#and becomes incredibly hot after cutting/dying her hair

[echo-rambles]

and if I say that the god's menu era hairstyles were some of their best?

[unsolvedrubixscube]

Don’t Let Me Get Me

AO3

At long last Sasha Waybright, ex-child star, has complete control of her brand and free to do what she really wants, becoming a rock star.

To bad the media, her mother, and every record company in existence thinks she's insane and investing in her economic suicide.

She'll just have to pull off her first album herself or die trying.

---

 Sasha throws open the doors of the green room, hurries past a group of interns munching on stale donuts and old coffee, and rushes to the door that had the glowing On Air sign above it.

 “There you are!” cries a woman in shoulder pads and too much makeup, the brains and brawn behind the incredibly popular, if not bland, morning talk show, Morning with Melody.    

“We go live in two!” the show director hisses clutching her clipboard with two-inch acrylic nails.

 “So, talk about your sponsors some more,” Sasha says tugging down her scarf so a lady could apply makeup to her face. “There was ice, no one here knows how to drive.”

 The show director mutters something about how Mrs. Waybright was always punctual but barks orders into her headset giving Sasha time to pull off her scarf, gloves, and puffer coat. Out on the stage, Melody prattles on about their sponsor, a water filter that extends your lifespan.

 After the appropriate amount of product placement and intro music Melody gestures to stage right and says, “Please welcome our special guest, Sasha Waybright, better known for her role as Skye on Staying Popular!”      

 This is followed by a round of applause from the live audience as Sasha strides on stage.

 Sasha shakes hands with Melody, a generic white lady in her early 30s who already had a bit of unnatural stiffness in the corner of her eyes due to Botox, a huge genuine smile on her own face.

 “Oh, your hat,” Melody says gesturing to her own head.

 “Whoops, right, thanks,” Sasha says leaning into the fake causal small talk viewers seemed to love, “the weather made me late. You know how it is.”

 “I know, all snow and ice ugh.”

 “Terrifying,” Sasha says.

 “Dreadful,” Melody agrees.

 Sasha pulls her beanie off revealing a very much not girl-next-door pixie cut dyed a bright hot pink and half a dozen new ear piercings. Melody simply stares at her for half a second. Someone in the audience coughs.

 Cutting and dying your hair doesn’t quite have the same shock value it did twenty years ago but being Gisney’s live action golden child of ten years with no public meltdowns, no drugs scandals, and no international fiascos every little bit of rebellion stood out in stark contrast.

 “I see you’ve cut your hair,” Melody ventures.

 “Oh, yes!” Sasha says as if she had just remembered what her own head looked like, “It was just so much work styling it every day. Such a pain. I love my new style! Don’t you?”

 “It’s very bold,” Melody says noncommittally before taking back control of the interview. “Now you said you had a big announcement regarding the direction you plan on taking your career! We’ve hardly seen you after the final season of    Staying Popular. Your fans are dying to know when Skye will be back on screen.”

 The audience cheers, some of them wave signs that read Bring Back Skye.  

 “Aww,” Sasha cooes at the audience, “Thank you guys so much for your support. Staying Popular would have never made it past day one if it wasn't for all of you.”

 Another round of cheers mixed in with screams. Damn, Sasha was going to miss the raw support if nothing else from show biz. Melody waits for the crowd to quiet down before continuing.

 “Rumors have been circulating about your mother lining you up to move onto Hollywood. If only we all could be that lucky. While others say you’ve been pushing for your music career. That’s got to be stressful, has that played into your hiatus at all?”

 “Well Melody, I’ve got to be honest. You see the reason I’ve been out of the limelight is because I’ve been working out the legal details with my ex-manager.”

 “You mean your mother, Kristina Waybright?” Melody asks, leaning forward, smelling blood in the water.

 “Yes,” Sasha puts a hand on her chest, “I greatly appreciate everything she’s done for me over these past ten years, but I need to spread my wings and fly, sing my own song, you know?” While she talked Sasha casually unzips her jacket. “I’m sorry to say that the chapter of my life that involved Skye and     Staying Popular is over.”

 There was a round of sympathetic and disappointed sounds from the audience but after two years with no signs of the show returning, they should have gotten the memo. Sasha pulls flaps of her jacket apart exposing her T-shirt underneath.

 “In fact, I’m now officially an independent artist. My time working with Gisney is over. So, I can finally say this.”

 Sasha stops holding back her smile and stands showing off her shirt. It’s a custom T made specifically for this interview. The whole thing is colored like a gay pride flag with two same-sex pairing stick figures on the bottom making out, and in case that wasn’t obvious enough above them white letters read      The World Has Bigger Problems Than Girls That Kiss Girls and Boys That Kiss Boys. You know, just to piss off the good Christian demographic.

 “The industry can eat my entire ass.”  

 Sasha double flips off the cameras right as the show director scream Go to commercial! and sprints off the set.

 Sasha cackles, straight up cackles, in the car as they drive away from the studio.

 “And then, and then, you could  feel when Melody saw the shirt!” she dissolves into a fit of giggles, “God, I can’t wait to see their faces on social! Whooo!” Sasha pumps her fist, “Oh my god that was  amazing! Where is the champagne? I need to celebrate.”

 She rummages around in the jeep’s icebox looking for something alcoholic.

 “Not here,” Grime, her driver, a five-foot-six ex-navy seal built like a brick house, rumbles from the front seat.

 “What! Rude, Grimesy, just rude,” Sasha says leaning back in her seat. “I’m twenty-one you know, I can have alcohol now, legally. And it’s not like I haven’t before.”

 “You are barely twenty-one and it’s not even ten,” Grime replies, “No drinking before five.”

 Sasha slumps down further. “Buzzkill.”

 “It’s literally why you pay me.”

 Sasha grunts and then sits up looking out the windows.

 “Wait, where are we going?”

 Grime pulls into the drive-through line of one of those cheap fast-food chains she’d never been allowed to go to.

 “Want some ice cream?” Grime barely gets the words out.

 “Yes!”

 Sasha gets a shake with as many pieces of candy in it she can order.

[waynedunlaptheorgandonor]

watched s11ep1

i will provide you with a quick review before i disappear back into the ether of twd avoidance

lots of spoilers under the cut. also i wrote way too much and i worked all night and haven’t slept so i didn’t bother to reread literally any of it, so it might be completely nonsensical, tho if you don’t expect that from me by this point idk whose blog you’ve been reading

enjoy:

hokay, first off, i’ll start by saying that i enjoyed it more than i expected to. i’ve been avoiding any sort of discussion about stuff, but my google algorithm is so fucked at this point that i still get recommended articles and stuff every now and then, so i was already pretty aware of what i was walking into, and was expecting it to be eh, but actually i prob enjoyed it more than i enjoyed the finale

(don’t get too excited tho, the finale was rly boring lmfao)

anyway

episode starts off with a tense scouting mission

it takes .005 seconds into the episode for caryl to exchange a look of longing, establishing that they are still having weird conflict and are both too fucking stubborn to do anything about it even tho they hate it desperately

i imagine that will continue for a while

rosita, kelly, carol, maggie, what’s her face with the bad hair, and lydia (i think that’s everyone?) lower down to some army bunker or something, where a bunch of walkers are taking a snooze, and the girls are very respectful of walker naptime, and do their best not to wake them up

obviously they eventually wake up, but i’ll get to that in a sec

as they’re tiptoeing through the walker tulips, there’s this split second where carol spots a machine gun, and looks at maggie with a face like, “can i plzzzz, i am mad horny for that machine gun,” but maggie tells her no. (i 110% expected her to defy orders and accidentally wake up all the walkers, but she actually behaved herself for once. well. mostly)

never fear, tho, after the girl gang collects a bunch of MREs they go back to wait for the dudes waiting up top to pull them up, and bc men ruin everything, one of the ropes break, and daryl catches it before it falls, but then a slow motion drop of blood falls on a walker’s face, and just like that, walker naptime is over, and carol uses her bow and arrow for two seconds before she is like “fuck this” and whips out the machine gun

yes, she is super hot using it

yes, daryl watches her do it

anyway, all the other girls get rescued, and carol is about to be pulled up, but bc she is a #girlboss, she first makes a beeline for one more crate full of MREs. daryl covers her while she gets the loot, and when she gets back up top they have another charged moment as carol hands him back his knife

just fuck already, jfc

titles!

cut to alexandria where everything is still not smilestimes

BUT, we do get to see uncle daryl run and hug rj and judith (and dog), and FUCKING HERSHEL JR, LIGHT OF MY LIFE is also there

istg, they could not have casted a better child, i a d o r e him

oh, and some friends of maggie’s show up too, idk

cut to a staff meeting where everyone is like, whomp whomp, we’re all gonna starve to death unless we figure out something quick

cue maggie going, “oh, i know where food is, but it requires me to tell you my tragic backstory, in case anyone didn’t watch my bottle episode”

she tells her dramatic backstory about all her friends getting slaughtered by the reapers for no apparent reason, and then she’s like “anyway, let’s go back there!”

no one thinks it’s a great idea, but a group of people decide to go anyway, including daryl and gabriel. rosita is super pissed that gabriel is going, and carol doesn’t go, probably partly bc it’s a shitty fucking idea, and also bc they have to keep caryl apart bc otherwise they’ll fix their problems ahead of schedule and they won’t be able to drag out the needless angst

daryl looks kind of annoyed that carol doesn’t volunteer to go 

bitch, i thought you wanted her to stop putting herself in the line of fire! make up your damn mind!

moving on

cut to a thunderstorm, where, if you look closely, you’ll notice daryl is wearing the STUPIDEST hat i’ve ever seen. just get an umbrella, jfc

for some reason negan is with them, bc ig he knows his way around washington dc, and no one in six years has bothered to figure out how to get around the city and/or get a map, and he is like “hey guys, maybe we shouldn’t try to walk in this fucking hurricane,” and everyone is like “FUCK YOU NEGAN, YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF US!!!” 

this will be a common occurrence 

but eventually daryl is even like “actually, it’s rly unpleasant out here, and my hat is mad stupid, can we go inside plz?”

so they go inside an old metro station, which is actually a rly cool cinematic choice. i rly like the idea, and they executed it rly well

speaking of executions

there are some fucking RULL CREEPY walkers. idk why they bothered me so badly, but they were what they at first assumed were corpses wrapped up in tarps, but turns out none of them had been properly put down, so they go through killing these rotted bodies that had supposedly been there since The Fall, and it’s very gross and cool

this entire time, btw, negan is like “hey, i know i’m a shitty person, but i have some rational arguments about why we shouldn’t be doing this right now,” and everyone is like, “FUCK YOU NEGAN, YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF US!!!” and he’s just like “god fucking damnit”

(i forgot to mention that at one point, when they’re headed into the metro station, negan is trying to warn ppl of the potential danger, and everyone is ignoring him, and he tries to talk to daryl, and daryl is like “fuck you, you think we’re BUDDIES?” and negan is like “oh, ok, so you’re gonna be like that too? fanfreakingtastic” and it’s very funny)

anyway. a fat monster zombie escapes its tarp at one point, and tries to eat some npc, and negan saves him, again is like “hey, anyone else realize that this is a FUCKING BAD PLAN?”, and everyone is like “we don’t care, you’re still shitty and we’re not listening to you, and you don’t actually care about random npc i would literally not be able to pick out in a lineup bc his face is so generic, you’re not the boss of us!!!”

it’s at this point that negan finally is like, “why am i even here? bc i know how to get around washington dc? do none of you have a map?” and i was like, “right?! that’s what i said!” 

it’s then revealed that maggie only brought negan along to murder him under the guise of “oops, he got hurt in the line of duty, it wasn’t my fault,” and daryl has this look on his face that says, “i seriously need to stop hanging out with lethal women bent on revenge bc it’s gonna give me high blood pressure,” and maggie has a badass moment where she points a gun she has for some reason at negan and is like “i have like, one shred of human compassion left inside of me, and if you keep pushing me i will fucking kill you without a second thought, so shut the hell up”

(in her defense, negan had just dropped glenn’s name to purposely antagonize her, which was rude as hell)

(for the record, i’m completely on maggie’s side here, but negan still is right that trapping themselves in a metro station is a bad call)

anyway, moving away from that briefly

i think this jump cut happens sooner, i don’t actually remember, but whatever who cares, point is, we get to the part of the show that actually matters, and that’s anything involving my love, juanita “princess” sanchez

and also eugene, yumiko, and ezekiel

they are being asked increasingly invasive questions by commonwealth ppl, some of which i wish they actually would of answered (what do they use to wipe their asses with?? surely toilet paper has long since become extinct)

zeke, who is so much more tolerable as a character now that he’s not larping as a king, has this incredibly weird and sort of sexually charged moment with a dude in an orange stormtrooper costume, where he’s like, “i bet you were an asshole cop back before The Fall, you stupid fascist, #fuckthepolice, mb literally? idk, this moment has a lot of pent up aggression that could easily translate to hate sex, it might just be the intense eye contact, but w/e, let’s just move along,” and then he has a coughing fit to remind the audience that he’s currently dying of cancer, and orange stormtrooper is like “lolz, loser, drink some water you dumb piece of shit”

cut to the wholesome foursome sitting at a picnic table in a guarded courtyard eating gruel, and yumkio, who finally has a personality, and princess are like “hey, this place fucking sucks, can we leave?” and zeke is like, “yeah, i met this orange stormtrooper who i think might be dtf and/or murder, so we should probably bounce”

but eugene is like, “but i want some hot stephanie ass, and also some bullshit excuse about how mb commonewealth will save alexandria” which, they left before things went super downhill, right? idr. it was after hilltop fell, but they don’t know alexandria got fucked either, if i recall? w/e, not important

two seconds after he says this, they talk to some people who are like “we’ve been here for four months, or maybe it’s been nine, i don’t actually remember, i’ve stopped processing the passage of time,” and the wholesome foursome takes this as a bad sign, tho that’s just the life i’ve lived as a night worker during a pandemic, so i was like #mood

but then they watch some guy get dragged away screaming to get “reprocessed” and eugene is like “ok, nvm, let’s bounce”

(my theory on what “reprocessing” is, is that they’re stuck in a room and have to watch hours and hours of customer service training videos on vhs from the 90s)

i definitely got my jump cut scenes mixed up bc i think the negan accusing maggie of a murder plot thing happened in between this scene and then the next commonwealth scene, but w/e, i’ll just finish what happens in the commonwealth arch

the wholesome foursome are trying to hatch a plan to escape, except princess, my love, is distracted watching some stormtroopers flirt, and the other three are like “wtf, dude, how can you even tell any of them apart?” and princess then tells them every stormtroopers backstory bc she is brilliant and pays rly close attention to shit, and the other three are like, “this is useful information, thank you for being an insane person”

their plan involves yumiko and eugene dressing up as stormtroopers and leading princess and zeke out of the place, which works fine actually, except on their way out they come across the Depressing Wall of Probably Mostly Dead Missing Loved Ones

they’re about to leave, when princess is like, “wait, yumiko, you’re on here, that’s weird huh?”

sure enough, yumiko  is on the wall, with a note from ig her sister 

the scene ends with yumiko going, “guys...i can’t leave...i have tragic backstory to unveil”

tragic backstory to be continued ig

back in murder metro town, npc and some other npc have stolen all the supplies, there’s a train blocking the track, and a horde of walkers are coming towards them, so things are not going fantastic

they horde is too big to take down, so they start to climb on top of the train car to get away

but dog runs away!

and daryl, being every pet owner ever, is like “gotta go get my dog, guys, try not to get killed while i’m gone, c u soon!” and he ducks under the train and disappears

#priorities

the episode ends with maggie climbing up the train car but getting grabbed by a walker and dangling off the edge, and negan is there and they have a lion king moment where maggie is like, “scar! help me!” and negan is like “long live the king, bitch” and walks away into the shadows, leaving maggie to a potential death

which, while i know isn’t actually going to happen, would be a really fucking funny move on the writers’ part

like, “look, lauren’s back! and now she’s dead, bet you didn’t expect that!”

anyway

my assumption is negan will actually end up helping her up or something, continuing his ambiguous morality bullshit that actually isn’t ambiguous bc he BEAT GLENN TO DEATH WITH A FUCKING BAT WRAPPED IN BARBED WIRE IN FRONT OF HIS PREGNANT WIFE

the maggie/negan arch is kind of dumb, but whatevs, i’ll tolerate it, as long as my boy glenn gets justice in the end

anyway, cue credits!

final assessment: good episode. i’m much more interested in commonwealth than the reapers, tho i am hoping that daryl’s personality-less ex turns out to be a monster killing machine with no conscience, that’ll be fun. princess is a gift from god. hershel jr needs his own tv show. needs more carol (and caryl)

the end! going back into my walking dead free chamber! see you next episode!

-diz

[manda-kat]

Time to talk about the characters for this little Christian story I'm considering. If this continues, the names and personalities may change over time. In fact, characters may be offed and replaced. So don't get too attached to these guys.

Ember, Guardian of Kindness. His mother's dying wish was that he be kind to everyone, even if they mistreat him. As time goes on, Ember has trouble fulfilling this promise as his step-mother is horrible to him. But he tries his best to be kind and honor his mother's memory. He can be pretty hot-headed and has to desperately work to control his temper.

Alina, Guardian of Love. When Alina was a little girl, she was cursed to become a monstrous beast on occasion. This curse can only be broken by 'True Love'. As she aged, the transformations only became more frequent and she is afraid of becoming a monster forever, so her mission has been to find her one true love. But maybe, true love isn't a person after all, but something she shares with other people...

Narissa, Guardian of Joy. Narissa is a mermaid, whose underwater life was pretty great until her little brother became sick with a disease that only human doctors have been known to heal. She knew she had to find a human doctor for him, so she went to a forbidden part of the ocean to ask a witch for help. The witch gave her a spell that would make her human, but it was really a curse. The consequences of the curse will only grow until eventually she will just fade away into seafoam. Narissa doesn't let that stop her however, and she sets off to find a cure for her brother and for herself. No matter how hard it gets, she keeps smiling and spreading joy.

Blossom, Guardian of Peace. Blossom is a hippie pacifist. She has a personal conviction against violence of any kind, even to save her own life. She would always rather avoid a fight. However, this doesn't mean she avoids any conflict. She doesn't let issues fester and will often be blunt and honest with others.

Rose, Guardian of Patience. Blossom's twin sister, Rose has always protected her gentler twin. She is not a patient person by nature, so becoming the Guardian of Patience felt like a tough job until she realized that it wouldn't really be a virtue if it came easy to her, would it? While she isn't a strict pacifist like Blossom, she tries alternate avenues to resolve conflict and strives to hear all sides to an issue before acting.

