face (this rite is also how she got the black marks under her eyes afterwards, originally i just liked how they looked and made a backstory for them because the game lists them as tribal tattoos in CC)

The scar i gave her in CC as a ref to Guts from Berserk cuz his is similar (she obtained hers very young like he did as well):

8. How does your OC talk/what does your OC’s voice sound like?

i chose the CC voice 2 option for female miqo’te (you can kinda hear what it sounds like here and here @2:10 since i cant find a video with just vc2 range) and im happy with it (to me it kinda sounds like Rie Tanaka? as far as i know the CC voice VAs have never been revealed so i cant say for certain, i know shes done voicing for FFXIV as Kan E Senna and Sadu and plays it as a huge fan tho) as far as how she talks all Miqo’te are said to have their own racial language unique to them that no other race can accurately pronounce or understand due to all the hissing, purring, and spitting of certain sounds (bc theyre cat ppl lol) so she’ll roll/purr her Rs, hiss her Hs etc.

On top of this system i imagine the U have their own dialect accent too which i hc sounds closer to Xhosa and Zulu mixed if a cat tried to speak it,so it gets complex! Her native accent however becomes slightly toned down the longer she spends away from the U as the WoL, but its still present and obvious enough

9. What does your OC’s bedroom look like?  His/her living area?

the only description valid for this is an organized mess lmao

10. What does your OC keep in a special drawer?

anything small enough to fit given to her by people from her past or those she cares about that linger on her mind, shes somewhat sentimental sometimes

—-

Gan Arulaq

1. Lizard boi has no nicknames that stick outside of being called Bataar playfully by his parents esp his mother bc he liked playing pretend as a heroic figure when he was little (i was aware when i made him in CC that Xaela use Mongolian names and are based a lot on Mongol culture of the 14th century so he follows this convention)

His first name is Mongolian for Steel, his last name denotes his tribe following the game’s convention, simple

2. he is a tan/reddish brown color for skin with black hair and natural red highlights in a short swept back style (his eyes are also green bc i wanted to see what Vaste’s eye color would look like on a Xaela model, tdlr they glow!)

3. Gan is 7′1! the tallest of my characters period, he sees everything from up there and it creates some hilarious and awkward situations (poor guy and most doors, rip)

4. his eyes and his big curved horns

5. he loves wearing primarily clothes that expose a lot of his chest and skin in general because thats most natural to what he wore on the steppe valley back home (as well as being a little vain about his physical appearance and liking the feel of freedom in less clothes) however he can and will wear regular clothes, though in this case his fashion sense is terrible

6. when he appears you can associate him with change (succession is another word that comes to mind given his role to Vaste)

7. with the exception of minor scars from martial training and small accidents he’s the picture of normal for a Xaela

8. i actually cant remember what CC voice i gave him by number, but he does have a somewhat deep, rough voice fitting for a boisterous young man while also being capable of sentimentality and some wisdom, he has a handsome voice, he speaks bluntly but full of feeling and often truth

9. his room would be very organized and everything is neatly assigned to its place as well as being primarily spartan in layout/decoration, he’s used to practicality and function from his childhood on the steppe, lots of trinkets from nature, weapons and trophies of victory etc.

10. a ring given to him by his mother carved from sheep bone, it was her archery thumb ring

[mysticsparklewings]