Rider, Guardian of Self Control. Rider's entire family fosters a very strong "Just one more" or "I can stop whenever I want" mentality and he didn't realize how difficult that mindset was to drop once he became the Guardian of Self Control and that mindset was no longer even remotely compatible with his lifestyle. Rider took it in stride and began cutting things he didn't need, hoping to become stricter with himself and show a good example to his own family.

Jack, Guardian of Generosity. Jack comes from a poor household, living with his widowed mother. He never really had much to his name and has often been tempted to take from those with more than him, but he has instead focused on giving to those with less. Jack is a selfless person who would give everything for a stranger who needed it.

Johann, Guardian of Faithfulness. Johann is a big softy and loves his friends so much. He acts almost as a big brother to the gang and is often a settler of disputes, alongside Blossom. He is true until the end, even when it doesn't make sense to stick to it.

Mirabelle, Guardian of Gentleness. Mirabelle didn't have the gentlest of upbringings, being raised as a witch's assistant. Due to a magical fruit, Mirabelle's hair and tears have special properties. Her hair grows incredibly fast and her tears can heal any wound or illness. Despite being raised in darkness, Mirabelle has always wanted to shine a light. She wants to help and to heal and is incredibly humble and meek, despite her incredible powers.

I like these ideas! Sure, there are a lot of them, but that means a big toy line, right? I'm mostly joking. Having nine fruits of the spirit wasn't my idea, okay? With this I think nine episodes starring each kid and then a finale with all of them using the power of friendship sounds like a solid proof of concept to me. So I'm gonna write those and see what happens.

[pine-lark]

Ooh trap him somewhere either very hot or very cold?? :D

Oh.

Oh.

This is a perfect excuse to write an old daydream from my childhood. Well, there's two-- Arion on a grill and Arion in a box. I chose the box for this one but I may be tempted to write the grill at some point. I haven't written The Box before now because it doesn't exactly... fit with the plot of the actual story, but I mean...

Alternate Rescue AU, coming right up, Anon. (Also sorry I'm like, infinitely late haha. School threw me into a hell pit and I've been recovering. I'm back now ((though I'm not sure for how long, things might change in a week or two... we'll see.)) For now, I'm working on a lot of Arion stuff that will hopefully pop up within a few days! Cheers!)

CW: Tiny whumpee, some blood, cold/hypothermia symptoms (duh), cages/referenced captivity, briefly implied forced nudity from said captivity, brief reference to a past fever and resulting vomiting, referenced/implied physical abuse, water/rain/storms/being submerged in/splashed with water, thoughts of dying (of the "I might die" and "Am I dead?" and wishing to be put out of misery type), crying, (thinking about) needles, short (kind of) graphic description of a bird being run over, brief religion references

-

His legs still ache from running.

Arion sits in the cardboard box he found on the side of the road, huddled in the corner, shivering in the dark. Although he tries to clamp his jaw shut and stop it, his teeth chatter and his shoulders quiver. It feels like the frozen autumn air has grasped him entirely in icy claws that shake him violently in an inescapable grip. It reminds him of being trapped in Heston’s hand, shaken, body tossed in every direction until his head pounded and his eyes watered.

It’s colder outside than it used to be in the garage. But it’s better out here. No one can hurt him here.

As long as they don’t find him.

He rubs his hands over the goosebumps on his arms, hoping to warm them up and calm down the wild pain buried deep in his skin. As he does so, blood smears along the path he touches. It’s still gently creeping out of the series of cuts etched into his forearms. With it, the image of Heston’s glinting eyes surfaces in Arion’s memory. He buries his head in his shaking knees with a wet sniff. But he’s done it, he reminds himself. He’s escaped. Finally. Chewed through rope, slipped through an unlocked door. Heston's gone. For now.

Please, please don’t come looking for me.

A dog barks somewhere in the distance. He jumps. It sets off an echo of shivers all the way down his spine as his hair stands on end.

A raindrop falls on the cardboard roof. Then another, and another. Thunder claps harshly overhead.

Arion shuts his eyes tight, bites back the frustrated tears welling up at the corners of his eyes. He curls up tighter, hugging himself, doing all he can to keep any scrap of heat he has close to his body. A storm might just do it. Might just kill him. A storm means wind. Freezing wind. And freezing rain. The last thing he needs right now is rain. It can’t rain. He presses his body closer to the cardboard wall, knowing it might not be standing there much longer if it rains.

And it does. It pours.

He sees the rain splash into the road before him. The storm swiftly grows. It’s ferocious and feral and cruel. The temperature around Arion drops. His tiny body shakes uncontrollably, as if it weren’t his own. It reminds him of the terrifying fever he had, long ago, in the confines of his red cage just weeks after being taken from his home. He’d been throwing up and twitching and having the most horrible, vivid dreams (on the occasions that both Heston and the illness let him sleep). The fits of shivering drove him mad, the endless teeth-chattering and flashes of uncomfortable warmth and sticky sweat made him feel even worse. It's like that, he thinks. Except, now, as he shivers, he’s unbearably cold.

An involuntary whine fights its way out of him. When he swallows, his throat feels stiff and achy. Snot runs profusely down his lips and no amount of wiping it away with his bleeding arms is helping it slow. Water has thoroughly and entirely drenched the cardboard, at this point. Has crept through the floor and the walls, and, gradually and persistently, has started to drip through the sagging ceiling. For a moment, Arion remembers he has toes, and that they’ve been numb for awhile now. Actually, now that he’s thinking about it, his feet haven’t felt like anything either, and when he tries to move his fingers, they only twitch. They feel heavy and prickly. He feels prickly all over. Like Heston had shoved a thousand frozen needles into a thousand different places all over his body. It hurts to breathe. There’s no way to get warmer. Nothing to hide under, not even something as decent as clothing. No way to escape, nowhere to run to, even if he had the energy left to try. He lets out a miserable sob.

And then the ceiling falls through, in a blur of collapsing cardboard and splashing waves of water that crash over his head and the rest of his body.

Arion tumbles out of the box, drenched. He coughs up water through jittery movements. For a second, he chokes on a mouthful, and he briefly he thinks he'll never breathe again, before his chest jerks and with another cough, the water falls out of his mouth. He tries to get his arms and legs under him, to stand or even crawl, but his limbs fail him and he crumbles face-first back to the harsh surface below him. The rocks mixed in the road’s tar are sharp. They cut deeply through his nose and cheek and the shoulder that followed his face in the fall. Arion winces against the fresh, sharp pain and the beads of blood that begin to form where he’s been hurt. His breaths come in ragged heaves.

He sniffs. Tears drip from his eyes. He lays helpless in the middle of the little road, in his mind begging to no one that a car doesn’t come along and crush him. Under any other circumstance, he’d love to be put out of his misery. But he’s seen a bird been run over before. Under a truck’s tire. And the memory makes his stomach churn. Flattened face, open stomach, popped like a bubble in a stream.

Briefly, Arion thinks of himself in place of the bird. He thinks of the smear of red underneath his empty, open eyes. He thinks of the way the headlights might look as they would suddenly appear right in front of him. The horrid, mind-numbing honk of a horn. The image he creates in his mind of those headlights, his last moments, is vivid. It’s so vivid that he thinks it might be real, or maybe hypothermia is setting in and beginning to ruin his mind.

It’s just his imagination, he thinks.

And then he smells exhaust from a car.

And the screech of brakes.

And for a second, whilst his body is numb and bright white light is all he can see, he thinks he might be dead.

“I swear, if I keep stopping my car for every mouse that sits in front of it, I’m never going to get anywhere.”

That voice drifts from the car stopped in front of him.

Not dead, then.

Almost, he thinks.

“Can’t help it though. What else am I supposed to do, run them over? Just vet instincts, I guess. Huh, Jasper.” There’s a meow in response. Arion’s breath hitches. The voice says, “Me-ow. I know, I know. I’ll be right back.” A car door shuts. Then there’s heavy wet footsteps. Boots clopping over puddles and asphalt. Panic floods Arion’s chest as a shadow cuts through the blinding white light from the vehicle. The outline of a human lowers, kneels in front of him. His breath stops. His mind goes blank.

“What…”

A moment passes. Something touches him. He flinches hard, but trying to run isn’t an option. His body is completely, entirely, wholly exhausted and far too numb to move more than flailing back a couple inches.

“Oh, geez, that’s-- not a mouse. Okay.” Her head turns in a way that Arion can see her face. A young woman with red hair, watching him with a warm but frantic gaze. “Okay. Okay okay. Oh, God, you’re injured pretty bad, little buddy. Your arms are all… cut up. That’s not good. Um.”

Arion stares blankly ahead. Suddenly, freezing to death isn’t something he feels like putting too much effort into avoiding.

“Okay. Here’s what we’ll do,” the girl continues. “I’m gonna bring you into my car where I can see you better, alright? Then I can help you. It’s gonna be okay. Here. I’m picking you up now, ‘kay?”

The feeling of a warm hand washes over his body. It’s both terrifying and incredibly welcome. The sting of cold seems to seep out of his skin, albeit very slowly. Quickly, though, burning prickles replace whatever comfort the touch brought him.

“Oh, you’re freezing, little guy. You must have been out here for a long time. That can be really dangerous… I’m glad I found you. I’ll get you all warmed up in the car.”

Arion whimpers against the hands that carry him to somewhere warmer, where he hears the faint, deep sound of a large beating heart. For a second, he wonders if this is God. And then the car door opens and creaks, and the girl curses under her breath, and Arion remembers he’s an atheist.

Still, as the stinging in his warming skin subsides, the warmth of her hands starts to feel… nice. If his mind were still intact (instead of shattered into vague, useless fragments as it is now), Arion would have done anything and everything to get away from any human or other predatory beast in sight. But with his head swimming, he leans into her touch, and compliantly accepts the soft feeling of some kind of cloth being wrapped all around him.

Words are spoken to him, but he can’t listen. To him they sound broken up and blurry as the insistence of sleep becomes more desperate in the back of his mind. As he gets warmer, his muscles relax, and his eyes get droopy. His vision darkens, and the girl’s voice hushes.

Just before he drifts off into a far overdue, deep and restful sleep, he thinks to himself, vaguely, that he hopes this human is different. He hopes that when he wakes back up, it won’t be in another cage.

-

Tag list because this ended up being a full drabble:

(Also, let me know if you'd like to be removed from the tag list. No hurt feelings! I know it's been a long time and if you've lost interest that is A-Okay, friend)

(Also, if you'd like to be added or if your username's changed, let me know!)

@whumping-every-day, @deluxewhump, @sola-whumping, @haro-whumps, @inaridriscoll, @whatwasmyprevioususername, @kiretto-laorentze, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @ahorriblebimess, @whump-me-all-night-long

[andypantsx3]

conspire | 1 | scheme

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 13,307 words / 5 chapters

summary: Shouto Todoroki had definitely only asked you out in order to ward off his horde of interested suitors. So why does he keep actually taking you out on suspiciously realistic dates?

tags: romance, reader-insert, fake dating, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

Shouto Todoroki was standing outside your workroom.

This was unusual, as in the three years you’d both been attending UA, Todoroki had hardly been spotted anywhere near the support course rooms. Class H was typically avoided by anyone who didn’t want your classmate Mei to catch wind of them -- and very few hero course students had proved willing to do so, once they’d encountered her the first time.

Todoroki was one of the smart ones.

He looked incredibly out of place and yet almost comically festive in the doorway of the studio, his red and white mop of hair matching the horrible red and white heart banner someone had tacked above the entry for Valentine’s Day. He stopped midway through the door, eyes flicking over the other offensively bright decor, including several violently pink heart balloons and heinous red streamers that hung from the ceiling like sausages curing in a deli.

A ripple of interest went through the female segment of your classmates at his arrival, and despite yourself, you perked up too.

You didn’t know much about him, but Shouto Todoroki had the most interesting quirk you had ever worked with. You’d been paired for a project earlier this year where you’d helped develop an adjustment to his temperature jacket that used pattern recognition to help it anticipate changes in his quirk, in order to begin applying temperature controls sometimes even before he’d made the switch from hot to cold or vice versa.

You hadn’t spoken much on topics outside the project, but on the subject of your work, Todoroki had proved himself smart as a whip, asking insightful and probing questions, and making sensible suggestions based on what he learned from you. He’d been so keen on your ideas and so shockingly easy to work with that you’d lamented the project’s end.

It had only lasted two weeks, unfortunately, wrapping up before you’d had the chance to really delve into his personality or the actual science behind his quirk, and you’d been dying for the opportunity to pair up again and really study him since.

Less importantly, Shouto Todoroki was also inarguably the most handsome boy in your year, maybe even at all of UA. He was tall, strapped with lean muscle, and equipped with a facial symmetry that was almost more deadly than his quirk. Even his scar did nothing to deter from his good looks, only adding a roughed up, roguish charm to his otherwise pretty features. The first few days of your project, you’d had to pinch yourself on the leg more than a few times in order to reroute your brain from his face to the actual jacket.

You’d since put effort into ignoring his appearance, but you couldn’t really help that your eyes were pulled to him like a magnet whenever he stepped into a room.

Like now.

Todoroki’s own grey and blue eyes scanned over the faces of your classmates, stopping when they landed on you.

“Y/N,” he said in greeting, and you raised a bewildered hand. Several nearby girls shot you betrayed looks, like you’d been keeping an association with him secret. You’d have shot yourself something of a questioning look, too, if you could have. What reason would Shouto Todoroki have to seek you out outside of class? It had been almost a month since the project together. What might he want with you now?

“Hi, Todoroki,” you said, wondering if you’d awoken in some parallel dimension where he thought you were friends. “Uh, what brings you here?”

“I have a personal request,” he said in his low, soft tone, stepping into the room and making his way over to your worktable. He’d shed the grey blazer of the school uniform for the crisp white dress shirt and tie, and he looked unbearably good. As he drew closer, you could see the way his broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his shirt.

You self-consciously pushed around the messy wires and metal framing on your worktop, trying to clear space.

A personal request. Had he come for some kind of support item? Your mind suddenly ran with possibilities, and a thrill went through you at the potential to study half hot half cold in earnest. This was the kind of extracurricular project you’d been dreaming of, maybe even something that you could scope out and build as your submission for your senior project next month!

“Sure,” you said, gesturing to the other stool at your worktop and rifling around in your bag for a pen and paper. You’d probably need to take notes.

Todoroki stared at you. “Ah, not that kind of a request,” he said, eyeing your pen and paper.

Your cheer dropped. Oh.

“I had hoped to ask you in private, actually,” he said, something like discomfort flashing across his handsome features. He looked almost nervous, and you wondered wildly what kind of support request would make one of UA’s big three this awkward. Was he having a problem with his quirk that he didn’t want to cop to?

“Okay,” you said, looking up at him, “lead the way.”

A cool hand came up to grasp your wrist, tugging you out of your chair. Your face burned at the casual touch, and you felt the curious eyes of your classmates on you as you were led from the room.

Todoroki steered you through the hall and around the corner to a small alcove out of the way of student traffic. The alcove had clearly had the same treatment as your workrooms, festooned with a banner boasting a bizarre pattern of tiny All Might silhouettes interspersed with hearts. Your eyes felt like they might catch fire if you looked at it for too long.

“How have you been since the project?” you asked Todoroki, in the interest of being companionable. “Is everything on your vest still working well?”

A smile touched the corner of his mouth as he turned to face you. “It’s incredible. It still surprises me that it can predict what I’m going to do before I even think to do it.”

You flushed at the praise. “I’m glad. It was really cool work on. Your quirk is awesome - normally there are only so many variables with pattern prediction like that but the two sides of your quirk increased the possibilities exponentially, so the algorithm was hard to code. I had to get a little extra help from an actual computer scientist,” you admitted, before slapping a hand over your mouth, realizing you were rambling.

His smile widened and your traitorous eyes caught on his mouth. “You sound exactly as you did the last time we talked.”

You winced. “Yeah, sorry.”

His eyes widened and the hand on your wrist tightened. “No, I didn’t mean--it’s nice,” he said. His fingers seemed to grow the tiniest bit colder where he held you. “I would have liked to have worked with you longer.”

You tamped down on another blush, looking away. “Yeah. It’s too bad.”

Just then, footsteps sounded in the hall, and Himari Honda came wheeling around the corner.

Himari was another student you’d been paired with for a project at one time, and she hadn’t worked nearly as well with you as Todoroki had. A general course student with a quirk that let her track anyone within up to a mile of her person, Himari’s goal after graduation was to become an actress, with a particular focus on playing the love interest of powerful hero characters. She was certainly pretty enough, with large eyes, high cheekbones, and shiny pink hair that she wore in a long plait down her back, but that’s where her appeal ended. She wasn’t horrible, but she was a little too self-interested and it had certainly shown in how she’d handled your pair project.

Himari smiled winningly at Todoroki, and it became clear to you that she’d tracked him with her quirk. You knew instantly why she’d come to find him, today of all days.

“Hi, Shouto,” she purred. His fingers tightened where he still held your wrist.

“Hello,” he said politely.

You stifled a laugh at the carefully blank look he’d suddenly adopted. You guessed he’d been fending off advances of this type all day -- you’d caught sight of his shoe cubby when you’d changed into your own uniform shoes this morning, absolutely bursting with chocolate and brightly-colored valentine's notes. He was too handsome for his own good, it appeared. Still, it was interesting that Todoroki seemed not the slightest bit interested in what someone who looked like Himari had to say.

“Maybe I should go,” you said, tugging your wrist back, but Todoroki gripped you tighter.

“I still need to talk to you,” he said. He fixed you with an intense look like he could pin you in place with his gaze.

Himari seemed to ignore you. “Shouto, I was hoping to talk to you alone.”

“I’m a little occupied at the minute,” he said, gesturing to you. You gave a little wave.

Himari shot you a betrayed look like you’d beaten her to the punch, then puffed up like she was drawing up her courage. “Don’t accept her confession! Accept mine! I like you -- please go out with me!”

Your jaw dropped. You’d definitely not been in the middle of asking Todoroki out, but damn it took balls to cut another woman off like that. You couldn’t tell if you respected her or hated her for her shamelessness.

Todoroki shifted uncomfortably next to you. “Ah, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I can’t accept your feelings. You see, I was just about to ask Y/N out.”

Your mind went blank.

He what now? Is that why he’d brought you to this alcove to speak to you in private? Is that why he’d been so nervous back in the support studio, asking to talk to you alone? Shouto Todoroki had wanted to ask you out?

You wondered at that. You couldn’t understand why, when he could have his pick of any girl at UA. You were fine, sure -- reasonably smart with good grades and a neat appearance, but you weren’t anywhere near his level of mind-numbing attractiveness. More than that, you didn’t even have a quirk, and it was impossible that someone who wielded a power like half hot half cold was going to wade that far into the bleak depths of the dating pool. He had plenty of other options, so why come to you...?

Then, like a slow sunrise, it dawned on you what he was actually up to.

Todoroki was trying to get rid of all the confessions in one fell swoop. If Himari went back to her classmates and told everyone what had happened, rumors would spread very quickly that Shouto Todoroki was a dead-end bet. No one would try to ask him out anymore if his heart purportedly belonged to another.

That sneaky little fuck.

“Right,” you said, perking up and playing along gamely. “And I was just about to accept,” you announced to Himari.

Todoroki threw you a wild look like he hadn’t expected you to take this track. Shit, had you been supposed to reject him instead? You could, you supposed, but what hot-blooded woman in possession of sound mind and sound body would possibly do so? Did he also want to start the rumor that you were a complete nutjob?

“Um, I mean, I was about to respond privately,” you backpedaled. “Uh, nothing confirmed at this point.”

Himari gave you a furious look, her large eyes filling with tears, and turned on her heel, storming off. Your heart went out to her, just a little.

“You’d really accept?” Todoroki asked you as soon as she’d gone. Something unreadable glinted in his two-toned gaze.

You thought for a moment. Did he actually want to do this? It was barely a couple months until graduation, but you had nothing to lose in helping him. Maybe this was also your opportunity to study his quirk more closely, if you were going to be spending more time together to keep up appearances. You might actually be able to use him for your senior project.

“Sure,” you said, smiling up at him. “If you wanted this, I mean.”

A smile curved the edges of his mouth. “I did, yes.”

“Great,” you said, “Then you’re officially my boyfriend, Todoroki.”

His smile widened. “It’s Shouto.”

You looked at him in question.

“My name, it’s Shouto,” he said. “I’d like it if you would call me that.”

Something warm bloomed in your chest. This was all pretend but damn it was cute anyway. “Shouto,” you tested it out, liking the sound of it in your mouth.

Shouto seemed to like it too, unwinding his fingers from your wrist to slip his hand into yours. The cool of his fingers between yours was soothing, and you quite liked the way it felt.

“Are you free Saturday, then, for a first date?” he asked.

He did nothing by halves, huh? You laughed. “Yes, I’m free. Text me the time and place?”

He agreed and you traded phones, plugging in each other’s numbers. Then he walked you back to your workroom and left you with promises to see you Saturday, after sending you a characteristically straightforward this is shouto text to confirm.

You smiled as you watched him leave, pleased to be in on his little scheme.

You’d never fake dated anyone before so you didn’t really know what you were getting into, but you thought this could be fun. You were looking forward to whatever Shouto had up his sleeve.

[rotten-games]

City of Immortals RO List

Okay so here it is, the list of ROs like I promised. Both mc's have their own pool of love interests to choose from with little overlap.

Here you’ll get a description of the ROs and some information on how the mc or others might view them. Also some info on the mc’s.

Mc1

Born to be a soldier by design, they were afflicted with immortality and stopped aging entirely once they hit thirty. A side effect—or perhaps a feature—is the beast that all but lives inside them, taking control when they feel incredibly strong emotions, though most often when anger is present. Where once they held full control of it, of the transformation they go through, now they must wrestle with its control with each passing day.

You are what’s called a Hunter. Every settlement has them, but Eden has the most. Caroline controls all her hunters from Eden, though ‘Hunter’ may be a bit of an oversimplification of the job description. Yes, one of their main jobs is providing food and other resources for the settlement, but they’re also bounty hunters, keepers of the peace, and are also often recruited for odd jobs when they have no contracts to fill. Perhaps the most important rule in Hunting, is that you always work in pairs.

Caroline: She/her

The best way to describe Carol is ‘short’, with a pair of unblinking amber eyes and a wind-buffeted, naturally tanned complexion. Her russet curls, while  usually out of her face, never seem to stay tied back for long, a seemingly constant slew of curls sticking to her forehead. A jagged scar cuts across the knuckles on her right hand.

Caroline is unrelenting. She knows what her settlement needs and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t get it—to save the lives of those she must oversee she is willing to do anything. Within reason. Truthfully, Caroline never asked to be made the leader of Eden, the job just sort of fell into her lap one day and no one bothered to take it from her. You’ve worked for her for years by the start of chapter one, and if you’ve learned anything about her it’s that she doesn’t do smalltalk. She’s been in a relationship with Lowrie for years now, and as far as you can tell, they’re very happy with one another.

Lowrie: non-binary, they/them pronouns

Impossibly tall and scrawny, Lowrie’s skin is constantly burned red by the sun, seemingly unable to tan no matter what they do. Their face is long, with ash-coloured, shoulder-length hair that would usually hide their grey eyes but is otherwise kept out of their face with a blue-patterned scarf.

Some have called Lowrie stuck up in the past for their less than talkative nature but that would be an oversimplification. In truth, they just aren’t fond of talking—which is probably why they get on with Harley so well—and more shy than anything else. One of Eden’s finest Hunters, they spend most of their time in the sweltering heat of Wasteland bringing bandits in and shooting any of the mangy beasts that stray too close to Eden. The rest of their time is spent managing the bar with Caroline and Harley, tending to keep to themself. You’ve worked with Lowrie in the past, and as far as you can tell there’s little love lost between the two of you. 

Carol + Lowrie poly:

Caroline and Lowrie are poly and in a committed relationship with one another. They will not leave one another for monogamy with mc, however, you don’t have to be in a throuple with them—though that’s definitely on the table—you can simply be with one, who is with both you and the other. Lowrie is also currently casually seeing Harley. Carol is not seeing anyone else.

Mordred: he/him.

With a seemingly constant fuzz along his jaw, and a never-ending supply of little scars littering his warm olive skin, his hair tends to cover everything but his yellow eyes and the deep bags underneath. His hair is typically tied into a loose bun at the back of his head, mostly obscuring his pierced, slightly pointed ears.

Mordred is a hot-headed, easily irritated young man who’s been by your side since day one. You dragged yourselves out of the crumbling ruins of Ledala together, you fought together, and now you work together as Hunters. Partner’s in crime doesn’t quite cover your relationship but it’s certainly close. In recent years, however, your relationship has strained—perhaps it’s due to past mistakes getting in the way, or past feelings, but either way at the start of the book he’s nowhere to be found.

At the start of the game you can determine just what your relationship is with him—it’s strained at this point but the reasons why are totally up to you. He can also potentially have been an old flame of MC2.

Ridley: Gender variable

Ridley is an energetic person with a pair of bright green eyes constantly sparkling with a glint of adventure. Despite their heavily-muscled frame, they seem to constantly be hiding behind their oversized glasses, a veil of their shaggy red hair, and a slouch that makes them out to be much smaller than they are.

Ridley is… an enigma. While technically a Hunter, they seem much more interested in the pursuits of science and research than holding off rabid beasts with nothing but a gun that’s falling apart and a rusty sword. Of course, they can hold their own well enough, but when they’re meant to be spending their time training or helping out—and indeed, even on their time off—they’re usually found traipsing around in the desert looking for… who knows what.

Doc: She/her

Doc is stocky and sharp-jawed, dark brown, almost black eyes always watching. Her dense curls are shoulder-length and appear twisted together and held back behind her head. The tip of her left ear appears to have been torn off somehow.

Not known for her bedside manner, Doc travels between settlements to tend to the sick, injured, and broken, and though none can particularly vouch for her interpersonal skills (though who can say anyone has particularly good ones, these days?), they can certainly do so for her medicinal accomplishments. Some think her a wandering ghost, aiding those who need help to make up for the sins of her past, others simply see her as a woman seeking to do her part for the good of Wasteland, regardless, if you get on her bad side she’s been known to be liberal with her gun. Or so the rumors say.

J. Allard: Gender variable

Allard is a nervous-looking, shifty individual with short but messy brown hair flecked with grey. Constantly fidgeting with the ring on their thumb, their stutter becomes more obvious the more nervous they are. Though their eyes hide behind a pair of darkened glasses, a pallid face a week out from its last wash they are, completely, honest. Trust me.

J. Allard is a totally normal priest. There is nothing strange about them, they simply want what is best for you and your companions.

Mc2

Dragged down into the depths of the earth on the day Ledala fell, you never knew of the city beneath the surface. Your sibling died that day, you’re sure of it, and a part of you died with them—the beast no longer responds to your call and you’re still left injured from whatever afflicted you and your comrades that day. The man who saved you set you to work for him—sorry, with him—and now you walk perpetually in the darkness of a city long since forgotten by the sun, with people named after the remnants of an old world you never knew existed. You were never meant to survive that night, and every day the world around you reminds you of that.

Arthur: he/him

Arthur doesn’t look quite there half the time. His skin is translucent, his pale blue eyes impossibly far away, platinum blond hair little more than wispy strands atop his head. Most of his body is otherwise covered completely by that old, brown coat of his. There’s light freckling across his nose.

Arthur saved you that night. A Private Investigator by trade, he brought you on to work together because you had no where else to go. Maybe because of it you should be closer than you are but there’s always been a distance between you he’s been unwilling to cross. Either way, despite working together—living together—he keeps to himself and you try to keep to yourself in turn. Still, you can’t help but notice the disdain he has for the City Council and their lackeys.

Perci: she/her

Perci is constantly smiling. Relaxed of posture, her straight hair once ashy brown is now dyed silver. It’s cut short at the sides and back, creating an undercut, most of her fringe tucked behind her ears to reveal a pair of dark brown, monolid eyes. She seems allergic to sleeves, taking whatever chance she gets to show off her cybernetic arm and the colourful tattoos that adorn her flesh arm.

A friend of Arthur who sometimes helps with investigations. She’s friendlier than he is with you, even inviting you out on occasion, but rebellion is on her lips more and more nowadays, and she isn’t subtle about it. You haven’t seen her in quite a while—as far as you can tell she and Arthur aren’t on speaking terms anymore after that big fight they had a few months back. As far as you can tell, she’s moved on and you certainly wouldn’t blame her if she has Council dogs on her heels.

Saga: Saga is always the same gender as your mc is.

Saga’s hair is a deep blue in colour, their black roots just barely growing through. Half of their head is shaved, the other half left chest-length and braided over their shoulder. Though their entire body seems to interwoven with tech, what is perhaps most interesting about them is the angular tattoo that crawls down the right side of their face. This is probably why they come to you completely covered in muck and baggy clothing.

Saga shows up at your door with a different name and a job. You aren’t given why, only the how, only the what. They’re stubborn and flighty in equal measure, suspicious of everyone around them including yourself. Oh, they dress the part of a street rat well, but the cash they have just on hand is nothing to blink at and, underneath all that grime, their skin is perfectly unmarred by the ravages of time.

Deimos: he/him, gay

Whether or not Deimos’ strength is his own or from borrowed, military-grade tech is anyone’s guess, but no one’s ever bothered to ask. Though he’s tall, he isn’t necessarily as muscular as the fear he commands would suggest. His eyes glow orange, black hair trimmed but not maintained, and his grin is enough to stop anyone in their tracks. For whatever reason, he always wears warm clothes.

Deimos is a Council dog who’s been hounding Arthur for a few years now. You’ve never officially met him; somehow whenever he drops into the office you always manage to be out. Whether that’s coincidence or because Arthur sends you out on errands very conveniently at those times it’s not for you to say. Somehow, he never seems to do too much damage to your colleague.

Adrastea: Non-binary, they/them or she/her pronouns, only attracted to nb or female mc’s

Adrastea has been voted the city’s most attractive person many years in a row now. Everything about them is perfect; perfect smile, perfect blue eyes, perfect cascading coils of iridescent hair, yet somehow despite their well-calculated appearance it’s like there’s a tiger waiting to pounce on any wary admirer who comes too close.

While not a member of the council they hold great sway simply by virtue of their age and the fact they’re so beloved by the populace. You’ve seen them on the holos, how they’re oh, so giving to the needy and even invite the commonfolk to their lavish parties all the important council members attend. It’s an act, it has to be; through their gorgeous smile and all those sheer dresses they seek nothing if not attention. A lot of their history is shrouded and deleted from public record, but you do know that they were once a head scientist that took part in the very same project that supposedly made you what you are today.

Dagda: gender variable

Dagda is the perfectly attractive face everyone sees on their screens every night. In a world of cybernetic bodies and unnaturally bright lights, they are the one person who almost looks... natural. With a perfectly cultivated appearance of salt and pepper hair, soulful brown eyes, and that winning smile, nothing about them is their own; everything they do exactly what everyone else tells them to do.

The mouthpiece of the Council, Dagda is seen to be charming and down to earth in the vids. They say Ledala is prospering more than it has in decades, that the crime rates are lowering thanks to the wonderful work they and their colleagues on the Council are doing. Of course, there always has been a certain emptiness behind their eyes. When the camera isn’t rolling, you wonder what they really think.

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH133

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 133: The Dream of the Holy Nun (XXIII)

Use Countercurrent Sand to reset the cooldown of the S/L Data skill card.

Save and drink the Devil’s blood.

Detonate all miniature bombs.

There was a loud roar as a violent explosion blew the tower deep in the church into ruins.

At the moment the file was loaded, the demon "Depravity" vanished and the resurrected Qi Leren returned to the state of when he had archived. Now he had no longer drunk the blood of the Devil and was still a human being!

His fragile human body appeared in the center of the explosion and was immediately thrown out by the billow of air, fell heavily on the ground, and even rolled several times before stopping.

There were some surface burns, multiple fractures, and countless bruises and contusions, but these injuries couldn't be judged as fatal injuries. There was no second reading of S/L skill and there is still dust and smoke in front of him. Qi Leren coughed in a heartbreaking way, and the blood accumulated in his chest gushed out from his mouth, filling his mouth with the taste of iron.

It hurt so much, it hurt so much, even breathing had become a kind of torture, he felt truly terrible.

At present, his vision was blurred red with hot blood. Qi Lereen used his single intact right hand to hold the dagger, bringing it toward his chest.

This body had lost its combat effectiveness, so he had to load again.

Before the knife's tip could touch his chest it was stopped by an incredible force, and Qi Leren suddenly shivered and looked into the smoking chaos in disbelief.

In the smoke after the explosion, a figure was coming down from the ruined throne.

The dust and smoke gradually dispersed, and the safe and sound devil came to him with elegant steps. He said approvingly: "Perfect acting skills, precise psychological grasp, unexpected attacks, in order to have me lower my guard you even drank the cup of blood... The only regret is that everything you carefully prepared still can't smooth out the distance in strength."

Su He stopped in front of Qi Leren and looked down at him gently and pityingly.

As time went by, Qi Leren’s hand holding the dagger could not move, and the S/L skill’s countdown was running out.

Qi Leren stared at him, but his trembling hand was too late to send the dagger into his heart. The Devil King looked at him with a smile and watched him step into the abyss of despair.

Five seconds, four seconds, three seconds, two seconds, one second... The countdown for the skill’s cooling was 0:59:59

"It seems that time’s up." Seeing the light of hope in Qi Leren's eyes dim, Su He leaned down and gently took the dagger from his hand.

Qi Leren looked at him coldly and he realized that he was about to die. Although Su He's expression was still gentle, his repeated attempts to thwart him had angered him, and the Devil of Fraud refused to accept the worm’s deception.

"Since the save hasn't been loaded it means that your current injuries aren’t fatal, but if just little more is done, you will bid farewell to this world, Leren." Su He played with Qi Leren's dagger and looked at him with a cold smile. "I’m very curious. When you really face the test of death, what will your choice be?"

The sharp point cut his throat and the blood flowed out. This degree of pain was not worth mentioning compared with the current pain all over his body, but Qi Leren knew that this injury would be fatal. 

Foaming blood would quickly block the respiratory tract, and it would become more and more difficult for him to breathe. If he was not treated, he would die of suffocation or excessive blood loss in a few minutes.

Su He stood up and put another goblet full of blood a few meters away: "Now, you can choose."

Breathing was difficult. No matter how hard he tried to inhale, it was more and more difficult to get enough oxygen into the trachea blocked by blood foam. Blood was constantly lost, oxygen was constantly decreasing, and his consciousness was becoming blurred.

Death was coming, and Qi Leren almost saw the grim reaper hovering over his head. It held the scythe and raised it high…

He didn't want to die, he didn't want to…

No, he wouldn't die. He had the Easter Egg!

But if he easily gave up struggling and accepted death, would Su He believe it? What would he do if he saw through his fear?

Must... Do it again... Again…

The desire for survival once again surfaced in Qi Leren’s eyes and his vision blurred. He tilted his head and looked at the cup of bright red blood a few meters away. His bloody lips moved slightly, longing…

The Devil King watched with great interest as the dying man ignited the last strength with his will. He rolled over and dragged his body forward with his single intact right hand. He lost more blood. His cut throat and injuries dragged out a shocking trail of blood on the ground, which showed how strong his will to survive was at the moment.

It was only a few meters away, but he’d exhausted all his strength.

By the time he reached his destination, the weak human was already dying. He used the last of his strength to hold the goblet, but his trembling hand kept shaking the scarlet blood in the cup…

He cried, and his broken trachea made his cry like a nightingale's whine, so despairing and pitiful.

The Devil liked this sound, watching a strong soul lose its bottom line and become corrupted and dirty. He was struggling to resist, yet he still succumbed to his own desires.

It really was amusing.

With a clear and crisp sound, the goblet fell heavily at the feet of the Devil King, spilling blood all over the floor.

The Devil King accidentally looked at the dying human being and saw his unyielding eyes. He was speechless as blood seeped out along his throat. He tried to pull up the corners of his mouth, showing him a mocking smile.

-Go away.

He growled silently.

In the blood on the ground, the handsome Devil smiled. "I didn't expect you to really do this for him. Humans are obviously so weak, but they’re always unexpected. This is probably what makes them so interesting."

Qi Leren struggled to roll over and lie on his back on the ruined floor.

His cut trachea was bleeding continuously, and the dying Qi Leren looked at Su He in the distance as Su He looked at him in return. After a moment, he came towards him but stopped in the middle.

"What is it?" Su He said, turning his head.