Arteza Watercolor Polaroids 

On a bit of a roll with the painting stuff lately, aren't I? I mentioned in my last piece that I had a specific piece coming up to talk about the supplies I used, and this is it! So let's talk about the 60 set of Arteza Watercolors, shall we? Boring stuff out of the way first: I purchased the set from Arteza's website while it was on sale for $35, and signed up for their email to get an additional 10% off discount code. I was too cheap to pay $4 for express shipping, but the paints arrived about 4 days later, so the wait wasn't so bad.    The set comes in a sturdy paper/cardboard box, and the paints are 6-tubes to a little plastic tray, five trays deep in two columns. I was a little confused at first because my assumption was that the paints would be laid out with the first ten in the first top two layers, but actually, you make your way down the column on the left for the first half of the paints, and then down the second column for the second half. It doesn't make much of a difference, it just took me a minute to figure out that's how they were arranged so that I could swatch them in the correct order.    The tubes are 12 ml each (which seems like a fairly standard size watercolor tube from my experience), and each one has a label around the top indicating the color, with the color name printed on it. Just a note that I did have one tube, my Ice Blue, that had a little bit of this sticker/label that had ripped off at some point--I assume while it was still at Arteza's factory since the missing piece was nowhere to be found in the box. This also isn't a huge deal, but I think it's worth mentioning since this combined with my experience with Arteza's colored pencils proves that they do have a few minor quality control issues that pop up from time to time. Here's where things get a little more interesting, as when I swatched the 60 colors out initially, I was also testing for something else beyond color selection. (Incoming tangent on the way paint dries, presented in small text so you can skip over it if you have no intention of letting the paints dry and then reactivating them or otherwise don't care.) The price for these is awesome--$30 or $40 (depending on where you buy from and sales & such) for 60 colors that have proper pigment and lightfast information is a great deal, considering some other brands of student quality paint can cost upwards of $30 for as few as 10 or 12 colors, and professional quality paints can cost over $10 for one 5 ml tube--However, I initially passed on buying these because when I first started looking at them (not long after I'd only just started getting into watercolors) I was big into the idea of converting the paints from tubes to pans in a travel palette, but a lot of the reviews on Amazon and from more experienced artists that I value the opinions of made it pretty clear that these paints don't seem to like doing that. They dried funny, or weird, or somehow "wrong," to make them into pans. And so I wondered, is that why they're so inexpensive? To swatch the paints, I squirted a teeny tiny drop of each color onto a piece of plastic I was just going to throw out anyway instead of mucking up a nicer plastic palette and having to clean it off if the paints did indeed dry in such a way that they were unusable. (I.E. couldn't be reactivated and used again like most watercolors.) I swatched twice; once on a piece of watercolor paper that I cut so it fits comfortably in the box with the paints, and again on a thicker piece of regular paper that went in my swatch book for quick color reference. I had a decent portion of each drop left, and so I sat the "palette" aside and let it dry overnight. Being the skeptic that I am after other art supply experiences, I just had to see what they would do.    The next day, sure enough, the dried paint looked pretty sad. The dots were exceptionally dry (even for dried watercolor), some looking like colorful desert rocks, and some had dried so much that when my faux-palette was bumped they completely detached from the thin plastic, either in one whole chunk or some in smaller pieces. I was thinking I was going to find what I'd heard to be quite true. Still, I had to try just to be sure. It was a little weird though; the first time I tried reactivating the paints, I made a little Artist Trading Card (more info on those here) with my usual black-tree-silhouette-sunset look, and at that point, I noticed it seemed like the darker a color was the more water it needed to reactivate and the less well it did when reactivated. Granted, I only used maybe five colors at most, and it was a pretty small piece. Then I went on to make my Mon Cher painting with paints fresh from the tube on a proper palette, deciding the little dots I had leftover wouldn't be enough or offer enough pigment/color coverage for what I had planned. Naturally, I had no issues there. But I chose not to clean off the paint from the palette right away. Just out of curiosity, I tried closing up the palette in a ziplock bag to see if that would slow or stop the drying, and even if it didn't, I still wanted to keep trying reactivating the paints because I wasn't satisfied with just the one test. The bag seemingly did nothing as the paints still fully dried, but that may have been that I needed a newer bag since this one I had used before for other things and could have very well had an airhole in it I didn't know about. I had already decided that I wanted to make some more art as my "review/first impressions" piece on the Arteza watercolors since I was so happy with how the Mon Cher piece turned out that I wanted to focus on the painting itself, rather than talking about the paints that made it, and so I ended up slicing up a large piece of Canson XL watercolor paper into Polaroid-sized pieces (yes, official Polaroid size! I looked up the dimensions and measured accordingly!) and figured I'd make however many I felt like out of the nine pieces I'd cut, and then upload them as a set and talk about the paints there. Which brings us to where we are now. For all four of these, I used whatever dried paint I had left; both from the not-palette and the remnants from the Mon Cher painting. No fresh paint squeezed out at all. This time, the results were noticeably better, except on the last one where I was starting to run low on some of the colors and I think I got a little carried away with the water since the piece wasn't turning out the way I'd pictured it in my head. My conclusion on the state of the dried paint alone is that while I don't think I'll be procuring a specific palette to convert these into pans, I can definitively say that they aren't totally useless once they've dried, and that was really all I wanted to know. And just as an aside, if you do want to convert these into pans, you can try added a couple of drops of Glycerin (which you can usually find with soap-making supplies in craft stores), or a little bit of honey (or both if you're feeling adventurous). Both are used in watercolor formulas to help the paints retain moisture; even some professional quality brands like M. Graham specifically use honey in their watercolor formula. I haven't ventured that far yet, but I may try some things in the future and if I do I'll let you guys know how it worked out! Now on to something about the paints besides how they dry in the palette I noticed right away in my swatching and on my Mon Cher painting that these watercolors lean on the more opaque side, which to some watercolorists may be a problem, but it usually isn't to me, as there are some effects and details I like to work with that instead of having to pull out other supplies. You can probably see this exhibited best in the first one, which I think almost looks like a gouache painting, rather than watercolor. You can also see this effect pretty good on the third one, especially since most of the black on that one is watercolor as well, unlike the first and fourth ones, where the black portions are either stamps or pen. This also means that the color spread pretty far without much paint with the more water you add to it. But they also water down pretty nicely, as seen in the Mon Cher piece and as you can see somewhat on the second one here. And likewise, they layer up pretty nicely too. I was also pretty surprised that these watercolors didn't seem to mind having other supplies put over top of them; My white gel pens and black pens didn't fight me really at all with them. And I did use a little pale yellow PanPastel around the moon on the second one since I was afraid I'd end up with a harsh water line if I tried to use yellow paint to glaze it. It wasn't all peaches and cream, though. On the fourth one (the one with the snowy evergreen trees), I'm not really sure how much of it was the paint and how much of it was the paper (as this Canson XL watercolor paper is lower quality than the Canson Heritage L'Aquarelle paper I did the Mon Cher painting on, and lower quality watercolor paper that isn't 100% cotton can have issues with certain techniques) and how much of it was just user-error. But as you can see, what was supposed to the Northern Lights did not turn out as pigmented or as nicely blended and arranged as I had envisioned in my mind. To be fair, I was starting to run low on the blues and the pink I wanted to use, so that may have contributed to me making personal errors in fear of completing running out and being stubborn in not wanting to put any more out for this one last small painting. I ended up trying to use my white gel pen to save that last one, and if I'm honest I'm still not sure how I feel about the final product. I feel like it is kinda pretty, but I think the reason it just doesn't work for me is that, as I said, it's almost nothing like what I had pictured in my head.  I'll have to try this look/technique again and try different paints, different paper, etc. and see if I can get closer to what I see in my mind's eye. I supposed I should also mention that on the second/pastel moon one I also had some trouble getting the clouds exactly how I wanted them, but that comes down more to A. me being very particular about the clouds and B. the ever-present unpredictably of watercolor. At the end of the day though, I really like how these Arteza watercolors handle, and I'm pretty eager to do more with them. And, I don't normally say one way or the other on my watercolor opinions, but this time around I feel comfortable saying that I think these would be a good choice for a beginner, even the smaller set options and not just the full 60 set like I got. And this is where I'll talk about the color selection: You can kind of tell when you swatch these out that the first 24 colors are probably the exact arrangement you'll find in the 24 set, as you've got a fairly basic color layout: White, a few yellows/ochres, orange, a few reds, a rose/magenta color, a couple of purples, a few blues, a couple of greens, a couple of browns, and a black. From there the color layout seems pretty randomized to me, including a Neon Pink kinda all by itself and some really pretty pastel colors, and some really nice muted pale earth tones too. I think this is one of the first times where I've felt like the color selection is really well-rounded and there aren't really any major switches I would make if given the choice. If anything, I can think of some colors I'd love to add on to the set (some more Neon colors since the pink is one of my favorite colors to work with so far, and I'd love to see some metallic/shimmer shades with the same formula), but as of right now I can't say I'd replace any of the existing choices with them. One more thing I will mention: The paints do have identifying number codes, much like the Arteza Expert colored pencils do. And while I figured not all of the colors would match/have colored pencil counterparts, I was surprised to find that seemingly none of them match up, even ones that have the same name. For example, in the colored pencils, "Noir" (black) is A012, but in the watercolors, it's A163; likewise, Apricot in the pencils is A034, while the watercolor is A212. I'm not really sure what's the deal there, and I don't have much else to say about it other than it was just kind of weird to me. (Then again, I don't know why that surprised me; Prismacolor has both alcohol markers and colored pencils, many of which are named the same and look pretty much the same, but the numbers for those don't match either. So I don't know why these should be any different.) Regardless, I do really like them and this honestly makes me want to try their 60 sets of Gouache and Acrylic paints a lot too, since these turned out so nice, I've been wanting to try gouache, and if you've been paying attention to me lately you'll know I've been dipping my toes into acrylics lately. I'm closer to getting the acrylics than the gouache partly because I have technically used those before and they're cheaper, and I do have my eye on another, cheaper set of gouache I think I'd rather have as my first set to see if the 60 set would even be worth the investment anyway. The point I'm trying to make: I like the Arteza tube watercolors, and as long as you don't mind dealing with the drying issues (in/on a palette; on paper they dry just fine ) that I mentioned at the beginning of the description in small text, then I think if you want to give them a try you're in for a bit of a treat. They may not technically be professional quality, but I'd say they make a pretty good stand-in if the idea of paying $10, $15, or more for one tiny tube of paint (or over $100 for a much more limited palette) is entirely too much for your wallet to even think about. Speaking which, there may or may not be another watercolor piece on the horizon made possible only by the magical power that is clearance stickers at the art supply shop, so stayed tuned for that. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[seojvns]

everything you didn’t care to know about seojun yoon. 

basic statistics.

full name: seojun yoon. 

nickname: jun, junnie, seo. 

how'd they get it?: they’re just... variations of his name...

age: twenty one. 

date of birth: april 27th. 

zodiac: taurus. 

gender: male. 

sexual orientation: pansexual. 

when did they realize this?: around the age he started being interested in people. it’s never been something he’s struggled with, it’s jus how things were/are. 

nationality: american.

hometown: daejeon, south korea.

current residence: cortland, wisconsin.

occupation: freelance photographer. 

for how long?: umm, probably since high school?? he started out doing it for free, to build his resume, and over time he began building it into something he could actually make money from. not much, but !! getting paid for doing something he loves?? really couldn’t ask for more than that. 

do they like his/her job?: obvs!!! does he wish he could have a lot more clients?? ya, but he’s patient and he’s got the time. 

salary: mm, depends on the job but probably anywhere from $150-250/job. 

family.

any significant ancestors?: ummmm, no. 

grandparents (describe relationship): he was really close to his grandmother, on his mom’s side, who passed away a few years ago. he’s close to his grandfather from that side too, but he’s a bit old fashioned in his views and sometimes conversations are... not really something he can take much from. but he likes his company, and overall they have a good relationship. his grandparents on his father’s side both died before he really got a chance to even know them. 

aunts/uncles (describe relationship): there’s definitely a distance. when he was younger, he’d see more of them, and his cousins too, but as he grew up... it became less of a tradition his parents and his aunts/uncles bothered to keep up with. he sees them at family gatherings, usually around holidays, but that’s about it. 

parents (describe relationship): there’s a lot of distance between him and his parents. his father’s always been distant, even at a young age he wasn’t very invested in seojun. but he’d buy him things, assuming that was a decent enough way to show his ‘love,’ but it only made seojun resentful of the money he tried to use in an attempt to get out of actually caring or showing interest. his mother, on the other hand, cared. but only when he was young. from the time he was adopted, at age five, until about eleven. after that she became more disinterested in him. she also started nitpicking him a lot?? like no snacks, finding a poem and critiquing it, etc. support wasn’t something he was given, which is why he’s become such a desperate lil people pleaser. 

are they still together?: yes, yep. 

what is the character's family life like: it was really lonely growing up, cause even if everyone was home they’d all be off doing their own things. usually seojun was in his room writing, or out exploring and taking photos. he probably would’ve found his way to his hobbies regardless, but their neglect definitely encouraged him to explore them in a way he might not have done much sooner. 

what does their family love most about them?: hmm, probably his manners. he’s a good boy and he’d never embarrass them or anything when they drag him to events or parties, so, yeah! 

hate?: they see him as too shy, and lacking of a personality, but really that’s just because they’ve kind of made him feel like he should just keep quiet and do what he’s told :/ and that’s exactly what he does. 

does the family have a specific set of values?: his parents are very much the type of people who want everything to look perfect on the outside, and not care much about how they actually are on the inside. 

what would their family be described like by another person?: reserved, well put together, successful. 