Within the shadow in the corner, a vague unfamiliar figure appeared and bowed slightly to Su He: "I’ve come to convey my King's instructions, the 'goldfish bowl' has raised an alarm. It’s very likely that it will escape again. Please go back and preside over the overall situation."

"It seems that my holiday is coming to an end." Su He said faintly, "Tell Power for me, I will force myself to leave this task and go back now. By the way, I’m bringing a big gift to her."

The shadow bowed again. The special connection between Devil King and Devil King could not last long in the Holy Nun’s field, and it quickly disappeared silently back into the shadows.

In the cold air, Su He’s deep voice came, mixed with mocking emotion: "...That woman."

Qi Leren could hardly see anything. The cloak of death had covered his eyes, the air was growing colder and colder, the chill slowly rose from the ground, and he was dying.

He heard Su He’s footsteps stop beside him, and then the rustle of fabric. He seemed to squat down and gently parted the hair on his forehead.

"I originally wanted to play with you for a while longer, but unfortunately the game has ended early. Your best friend beat Isabel and is on his way, but calculating the time, he probably won't see you one last time. It’s a pity that I can't see his expression when he gets here," Su He’s gentle voice rang in Qi Leren’s ears as he lay dying.

"For your courage and perseverance, I’ll allow you to rest here." A kiss as light as nothing fell on Qi Leren’s forehead. A farewell kiss.

"Depravity’s appearance was beautiful, but unfortunately, you did not become it after all."

The footsteps of Su He's leisurely departure were getting farther and farther away, disappearing from Qi Leren’s ears.

Qi Leren was dying.

Glad and anxious.

Although his brain had almost stopped running, he still understood the dialogue between Su He and the unknown person. He would hurry to leave here immediately, which meant Ning Zhou was safe.

Great... Great... Really, great.

He could be resurrected in seven days, as long as the news was conveyed to Ning Zhou…

Qi Leren, who had difficulty moving a finger, squeezed out the last strength from his body and wrote a 7 with his bloody finger trembling. He also wanted to write another word, "days", but for all his effort he couldn't make his finger move again.

Qi Le people closed his eyes in exhaustion, his breathing halted, and his consciousness sank into chaos because of lack of oxygen. Even the pain became slow and psychedelic, as if his soul had begun to gradually break away from this scarred body.

He absently thought, there was only the one number, could Ning Zhou understand what he meant?

After 7 days, he could be resurrected in 7 days, just wait for 7 days…

Memories began to flash in his mind like fragments, like film pulled out from a camera, and then suddenly it fixed on a certain one. At that time, he was absent-minded because he was thinking about the task clues, and Su He was explaining the meaning of numbers to Dr. Lu: "Numbers are very interesting in the Nightmare World. Many numbers have special meanings. For example, 4 stands for luck and 7 stands for..."

"I love you."

He’d made an unforgivable mistake.

Qi Leren desperately struggled to keep breathing, but the blood foam stuck in his throat prevented him from inhaling air. He opened his eyes wide and tried to erase the numbers written in blood.

He tried his best to squeeze out the last bit of strength from his nerves, bone marrow, and every organ that was about to stop working, to erase this number, but there was nothing he could do.

He couldn't move, he couldn't move at all.

Tears of remorse flowed out of the corner of his eye and he cried. He hadn’t in the face of the Devil's performance, nor in the face of fear of dying, but now it was really out of control.

This desperate fear even exceeded his fear of death itself and his consciousness that is about to dissipate was shouting, struggling, and repenting. He couldn't imagine, couldn’t bear to think of Ning Zhou seeing this message - this simple number. It could be the last straw to destroy Ning Zhou.

The world slowly sank into the dark abyss of death.

He remembered the difference from a few hours ago. At that time, it was so dark that he had only dared to ask Ning Zhou if he wanted to go with him. His timid heart made him even afraid to wait for Ning Zhou's answer and he’d said goodbye in a hurry. He’d always thought they would meet again, so he said: I'll be back soon, you have to wait for me! You must wait for me!

How naive and how stupidly self-confident in front of reality, fragile and ridiculous, vulnerable.

At the last moment before the collapse of his consciousness, Qi Leren saw the Garden of the Holy Tomb.

At that time, he’d woken up from the stump covered with fallen flowers and followed Dr. Lu to the place where Su He was. As he walked, he’d turned his head and saw Ning Zhou.

He’d stood by the broken tree and looked at him from a distance.

So restrained, so distant, but so gentle, there were too many emotions floating in his blue eyes, just like the sky and the sea that contained everything.

He’d suddenly wanted to ask Ning Zhou, how many times had he looked at him like this? And how many times had he missed returning it?

Ning Zhou was always so lonely and silent. All his pains were buried deep in his own heart, without words.

If he hadn't looked back, he would have never seen such tenderness.

He would never have known how deep this repressed love was.

Just a little bit like infinity.

　　&&&

Through the broken stone columns and countless broken statues, Ning Zhou walked forward without looking away and finally came to the front of the cathedral.

The first half of the church had been seriously damaged, with solemn and historical writing under the starry sky.

Ning Zhou briskly walked to the depths of the hall, looking at the two huge stone doors.

The earth was still shaking and destruction had played the final movement.

Ning Zhou took a deep breath, and his abdominal wound was burning and generally painful. He drew a cross on his chest and then pushed back the stone door.

The huge Maria and the stabbed dragon would have occupied most people's field of vision, but Ning Zhou's line of sight chased the familiar figure lying on the ground amidst a shocking pool of blood.

His heartbeat stops at this moment, and whether heaven or hell, it didn’t exist at this moment.

He didn't know how he came up to him and knelt down there.

Open brown eyes looked ahead emptily, and there were wet tears in the corner of his eyes. His blood-stained fingers were stopped on a reddish-brown number.

At the moment before he died, he was saying—

I love you.

Deep in the dark hall, there came the cry of desperation and collapse. Witnessed by the remains of Holy Nun and the Devil, a devout believer finally admitted his love that was not allowed by his God.

But it was too late. At the moment when he’d received his love, he’d lost him forever.

-----

The author has something to say:

PS: So, there is no love that can't be achieved through a grand death. If there is, then die again.

-----

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[pseudofaux]

even an injured hand grasps at grace

A lonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng time ago I did a follower celebration with short fictions and promised a longer story to the winner. That (incredibly patient) winner was @fieryanmitsu, who asked for a story set after Mitsuhide’s Act II. Holidays, family stuff, a global pandemic, more family stuff, a crisis of creative drive, MORE holidays and MORE time later... Here, at last, it is. Anmitsu, thank you so much for participating in that follower celebration, for being so kind about the mortifying amount of time this has taken, and for being a fellow Cat Daddy fangirl. I am very, very grateful for your grace! M, 6000 words, SLBP Mitsuhide. CWs: obvious but unnamed depression, brief discussion of death by weapons. (But mostly it is happy-thinky-poetic wife worship and baby fever.)

Sometimes when she is exhausted she speaks in this silly way. His love for her makes him warm to his toes. Adorable, his wife is adorable. He will never again allow any other duty to shove her out of the place she deserves in the center of his heart.

He will never hold a sword again. The discovery that there is still any strength in the arm once so mighty, enough that he can use it to work: a cause for gratitude and relief. A gift. He can attend to the responsibilities of his new life. He has a new life. Master Tenkai knows better than most men what death looks like when it bears down in a flash of metal. Sword death is the smooth silver of steel, spear death is the sluggish brown of mud that will cradle a dying man, and death by bullet is the black of blood that comes out so thick it is purple before it is red. Weapon deaths are cold, as though to compensate for the heat of their forging. There is a depth of balance in this that he cannot yet name, a mystery of the heavens like the others he spends so much time thinking about and helping the mountain villagers understand.

This new life is mostly keeping up their modest home (half residence, half tiny temple), and sharing knowledge with the villagers and their children. Of course he still thinks of Sakamoto when he sees the children growing... but his entire life he has been too much in his own head, and since they came to the mountain he has gotten better at leaving memories alone. He does not forget, and he hopes this makes him a decent man. Like any decent monk, he allows the thoughts of Sakamoto their due, which is to rest and flow over him as water flows over every side of a fish. It is right that it surrounds him. He could not and cannot do anything for Sakamoto, or address the irreparable harm he caused. He can consider it, meditate on it, and live with what he has done. And he will. Because he can live.

Swordwork’s precision and steadiness are forever gone from him, he believes. But he still has his arm and still has his life, even after he made peace with losing much more before Hideyoshi’s sword came down. He can pet the cats that congregate around the little temple, and he can twirl bits of string and stalks of grass for them. He can still write, his characters more calligraphic than they were before. He has to work hard to make clear strokes when he teaches the village children, and he feels that is a just requirement. When the house needs repairs, he can make them, and he can draw air into his lungs and live with his failures and successes both, or at least live with his failures and the grace he has been given. He has the brush, and he has the strong walking stick that his wife has helped him cut to the right height. The staff is smooth in his hand after only a few months’ use, a little extra oil applied when they have it. He wonders if he is allowed this easy comfort, but will not allow a walking stick to be a thing that trips his thoughts. His watchword now is moderation, not abnegation. If a fallen tree limb comes to him he will be grateful, and if the wood breaks he will let it go. He is willing, now, to let so much go.

There is only one exception, and she sleeps easy these days, when the cold of night on the mountain curls them together as though they are rabbits in a burrow. They wake slowly to this dream life. The part of him that is a decent monk cannot help but wonder how different their lives might be if it had been this for them all along. He did not want to rule; he had only ever wanted to spare others the hardships of ruling, and allow all good people the comfort of safety, from most divine ruler to most helpless child. These thoughts are in his head. Here in their tiny room in the building that is their home and the village’s temple, she is in his arms. In his heart and his bones, he knows that fact is grander than any man’s attempt at divinity.

He never has to force smiles at the children who come to the temple to learn. They are rowdy, eager, and completely charming. He is comfortably grinning at a group of them when he catches sight of her at the bend in the path that leads to their home. She is smiling, too, and there are tall leafy greens sticking out of the pack behind her shoulders that remind him of the folded wings of a fine hawk, the kind favored by samurai and nature alike. What would they do, if not for her hawklike competence and gentle ferocity?

Likely starve, he tells himself, on both melancholy days and happy ones. It is only the truth. He has learned a few things, but cannot match her, and while he is always available to the villagers, he stays near the temple unless he is asked for in the town. She does their shopping, she is their face. No one of quality can resist being won over by the warmth of her smile.

The children are thrilled to see her, and it reminds him of a dream he has had several times now, something he has kept to himself because it is so precious and he still does not want to ask anything of her. He is not sure if the slips of dream come from the peace of their life or the torment they left behind them, whether the dream is reward or recompense. But the cheers of the children take hold of his heart and make a tapestry of the scraps of his happiest dreams, weaving them tightly with what he is truly seeing. His thoughts nearly take him to his knees-- or perhaps that is an insistent little person, tugging at the edge of his sleeve.

“Master Tenkai!” chirps the village child. “Hana is home, so it is time for our lesson!”

They teach the children together in the afternoon’s warm, clean light, and only send them home when it is time for her to prepare their evening meal and him to complete the evening sweeping of the temple floor. Later that night, she seems relaxed and sleepy next to him, full of food, full of love. She asks, “Do you remember when I asked you to bring me a stone, so I could make you pickles?”

That is a pleasant memory from their life before, a luminescent pearl floating through silt that suffocated so much happiness. But the memory itself is light. So his smile is easy and does not feel like punishment, and he nods and strokes the space between her shoulders.

“On this mountain I have all the stones I need,” she declares, pressing her cheek to his chest. The smoothness of her face is finer to him than any pearl, a marvel of sensation that settles him, instantly and completely. “And I will make you pickles every week, if you want them,” she adds.

Sometimes when she is exhausted she speaks in this silly way. His love for her makes him warm to his toes. Adorable, his wife is adorable. He will never again allow any other duty to shove her out of the place she deserves in the center of his heart.

“Only whenever you are inclined,” he says, drumming his fingertips to tickle her.

Her giggle is sleepy. “There’s not time to make them every day,” she quips, snuggling closer and sliding an ankle between his calves. He has only the one dream that is sweeter than his actual life, and he is keeping it close to his chest for now. But he will not keep anything closer to his chest than she is. They squeeze one another, and he expects they do not fully relax their arms until they fall asleep.

A winter has passed, and a spring. This is their first summer on the mountain, so they are learning the cycle of invigorating mornings, sweltering afternoons, and unpredictable nights. They have already learned from kind villagers how to best coax food from the pebbly soil of their garden, and their efforts in the summer are devoted to this every day until the air grows too hot and they retreat to the shade of the temple to fan themselves with their hands and drink water that (they hope) has managed to hold some of the chill of the night before.  

Every morning he braids her hair, and in these summer days a few strands always escape and stick to the back of her neck, temptations that coax him to bare her shoulders and murmur along the skin he worships. She often swats him away, because even after tending the garden there is plenty of work to do. But sometimes she does not swat him away at all, and some days she draws closer with a magnificent, confident need. He cannot determine if it is need for him or need to show him something, but each time, their bodies become hotter still, sweat running like streams and stinging their eyes even as it makes moving together easier.

There is a day at midsummer when they cannot help themselves, resting on the step to their home. They are covered from the relentless sun by the good new roof of the temple. He is vulnerable to melancholy in the heavy air that precedes a storm. She knows this. By the time the thunder and rain seem to be on every side of them, heaven’s own veil around the little holy place where they live, their hands are in each other’s hair, she is straddling him, and he is kissing her so deeply he can taste their midmorning snack. The last time she went to town she came back with karashi seeds, and their food this week has been bright in their mouths, cleansing and flavorful. He is hungry for it.

“Mitsuhide,” she pants quietly. The rain around them is so dense no one would hear her, but that name is never spoken above the softest whisper. Her other sounds are louder, even louder than the roar of the rain, and he loosens his hold on himself to match her. He groans as he tilts his hips up toward hers, everything that he is straining for her. They are so warm that even though the air is cooling around them, the rain may as well be steam. One of her hands slides from his hair to his neck and then down his chest, between their bodies, until she palms his insistence and he gasps for her until she squeezes. They moan together, unbearably hot in the sweet agony before they join.

“Now? Here?” he asks. They’re alone, but he craves her comfort as much as her indulgence. There is always a point where he stops asking, but before that he needs permission. She gives it in a nod and shuffles off his lap onto the floor, still stroking him through his clothing. Her clothes are already loose from their embrace, and she puts her other hand inside her collar and tugs down until she is cupping her breast. His blood in his ears is louder than rain or crashing waves or the war chorus of a hundred desperate men. He lunges at her, one hand in her hair and another at the back of her neck to soften her landing. When he is over her, he snarls at her temple before kissing the space with the beastliness that is revealed by these stormy days. It is a wet kiss, and because his tongue cannot taste enough of her he ends up licking from her cheek to her hairline. He savors her, salt and spice and earth and somehow his, as he pushes into her hand. She does not let go of him. He never wants to let go of her.

His hand slips from her neck into the heaven of her opened collar, and his thumb finds her nipple between her fingers. She lets go, gives herself to him, and he pants adoration into her ear as he rolls the peak, beautifully strong, until she moans. He knows this is right, that nothing else in the world is anything next to the truth of how right it feels to cage her in, make her tremble, and soothe her, serve her.

So he doesn’t hold back. He tells her she is the most wonderful, beautiful, desirable, beloved. His mind makes poetry for her and he licks the words onto skin he pinches delicately between his teeth. You are rainfall to a dying man, you are here, you feel better than breezes, you are mine. After all he has done, he remains a man, and a man is an animal, as any man who has gone to war can say with certainty.

The thin clothes he wears for gardening are sticking to his body, and he swears he can feel the drag of each thread against his skin as he moves with her, friction enough to spark a fire through their sweat. Her hand on him is maddening kindling.

“You are flames,” he declares as he ruts down into her hand. “You are burning me.” A man is an animal, a gasping creature not sophisticated enough to express all she makes him feel.

She slows her hand and hums, pleased by they way he gives himself over. That is the way they play. “It is too wet for flames,” she murmurs, as though she is consoling him instead of throwing tinder on the fire she has made. “Drown in me instead of burning, my love.”

The affection in her words soothes his amorous madness and spreads the familiar, comfortable warmth to all the tips of his body as the power shifts between them again. He loves her so much. Could any man convey so much feeling? To be an animal is not bad, but it is base, and she is made of heaven and still chooses to be with him. He smiles at her in wonder of all her beauty and bravery. He will focus on giving her anything that he can.

“Gladly,” he whispers, smiling wider. He takes her wrist and pulls her away from her work. When she complies and settles her hand against the floor by her head, he unties the rope of faded jute braids that hold her kosode closed at her hips. She is worthy of finery but dressed in these threadbare rags with him instead, and still her eyes say she has what she desires. As he drops the thick cord beside their bodies, he thinks he will try to find her a pretty bead, or even a nice smooth stone from the stream, something to adorn her middle and give her pleasure when she sees it. She gives him so much pleasure.

Their clothes as temple keepers are very humble, but they are much easier to remove than their daily wear of only a year ago. Sacrilegious but sincere, he mutters his gratitude at the simplicity of baring her body to his eyes. Her slopes are gorgeous, winding like the gentlest river against the air. She reminds him of a war map he saw years ago, illustrated with hills and pools so lovely he mourned as war was planned against the unarmed ground.

He shakes away that memory to construct another of the way she looks right now, sensual and receptive, womanly in the way she came to be when they started their lives here. Back in control of herself, of both of them, she parts her lips and breathes his new name. He undoes the scrap of old kimono that serves for his sash, and peels away his own sweaty robe. When he comes back down to her, she has freed her arms from her sleeves and their hands find each other, fingers dancing warm and worn as they wrap together.

Now it is still raining, but the roar of it has quieted to a loving hiss. The light is gray and blue, so she looks like nighttime. She pulls him to her with the power of dusk closing flowers, and their kiss is moon-soft, full of promise instead of frenzy. Her lip is a marvel between his and he loves pressing it with his own lips and teeth and sucking gently to make it swell. He wants to touch it with his thumb while he’s inside her and then kiss her again, maybe kiss her while he touches her with his thumb.

The chill at his back cannot last when there is so much heat between them, no matter what she says of drowning instead of burning. A man can drown in the bubbles of a hot spring as well as he can in winter’s water. He sucks in a breath and breathes it out into her mouth, and when she does the same with more force he shudders. His hands slide to her hips, where her curves fit into his palms as though he were a farmer and she were a ripe stalk of rice. She is at least as crucial and nourishing.

He is so hard he doesn’t need to take himself in hand. The head of his cock slides (with a sureness he would never claim aloud) between her folds, against the spot that makes her thighs flex. The movement is easy, a slip if not for his control. They are always so eager for one another.

“How?” he asks, and kisses the chin she is offering as her head is thrown back. “Here? This? Just outside the reach of the rain?” A demon is in him, to tease her like this, but the demon wants her pleasure as surely as he does because this is what she wants, for everything to be drawn out until their tension snaps. “Do you want the air on all your skin?” he continues. “I will give you anything. Just tell me.”

She hums the thoughtful sound that means she’s thought of some way to drive him insane. Thunder cracks with an ominous sharpness in the distance, and when she tilts her head and looks at him there is lightning and mischief in her eyes. He squeezes her but still she wriggles out from beneath him... and she goes to one of the beams that holds up the roof, safe from the rain thanks to the overhang. She moves her feet back and bends at her waist and he can do nothing but feel blessed and aroused, so aroused he is stupid. The warmth she put in him turns to tingles, like she has displaced the lightning from her gaze and made his skin the sky and his bones the bare, vulnerable earth. Within himself he feels a frighteningly intense buzzing.

“This first,” she declares. “Just watch for now, darling. Stay where you are.” Her thighs and calves are so defined from the ways she has to toil in this new life that he feels a shadow of guilt for enjoying the sight of her so much. It vanishes when he sees her fingertips between her legs, right at his eye level. She is pulling his mind apart, but her method for that is giving him this gift, and in this life he takes what he is given.

“Yes,” he rasps, and swallows before the dryness in his though makes him cough. “Yes, of course.”

The movement of her arm slides her loosened braid along a shoulder like a brushstroke. Her touches are sure-- she told him months ago that she learned to do this when he made her sleep alone for nights on end. He curses his foolishness even as he is grateful for it. She is always turning the most miserable ingredients into feasts, his wife.

Her sure fingers make circles and dip into her folds to smear her arousal. She likes it a little messy sometimes, another thing she has revealed in the safety of their seclusion. He loves what she loves, and he wants to put his mouth on her, put his cock in her, so badly that he fears his voice will scar his throat in a mad escape if he has to stay apart from her much longer. But he will die of idiocy alone if he interrupts. So he watches, the cool air of isolation doing nothing to keep his belly from tightening when she coos. Her hips begin to drop forward to meet her hand and he bites the flesh of his palm to stave off insanity as long as he may. She is a cat, he realizes, playing with all his many frayed ends. When she glances back, whatever she sees on his face-- he must be flushed, he feels terribly hot-- makes her laugh, dark and sweet. She keeps going and keeps her eyes on him. There is that gentle command so uniquely her in the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like he is blooming frantically, too fast, a blossom pummeled by rain and completely out of control... and she keeps looking, keeps smiling, draws the moment into moments until he thinks he might sob.

And then she curls her fingers against herself to beckon him and says “Come here.” The way her voice puts the words somewhere between request and demand is flattering, but he has no time to be flattered. Rain-cooled air yields against his arms and legs as he rushes to her. Immediately, he is there behind her legs, positioning himself, and the heat of her backside would burn him were he not already so ruined. Against her at last, he can appreciate the way the weak light on her sweat-slicked back is more beautiful than the finest inkwash, the ways she smells competent and domestic and alluring, like the precious sweet scent of soil that hides between mountain pebbles. She is all these things, and she is so calm as his mind whirls in its delirium of adoration and arousal.

He doesn’t mean to tremble, but his hold on himself has been too tight, and the spaces where his teeth dug into his hand throb. Like the mongrel pet to a noble lady, he has little other purpose but to love her. He sees that she can sense it. There is a grace to her certainty when he grits his teeth, even though she is wound so tightly that when the head of his cock finally presses inside her, he must push. Slick, soft, smooth, she feels, somehow, despite the pressure. As he pushes fully inside, their groans are wanton to the point of inhumanity, more like the sound of creatures in the night than of a man and his wife. His wife, his wife. He pulls back and groans again at the way her body fights to keep him. He swipes the braid off her back and kisses her shoulder, pushing back in slowly as her soft, strong body welcomes him.

“More,” she cries, her first sound of vulnerability, and he is eager to take care of her. He knows to move steady and powerfully but keep it slow at first. She comes better around him, but needs to be allowed to focus, so he is quiet as he focuses on her and the way the muscles of his back stretch and roll to please her. He is still a fit man, and he hopes his body thrills her as hers thrills him.

She makes a needy noise between her teeth and moves faster, shaking just a little. She hisses “keep going,” and of course he does. The tension he felt a moment ago is so unimportant now he is not sure if it was real. In the time when things shift between them he no longer needs permission, and he feels the magic calm settling over him-- it is his turn. All he needs to do is what she needs from him, it’s so simple. And he would do anything she asked, for the chance to be so near her when she finds bliss. It is already rising up his legs, like a snake squeezing and sliding, like ripples... and her sighs are like waves. Maybe she is too wet to be flames because she is water itself. The way into her is blissful enough, a slick heavy pressure around him where she is swollen from all their kisses and touching. The challenge of it makes him grin with a ferality he usually keeps well out of sight, and he presses on, pulls back, kisses her shoulder again and calls her his beloved. His voice doesn’t shake.

Hers does. “Again,” she pleads, grasping back for his hand. “I want it again.” She guides his fingers in circles until he knows where she is and what she needs, and then she lets him give it to her. Trust is such a sacred thing.

When he touches her she laughs, and he laughs too, and fucks her with a great deal of joy. They find their pattern: her hips push back to meet his thrusts, so when he presses in, deeply, they fit as cleanly as a carpenter’s masterwork. The storm has truly cooled the air but all it does is chill the fresh sweat on their skin as they move. It invigorates him, makes his spirit shout with a freedom he cannot contemplate at the time. His wife is using the beam that holds up their roof to push back against him, allowing the tender space between her breasts to be abraded by the wood. There is room for nothing but happiness here, nothing to do but honor her sacrifice and make her feel more pleasure.

“Yes,” she rewards him with her voice for a particular thrust, dragging out the sound at a pitch that registers inside him while he is inside her. So he moves himself even faster to try and repeat it, then relishes the sweetness of her soft whine. It makes him feel like he is surprising her with his love for once, instead of the constant way she graces him with her own.

He leans over her a little more. “I want nothing as much as I want your happiness,” he tells her, the croon of his voice broken by the intense way their bodies are connecting. Her hand comes back over his, keeping him in place. Magnificent. “Go on,” he tells her. “Again, love. Just like you want. Just like I want. Again.”

She shudders and stops moving her hips (she clings adorably to the support beam, her arm as tense as her hand on his). He keeps going, because he knows that is what she expects. At the end, what she needs is to be filled, to be given something to clench around, and he needs to be that for her. He is so driven, from inside and out, to fuck her, that he cannot do anything else until he feels it, not think or breathe, only move into her as though he can shove bliss into her body. So he tries, until he feels the shaking of her legs as perfection alights, and then he takes one great breath before it hits them both as she squeezes tighter still. They gasp together again as her clenching and soft sounds pull his warmth to fill her. Abundantly. Deeply. The air comes out of his lungs onto her shoulders, then touches his cheeks with the softness of a cloud.

She is breathing heavily, and slowly she puts her weight against the wood and becomes still. There’s a gentle press against his hand before she drops her arm. He’s tempted to catch it and kiss her knuckles, but he does not want to move from being curled around her back. He does move his hand away and puts the arm around her belly instead, holding her that much closer. She feels exactly as warm and soft as a cat who has fallen asleep in the sun.

There is a slick, sticky feeling all around his cock, but there’s nothing unpleasant about it-- something in him actually relishes it, loves the thought of mixing, loves the thought of there being too much, it makes him want to take her to the floor and have her again-- and she does not ask him to move, so he stays until he softens. “Darling,” he whispers then. “I’m going to get us a cloth.” He has desires, but he has mastered himself.

But she mumbles “No. Hold me.”

So when he pulls out as not to slip from her, he simply sits down and pulls her with him, right down into his messy lap. There’s not a breath between the time they land and her turning so she can snuggle his chest. He strokes her hair and kisses her cheeks and nose and tells her what a marvel she is. She is all pliant affection, touching his arms, kissing his jaw, raising a love welt on his shoulder... reaching to stroke him gently, experimentally, just like she did when they were on the steps.

He has mastered himself, but not as well or fully as she has.

He pulls over their clothes and lays her out on top of them on the temple floor so he can join their bodies yet again, unhurried. They have the time for slow lovemaking in this life, and the grace. Her knees frame him as he moves and he cannot help but kiss one and then the other, reveling in her laughter (when he tickles her ribs, she tightens deliciously around him) as much as in her love. They lay together for a long time after that, cool and lazy in the quiet. When the rain is replaced by the first note of tentative birdsong, they know they should move in case someone comes to the temple. Despite the afternoon, they are a cautious couple by nature.

He attempts to clean her with their clothes, and carries her to their room to rest more comfortably. Her hair clings to the idea of a braid, but much of it is loose and floats about his arms in the sodden air. There is a satisfied tilt to her mouth when he helps her sit, and as he moves behind her the last he sees of her face is her smile curving deeper. He settles his robe over her shoulders and combs his fingers through her hair to ward off tangles. When he is finished, he replaits her hair and kisses the ribbon, then her mouth. She shakes her head, hiding her mouth and making him chase it. His rewards are sleepy giggles, enchantingly low, every time he catches her.

Several kisses later, he redresses and leaves for the kitchen to make them a simple meal. He delights in feeding her by hand as soon as he returns, because their closeness makes him feel whole and doting on her feels right. They stay near as they bathe, and then they go back to bed. It is early, but they will need to start early tomorrow to make up for the time they spent not working this afternoon. They have earned their sleep. He wonders if he will have the dream again.

Tucked into their bedding, she is in his arms, not yet dreaming herself. “Darling,” he says quietly into her hair, and murmurs love until she turns to kiss him sweetly and tells him to go to sleep.

He does have the dream. It is the most wonderful dream yet.

“Chichi-ue!” The voice is high and happy. It is coming from behind him, so he must turn away from the sight of his wife with a baby at her breast. Before he can see the little one who called him-- called him chichi-ue, his child-- the dream shifts and his wife is with an older child, tasting broth and listening patiently as the child recites ingredients. Then his wife is with two children, each holding one of her hands as they turn on the bend of the path to their home, and the smallest lets go of her to run to him. Their faces are all obscured by a sudden cloud of mountain dandelion seeds borne on the wind... all he can see are healthy little legs and feet in clean sandals, slapping against the ground as fast as they possibly can. The movement becomes a child’s hand with a brush, marvelously steady and precise. The same hand around a cluster of flower stems. Scraped knees and palms and little puffs of breath between shrieks and giggles as tears are soothed away. Two voices laughing over the plunking sound of skipped river stones ending their flights, and he recognizes the stream where they stand. The face and voice of the herbalist in the village, kindly telling them to be patient and then whispering something they might try. Four simple bowls, mismatched but meant to be together, set around a table. He can see this scene over his own shoulder, hears those same two voices dutifully expressing gratitude for their meal. The sounds change as his dream gives him the voices at different pitches through time, thankful for their rice, fish, vegetables; the bowls stay on the table, the food in them changing in dizzying whirls of color until he wakes.

“Good morning,” says his wife, in the voice she can only use for the first words of the day. Quiet and deep as a hidden pool. “I love you.”

He reaches to stroke her cheek, and tells her about the dream at last. She tells him her dreams, too.

Exhausted but awake, awed and unsure, he holds his son for the first time in the crook of his better arm. All of him shakes, because he is weeping at the perfect newness of this child. The baby, so unhappy with the village woman who came to help with the birth, settles into his father like poetry, and closes sweet dark eyes, and yawns flawlessly. They way the baby’s tongue trembles reminds him of a stretching cat. Master Tenkai of the mountain cannot look away. There is so much to see, and there is something about gazing at this tiny face, shifting magically from pinched to peaceful, that shows him the virtue of disregarding time completely. He should know it for what it is: another effort by man to control what he cannot. Everything that marks time in a human way can be broken. The sun rises no matter what people do in the night.

One of the temple cats senses a fellow creature and leans up to sniff at the baby. The baby’s father is happy to share the sight. The cat noses at the baby’s plumpness and then slinks off, but Tenkai stays where he sits, holding his son beside the bedding where the baby’s mother is gazing at them both with a tired, happy expression on her beautiful face. Her hair has all come loose from its ribbon. The woman from the village said it was an easy birth, but it certainly took its time. At the end, they have their perfect son, and she is alright. Everything is alright. The greatest challenge facing them at the moment is that he will have to learn to braid one-handed. He chuckles to himself and the baby blinks, then settles.

He will never hold a sword again. Whatever time may be, it feels like he made his peace with a more important truth a very long time ago, perhaps in another life entirely, and had only to relearn it. To hold his woman, and child, and the other he believes will join then... that is more than enough for the warrior who was once Mitsuhide, who became Master Tenkai of the mountain. All else may come and go. He will treat everything with respect, and allow all that is temporary to leave his hand like water. His family, permanent and indescribably precious, is the only thing that he will never, ever give up.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s Magnificent Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a squeal-inducing date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

There’s a phone call that comes BEFORE the date: here

Valentine’s 2020 Collection: Gavin // Kiro // Lucien

The date begins with MC sitting alone in a café. The temperature is incredibly hot, and the fragrance of roses is in the air.

She’s on a video call with Anna, who very helpfully establishes the context for us - Victor brought MC to South America to participate in the Rose Festival as a “reward” for completing an assignment the previous year.

It’s MC’s final day in this foreign country, and she wants to make full use of it.

Anna notes that MC’s complexion doesn’t look good. MC looks at herself in the screen and realizes that she indeed looks paler than usual. She says the weather is too warm, so she feels a little faint.

Anna is still worried about MC as she remembers how MC did quite a lot of overtime before leaving for the vacation. MC tells Anna to hide this matter from Victor.

Anna: You haven’t…

Anna stops abruptly, her eyes looking at something behind me. Having a bad feeling, I turn around.

Finished with his video-conference, Victor walks down the stairs towards me, wearing his usual suit.

He stands behind me, his eyes sweeping over the phone screen on the table before raising an eyebrow.

Victor: What are you hiding from me?

Anna ends the call.

MC: Your meeting is over?

I flash Victor a wide smile, forcefully changing the topic.

Victor: It ended earlier than expected.

Victor doesn’t press further. He loosens his tie. I realise that there is a thin layer of sweat on his forehead.

MC: You didn’t have to rush over. Don’t you feel warm dressed like that?

Victor: It’s still okay.

He lifts the small luggage beside me, then picks up the sun hat on the table and places it on my head.

Victor: There are still a few hours before the event starts. That “Travel Guide” you did on the plane can be put to use now.

I widen my eyes and look at him from underneath my hat.

MC: How did you know about that? I thought I did it covertly…

Victor: What do you think? Of course I saw it.

MC: So you weren’t sleeping at all!

Hearing my “accusation”, Victor glances at me, his tone slightly teasing.

Victor: Someone’s soliloquy woke me up.

MC: Since you know about it… leave the rest to me. Let’s set out towards the Rose Festival!

Ignoring the discomfort in my body, I raise a fist in the air in high spirits.

There is a look of resignation in Victor’s eyes, but the corners of his lips are dyed with the warmth of sunlight, hooking upwards into a slight smile.

Victor: I shall wait and see then.

They go for a walk:

MC: I heard the Rose Festival has been around for a few hundred years!

I look at the flower baskets sold along the streets, and I feel like getting one.

MC: On this day, the men will invite their other half to dance. They will find the “most beautiful rose” during the event, and he will present it to her with a lover’s kiss. Isn’t it very romantic?

I share what I had read up online. Victor listens to me quietly, his thin lips pursing into a nice smile.

Victor: You did your homework.

MC: Of course I did! You specially accompanied me here, so of course I’d want you to have a memorable experience!

Victor: Haven’t you gotten it the other way round?

My grand ambition is suddenly interrupted. Victor takes the small slip of paper containing our travel plans from me and puts it into his breast pocket.

Victor: This is my “reward” to you. All you have to do is enjoy this trip.

Amid the unique architecture of this foreign country, Victor’s eyes seem to become more tender. It gives me the sudden urge to capture and record this moment.

MC: Victor, I’ll help you take a photograph?

I lift the camera that is hanging around my neck and point it towards him.

MC: Cooperate and give me a smile! I’ll shout “three, two, one”, and you say “pudding”!

To my surprise, Victor frowns.

Victor: Why pudding?

MC: Because I feel you wouldn’t shout “brinjal”… Or else you could use another word?

The crease in between Victor’s eyebrows smoothens out. He nods.

MC: Have you thought about it? I’m going to take the shot now! Three, two, one-

Victor: Dummy.

When I press the shutter, I hear Victor’s soft yet clear voice.

In the picture, Victor has a small smile on his face.

My heart rate suddenly accelerates. I lift my head to respond with a retort, but a sudden wave of weakness floods my entire body.

The blazing sun makes me feel especially dizzy.

MC: I…

The camera almost slips from my hands. I sway for a moment before falling into Victor’s arms, and he realises something is amiss.

In my flustered state, I see anxiety written on Victor’s face. I open my mouth, trying my best to form words.

MC: Victor, I don’t feel very well…

~

The hotel room separates us from the blazing noon sun. I am seated on the bed, my head slightly hazy from heatstroke. The ceiling fan spins slowly, dispelling the heat in the air.

This room that Victor managed to book at short notice has been decorated with several rose-related ornaments because of the Rose Festival.

The rose petals which were originally on the bed have been scattered all around, adding a touch of fragrance to the humid air.

The sound of the door being knocked cuts me off from my thoughts.

After half a second, I hear the sound of the door being unlocked. Victor walks in, carrying a grocery bag.

Victor: How do you feel now?

MC: I feel much better after taking the medicine.

To ease his worries, I summon my strength to give him a smile.

MC: Though we’d probably have to miss the Rose Festival…

Victor: You’re still thinking about that?

Victor puts the bag on the table. He walks over and presses his hand against my forehead. I relish the coolness of his touch.

Victor: Your temperature has gone down, but you still need to rest.

After checking on my condition, he draws his hand back. He removes his outer suit and places it at the side of the bed. Then, he returns to the table and takes out the items from the bag.

MC: What did you buy?

Victor: Ingredients. It’s more appropriate for you to eat milder foods.

Victor’s back is facing me. I see that the back of his shirt is drenched with sweat. I bite my lower lip, my heart suddenly feeling lighter.