have they ever had any pets?: he did! he had a dog, a samoyed, which he got from his parents for his seventh birthday. his name was ghost,, original, i know!

what happened to them?: he died a few years ago :/ it was a rly rough time for jun, who basically had him throughout his entire childhood. 

relationships.

are they a virgin?: umm, nope. 

how did they lose it?: i’m embarrassed just thinkin abt it. 

have they ever cheated on a partner?: never would he ever!!! 

has a partner ever cheated on them?: probably. 

how did they react?: better question - did he ever find out? doubtful. 

who was their first crush?: hard to say :/ he gets a new crush everyday :/ 

are they in any kind of romantic relationship?: no!! 

how serious/relaxed is it?: hmph. 

describe the relationship with their current partner: this is... pointless... 

how did they meet?: why ask so many questions based on the POTENTIAL of him bein in a relationship... 

who made the first move?: prob not seojun in any situation ... he’s not very bold 

how does your character truly feel about their partner?: this.... is so redundant... 

when did they realize this?: thank u, next! 

who is your characters closest friend?: minnie uwu 

how did they meet?: umm they’ve been bffs for as long as seojun can remember okay!!! so how they met is just one of those things he doesn’t... rly remember bc it feels like he’s known her his WHOLE entire life, u know?? 

why do they get along so well?: because they’re both cute and soft and they just vibe together well ok,, why question these things?? there’s been so many late nights up talking about anything n everything, so many heartbreaks that she’s been there for, so many adventures they’ve had n have yet to have... she’s his other half!!! <333 

describe relationship with any other significant friends: adrian’s one of the most important ppl to him ?? like ever?? cause he’s jun’s best friend but also a lot more than that. even though they can’t seem to get things right, he’s always gonna have feels for adrian. kian......... gross where do i even begin!!!! seojun would literally die for kian. he’s more than his roomie ok seojun’s so disgustingly attached that no matter what kian did he’d never leave his side lmao #dedicated. jiwon is who seojun would be if he could choose his life sjfsfks she’s jus so,, uwu perfect n everything he aspires to be. he LUVS her even tho she can lowkey be a lil scary?? not in like a way that he’s legit scared but like... she can be intimidating a lil bit. rt if u agree

favorites.

favorite foods: sushi, korean fried chicken, fries. 

least favorite food: black licorice, celery. 

favorite colors: pale yellow and light pink. 

least favorite color: whatever the fuck u call the color blue that tumblr chose for the new bg color fksdjfs

music: pop, r&b. 

literature: mysteries!! 

smell: honeysuckles, bonfires, fresh bread. 

feeling: affection uwu

season: autumn. 

pets: dogs, but... he loves cats too :/ 

place: hmm, he’s really drawn to the woods?? like when he was younger he’d go into the woods with his camera and a book and just spend all fucking day out there. there’s something really peaceful about it ?? and there’s just so much to experience... the woods jus make him soft, k?? 

favorite sport(s): huh

possession this character values most: his camera!!!!!!!! his journals filled with poems about everyone he knows. 

why is it so important to them?: um, his camera is p obvious?? his poetry filled journals, well, that’s p obvious too. he doesn’t want to forget how he felt in the moments where he was inspired to write whatever he wrote. 

physical characteristics.

height: 5′8′‘. 

weight: 130 lbs. 

body build: slim. 

eye color: brown. 

glasses or contact lenses?: contact lenses, but sometimes he’ll wear his glasses when he’s feelin’ lazy. 

hair color: naturally it’s black, but he prob keeps it either light pink or blond.  

scent: tbh idk what to answer for this, describing someone’s natural scent... hard. 

voice: he’s got a soft voice :/ 

mannerisms: says ‘um’ and ‘uh’ too much, whining about nothing, watching anything/everything with subtitles, turns the tab on a soda can sideways. 

style: comfy clothing mostly?? like loose fitting tops and form fitting bottoms. 

how do they walk?: like a fucking model tbh??? 

what are their nervous tics: he’s blushing 99% of the time tbh,, nose scrunches, averting his gaze 

usual body posture: umm, i’d say he’s got p good posture?? idk,,

preferred clothing.

underwear: boxer briefs babey!

shirts: loose!! t-shirts, flannels, hoodies. anything oversized. 

pants: usually black jeans, like, 9 times out of 10. 

skirts: nah. 

jackets: more oversized shit. 

shoes: prob jus black boots? 

accessories: earrings, rings, make up. make up isn’t an accessory rly but i dunno where else to put that so yayuh that’s a thing. 

formal wear: umm he’s a classic black suit kinda guy, prob w a bowtie, idk. 

sleeping wear: t-shirts and boxer briefs,, do ppl ... actually have real pajamas? like in real life? 

swimming wear: swim trunks ig?? weird question but ok. 

intellectual/mental/personality attributes and attitudes.

did they go to school?: ya, duh. 

where?: west bridge!!! 

what did they learn?: he’s studying photography :-)

what were their grades like?: uh, they’re alright... could be better... he wants to do better but his focus is usually just... anywhere but where it should be. so he procrastinates, and turns in things late a lot, and still is trying to do better. 

native language: korean. 

do they know any other languages?: english. 

how smart are they?: not... very... both book smart and street smart. 

what is their strengths?: creativity, generosity, compassion. 

weaknesses?: time management, insecurity, awareness. 

character's short-term goals in life: don’t go to jail, pass all classes. 

character's long-term goals in life: have a lil photography studio and live happily ever after uwu

how does your character see themselves?: umm, he’s self aware enough to know that he’s kind of sheepish?? he feels like he’s probably awkward in,, so many situations, rip, but he tries his best to not be too weird skfjs 

how does your character believe they are perceived by others?: as a soft boy who wants to be everyone’s friend?? hopefully?? 

how self-confident is your character?: UM LOL NOT AT ALL

what makes their self-confidence waver?: everything,, he just never feels like he’s good enough?? prob because of his mom’s nitpicking, his parents’ lack of interest generally, and the fact that he just has a low self esteem overall. 

what would embarrass your character the most?: being put on the spot about anything, having too much attention, falling for someone who doesn’t like him. 

how does your character feel about love: he!! loves love!!! he rly thinks that there’s someone out there for everyone... maybe not in a ~soulmates~ sense, but he thinks that companionship is a big part of happiness.

about crime: he doesn’t commit crimes... often... but if he does it’s because he can be talked into almost anything. 

people of a different sexuality?: loves everyone, thanks. 

different nationality/race?: loves everyone, thanks. 

how does your character show affection/love?: listening to them n remembering things they’re told, hand holding, doing literally anything they ask. 

how does your character handle grief? not well. especially in the case of manon, which has left him with a terrible sleeping pattern and the heavy feeling of guilt. 

what are they like when they cry?: prob like really dramatic,, like cry a lot while curled up in his bed under the covers kinda cry. 

what can make them cry?: betrayal, loss, anxiousness, stress. 

how does your character handle physical pain?: not well, he probably whines a lot and pouts even more. 

emotional pain?: even worse. he’s so forgiving that even if someone hurt him emotionally, he’d forgive them, but he’d probably be lowkey sad (but in a self blame kind of way) about it for awhile.

is your character typically a leader or a follower?: big time follower. 

what kind of energy level does your character typically display?: soft, upbeat, 

describe their sense of humor: prob either lame or softly sarcastic. 

hobbies: takin pics, writing poems, making playlists for people that’ll never hear them, watching shows instead of studying. 

talents: ...takin pics, writing poems, making playlists for people that’ll never hear them...

extremely unskilled at: focusing! and sports. 

if any, what musical instruments can they play?: piano :-) 

emotional characteristics.

how does the character relate to others?: through soft interactions and deep conversations. he’s pretty honest and open, so if someone asks him something, or even just talks to him, chances are he’s being as open with them as he would be with his close friends. 

how does the character deal with anger?: not well, but when he’s angry, he’s usually more upset than angry? and he wants to resolve things as quickly as possible, otherwise he’s stressed abt it until it’s fixed. 

with sadness?: listens to sad music and cries in the shower. drama queen. 

with conflict?: he’s always the first to apologize. 

with change?: he’s actually pretty adaptable for the most part?? but if it were like a major change, maybe not as good. 

with loss?: ummm, could be better!! probably gets a lil distant when he’s dealing with a loss. 

what does your character want out of life?: happiness :/ 

what would your character like to change in his/her life?: the whole manon thing JFKLSF

what motivates your character?: his future, or at least the ideal future he has in mind for himself. 

what frightens your character?: the fact that they could get caught for covering up a murder perhaps??? terrifying. 