MC: I’m not that hungry actually. Just getting something from the hotel would be fine.

Victor: It’s so rare that we’re here. You want to eat those kinds of things?

Victor turns to toss me a glance, directly rejecting my idea.

MC: Then… at least take a break first?

Victor: No need. You should sleep for a while.

Victor walks into the small kitchenette with the ingredients, and the sound of splashing water follows. Hearing him cook, I start smiling.

I’m unable to sleep peacefully in my current state. Something horrifying is chasing me in my dream, causing me to scrunch up my eyebrows.

MC: Uhh… don’t go!

In a moment of peril, I grab onto something that gives me a sense of assurance, and refuse to let go.

Victor: Dummy.

A familiar sigh travels to my ear, enabling my tense self to relax. I enter a deep sleep.

An unknown duration passes before I regain consciousness. My body feels like it is being enveloped, and I’m unable to move.

I struggle to open my eyes, but all I see is a patch of skin.

MC: !!

I widen my eyes instantly, my drowsiness vanishing completely-

Victor is also lying on the bed, his arms encasing me tightly, taking an afternoon nap.

I am leaning in the crook of his neck and am able to see his chin if I look upwards. I feel his steady, gentle breathing - like a single feather - on my ear.

My brain short circuits and I have no idea how the scene before me occurred - until I see how my fingers are tightly wound around Victor’s tie.

While I was dreaming, I had pulled on Victor’s tie, which in turn tugged his shirt open as well, revealing his bare chest.

I control my eyes before they can trail further downwards, and immediately let go of the tie.

Perhaps disturbed by this movement, Victor frowns, his eyelashes twitching under the light.

I shut my eyes, pretending that I’m still asleep.

The body that is pressed against mine shifts slightly with a rustle. The sound of Victor’s breathing seems to change.

He weaves a hand through my hair, his slender fingers gently sliding along the strands. Every minute movement faithfully travels to the ends of my nerves.

I don’t dare to move even the slightest inch. Feeling nervous, my temperature rises, and I feel my back break out in a thin layer of sweat.

The hand resting on my body shifts. Our close proximity makes it easy to visualise even the slightest movement in my mind.

Victor: Why are you sweating so much?

His low voice is tinged with slight suspicion. I’m wondering if I should open my eyes at this moment, but Victor’s palm ends up on my back.

The sudden contact makes me want to quiver, but I suppress my body’s instinctive response.

Fortunately, Victor retracts his hand. He slowly extricates his wrist from under me.

The body warmth suddenly vanishes, leaving me feeling slightly dejected. Soon, the sound of running water can be heard from the bathroom.

MC: Huff…

I release a long breath and open my eyes slowly.

Victor is no longer in the room, but the parts of my skin that he had touched feel as though they are on fire. My heart rate is unable to settle down.

The sound of running water stops. When I see Victor walking out, I shut my eyes once again.

The spot next to me on the bed sinks. Victor sits at the side of the bed, picking out a few strands of hair from my face.

Victor: MC? Are you awake?

MC: Uh…

I pretend to swipe his hands away blearily, but he continues placing the back of his hand against the side of my cheek.

Victor: Why has your temperature gone up again?

He draws his hand back, replacing his warmth with a wet towel. He gently wipes off the sweat on my temples.

Even though I know that he is genuinely helping me lower my temperature, I am completely unable to control my own senses.

The soft towel trails down my neck. Victor’s fingers unintentionally brush against my lower neck, causing me to tremble slightly.

A bead of sweat trickles off my face, sliding down my neck and disappearing into my hair.

Victor pauses. I squeeze my eyes shut, but my eyelids twitch uneasily.

It’s as though my body has decided to go against me in every way. At this moment, my stomach releases a string of low growls.

MC: …

Quiet air flows in the room. I remain stiffly in position, not moving at all.

Victor: You’re awake?

My eyelashes twitch, but I still don’t dare to open my eyes.

Victor lets out a low laugh, then leans over slowly. I sense a large shadow looming over me through my eyelids, and I stop breathing.

Victor: How much longer will you pretend to be asleep?

MC: I… I’m awake.

Seeing that I can no longer put up this pretence, I open my eyes slightly and watch as Victor straightens up.

Victor: If you’re awake, get up and have something to eat.

After a late lunch, MC notes to herself that even though they can’t go for the Rose Festival, spending time together alone with Victor is not bad either.

She notices that there is a bottle of red wine on a low shelf, and that it doesn’t have a label.

Victor: You still want to drink after having a heatstroke?

Victor’s sudden voice from behind gives me a fright.

MC: I was just curious… did you buy this bottle just now? Why doesn’t it have a label?

Victor: It’s home brewed wine from the Market Fair. It has a special flavour.

MC: Special? Was it brewed by some famous master?

Victor: Not a master. Didn’t you want to find the “most beautiful rose” earlier?

I fail to understand the meaning of his words, but Victor doesn’t continue explaining. He skilfully removes the oak stopper, pouring the rose-coloured wine into a glass.

Along with the scent of wine, a sweet-smelling aroma permeates the air. I can’t help but let out a deep sigh.

Victor arches an eyebrow, looking slightly surprised.

Victor: I didn’t know that people who suffer from a heatstroke would also experience a deterioration of smell.

I ignore his sarcasm, taking up the wine glass and swirling it in front of me. The faint aroma of flowers becomes even more obvious.

MC: It’s rose! So you can actually brew wine with roses?

Victor: It’s not made using roses, but it does taste like it.

MC: Can I try it?

Victor doesn’t respond immediately, but takes the glass from me before saying slowly:

Victor: No.

MC: Victor, CEO Victor, Mr Victor, please let me try it! My heatstroke is completely gone!

I lean towards Victor, but he raises the glass up high. Even if I were to tiptoe, I wouldn’t be able to reach it. So I can only huff and give up.

MC: Fine.

Victor: Wait till you…

MC: Just kidding!

Seeing Victor lower his guard, I jump and snatch the glass. Because of my unsteady footing, I end up lunging towards Victor.

Victor reacts immediately and steps backwards, forgetting that the bed is behind him.

After a chaos-filled second, Victor falls onto the bed heavily, bringing the scattered rose petals along with him.

I’m lying on him, my mind a complete blank, though my expression still displays cheekiness and excitement from snatching the glass earlier.

The glass of red wine that sparked off this entire situation has tumbled onto the bed, its contents spilling onto the covers and even soaking my hands.

I dumbfoundedly take in the scene before me as the scent of rose petals envelops us.

Victor, who is pressed below me, lets out a heavy sigh. Loose strands of hair casually fall in front of his eyes, making him look less sharp.

Victor: Didn’t I say that you can’t try it?

While he speaks, I can feel the vibration of his chest as we are pressed together tightly.

I regain my senses, my face beet red, wanting to straighten up.

Victor grabs hold of my wrist, and I fall back onto his chest.

Victor: You need to change your habit of running away whenever something happens.

His narrow eyes catch the change in my expression. His expression, while remaining the same as usual, makes me even more flustered.

Unlike his seemingly calm expression, he is unable to hide the heat emanating from his body and seeping through the thin fabric of his clothes. This causes my body to heat up as well.

The air seems to be burning, and I can hear my rapid heart rate. Even my voice wavers.

MC: I will change… next time.

Victor: I’ve heard this phrase many times.

The hand around my waist is like iron, pulling me even closer.

MC: This is an accident.

I explain in a small voice, letting my eyes shift everywhere aside from his face.

MC: I was just curious about the flavour…

Victor: You’re only allowed one sip.

MC: You said it yourself!

The scent of wine still wafts in the air, tinged with the fragrance of roses, making the atmosphere feel even warmer.

I bring my wine-soaked palm to my lips, gently licking it with the tip of my tongue.

A touch of sweetness spreads from my taste buds to my brain. The slight bitterness of wine carries with it a hint of a rose aroma. It has a surprising attractiveness.

Victor pauses. His eyes turn darker, and his voice sounds slightly husky.

Victor: …are you stupid?

Hearing this, I realise what I just did, and even my ears turn red.

MC: We’ve tasted the wine already, we...

Victor grips my wrist before I can escape again. With an irresistible pressure, he pulls me closer-

A drop of sweat trails down the side of my face and pelts onto his collarbone.

His Adam’s apple bobs, and he uses his other hand to loosen his tie in a slightly rough manner. He releases a low laugh.

Victor: Who says I’ve tried it?

With my guard down, he pulls my palm closer to himself and sticks out his tongue like I did earlier, gently licking the remaining red wine off my palm.

The rose-coloured liquid and the redness of the tip of his tongue makes this colour appear fresh, and even more dazzling, in my eyes.

My breathing and heartbeat seem to stop. I can only sense the touch on my palm, like electric currents coursing through my entire body.

While doing this, he keeps his eyes on me.

Trembling slightly under his gaze, another bead of sweat rolls off my temple. I want to escape, but I’m unable to hide from him.

The emotions within those deep eyes resemble surging tides.

Victor: The taste is not bad.

MC: [blushing] !!

I widen my eyes and pull my hand back as though I just touched a live wire. Victor doesn’t stop me this time, letting me hop up from the bed frantically, almost tripping over his feet.

Victor: Don’t be so reckless.

Victor reaches out to hold onto my waist, his low and husky voice in my ear.

MC: You…

Victor: The “most beautiful rose” is not just a literal rose.

He lowers his head and leans towards my ear, his lips almost pressing against it. I can barely concentrate on his words.

The curtains are drawn open, and the scene of the town shrouded in dusk appears before our eyes.

Victor: The sky is the most beautiful part of this town.

Following his words, I look up and my eyes widen in surprise.

MC: …it’s beautiful!

The rose-coloured sunset glows from the horizon. The clouds hang in the air, drifting slowly. Embedded in the sky, the clouds resemble waves from the sea.

The sky of this small town looks like a rose that is waiting to bloom.

Victor: In the evening, the colour of the red clouds look very special from here. This is the most beautiful rose I found.

His tender and low voice is in my ear, and I suddenly understand what Victor brought to me.

I originally wanted him to have a unique travel experience. I never thought that he would be the one giving me this rose-coloured sky in the end.

Victor embraces me against the window. The look in his eyes is even more tender than the red clouds.

Victor: Close your eyes.

I close my eyes obediently. A scorching breath gradually draws near, and a soft touch descends on my lips.

Victor places his hand on the back of my head, deepening the kiss.

His actions are gentle yet powerful. The intense stimulation spreads from the tip of his tongue all the way to my depths.

The fingers that gently brush the back of my spine leave a trail of tingles in their wake.

The hot air cools as the sun sets, but the temperature continues to increase along with the intertwining of our lips and tongues.

My senses are completely overtaken by Victor’s presence. His breathing, his tender licks, his arm encircling my waist, and the heartbeats from his chest…

After an inordinate amount of time, I tighten my grip on Victor’s arm, like a person who is about to lose consciousness and drown.

The faraway clouds, like a rose that has been waiting for a very long time, finally begins to bloom.

The curtains are pulled shut, and the room once again descends into a dim warmth.

An intense and rich floral fragrance slowly ferments in the blisteringly hot air.

🌹

Phone call after the date: here

[thesvenqueen]

The Mummy

Rating: M (to be safe; gore, language) Main Pairing: Kristanna

Summary: Hamunaptra. A place filled with history, legends and mystery. A place Anna Arendelle had only dreamed of finding since she was a little girl. When it seems faith supplies her with the opportunity to find this hidden city, she jumps head first at the chance to find it. But a revengeful mummy, an apocalyptic curse, a deadly adventure (and possibly love) where not exactly on her list of things to discover. Previous Chapters: [ P 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 ]

Chapter 9

“You know,” Anna slurred as the bottle of whiskey felt oddly heavy in her hand, which resulted in the bottle slamming down into the sand. “This is not at all what I was expecting.”

Kristoff chuckled beside her, the sound making her heart flutter. 

Or was it the booz?

“What were you expecting?”

Anna huffed a laugh, throwing her arm out, “Not this.”

“Didn’t think digs meant fighting off random strangers with swords and jumping off burning boats?”

“Absolutely not.”

Kristoff laughed once more, the sound echoing off the broken stone and sand around them. Anna looked to him, watching as he reached for the whiskey. For a brief moment, their hands touched and even though he had just held her not even an hour before, the small touch made her blush. 

She felt entirely too hot, but then again, that could very much be the alcohol. 

Somehow in the firelight, Kristoff looked even more handsome. It caught his jaw and seemed to make his brown eyes just glow. 

Brown eyes that were staring at her and oh shit, he had said something.

“What?”

Kristoff smirked at her, “I said, you’re holding up better than your brother.”

Anna blinked, then whipped around to see Sven fast asleep on the other side of the fire. 

It had been his idea to bring out the whiskey, something to relax them all after the events of earlier that evening. At first, Anna had been a bit unsure about the idea. She didn’t hate drinking, but it never seemed to go well for her when she did. Especially with her brother around, who always managed to cause some kind of mischief that would seemingly always end in a massive headache for Anna that wasn’t just from the alcohol.

As Sven & Kristoff shared a round, a log from the fire fell with a loud thump. The noise had made Anna jump, looking around to see who may be upon them. When she had looked back, she saw Sven smiling at her gently and holding the bottle out to her. Reluctantly, she sighed as she had taken the bottle from her brother, the whiskey burning as it went down. 

She’d nearly regretted it, making a face that Kristoff had found highly amusing as she fought off the urge to spit it all right back out.

Now though, now she felt more at ease. The tension that had rested in her shoulders, in her chest was unnoticeable. She felt light, free almost. 

“Well, unlike my brother,” Anna said, letting her head lull to the side as she continued to stare at a sleeping Sven, “I know when to stop.”

Anna heard the sound of the whiskey swishing in the bottle and instinctively held her hand out to Kristoff, not noticing the small snort as he put the bottle in her hand. 

Keeping her eyes on her brother, she took another swig of the whiskey. It didn’t burn as it went down. Instead it was a comforting warmth, one that seemed to go all the way to her toes. It was a nice feeling, one that made Anna hum in enjoyment. 

She wasn’t drunk by any means, more tipsy than anything and that was exactly where she wanted to be. Right on the fence of too little and too much. Anywhere over and it would mean trouble for her, and potentially Kristoff too if she wasn’t careful.

Last thing she needed was to embarrass herself even more in front of him.

“I’m still confused though.”

Anna furrowed her brow as she looked over to Kristoff. “What d’you mean?”

“Well, I mean...I get why he’s here.” Kristoff said, nodding towards Sven, “but…”

Kristoff was rubbing the back of her neck, stumbling over his words, but it clicked in Anna’s fuzzy mind what he was getting at. 

Anna smiled, “You’re wondering why I, of all people, would be out here?”

“Well...I mean, uh...”

“It’s fine. I mean, makes sense I suppose. I’m not the most ideal person to want to jump aboard an expedition like this.”

“It’s not that,” Kristoff said, “More just, curious what made you want to come out here.”

“It’s in my blood.” Anna said, “My parents, they hated the normal everyday life in England growing up. So, they both decided to become archeologists, my father studying in England & my mother in Egypt.”

“That’s where it really started, our family's love for Egypt.” Anna said with a smile, looking around at the ruins around her, “My mother fell in love with it the moment she set foot in the country. When she met my father later on, at a dig site no less, he would fall in love with it too. He always would say ‘Egypt brought me my greatest treasure’.”

“Your father sounds a bit…”

“Cheesy?” Anna giggled, “A bit yeah, but he was amazing. They both were. They used to tell us stories of all of these grand adventures they would go on, all the things they had found; lost cities, burial grounds, ancient tombs and hidden temples. When we were old enough, we started going with them. On small ones, never the bigger ones. We both fell in love with it.” Anna looked at her snoring brother, “Sven more so for the jewels and riches.”

“That makes sense.”

There was a pause, and Anna could feel Kristoff thinking beside her. “But….”

But, I’m still wondering what brought you out here?”

Anna looked at him, confused, “Is it that odd that a woman would be so interested in adventure and old ruins?”

Kristoff’s eyes widened, taken aback, “No--I--no, that’s not what--”

“Listen,” Anna said, glaring at him, “I may not be much of an explorer or an adventurer as you or-or as greedy as my brother but I am allowed to be out here just as much as you both.”

“That wasn’t what I meant I…” Anna watched as Kristoff fought to find the words, his hand running through his hair as he groaned. He looked everywhere but her. “I just...wanted to know why, I wasn’t saying you didn’t deserve to be out here. I...You deserve to be out here, more than anyone. Especially your brother.”

That made Anna snort, “Don’t say that too loud, he is a fighter when he’s drunk.”

The tension left Kristoff’s body as he looked at her, a smile back on his face. “It’s true though.”

Anna turned away, trying to hide the blush rushing to her cheeks. She tapped her nails on the bottle, biting her lip as she looked into the flames. 

“I mean it.”

Anna looked back to him, his brown eyes seeming to sparkle in the fire light. “Mean what?”

“That you deserve to be here more than anyone else. You know why?”

Anna shook her head.

“Because you actually care about this stuff. Most people just come for the jewels or publicity or money, but you genuinely care about the history of it all. You care about why and how these ruins were here, what happened to the people that lived within these walls. I mean, I have never met someone that could get so excited at just finding a decrepit mummy.”

Anna giggled. “Flattery will get you absolutely nowhere.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” Kristoff said with a chuckle and by god’s above she would never get tired of seeing his smile. “Seriously though,” He said, taking hold of one of her hands. “I mean it. You...you deserve it just as much, if not more, than anyone else here.”

“Especially my brother?”

“Especially your brother.”

Anna laughed again, looking down at where there hands met and bit her lip at how much larger his hands were compared to her own. They were rough and scarred but so incredibly gentle. Without thinking, she ran her thumb over the back of his hand, enjoying the feel of her hand in his. 

In response, he squeezed her hand and Anna looked up to find him looking at her with the softest smile. The idea to kiss him came to mind and she couldn’t help but look down at his lips and back to his eyes. 

Kristoff must have noticed as Anna swore she could see a slight blush rising to his cheeks. Looking into his brown eyes, she suddenly felt the dying urge to give in and kiss him. Not sure whether to blame herself or the liquid courage within her, she whispered as she began to lean towards him, “Kristoff…”

“OI!”

Anna jumped, nearly falling over at the sound of her very drunk brother. Sven was sitting straight up, eyes barely open and head lolled to the side as he looked at the pair. 

Completely unaware.

“Whut’s a boi gots to do to get a drinksss around here aye?”

Trying to catch her breath, Anna managed to speak, “You’re cut off Sven. Go back to sleep.”

“I’m completely fine.” Sven muttered as he fell back over onto his mat. As he began to snore, Anna took a deep breath as she looked back to Kristoff. 

He was blushing, that much was very obvious, but he kept his eyes down in the sand as he spoke, “I think we should both get some sleep...big day and all.”

“Oh…” Anna said, not at all hiding the disappointment in her voice. “Oh, yes, alright.”

Biting her lip, she stood and walked around the fire to her mat. She was a fool, an utter fool for trying to kiss him. For thinking he would want to kiss her.

What was she thinking? 

She wasn’t thinking, Anna realized, she was merely following along with the pull the alcohol no doubt created.

Or did it?

What if it had just given her the ounce of courage she had been looking for, had finally pushed her to cross that line like she had been wanting to? What if, in fact, she did like him and hoped beyond all hopes he did too. 

Anna shook her head, pushing out the thought.

No, she was an idiot for trying it, for even thinking that maybe he was interested in her. There was no way a man like him, a natural born explorer and adventurer, would ever be interested in a lousy know-it-all librarian. 

Still...

“Anna?”

She turned around, looking over the fire at Kristoff as he remained sitting. “Yes?”

A moment of silence came between them, nothing but the crackle of the fire and sounds of the night. Neither moved, neither breathed a word as they both simply stared at the other.

Anna took in the sight of him within the fire light, how he seemed to look how it made his eyes nearly gold, the same ones that seem to be lost in her own eyes as she was in his. How he looked at her as though she was the only human being on this planet. 

For a moment, a fleeting moment, she thought he might come to her. Might grab her in his arms and kiss her like she had wanted to do not a moment before. 

Kristoff let out a sigh, turning away and breaking the moment as he muttered, “Goodnight.”

Clenching her dress, Anna managed a soft goodnight in return and laid down onto her mat. 

Disappointment gripped her, her heart hammering in her chest as she fought back the bit of tears that threatened to form.

She would not cry, she refused to cry. There was no reason to be shedding tears over a man that was obviously not at all interested in her. 

Yet, there had been the moment just before, where his eyes bore into her own and looked to her as though she was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.

How Anna swore that he had leaned into her, following her lead before the almost kiss was interrupted. 

Still, he hadn’t said a word. Had chosen to pretend it didn't happen and it killed Anna to think he’d rather dismiss what had nearly happened between them then to act on it. She was a fool, a fool who fell for any man that gave her an ounce of attention.

She was thankful she’d chosen to turn and face the stone wall instead of the fire, Kristoff unable to see her face as she fought her emotions. She couldn’t bear to look at him, so utterly embarrassed and god’s she still had days left at least on this excavation before they could depart from each other.

A fool. She was a complete fool.

Fighting her own emotions, Anna nearly missed the sound of Kristoff sighing and him groan,

“Idiot. Fucking idiot.”

Anna’s eyes went wide.

Was he talking about her? No, he couldn’t be. Not after he had spoken so kindly about her before. 

So then, was he talking about himself?

Was he...was he regretting not making his move as much as she was?

No, Anna thought, there was no way.

But there was no denying the sound of disappointment in his voice when he had apparently chided himself. A tone all too familiar to Anna, a tone she herself had done oh so many times throughout her life. There was only one thing he could be regretting, could be so completely disappointed with himself for doing, or in fact not doing.

Smiling, a new flame of hope now lit within her, Anna let sleep consume her. Her mind now at peace at the fact that she was not the only one left disappointed. 

[skullsandwineglasses]

The Legends (2019) Full Review

My review of the first 30 episodes of the drama can be found here. 

This is more of a rant than a review. The drama should have wrapped up at episode 35. I was able to tolerate it up to episode 42 when the wedding was, but by episode 48 it’s a total mess. 

If only this scene was as epic as the picture makes it look. But alas, this was just a dream sequence, and by this point in the finale, I was already bored and scrolling through instagram on my phone. If only they really did have a love-hate relationship. But this is an angst-free drama. 

Inconsistent character arcs

The FL and ML have become incredibly weak, both in terms of abilities and personality. The changes just don’t make sense for their characters. 

Zhao yao is no longer the badass she once was, and I’m actually fine with that. Moving away from her demoness persona is part of her growth. BUT, she no longer has a goal in the drama (except when she finds out that Mo Qing has an inner demon. Then, her goal becomes finding a way to expel the demon). But in the last quarter of the drama, she doesn’t really do anything of importance. She lost her sword, but she doesn’t actively go and find it. Instead, Mo Qing and Jiang Wu are the ones who took initiative to hunt it down for her. And when Lin Zi Yu got away with it, she doesn’t bother thinking about finding her sword again?? I mean girl, you lost your sword. Your only weapon. Why is that not at the top of your list of priorities? Is this the same FL who had risked it all for the Wan Jun sword? 

(I miss the demoness)

Her tolerance level for things that annoy her is just so out of character. Zhao yao used to be someone who always fought back against anything she didn’t like. But when it comes to Jiang Wu, she seems to have unlimited tolerance for him. Yes, he saved her, but owing him does not mean letting him be a menace. Like when Jiang Wu sucked the life energy out of Ah Dai. All she did was try to restrain Mo Qing from attacking Jiang Wu, but she didn’t spring forward to prevent Jiang Wu from killing Ah Dai. I mean, the cause of Mo Qing’s rage was Ah Dai dying. Shouldn’t you go address the root of the problem? Instead, she just sits and stares and lets Jiang Wu kill Ah Dai instead of doing something. And then there’s the scene in the library when she’s asleep, but Mo Qing is wrestling with his inner demon, and then the Wan Jun sword kills the 2 guards on duty. She just sleeps through the entire thing. Wasn’t she once the most feared conqueror/demoness? Isn’t she a warrior? How can your senses not be alert when there’s so much ruckus around you? Someone on MDL said that she became a glorified baby sitter for the ML, and while I don’t agree that it’s as extreme as that, I can see their point. All that Zhao yao does after the wedding is try to reign in Mo Qing to prevent him from going into full-on demon mode. She holds him back, tries to calm him and soothe him, rinse and repeat.

Speaking of Mo Qing, his current personality is just rage and jealousy. At first, it was kinda endearing seeing him jealous, but soon his entire arc was just about him being consumed by jealousy. The writers try to justify it by saying that he’s always had low self-esteem and been unconfident about himself because of his upbringing, and the growing demon energy inside him is exacerbating these thoughts, making him more unlike himself, but you’re telling me that everything that he and Zhao yao had gone through together was all for naught? This would have made sense 5 years ago, but we’ve seen that he has greatly matured since becoming sect leader. During the earlier episodes, he was able to see right through Zhao yao’s mask. He teased her, flirted with her, scolded her, and basically proved he’s her equal in every way, and he did it all with easy confidence. And now suddenly, all of that growth reverses, and he’s insecure and sensitive again. This character progression just doesn’t make sense in the context of everything that’s happened. I would have loved to have seen more of the introverted and unconfident Mo Qing at the beginning of the drama. But instead, we only got a handful of scenes before that part of his character arc was cut short and we skip ahead 5 years later and then another 5 years later to when he’s the sect leader. There was honestly no purpose for Mo Qing’s suffering. He just suffered for the sake of suffering. In other xianxia dramas, characters suffered for a purpose. It was a price they had to pay in order to protect someone they love. But this suffering is just pointless. It does nothing for this character arc. And they kept replaying the same montage of him sleeping on the dragon. As if it’s not already clear from the last 20 episodes that he’s being haunted by his father’s demon. 

Villains and supporting characters

I didn’t really care for the villains? Luo Mingxuan is still alive, but doesn’t do anything until the last 5 episodes. I eyeroll whenever Lin Zi Yu is onscreen. Jiang Wu is the only one who’s interesting and he serves as comedic relief.  

And then there are all the unnecessary deaths. It’s like they’re killing off all the good characters one by one. What was the point of killing off the doctor? He was the only character who could scold both Zhao yao and Mo Qing. The drama felt so empty without him. 

But on a good note, I really liked most of the supporting characters, from Zhiyan to Shi Qi to Ah Rong to Gu Hanguang. They were also the most consistent characters in the drama. 

On a bad note, the drama spent too much time on the backstories of supporting characters. I did not care to watch Suruo mourn Luo Mingxuan and remembering how they fell in love, and this happens for pretty much all the couples in the drama. It’s because Zhao yao and Mo Qing have a very simple romantic arc that’s resolved very early on, so the writers had to throw in fillers to drag out the drama. And the consequence is that our leads end up getting not enough screen time. 

The final 2 episodes

Oh boy. The last 2 episodes were a hot mess. In the final battle, everyone kept attacking and stabbing Luo Mingxuan, but he just won’t die?? He’s like Wolverine. He just comes back stronger. It just kept dragging on and on, and I completely lost interest. And I felt bad for Xu Kai. He was standing on the sidelines for most of the battle, just watching and shooting worried faces at Zhao yao. I hate to say he was useless, but it just felt like the writers did him dirty. Even Jiany Wu, who had already died by that point, was given a brief re-appearance. While Mo Qing, the ML, was forced to sit out on the action. 

I’m also so over the will-he-won’t-he be evil plot. I keep saying this but I’ll say it again. It. Just. Keeps. Dragging. I’ve watching longer dramas, but this one felt to go on forever. We get it. You’re being tortured by your inner demon, but love will conquer all. 

The editing is also weird? Some of the scenes aren’t in chronological order, and there’s no separation between dream sequences and reality. I also never liked the preview at the beginning of each episode. I also hate how they cut some crucial scenes from the TV version that’s on youtube, forcing me to hop onto doboku, which buffers. 

Honestly, the last episode felt like a hallucinated dream sequence. In one scene, they’re all sitting around the table saying that the need to seal the Wan Jun sword before Mo Qing gets out of the control, and then it suddenly cuts to black with a title card that says 5 years later (don’t get me started on how often they overuse the “5 years later” plot device. Why is it always exactly 5 years?) We then see that Zhiyan is now the sect leader, and we’re told that Mo Qing has sealed himself away, and Zhao yao has been waiting for him to return. We don’t see them say goodbye to Mo Qing before he seals himself away. No scene showing a handover to Zhiyan. We’re just forced to go with it and imagine these scenes ourselves. 

Zhao yao, with a new hairstyle and new clothes to signify the time skip, watches Zhi yan and the sect from the distance. She then goes to visit other people, like Sima Rong and Liu Cangling. Liu Cangling and Zhiyan are the only couple who were able to move on from each other, and honestly, good for them. We then see Zhao yao sitting in the cave, pouring wine onto the cave floor, and then it cuts to black again and a sword flies through the air and wedges itself on the bedrock and we hear Mo Qing say Zhao yao’s name in a voiceover. And then it cuts to a scene where they’re both in the cave wearing their clothes from 5 years and Zhao yao has her old hairstyle. You assume this is a flashback to when they sealed the sword. And then we see Mo Qing in another realm where he lowers the sword in to the water, presumably sealing it. And then it cuts to both of them on the street buying food, wearing their old clothes and hairstyles. 

Does this mean he got out of the seal? When in the timeline is this street scene? How did he get out of the seal? Did he just walk out? Was Zhao yao there waiting for him, or did he go and find her? It’s typical for there to be a long period of uncertain separation in xianxia and wuxia dramas, and these dramas usually end either ambiguously where you don’t know if the couple will reunite, or they end with an emotional reunion, like in Ashes of Love, Eternal Love, Love and Destiny, and Love and Redemption, and famously in Return of the Condor Heroes. But what in the world was this ending?? The hell happened? That was so anticlimactic. If the scene on the street really was their “reunion” after he got out of the seal, does that mean Zhao yao changed her hair back to 5 years ago? Why is the costuming so confusing then?

And the last scene where they have the same actors play their kids? Um, no. That’s just plain weird. You built up the chemistry between the 2 actors, and then in the end you make them play siblings and re-enact the scene of when their parents met? For what? To make the audience reminisce about the budding romance between the leads at the beginning so that things come full circle? But, these characters are siblings?? You’re trying to make us emotional over a scene of two siblings pretending to be lovers?

There was just no point in doing that. It doesn’t tell us anything about the characters’ married life now. I don’t care about their kids. I care about the characters and what they’re doing now. What a strange and uncomfortable way to end the drama. Not satisfying at all. 

It would have been better if they had left it ambiguous. The amount of times that Zhao yao came back from the dead showed that they can defy the impossible, so even if it was an ambiguous ending, you’d still be able to believe that they’ll be together again. But this mess just ruined the chemistry. Ugh. I really miss the first half of the drama. 

Overall Impression

I’m mad about how chaotic the last few episodes were. While the beginning of the drama wasn’t without its flaws either, it was still very promising and intriguing. The beginning of the drama felt like they knew where they were going with the story, even if you didn’t completely like the direction that it went. So yes, I echo the other critiques saying that this drama had a strong beginning and a weak end. 

When I got to episode 35, I thought, how bad can this get? When I got to episode 42, I was still holding out hope that maybe other people were just harsh and maybe I’ll actually enjoy it. But no, the final 10 episodes are really as bad as everyone says it is. 

The romance, which was the only reason I stuck to the drama, also felt a little underdeveloped. I wish we got to see more scenes of them pre-episode 30.They were so cute then. Everything post-episode 30 was just them being constantly worried about each other. 

At least there was no angst. And the comedy was great. So there’s that. 

I give this drama a 7/10 for the characters and the premise. The plot is not worth watching due to terrible editing, pacing, and consistency, but it’s also a drama that won’t take you long to watch since you could skip most of it anyway and just go to the scenes with the leads. It’s my first drama watching Bai Lu and Xu Kai, but I’m def now interested in more of their work, like Arsenal Military Academy. 

[stevesharrlngtons]

32 with Roman

prompts are open 

an anon requested some roman angst a lil while back, and while this isn’t super angsty it kinda is? lol

also i changed the wording a bit i hope thats ok

Of course he was here, you really shouldn’t have been surprised. 

Roman had a tendency to worm his way back into your life, physically or mentally, one way or another. It’s like he knew when you were finally moving on, when you had finally pushed him from your consciousness, and decided that that was unacceptable. 

You let out a heavy sigh as you watched him enter the house party, a perky blonde slung comfortably under his arm. The mummers had started then, people whispering and peeking over at him and his date. Just because this party was outside Hemlock Grove city limits didn’t mean that Roman’s name didn’t have any lore or pull to it. You were sure everyone in the state, hell maybe the country, would stop what they were doing to follow him through a room. He had an incredibly commanding presence, something that you once loved, but now just resented. 

“Is that Roman Godfrey?” the guy you had been chatting up asked. 

He was good looking, this random man. Charming, always willing to refill your cup or dance when a song you liked came on. He laughed at your jokes and kept his eyes from wandering to any of the other girls that were in attendance, which was silly, but something you appreciated. You’d only met him a couple of hours ago, so any singular devotion he had to you was quite flattering. You were seriously considering taking his hand and asking him to join you in a room upstairs until Roman showed up and decided to steal his attention from you. This guy, this stupid guy who was the only guy in the party who you’d been attracted to even in the slightest, of course he would have a hard on for Roman and his family name. 

“Who?” you asked with resentment, drinking more of the swilly beer in your cup. 

“Who? Roman Godfrey? His family owns half the state! He’s like, a billionaire. How in the hell do you not know who he is?” he talks like an animated puppy about Roman, you can see as his eyes follow the taller man everywhere he goes in the room. 

You refused to look at Roman yourself, you just stared up at your date (if you could even call him that). You focused on the bumping music as he continued to gush about Godfrey Industries and Roman’s family money. God, you bet this guy talked about Elon Musk like this too… and suddenly you felt so repulsed by him that your skin crawled at the thought of him touching you. 

“You know what?” you cut him off from his rant, “I’m going to go out for a cigarette.” 

“Oh, OK. Want me to come?” He asked.

“No, not particularly.” And you were sure he was scowling after you and calling you a bitch, but you didn’t care. You needed to get away from him, his Roman complex, and all other Roman related things. 

You pushed your way through the throngs of people in the house to the back sliding door, where you exited to the pleasant gust of chilled air. It was a welcomed contrast on your skin after simmering inside with all it’s muggy body heat. 

The house that was throwing the party was really nice, nicer than any house you’d be able to afford. There was a large inground pool, complete with water features and a conjoined hot tub; an outdoor kitchen with a pizza oven and fully stocked fridge; and some of the most beautiful landscaping you’d ever seen. It made you wonder who actually lived here. One of your coworkers had invited you along, and you had only shown up to have something to do on a Friday night. You saw her for around five minutes when you arrived, then you’d both disappeared into the sea of people. 

You went over to the kitchen and took a seat on one of the built in benches. It was carved into the brick next to the pizza oven, and even though the oven was off, you could still feel some heat emanating from it. You pulled your knees to your chest and settled against the brick, temple to the oven as you enjoyed the silence the night had to offer. You took out your phone from your jeans and began to app surf, switching between social medias to keep your mind busy. 

“Now, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing out here, all by her lonesome?” you could see the smarmy grin on his face without even looking up. 

A part of you had futilely hoped that escaping outside would have thrown Roman off your scent. You’d up and completely left parties when he had arrived in the past, so you hoped he would have assumed that was the case tonight. But then again if he had, he wouldn’t be Roman. Because he seemed to have a tracking device on you, always aware of your whereabouts. It used to be helpful, but now it just pissed you off. 

“You’re such a little stalker, you know that right?” you sneer, refusing to look up from your phone. 

“Pretty sure you’re the stalker, (Y/L/N). Somehow wherever I go,” He trails off as he came to sit next to you, far too close for comfort, “There you are.” 

“Whatever, Roman.” you reply, eyes still glued to your phone as you huddled closer to the oven. 

“What? No snarky retort? No adamant denial? Man, someone’s gone soft,” he chuckles. 

“Or maybe I’m just sick of this little game you’ve roped me into,” you bit back, and you could see in your periphery that his smile grew. 

“You love it.” 

“No, you love it. It’s why you never fucking leave me alone.” 

He scoffs, but doesn’t say anything else. There is a long beat of silence where the two of you just listen to each other's breaths, of the sound of the others clothing scraping against the brick and the sound of your deft fingers against your screen. 

It reminded you of when you were together, of when you had been the perky girl under his arm and the one enthralled by his presence. It reminded you of the late nights he’d shatter your body with pleasure and put you back together again. It reminded you of the times that he'd lay on your chest and murmur secrets and confessions with tears streaking his alabaster cheeks. It reminded you of the ever present smile he brought out in you. 