are they afraid of the dark?: ...yes, but he acts like he isn’t cause he’s embarrassed. 

death?: not really?? like he doesn’t WANT to die or anything, but he’s not afraid of death.

what makes your character happy?: listening to good music, giving people things that make him think of them, the photo editing process. 

sad?: being alone, the fact that his parents never care to check up on him, films where the main couple doesn’t end up together.

angry?: people being rude to his friends, being lied to, unnecessarily passive aggressive people. 

aroused?: neck kisses, being called baby, someone who’s rly direct and just kind of... does what they want skjfsl 

annoyed?: people who speak over other people.

guilty?: covering up a potential murder, turning things in late, lying. 

is your character judgmental of others?: no. even if he doesn’t agree with their opinions/things they do he still tries to refrain from judgment. 

is your character generous or stingy?: generous af. 

is your character generally polite or rude?: polite!! angel boy. 

optimistic or pessimistic?: optimistic. 

introvert or extrovert?: lil bit of both?? 

daredevil or cautious?: cautious. 

logical or emotional?: emotional lmao. 

disorderly and messy or methodical and neat?: he thinks he’s methodical and neat but he’s actually disorderly and messy. 

would they rather be working or relaxing?: working, even though he thinks he’d rather be chillin he’s kind of terrible at doing nothing. 

how do they feel about animals?: um... he loves them?? he’s the kind of person that’d accidentally let a raccoon in his house and let it stay. 

what is their best quality?: his sincerity. 

what is their biggest flaw?: how trusting he is. 

[fogteeth-orcs]

OC Profiles

Dorruk (Derek) Age:31 Height: 6’11” Species:Orc Build:Muscular, solid, not much body fat

Appearance: Dorruk tends to have the worst case of resting rage face, and it is not helped when he smiled. He tends to always look angry, despite him having a rather even temper. His markings are a darker slate grey blue, while the pale patches of his skin are more of a greyish peach as opposed to bright pink. His yellow eyes are bright and have flecks of orange in them. Despite his angry looking face his markings do help soften his expression when he relaxes, which is unfortunately rarely. Dorruk is broad shouldered and strong. He lifts weights with his buddies often and has a powerful build. He has placed a few times in orcish strong man competitions, but has yet to win.

Body Mods: Dorruk has a brand on the back of his neck, it is hard to determine what it is as it looks as though someone cut over it and tried to get scar tissue to obscure the mark. He has tattoos on his back and sides, as well as other areas of his body. He also has quite a few piercings.

Personality: Dorruk is typically an even tempered person. He isn’t quick to fly off the handle despite always looking angry. The anger mostly comes from no one ever getting his name right. He tends to be tense and high strung, drinking far too much coffee to be healthy and not sleeping enough. Dorruk suffers from depression, but hides it well. He honestly believes that he will grow out of it and the sad feelings will go away.

History: Dorruk doesn’t talk about his past. He never mentions his family, and it is clear he was not born into the Fogteeth clan.

Side Notes: Dorruk hates being called Derek, but has grown to accept it. He finds it more acceptable when humans do it and he has stopped cringing when he hears the name. He does still have a bit of a twitch when he is stressed out and someone deliberately calls him Derek. His left eye and ear twitch simultaneously.

THE TWINS: Gorefist & Jawrip Age:37 Height:7’5” Species: Orc? Build:Tall, broad, muscular, some fat over the stomach area (think strongman)

Appearance: Have you ever run into a wall and though man that is a warm wall and then looked up and it is the biggest most muscular dude ever. Yeah that only more intense, and two of them. The twins look like they could pick up and toss semis. Their coloring is a paler slightly more turquoise blue for their patterns, while the lighter skin is a light greyish white. Both have deep yellow eyes that look a bit more like amber.

History: The twins love their mama and will beat the blue off anyone that makes a “yo mamma” joke. They started working at an early age to help support their large family. Their mom would take in siblings, cousins, and pretty much anyone else that had nowhere else to go. They got their compassion from her, but it isn’t evident in how they behave sometimes. Their strength has been historically abused by those with power looking to have an edge over their enemies. They usually only have to walk in with someone and negotiations seem to go better.

Side Notes: Both boys take being twins to the full advantage. They play pranks and often will switch clothes multiple times during parties and gatherings just to fuck with people. Very few have ever caught on, and even fewer can actually tell them apart fully clothed.

**Gorefist**

Body Mods:Gore has piercings and tattoos, but you have to take his clothes off to see most of them.

Personality: Of the two Gore is the calmer one, but comes off as being the scarrier one. He doesn’t talk as much as Rip and that is for good reason. Gore is legally blind. He can see shapes, colors, and blurs without his glasses. Even up close he can make out faces, but legally he is listed as blind without his glasses. The problem is he never wears them. It ruins the whole twin thing and he fears it would make him a target. Rip has been Gore’s extra eyes since they were kids. He uses sound, vibration, smell, and temperature changes to help him navigate. His eyesight improves in the dark. Gore doesn’t trust easy and has little experience with women. They make him nervous and he fears hurting them. He would rather just ignore his needs or take care of it himself, rather than risk it. He will sometimes apologize for Rip being a complete cunt though, but not always. His brother needs to learn to dig himself out of his own messes.

**Jawrip**

Body Mods:Rip has a tattoo that matches one of his brothers and it is the only body mod he has.

Personality:  Rip has anger issues and is a bit of a cocky bastard. He knows that few can stand up against him and his brother and he adores the attention. He will often make an ass of himself just to get his brother to laugh, but if anyone else does he is quick to put them in their place. Rip has more experience with the ladies as he is more of a ladies man. He looks out for his brother all the time and it is very much a “you mess with one, you get both” situation if someone fucks with Gore. Rip would die for his brother, he just tends to act like an asshole to overcompensate. Getting through to his emotions can be a bit harder.

**Taalah (Talli)**

Age: 21  Height: 5’3” Species: Half Orc/Half Human Build: Curvy with some chub, but also a bit muscular under it all

Appearance: Talli is short for an orc, but she gets that from her human side. She looks more orc than human in that her body structure is almost fully orc. She has the pointed ears, tusks, even the patterned skin. She would almost be indistinguishable from an orc if not for her multi colored mohawk. She wears it in that style because she can’t grow a full head of hair. Her eyes look orcish from a distance. They are mostly yellowish orange, only when up close can the bright blue rings around the edges of her iris be seen.

Body Mods: Multiple piercings, just getting started on tattoos and looking for more.

Personality:  Talli has the sweet and innocent routine down so pat she fools herself sometimes. She is a bit of a prankster and is far too curious for her own good. She has been on the receiving end of many a well deserved ass beating because of that curiosity. She doesn’t always know when to quit. She isn’t naive but plays it well, she wants people to underestimate her. She has a big heart, sometimes too big, and will befriend people that may not always have her best interest at heart because she just wants to make a genuine connection even if she knows it is unlikely.

History: Growing up as a halfbreed Talli learned at an early age that live is an unfair, unbearable hellhole. She never asked to exist, but she tries to take each day as it comes. Talli is loved by her parents, but not society and there is only so far a parents love can take someone. Especially since her mother left her father for another man. She chose to stay with her dad to take care of him, even though she lied and said it was for other reasons. She doesn’t really have friends because she can’t trust anyone.

**Side Notes:** Talli doesn’t talk about her mother, when people assume her mom is dead she never corrects them.

**Petrus (Pete aka Big Pete)**

Age: 41 Height: 7’9” Species: Orcgre (Half orc/ half Ogre) Build: Like a brick shit house

Appearance: Pete is a gym rat and has a build to match. He spends every spare moment at the gym, or working out in some other way. He will often go to open lots and tug whatever random shit he can find across it, including abandoned vehicles and construction equipment. He  has long black hair that he wears pulled back in a braid when he is working out but lets loose most the time when he is not. He also has a long goatee he braids. He never clipped his horns so the grow up and curl back slightly. His eyes are bright green, almost unnaturally so.

Body Mods:

Personality: Pete is quiet most the time as he is too busy getting swol to really talk to anyone. Being a half breed he feels out of place pretty much everywhere and his massive size does not help.

History: No one knows where Pete is from. He just showed up one day and wont leave.

**Side Notes:** Pete is deeply arachnophobic and for such a large guy with such a deep booming voice, he manages to scream like a small human girl child when he sees one. ((not done this is the most I got for him))

**Gordrak (Dadghu)**

**Age:** 69  **Height:**6’9” **Species:** ORC

**Gender:**Male  **Sexuality:** Straight

**Build:** Strong muscular body, broad, but with some pudge

**Appearance:** Gordrak is an orcs orc. He has a massive muscular body, broad shoulders, barrel chest, but a pudgy stomach that hides his true strength. His tusks are big, and he has a powerful presence when he walks into a room. His body is covered in scars, he has a large one on his chest that is faded. A bear clawed him when he was a teen.

**Personality:**  Gordrak is a no-nonsense kind of orc. He is from the old country, born there and transplanted into the United States. He believes in the old ways and isn’t 100% on board with where his son has taken their clan. He has a dry wit and often it can’t be distinguished if he is serious or not when he says something. He plays up the ‘ignorant old person’ bit for multiple reasons. He loves when some young upstart underestimates him. Despite his gruffness, Gordrak has a gentle spirit, he just doesn’t show it. He has fought for equality since he was young and wants to see his grandson make something of himself.

**History:** Gordrak was raised in the old country and followed the old ways. He has wrestled and killed bears, he even adopted a couple of cubs and them and their progeny have been part of the clan for decades. He was mated but has recently become single, he doesn’t like talking about it.

**Side Notes:** His wife is not the same as on tumblr. She is someone else and she isn’t spoken of often. Currently he is not fond of other races, especially elves and humans. (I don’t want to add anything to NSFW in here, but the Fogteeth party will change him)

**Pyretta A. B. Kotori**

**Age:** 31   **Height:** 5’0 **Species:** Human

**Gender:** Female  **Sexuality:** Pan/Demi

**Build:** Chubby, curvy, voluptuous (she plus sized and soft)

**Appearance:** Short and round is a shape right? Pyre is the opposite of thin model chique. She has more junk in her trunkular region than anyone would know what to do with and tig ass bitties. (Her boobs get there on time, she is 15 minutes late) In all seriousness she is soft and squish. All curves and roundness. Hair is purple and past her ass but she wears it up about 90% of the time. It is a big deal if she takes it down in front of someone. Her eyes are an amberish gold but she wears sunglasses most the time, and her regular glasses at home.

**Body Mods:** Tattoos and lots of them. Despite her mixed heritage her skin is pale so color really shows. She also has several piercings.

**Personality:**  Have you ever been mommed so hard you thought you forgot mother's day and it’s November? Yeah that is Pyre. She is a kind soul, almost to a fault, but kind people are not born kind. Kindness is forged in the fires of pain and suffering and she has suffered. She just never lets it show. She has a dry wit, a wicked sense of humor and a dirty mind. Unfortunately she thinks very little of herself and is completely self sacrificing to the point of it being detrimental for her health. She has taken a bullet for some random orc kid in an alleyway, and she will take one for you.

**History:** Don’t ask too much about her past, you wont like the answers. It is dark inside and she does her best not to show where that darkness came from. All anyone knows is she was living in NYC before an abrupt move to LA, though when she gets angry a southern twang hits her voice so it is clear NYC was probably not where she was born.

**Side Notes:** This is a shameless self insert character and I don’t care. I wanted to add more here but I wasn’t sure if I was over doing it.

**Verathandra Taledras**

**Age:** 137  **Height:**6’1 **Species:** Elf

**Gender:**Female  **Sexuality:** Uncertain

**Build:** Lithe, flexible, strong. A gymnasts body with more feminine curves.

**Appearance:** Vera is tall, lithe, and gorgeous. She looks just like a perfect elf should look, except just slightly to the left. There is something in the way she dresses, the way she carries herself that is distinctly unselfish. She has long pure white hair with a red streak down the front. Most of the time she keeps her hair pulled up into a professional bun. She keeps her nails long, and has several aesthetically pleasing body modifications. Her eyes are a bright violet with flecks of silver.

**Body Mods:** She has several ear piercings and wears a chain on one ear. Her tongue is pierced and she has a delicate, tasteful, and lovely little tattoos on her face at the side of each eye and down by her jawline. She may have more tattoos and piercings elsewhere but they would be covered (hint: she is a freak)

**Personality:**  Vera is subversive at her core. She will do anything she can to make other elves miserable, without anyone knowing it is her doing it. Outwardly she is cold, almost indifferent to others. She has to wear this mask to keep doing what she does. Inwardly she is fueled by the raging fires of injustice. She sees how the world is, how others are treated. Her life of privilege horrifies her and she cannot allow it to continue. There is a softness, a kindness to her that almost no one sees. She is desperate for love, but knows she can’t have it.

**History:** Vera was born into one of the most notable of Elven families in New York. She lived upstate through her youngest years but has moved around. Her past has some dark patches that shaped her into who she is now. She fights for those that cannot fight for themselves, but she does it from a place of anonymity. To keep her fortune, her power, no one can know what she really does with her money and influence.

**Side Notes:** Leading such a stark double life has lead to a severe personality disorder. One that Vera medicates the wrong way.

[omg-imatotalmess]

Waiting For Him

Hey guys! Listen, I’m in a really weird mood after a few things have happened recently and this is what’s coming out of it. I’ll try to get going on requests. I know that I’m taking 45 years on them. I’m not really sure what this is, but I hope you enjoy. 

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader 

Requested: Nope

Warnings: Swearing, angst(?) ((Idk what else to call this))

You laid in bed, moonlight bathing you in a soft silver glow that you couldn’t bring yourself to enjoy. Not anymore. Ever since Draco had left you to go with his parents, you found that you didn’t enjoy much. It also came to your attention that you spent most of your waking hours alone. Not always alone in the sense that there was no one around you, but alone in the sense that no one understood what you felt. Isolation. Being alone wasn’t really what bothered you though; it was the emptiness that you carried in your chest. 

Watching the night sky, you heaved a long sigh. Sometimes you were envious of the stars. They couldn’t feel empty or alone for they were simply stars. You rolled away from your open window, staring intently at the empty space next to you. Draco should be there, mumbling about how ‘his father would hear about this’ in his sleep. 

“I miss you,” You said. The open air took your words, devouring them so quickly that you weren’t entirely sure you’d said anything at all. 

“I hate you.” Again the words vanished. 

You rose from your bed, wondering vaguely what time it was. Probably late. Not that it mattered. You lived by yourself because you had some absurd notion that he would walk through your front door one day and slip into bed with you, just like he had back at Hogwarts. You padded into your living room and sat on the couch, listening calmly to the deafening silence. Nothing existed to fill that void for you. You looked around the room as though you didn’t see it everyday. 

It was plain, like no one really lived in it. The walls were a dusty grey, illuminated by the light of two white lamps sat on either side of a blocky, grey couch. No pillows rested on said couch. There were no pictures on the walls. There were no books on the little wooden coffee table, not even a magazine. The cool wood of the floor didn’t even have an area rug. Not even the windows had a speck of life. They were covered by blinds rather than curtains. It all looked so impersonal. For a reason only you seemed to understand, the room held all the warmth and comfort of a hospital waiting room. 

“You’re never coming back.” Hearing the words aloud stung. It made them real. 

Shaking your head, you laid back on the couch. The weight in your chest gave way to the usual emptiness. It throbbed in it’s usual dull ache somewhere in the very center. At first you’d thought someone had hollowed out your chest but, as usual, you realized it was only you curling loneliness. With that, you fell into a dreamless sleep. 

The next morning, you woke with a crick in your neck and a soft throb from the hole in your chest. You stretched. You wondered again what time it was, though you had no real way of knowing. You didn’t have a clock in your house. At some point, you’d stopped caring to know what time it was for the simple thought of it consumed you. 

“What am I waiting for?” It was a good question; one you’d been asking for years. 

That waiting was what gave you the emptiness in your chest, what hollowed out your insides, what make you get rid of your clocks. You knew the answer to the question, but you had no interest in answering it. 

A knock echoed through your home. Odd. Everyone you knew just walked in. You stared at the door as though it would open all on it’s own. It didn’t. Finally, you pulled yourself off the couch and opened it. There stood a tall blond with grey eyes and a haunted face. In front of you, stood Draco Malfoy. You blinked, wondering if you’d finally gone batty or if you were dreaming. 

“Hello,” He said. 

“Hi,” You responded. 

Draco watched you with tired eyes and you knew he was wondering how you would react. You just stared, stepping aside to let him in. He seemed startled by the way your place looked. 

“It’s been a long time,” He said as you took a seat on the couch. 

“It has.” Draco stood in the middle of the room like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. 

“How are you, (Y/N)?” He asked. 

“Surviving, I suppose,” You sighed. He gave you a concerned look as he looked around the room. Your living room had a surprising effect on people, like a Dementor, it sucked happiness away. Life itself. 

“How long have you lived here?” You thought for a moment. 

“Since just after the battle,” You said.

“Oh.” His pale face creased in concern. You wondered if it was real. 

“You came back,” You noted emotionlessly. Finally, he sat next to you, clasping his hands in front of him and resting his elbows on his knees. 

“I have,” He said. You watched him. He looked just as beaten down and tired at sixteen as he did now. That was worrisome to you. You always hoped that he’d been better even if you hadn’t been. 

It was odd. Sometimes you told the air that you hated him and sometimes you told it that you loved him, but seeing him brought a certain kind of numbness that you’d only felt in dreams. It was pleasant. For once, you chest didn’t ache from the constant emptiness. The hole there seemed to have drawn itself nearly closed. Nearly. 

“Why?” With a nervous glance, he ran a hand through his hair. You noted that he didn’t keep it slicked back anymore. 

“I can’t exactly describe it,” He said. 

“Try.” 

“I can’t!” He snapped, glaring at you fiercely. You didn’t even flinch. You’d known him long enough to know that his bark was much worse than his bite. 

“Are you empty too?” You asked. Somewhere in the back of your mind you thought you sounded like Luna. Grey eyes snapped up to meet yours with a look of surprise. They looked wet. 

“Yes,” He said, relieved. It must have taken up a lot of his time thinking about what he felt. 

“I’ve been empty for a long time. It was like you took a piece of me with you the day you left,” You said, unsure of why you were telling him that. For a moment, he looked guilty. 

“I’m back,” He said, quietly. You turned to look at him fully, anger that you hadn’t felt for a long time flared. 

“Are you gonna take some more? Hollow me out a little more?” You hissed. He flinched and, as quickly as it came, you anger fled. You sighed, running a hand through your hair. There wasn’t any point in being angry. Or sad. There wasn’t much point in feeling at all. You shook your head. 

“I’m sorry,” Both of you said at once. 

A silence fell over the two of you. Not the deafening silence that you usually experienced, a nice one. You could hear his ragged breathing, like he was trying his best not to cry. No tears came to your eyes despite the feeling of your heart splitting in two for the second time in your life. Reaching out, you placed the very tips of your fingers against his cheek. Then you both broke down. Both of you began to sob as you fell into each other. You weren’t sure how long the two of you sat and cried, but he pressed you so tight to his chest you wondered if you’d just become one person. It seemed okay at that point. 

You looked up into his face. Draco was oddly beautiful when he cried. His eyes turned to a muted grey, the color one would see just before a storm over the ocean. You wondered what yours looked like. The paleness of his face seemed to have had life breathed into it, redness lingering in his cheeks. Tears glistened, making shiney paths down his face until they dripped off his clenched jaw. 

“I missed you,” You whispered. He pressed a cheek to the top of your head. 

“Merlin, (Y/N), I can’t even begin to explain how much I missed you,” He said. You buried your head in his chest, letting out a soft sob. 

“I hate you,” You said. He held you impossibly closer and nodded. 

“I do too,” He whimpered. You gripped the back of his shirt so hard you feared you’d rip it. You hated that he sounded that way. Pulling back, you looked up at him again. His eyes were brimming with tears again. 

“You were never coming back,” You said. A wave of pain washed over his face and he cradled your cheek. 

“Of course I was. I’m here, aren’t I?” He said, softly. You breathed a somewhat hysterical laugh. 

“I don’t know.” He stared at you. 

“Pardon?” You laughed again. 

“I don’t know. I’ve had this dream so many times and it was so real everytime, but I always wake up,” You said. He pulled you against his chest again and you offered little resistance. 

“I’m so sorry, love, merlin, I’m so sorry,” He mumbled into your hair. Your cheeks laid against his chest, feeling the warmth radiating through his shirt. 

“You’ve never said that before.” He stiffened, slightly. “This isn’t a dream. You’ve never been sorry before.” You knew he was staring straight ahead, trying to convince himself not to cry. 

“I’ve been sorry since I chose them over you,” He said. You placed a hand on his chest. It felt solid, just like always. 

“You can cry, you know,” You said, calmly. He pulled in a shaky breath. 

He didn’t say anything else, but you knew that he was crying again. Somehow, you felt satisfied. Not because he was crying, but because he was close to you again. You could smell his cologne. It was awful. Something about it make your lips hitch up into a little smirk. 

“You never changed your cologne. Still smells terrible,” You said, a hint of a laugh in your voice. 

“Only you would think to say something like that in a situation like this, darling,” He said. You detected a hint of a laugh behind his tears as well. You sat up fully, wiping his tears away with the pad of your thumb. He leaned into your hand almost as though he’d forgotten how your touch felt. Then again, you’d nearly forgotten what it was like to be held by him (or anyone else). 

“Are you gonna stay?” You asked. He turned his head, kissing the palm of your hand. 

“If you’ll have me,” He replied, his voice holding a nervous undertone.

“I didn’t wait this long just to kick you out.” He chuckled, the soft vibration moved across your skin. 

Slowly, you removed yourself from the couch and pulled him towards the bedroom. It was the only room in your place that looked like anyone had lived there. The walls were the same soft grey of the living room, but covered in pictures and the bed was a mess of (F/C) tossed around sheets. Draco smiled at it though, so you did too. 

“I’ve been staring at an empty bed for so long it’ll feel weird having someone next to me for once,” You said, slipping into it. 

“I know the feeling.” He got in next to you, turning so you both could look out the window. The sky was just beginning to darken. You’d spent a whole day crying with Draco. You took comfort in the fact that it was with him not over him. 

“What time is it?” He asked, warping an arm around you. 

“No clue. I don’t own a clock,” You said, relishing in the warmth of the body behind you. 

“What?” You smiled softly as you turned to face him. 

“I spent so much time staring at them that I just got rid of them,” You said. He sighed, but smiled. 

“Alright then, I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway.” You snuggled into him, placing your head just under his chin and listening to the gentle beating of his heart. 

After that, there was nothing more to be said. If this was a dream, you vowed that you wouldn’t wake up. If this was real, then you could bring yourself back into your usual swing. Either way, you just wanted to enjoy the feeling of being whole for the first time in a long time. 

[finalfantasyoc]

☾SEIKO ARTEMIS☽

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ ┌─────────┐ ❨Ｂａｓｉｃｓ❩ └─────────┘ » Name: Seiko Artemis » Name meaning: {Exquisit moon hunter}~~ Seiko is a Japanese word meaning "exquisite" or "success" ("exquisite" is usually written 精巧 from Chinese jīngqiǎo, while the meaning "success" is usually written 成功 from Chinese chénggōng). Artemis [artemis] as a girls' name (also used less generally as boys' name Artemis) is pronounced AR-te-miss. It is of Greek origin. Mythology: name of the Greek goddess of the moon, of hunting, and of chastity, equivalent to the Romans' Diana. The other two virgin goddesses were Hestia, goddess of the hearth, and Athena, goddess of wisdom. Name of the granddaughter of Lady Diana Cooper, perhaps as a tribute to the grandmother. The variant Artemisia is the name of a shrub common in America. It is also the name of the colorful 17th-century Italian painter Artemisia Gentileschi. » Nicknames: sei » Date of birth: March 13 when I first drew her » Zodiac: Pisces – February 19th to March 20th – This is the Light, Revealing the Light of Life Itself. It ends forever the Darkness of Matter. Pisces is a Water Sign ruled by Neptune and Jupiter in the conventional man, and Plutoin the disciple. With Pisces you will find a patient, perceptive, spiritual, peace-loving and imaginative person who is considerate and sensitive to the feelings of others. Pisces like to influence others through their compassionate, charitable and imaginative natures, but they are often influenced and vulnerable, because these sensitive personalities of astrology signs absorb the emotions of others easily. One would say they are easily influenced or impressionable. Pisces need to develop more discrimination with people to curb the impressionable nature of those born under this personality of astrology signs. It’s their indecisiveness, timidity, melancholies and feeling they are misunderstood that stands in their way. It gives others the impression they are pessimistic lost souls. Pisces often lack clarity and practicality. This is an artistic, creative and psychic sign with a keen imagination. Often this sign is a dreamer with an unworldly intuitive side. The soul lesson is to learn and accept, "I live my life through accepting what IS." It’s not about changing or fixing. It’s about accepting with compassion without taking on thenegative issues of others. For most Pisces, acquiring wealth is a means to an end rather than an end in itself. Pisceans are devoted parents, and spouses who take very good care of their family and friends. They show compassion, caring and understanding without complaining. The dual fish sign is often a victim of their own choices. Your Piscean child will often have imaginary friends who they converse with regularly. Pisces child may appear clingy or needy because of their strong emotional attachments to family. They need emotional support and love from their family to feel secure. They will excel at whatever they puts their mind to. The Piscean worker is personable, easygoing and charming. » Age: 23 » Gender: adrogenous They/them However female but how funny would it be if no one was sure if Seiko is female or male » Species: al'bhed » Sexuality: bisexual » Virgin?: hasn't dated so yes » Nationality: Asian (in final fantasy 10 Rikku and yuna look more Asian than white SO ..) » Native language: al'bhed » Other languages: Her mom taught her English before she passed away as well as her dad ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ “*never trust robots*” ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ ┏━━━━━━━━━━━━┓ ┗━━━━━━━━━━━━┛ ┌─────────┐ ❨Ａｐｐｅａｒａｎｃｅ❩ └─────────┘ » Height: 5"5 » Weight: 115 (?) (She's taller than me sooooo) » Hair color: silver (she was born at thunderplains) » Hair style: short ➳ ➴ ➵ ➶☾✧⋰ ⋱✧☽➳ ➴ ➵ ➶ Faceclaim lefabulous_killjoy Gray hair with neon blue, neon green, yellow, orange, and red subtle streaks in her short hair » Eye color: lightest blue yet not white » Skin color: pale » Piercings: none » Tattoos: none » Scars: faint cuts and scratches from the wild and bandits from her home » Birthmarks: none » Make up: none » Body scent: earthy in smell or oil since she is a inventor ...coffee in mornings (but at the start she was curious and broke the coffee machine ...not many of our normal necessities exist where she is from where it's a small island and everyone has to invent things) » Face & Body description: voice: smart and boyish adrogenous and lean » Outfit/Attire: She often wears her al'bhed attire. Pinstripe jacket. Red Dusty scarf. Dusty combat boots ..white pants ....gray shirt.. But she has several attired to fit situations ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ ┏━━━━━━━━━━━━┓ ┗━━━━━━━━━━━━┛ ┌─────────┐ ❨Ｐｅｒｓｏｎａｌｉｔｙ❩ └─────────┘ » Personality description: melancholy yet has snarky tendencies. Genius. Always in her mind which makes her very thoughtful and sweet hearted » Mental stability: quick witted » Sane or Insane: sane » Passive or Aggressive: both Optimist or Pessimist: pessimist however both at times » Religious or Atheist: atheist in a way being half al'bhed » Habits: breaking things to put back together RIP YOUR PHONE ..HIDE YO THINGS » Pet peeves: bossy individuals People who think they are better (she is competitive) » Soft spots: direct take charge types (she is shy to romance) » Deep dark secrets?: she killed bandits... Who are people » Likes: inventing things ..curious people whom are just like her » Dislikes: being treated as weak » Obsessions: tearing things apart to put back together » Sexual position: [asexual shy] Dominant or Submissive: submissive » Sexual turn-ons: take charge types being surprised » Sexual turn-offs: name calling and abuse ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ “*this dream is dangerous*” ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ ┏━━━━━━━━━━━━┓ ┗━━━━━━━━━━━━┛ ┌─────────┐ ❨Ｓｔａｔｓ❩ └─────────┘ » Strength: 6/10 » Intelligence: 10/10 » Charisma: 6/10 » Agility: 6/10 » Eyesight: 10/10 » Endurance: 5/10 » Wisdom: 7/10 » Alertness: 10/10 » Willpower: 10/10 ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ “*times are tough but I am tougher*” ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ ┏━━━━━━━━━━━━┓ ┗━━━━━━━━━━━━┛ ┌─────────┐ ❨Ｆｉｇｈｔｉｎｇ Ｓｔｙｌｅ❩ └─────────┘ » Passive or Aggressive: both » Weapon(s): crossbow on right dagger left » Weapon description: it's kinda like assassins creed but she made them herself ..crossbow dagger » Close or Ranged combat: both » Magic?: no » Magic type: uh she can make bombs? » Magic description: .........kaboom..? » Shapeshift?: no » Alternate form: no » Magic background: none ..her weakness [C]✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ “*I don't take orders I barely take suggestions*" [C]✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ ┏━━━━━━━━━━━━┓ ┗━━━━━━━━━━━━┛ [┌─────────┐ ❨Ｒｅｌａｔｉｏｎｓｈｉｐｓ❩ └─────────┘ » Mother: was a Summoner » Father: was al'bhed » Brother(s): none » Sister(s): none » Pet(s): none » Other relatives: didn't know them » Love interest(s): multi ship » Children: none » Enemy(s): (depends if it's a final fantasy rp) » Rival(s): (depends if it's still a final fantasy rp) ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ “*don't change yourself to make others happy*” ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ ┏━━━━━━━━━━━━┓ ┗━━━━━━━━━━━━┛ ┌─────────┐ ❨Ｂａｃｋｇｒｏｕｎｄ❩ └─────────┘ ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ A prevalent blessing of the Yevon faith ~Praise be to Yevon! [C]✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦ [C] the people of Spirafollow the teachings of Yevon. The faith is named after Yu Yevon [ju 'jɛ.vən] (エボン・ジュ, Ebon Ju?), a summonerwho lived in Zanarkand one thousand years ago. Nearly all the peoples of Spira follow the teachings of Yevon, including the Ronso and the Guado (converted during high summoner Braska's Calm by Jyscal Guado and Kelk Ronso as part of Grand Maester Yo Mika's "sub-races appeasement policy."). The Al Bhed are an exception and are viewed as heretics by the autocracy for their use of machina, a practice forbidden by the church. As for the Hypello, whether or not they follow Yevon's teachings is never explored. Yevon draws inspiration from real-world religions, such as Shintoism (practices and temples), Buddhism (iconography and ritualistic disciplines), Islam (pilgrimages) and Catholicism (hierarchical structure and rigid doctrine). A practitioner of the Yevon faith is referred to as a Yevonite. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ (i hadn't thought out her past extremely well honestly) Seiko's mom, a Summoner fell in love with a al'bhed. A race who is not accepted by yevon. Forcing to make the choice of no longer being a Summoner or leave the al'bhed man. As a Ex summoner she had Seiko. Obviously couldnt couldnt bare no longer being with the man she chose him and often ridiculed for such a choice. Living in thunderplains bandits often were all over but her parents felt as though they were fine. Then bandits broke in. Seiko was only 9. Her mom had her crawl out a window to go to a inn and Seiko didn't want to leave her mom and dad, leaving her to fall and hurt her leg. Seiko gets a distance away to see the bandits leave catching her home on fire. She lost her family. She then goes to a inn where the inn keeper looks after her. She saves up her allowance while working in the inn to go follow her dreams. Machine faction. Seiko often would invent odd things to travelers who stayed in the inn as her own business and gained gil. She created her own personal hover and went to djose to become a factionist. Her skills were praised...She's a genius. Which sparked jealousy among other Al'bheds. When the machina went haywire the others saw opportunity to get rid of Seiko whom was blamed and due to all the complaints without proof.. Gippal demoted her to dig in bikanel. Oaka the 23rd found the inventor and they traveled together as merchants selling seikos inventions until the debt collectors came. With nothing and no one she had no choice BUT to go to bikanel to dig. ~~while digging she finds a ancient machina which teleported her somewhere else [insert your home here] ┌─────────┐ ❨Ｔｈｅｍｅ Ｓｏｎｇ❩ └─────────┘ nomak- moonflow [Seiko's song|https://youtu.be/hKKmly7fbhQ] ✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

[moonlit-maiden]

The Archer’s 1000 Picspam —> 87: Bisexual Fairer-than-a-Fairy

Fairy Re-Tellings

In a far-off land there lived a King and Queen who were blessed with many happy, healthy children. One day, the royal pair decided to take one of their routine journeys across the kingdom to see the people and get a sense of the goings on. As they journeyed, the Queen asked to stop at a castle, for she was heavy with child. Said child was ready to be born and came crying into the world with strong lungs and tears down her face. But despite the tears and afterbirth, she shone with a loveliness that was almost unearthly. Thus, she was dubbed Fairer-then-a-Fairy by the attending midwives.

As Fairer-then-a-Fairy grew, her loveliness continued to bloom; skin so pale as to be translucent, hair light and waved like silky moonbeams. Her eyes were a pale grey and lips as sweet-pink as rose petals. Her beauty became known throughout the lands and many came to visit, just to catch a glimpse of her loveliness. One such king brought his daughter, Désirs. Désirs was almost Fairer-then-a-Fairy’s opposite in coloring; hair dark and thick like midnight, eyes the rich brown of soil after the rain, and delicate freckles sprinkled over her nose bridge and cheekbones like stardust. The two young maids met and fell in love, hearts pounding and cheeks flushed as secret smiles were exchanged. Many times after that the two princesses would sneak away and spend long twilights in the gardens, talking about their lives as they held hands and gifted one another with sugary kisses.

One springtime, Désirs did not appear. Her letters became stilled and Fairer-then-a-Fairy wept, heart broken in her chest. She wrote letter after letter, begging for forgiveness for whatever transgression she had mad in err. Still no reply. Fairer-then-a-Fairy stopped writing, silently locking away her sorrow.

At the age of 12, word of Fairer-then-a-Fairy’s beauty had spread so far as to reach the ears of the ephemeral Fae. They seethed in anger at the audacity to name a human such a thing, but also of whatever forces of Fate had gifted a lowly human with such radiant beauty. The Queen of the Fae, Nabote, knew this scalding insult could not stand. And so, she went to the castle, planning to drag the impudent wench from her own home to receive her punishment. As she did, she was ensnared by magic and cried out in agony as the spell woven into the very mortar of the castle lashed at her. It seemed a spell had been placed on the castle that allowed the occupants neither to be taken from their home unwillingly nor to be bewitched into leaving themselves. Queen Nabote knew this would make her task more difficult but she wasn’t the Queen of the Fae for nothing.

To this end, Nabote transformed herself into a simple servant girl and entered the service of the royal family. In this way she befriended Fairer-then-a-Fairy and once gaining the naive girl’s trust, laid out her plan. In truth, Fairer-then-a-Fairy found the servant girl beautiful, reminding her of her lost love Désirs. So, when the disguised fae feinted fainting outside the castle walls in line of Fairer-then-a-Fairy’s sight, the girl rushed to her side and was taken away.

Fairer-then-a-Fairy was placed into an enchanted room, her silks and chiffon shredded into rags and caked in mud as she had been dragged by the Fae Queen. ‘Clean until this is spotless!’ she was commanded, before being left all alone. But try as the girl might, the room only became more sullied. Should she sweep, her broom deposited dirt. Should she dust, the feather duster coughed up cobwebs.  Fairer-then-a-Fairy sat down in the filth and cried, heartbroken once again in sorrow for being taken from her home and family.

Unknown to the girl, another fae watched her weep, heartstrings pulled both by her sorrow and her beauty. It was the Queen’s son, Phratis, who watched the innocent girl cry and in a fit of passion decided to help instead of hurt. With the flick of his willowy wrist he made the dirt disappear and Fairer-then-a-Fairy startled at the sudden change. ‘I mean you no harm.’ Phratis said shyly, revealing himself to the human. Fairer-then-a-Fairy couldn’t help but stare at the young man, the way his limbs moved with inhuman grace, the way his eyes were the soft green of the meadow. She caught freckles sprinkled across his collarbone and cheeks like fairy dust, hair waved and wild like a dark wind. The human flushed at such beauty in a man, noting only when she looked away the gossamer wings behind him, like a dragonfly’s.

‘Take this key.’ Phratis instructed. ‘And open the wooden panel right over there. Look what is behind and take joy into your heart again.’ For he knew what was behind the panel and though it ached his heart, so taken by Fairer-then-a-Fairy’s beauty that he’d rather her happiness then his own. Fairer-then-a-Fairy did as instructed and cried out in joy when her eyes set upon the princess, Désirs. The two locked gazes and sprang into each other’s arms, weeping with joy. Désirs explained to her beloved princess as to her disappearance; she had been taken by the fae for her dark beauty, the fae angered that Fate had gifted a human so. ‘Why must they cage beauty?’ Fairer-then-a-Fairy asked out loud, stroking Désirs midnight hair. ‘Because we cannot bear to let it be free from us.’ Phratis whispered in reply at the archway as he looked at the joy the two girls shared.

With another wave, Phratis cleaned the eternally dirtied room Désirs occupied and disappeared, hoping this would be enough to let the princesses be free and happy together. Alas, it was for naught. When the fae guards came to check on the girls, they saw the spotless rooms and reported this to Queen Nabote. The queen flew into a rage and came herself to see the miracle. She knew only another fae could have done this and so ripped the girls apart and tasked them once more; Fairer-then-a-Fairy was to gather the Water of Immortal Life from the peak of Mount Adventurous as Désirs was sent to a beach to write something, anything, on the sands on the condition it never faded neither by ocean waves or sea winds.

Fairer-then-a-Fairy was dragged away. Her arms and back were covered in scalding wax and large feathers pasted upon her as to imitate the wings of Icarus. She sobbed at the pain but flew, up and up and up until she almost couldn’t breathe the air so thin up so high where the peak resided. She tumbled just short of the top, unable to go up any higher or else no breath would reach her lungs. Again Phratis came, cradling the worn-out girl and softly singing to her to restore her strength. ‘Why do you help me?’ she asked. ‘Because I love you.’ was the simple reply. Fairer-then-a-Fairy was unsure what love really was. She was still young, in the spring of her youth. She knew being with Désirs brought her joy and warmth, a sweet pleasure in her belly as they kissed. Yet in Phratis’s arms she felt no fear but rather soothing calm. Was this love as well?

The fae prince took the pitcher and laid the princess down on a bed of enchanted heather that grew so high near the peak. He then flew the rest of the way and gathered the water with ease before bringing both water and girl down to the base. ‘Help Désirs. Please.’ Fairer-then-a-Fairy begged and the boy did so without hesitation.

When the two girls returned, tasks complete, Queen Nabote smiled all ice and diamonds. Her rage was now compressed and fused into the coldest of things. ‘I give you one final task.’ she said to the two girls. ‘And should you complete them? You will go free. But fail? You shall die.’ With the stakes raised, Fairer-then-a-Fairy was tasked with capturing the Hind with Silver Feet while Désirs was whisked away to the Fair of Time to collect the Rouge of Youth for the Queen.

Being left alone in a thick forest, Fairer-then-a-Fairy ran after the animal. But alas, she was just a human not even trained in the art of neither hunting nor running. Her limbs trembled after hours of running, energy drained from her body as twilight set in. Just as before Phratis came, this time with honeysuckle nectar for her parched throat and soft sweet rolls for her stomach. ‘I cannot do this. Why am I so weak!’ she lamented. ‘You are being tasked with things that, though easy for a fae, are impossible for a human. You have worked hard and done your best. There is no shame in accepting help.’ Fairer-then-a-Fairy leaned her head against the prince’s shoulder, thinking. With Phratis she did not feel helpless nor coddled. With his help and his gentle love she was finding strength to carry on for herself and Désirs. After a rest, the two went to a pool as smooth as a mirror and pure as the heavens. There they waited for the Hind. Once it approached, Phratis quickly roped its neck with vines he’d twisted together as Fairer-then-a-Fairy calmed the beast. Upon seeing some brambles stuck to its horns, Fairer-then-a-Fairy removed the offending object and freed the fae within the beast. For the Hind was the true Fairy Queen, ensnared by the false Queen Nabote in order to exact cruelty upon humans at a whim. Horrified, the trio went quickly to the fae palace to confront the fake Queen.

Upon their arrival, the three found Désirs about to be executed for not completing her task. Nabote shrank back in fear as the true Fae Queen came forward. With a sharp snap of her fingers, Nabote was turned into a squirrel which was promptly caged and taken away. Now freed, Désirs found herself in Fairer-then-a-Fairy’s embrace and tucked her face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her delicate scent. ‘As thanks for freeing me, I shall marry you to whomever you chose, be it human or fae, man or woman.’ the true Fae Queen said as she settled into her throne once again. At this, Fairer-then-a-Fairy was torn. But the dark-haired Princess saw this and tenderly cupped her lover’s face. ‘My Princess. Our time together had filled me with joy and light. Your kindness, your laughter, your will. You will forever be the fairest bloom of my heart. But I see it in your eyes that our shared time is gone and so I wish for you to feel no sorrow nor fear. Go to him and know I give you away with bittersweet joy. For though I wish you were mine, I will not take away your happiness for my own.’ Tears ran down Fairer-then-a-Fairy’s cheeks but she understood; time and experiences had changed her heart. Though she loved Désirs still, that love had changed and another took its place. The two shared one last kiss – the kiss of goodbye – before Fairer-then-a-Fairy went to Phratis’s side and shared with him the kiss of hello.