It reminded you of Roman’s refusal to admit any true feelings for you. It reminded you of tense silence after fights. It reminded you of how he broke your heart. 

“That guy you were talking to? Tried to shake my hand,” Roman chuckles, “Fucking freak.” 

“Yeah, that’s why I ditched him. He probably liked you more than you like you.” 

Roman snorts, “He was practically humping my leg.” 

“Yeah, well he was practically humping mine before you showed up. So thanks for that.” you said bitterly, finally pocketing your phone and looking out over the groomed backyard. 

“He wouldn’t have known what to do with a woman like you.” 

“I would have liked to figure that out on my own upstairs, thank you very much.” you cross your arms over your folded knees. 

“C’mon, that guy? I could smell his drug store cologne from a mile away, and that fucking geled hair? You chose that guy?” you could easily detect the envy in his voice.

“C’mon, that girl? With fake tits up to her chin and boxed dyed roots?” you shot back fast, and then immediately cursed yourself. 

Because you had just played into his game, the one you had been trying for the past few months to eject yourself from. 

“She’s hot, isn’t she?” he drawls, leaning back against the bench. 

“If you’re into that 80’s fake Sports Illustrated look.” 

“She fucks like she’s straight out of Hustler.” 

“Thanks for oversharing, Roman. Though that information feels a little more suited for Peter than me.” you said sarcastically, hoping with every passing second that he would get the hint and leave you alone. 

But he never did. Not tonight, not last time and you were sure he never would. 

“You used to love when I overshared. You said it made you feel closer to me,” he nudged you with his shoulder and you felt sick. 

Because yes, you had said that. You had loved when he told you everything. When he didn’t hold back on his thoughts and feelings, and told you things that were sometimes so ugly he’d retch. 

“You’re such a dick,” you swore, and finally stood to escape him.

“Oh, don’t be like that! Sit back down.” Roman reached out to take a hold of your wrist, but you flinched away at his touch. 

“Leave me alone.” 

“Sit back down and maybe I’ll think about it,” he laughs while trying to grab you again. 

“How long are you going to do this to me, Roman? How much longer are you going to torment me!” you snap.

You look down at him for the first time all night. You had been avoiding direct eye contact since he followed you outside, afraid of what those sinful green eyes could get you to do. You’d backslid with Roman one to many times because of those fucking eyes. 

“Torment you? That seems a bit rash,” he scoffs. 

“I don’t think it is, I actually think it lets you off too easy.” 

“Yeah?” he replies, fully condescending and pompous. 

“Yeah,” you clench your jaw, “because it’s like you’re haunting me, it's like you’re this looming force that will never let me move on. And for the life of me Roman, I can’t fucking figure out why. Is it just to torture me for leaving? Are you that much of a spoiled brat? That once the toy you didn’t want gets thrown out you through a tantrum until it’s back?” 

“Fuck you.”

“No, fuck you! I’m so sick of this, Roman. I’m sick of being at a party or a restaurant or a coffee shop and then having you appear out of thin air to remind me of how much it all just hurts. Do you even care? Do you even care that everytime I see you it takes off a year of my life from pure grief?” 

Because it did. Everytime you spotted him in line behind you, at a table across the room or drinking at a bar you were sat at, you felt awful. You felt so disgusting and used and dirty, because you let Roman take and take from you and when you asked for something in return he refused to give. 

“Am I not allowed to see a friend all of a sudden?” he asks, his tone becoming defensive and worried. 

“We’re not friends. We aren’t. I loved you and you spat in my face. I could never be friends with you again, Roman.”

Roman purses his lips and looks up at you under his brow before pushing up from the bench to stand, “You don’t love me anymore?” 

“It shouldn’t matter.” 

“It does. It does to me.” he steps closer to you with every word and you finally feel the effects of the alcohol you’d had earlier. 

“Well it doesn’t to me, and it shouldn’t to you either. It didn’t then.” 

It didn’t matter to him when he screamed and laughed in your face after your confession. 

Roman doesn’t respond, even though you can tell he wants to. He towers above you now, but you don’t cower under his height. 

You watch Roman chew on the inside of his cheek for a few moments before you know the conversation is over.

“I’m gonna go.” 

You turned back toward the house and started your trek across the grass. 

“Wait!” Roman suddenly called behind you. 

You didn’t want to turn, and maybe if you were stronger you would have kept walking. But you did and you weren’t. 

“What?” you ask with a frustrated sigh. 

“I do, y’know,” he says, his posture hunched and uncomfortable, “I mean, as much as I can feel that way about anyone.” 

“Love me?” you shot back, saying the words he was too cowardly too.

Roman looks around like he’s embarrassed, like he’s looking for any witnesses that might find out he has a heart. Then he nods gently. 

“As much as a person like me can. I don’t even know if I’m capable of... that’ing. To anyone.” 

You knew this is an incredibly vulnerable moment for Roman. You knew from experience that this was as close as he had ever been to uttering those sacreded three words, as close as he had ever felt to feeling them. You knew that this should give you some solace, some closure in your ongoing battle of emotions with the tall boy. You should feel better. But you don’t. 

Because it didn’t change the past, and only gave you worthless hope for some kind of future with the only man you’d ever loved.

“Ok.” was all you said in reply. 

And Roman just nods again, though it’s clear that wasn’t the response he was looking for. You almost expected him to say something else, but he doesn’t. He just takes out a cigarette and lights it.

“I, uh, I’m still going to leave,” you say, rubbing your biceps awkwardly under Roman’s intense gaze, “I only really came here to get laid and that fell through, so…” 

“Well, I could fix that, y’know?” Roman smirks before taking a drag, and suddenly any semblance of a moment being had was.

“I’ll pass,” you say and bid him a silent goodbye. 

You walk across the grass, short and such a vibrant green, even in the winter. You wonder if Roman liked the landscaping and the pool and the kitchen like you did. You wondered if things were different, if you two would live in a house like this. You tried not to think too much about it, though.

When you were almost to the house, you heard Roman call out for you again. 

You simply looked over your shoulder to see him leaning against a brick pillar, cigarette between his plush pink lips.

“I’ll see you soon.” 

feedback is appreciated!! (:

[kyberphilosopher]

Wʜᴀᴛ I'ᴍ Tʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ Aʙᴏᴜᴛ

“Go ahead and cry little girl... I know how much it matters to you...I'd do whatever I could do. I'd run away and hide with you.”

Word Count: 4176

“He doesn’t care what she tells him or what they talk about, he just loves to hear the sound of her voice. Even better if she has to tell him twice. On the other hand, this could insinuate that he either has a bad memory, is distracted, or is so infatuated with her he can’t concentrate on what she’s telling him.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Everybody on the Mantis seemed to be filled to the brim with something that could never be alleviated. 

Things stung like a sunburn... one that was plastered to their brains and wouldn’t go away. Even when the sun would implode in on itself six billion years later, the pink marks and scars wouldn’t fade. All their problems ran so deep- arguably too deep. What could they have done but sat and waited for it to leave them?

Greez Dritus couldn’t stop gambling. The rush of it all... the chance of losing and dying and escaping it each time made him feel invincible. Even when he would lose, it felt so good. It felt right, fated. Godly, even. It nearly destroyed his relationships... almost got one of his crew members killed... but Greez had come back to save him! Not that he needed saving... but it counted for something, didn’t it? 

[It didn’t.]

Cere Junda did what she could to let the guilt go. First, she tried confronting it. Then she tried burying it down. Neither of these made her feel any better. She tried meditating, eating, starving, sleeping, ignoring, embracing, and redirecting the guilt. Anything to defer the pain, instead of accepting it. But the more Cere deferred, the more the guilt grew. And the more the guilt grew, the more Cere shrank. 

Merrin felt angry too often. Even for her own liking. It was just that, sometimes if she thought too long, or shut her eyes too tight, she could remember her childhood. She could remember being patient and small, just as willing to learn as her fellow nightsisters. She could remember that all was well. But Merrin could also remember the day the armored man came with the droids, and how she wouldn’t have to be patient until she was left alone with no one but the dead. 

And Cal Kestis... Cal Kestis might’ve had the worst of it. The man suffered of no addictions, nor physical ailments. On the contrary, in fact. His body was broad and promising from work as a Rigger. Flexible and taut. It was his mind and emotions that was couldn’t seem to function properly. 

But it was different from Cere and Merrin’s trauma. It was more intensified, focused, raw on both guilt and loss at once. Cal had been in a complete state of agony since he was twelve years old, since he had held his master’s hand while he died. Master Topal had died for him, after all. Maybe it was for the best that Cal be the one to live with the blame. 

Cal thought about this every day. He thought about what he not only could’ve done, but should’ve done. He thought about all the people he’d never be able to love again, and why he didn’t deserve it anyway. Maybe he did have an addiction. Maybe Cal Kestis just loved making himself feel so bad over something nobody but himself hated him for. 

It’s not like you were much better. 

You felt incredibly heavy with the weight of all the secrets you’d been asked to keep. Strained with all the tapestries of misery you’d been tasked to weave. You were a Slicer, which wasn’t the most morally corrupt job, but it certainly made you feel morally corrupt yourself. Because you doubled as a bounty hunter, you were forced to choose yourself over others. Usually, yourself over the people and things you were turning in. 

Once, you had sliced into a mans datapad in search of information you had been tasked with deleting. On this datapad, you found names. Names of children, anywhere between the ages of eight to sixteen, sold off into various different rings. A girl named Aheka Shyn was training to be a medic when she was abruptly kidnapped and sent off to make spice. A boy named Garreth was only fourteen when he’d been stolen from his junk home planet, instead to be sent to an Imperial fighting ring. And you had desperately wanted to send the man to the authorities, arrest him yourself- anything. But if you didn’t delete what you had found, you would’ve starved to death that night. 

So you deleted what you found. 

There were several more occasions like this, and all of them haunted your memory. You were not a bad person, or even a neutral person. You were much worse. You were a bystander, a failure, the farthest anyone could get from a hero. And you refused to blame anybody but yourself for this revelation. 

You would not hate your father, nor blame your actions or lack thereof on the issues he had given you. You would not blame your mother, your brother, your sister- anyone you may or may not have in your life. You wouldn’t blame the first boy who ever broke your heart, or the first girl who had ever let your hands wander against her for false fame. It was you, all you, and if you wanted otherwise, you should’ve given otherwise. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

There are a lot of people in this world, and the next, who find sex to be pleasurable. Sometimes it’s for selfless reasons, and sometimes it’s for selfish reasons. Sometimes it’s simply because it’s one of the many cures for boredom. Maybe the purpose for your particular instance didn’t matter very much. It was pleasurable for you and Cal, and that was enough. 

You’d liked Cal for a long time. It was difficult not to. First thing you knew about him was that he had a great taste in music. Second thing you knew about him was that he didn’t know when to ask and not ask questions. The third, and most obvious thing you knew about him, was that he was a good person. From anyone’s point of view but his own, he was someone to be admired and respected. His whole life, the entirety of all occupations he’d had, were based around helping others. And you knew this was further proof that you weren’t good enough for him, but that night was the night that you couldn’t resist any longer. 

Cal had given you his consent, and you had given him yours. Both of you were worn out and too honest from the events of the long day, but mentally sober enough to be clear in your mindsets. You knew what was happening. No drugs, no alcohol, no manipulation. You’d found yourself in his quarters while everyone else slept for one reason or another, and then you’d done it. 

The act hadn’t lasted long. Both of you were too excited at the heat and promise of intercourse from the time you’d gone without. Not because you couldn’t get intercourse, but because you couldn’t find it within yourselves to muster up enough trust for anybody to touch you so. But then something had snapped between you and Cal, resulting in the rather hot and aroused endeavor. 

When it was done and the finger tipped shaped bruises were beginning to form on your hips, your first clear thought cut through like a knife. [“Oh, fuck.”] It wasn’t because there was a good chance that Cal had partially finished inside of you. It wasn’t because either of you had failed to think of any quick source of protection. It was because the consequences of your actions stretched beyond the physical ones. 

Were you in a relationship now? What if you weren’t? What if you wanted to be, and he didn’t? What if he wanted to be, and you said otherwise? What if this meant nothing to him? You didn’t know if you believed Cal to be that type of person, but your work as a Bounty Slicer before joining the Mantis crew was enough to teach you to never assume anything about anyone. Where were either of you to go from here?

Cal Kestis was in no position to be in a relationship. He’d told you that tonight, not with his lips, but with his fingers. When people become intimate as you have, sometimes they manage to share more than just their bodies. Cal had managed to share with you just why and how you were wrong about his mental and emotional state. He’d revealed his anguish, his fear of losing people. He’d revealed that he was angry deep inside, that he’d had more than a few regrets in his life. You didn’t know how or why- you’d always been too respectful to ask about his past. But now you had some twisted form of confirmation.

You looked over at him, deep in thought. Cal’s skin was glistening with a thin layer of sweat as he began to regain his breath. His hair was falling in soft, orange locks by his eyes. His lashes were long and dark brown, and seemed  heavy as he blinked. You can see the old, mauve gash that stretches from his neck to his cheek like a line in a poem. 

The boy raises his veined, left hand to push his hair back. With close eyes and a heaving chest, he says, “was it alright?”

In truth, it was much, much better than alright. Maybe you had low standards for not being touched for so long, but you really believed it was fantastic. A little blurred together from the pace and the clouded mind, but unmistakable in the sensations you’d earned from it. “Yes,” you managed to reply. 

Cal sighed finally, eyes still shut. His breathing was beginning to calm down at this point, but your mind was still racing. With his green orbs still glued shut, Cal reaches his arm around you, and rolls to the side. In a fluid motion, without much effort at all really, Cal pulls you towards him until your bare back meets his bare chest. 

Cal groans lazily a few more times as he adjusts his body around until he’s completely comfortable. He falls asleep in a matter of seconds. You on the other hand, feel tired, but buzzed. Almost like your deep dark thoughts have the same affect as caffeine. 

What the hell was that? You cry out in your mind. What the hell are we going to do now? 

But, despite the thoughts that created such anguish after such a pleasurable experience, you could feel yourself sinking into Cal’s embrace. His chest was warm and inviting, and broad enough to snuggle into it at any angle. You didn’t fight too hard to keep your eyes from coming to a stiff close.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

This brings us to now, and why you’ve only said one word to Cal since that night. 

It happened about four days ago at this point. You should’ve stayed and voiced your concerns to the boy, but you hadn’t. Instead you’d fallen into a dreamless sleep, only to wake up hours later when the Mantis shook coming out of hyperspace. Cal had removed his arm from around you and turned away, so it was easy to hop up, throw your undergarments on, and rush back to your room before anyone could deduce anything. 

It wasn’t that you specifically regretted what you had done- you liked Cal. You liked Cal a lot, actually. The night you spent pressed against him only proved and accelerated that much. But you were an observant person, and you were observant enough to understand that you might’ve just ruined everything. 

You weren’t good enough, or worthy enough to be with Cal. He wasn’t perfect, (which would bring you to your next point), but you were even farther from it. How many lives had you ruined just by trying to scrape by? Cal saved and bettered lives like it was nothing. He’d helped the partisans of Kashyyyk without asking for anything in return. He’d informed a single mother of her partners death with as much humility as he could. He’d shown enough empathy towards the Nightsister’s to make even Merrin budge. And you? You hated yourself for all the people you’d let down and would continue to let down into the next life. 

But Cal wasn’t in any state of mind to love you. He wasn’t cruel, nor manipulative. But he was damaged and scared of something that scared you more. So how was he ever going to love you? How was he going to put up with you? To take on more suffering than he already struggled with? You couldn’t do that to him, and the option of breaking your heart seemed all the kinder. 

And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You knew the moment you would be alone with him again, it could’ve gone one of two ways. Way One: that Cal would inform you that he loved you- falsely- and you would fall into his strong arms again and repeat your heated actions. On the other hand, there was Way Two: the way in which Cal told you he loved you, but he couldn’t go any further. Then it would come to an end. Both options upset you, so you decided to freeze yourself in time. Cal could neither lie, nor harm you so long as you kept away from him. 

And, as stated above, this went on for four days. 

So, there was a build up of frustration within the walls that you’d constructed around yourself. It was a stalemate, and it didn’t take long for you to crack. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

It started slow- the welling of tears across your lower lash line, the flushing of your cheeks, the trembling of your lips. You tried to deny it from happening. You practically shouted at yourself not to cry. It was so stupid. So, so stupid. So... why was it happening?

It overwhelmed you quickly. Your eyes squinted, smearing the drops across your eyes and making your vision blurry. You bit your bottom lip to stop the trembling, but then your nose began to sniffle. It burned to inhale the snot again, and your lips started to quake again. You were lucky you were alone, you thought, before you let the tears fall. 

It was night. Or, as nightly as space could get, you supposed. Greez had put the Mantis on autopilot, and hyperspace was whizzing by in indigo and baby blue streaks. White stars laced by in between lines, past the glass of the windows and the metal that had created the space. 

All was asleep, except for you. So you allowed yourself to cry, but only if you held yourself to keeping the volume down. And you did. On the steps by the Latero’s terrarium. All of the seeds had grown into miniature plants and trees and flowers by now, blooming in vibrant colors of all kinds. The picture would’ve been so neat and beautiful, if not for your form shaking as you hunched over. 

You should not have slept with Cal. Did you regret it? Not exactly. But you still felt so guilty about how much you cared for him, and the knowledge that he couldn’t have actually loved you. You might not have been able to love him too. There was just so many issues that you’d been able to pick up on, especially since you’d done the deed. But Greez had his gambling, Cere had her guilt, Merrin had her anger, and Cal had... Cal had everything. Everything you had shared, every burning mark he’d left on you, it all felt false. Like maybe it wasn’t out of emotions, but a wrong idea. 

What a ridiculous thing to cry about, you thought as you cried. But you couldn’t stop. The tears were leaking from you in pearly beads, glistening and swirling with your stress. As much as you hated to admit it, it felt good to cry. You hadn’t done it in a long time, years maybe. There was more than just everything with Cal that was exiting your system along with the tears. 

It was from the stress of your father, and whatever he may or may have not done. It was from the stress of work, the stress of your past. The guilt. All of it. It was pouring out of you silently, like the way that someone wrings out a washcloth. The sounds were minimal, and if anyone woke up and heard it, it could easily be mistaken for the little critter on board eating. 

However, the person that woke up and heard the noises, didn’t mistake it for the little critter on board eating. In fact, he thought it sounded a lot like someone who was crying, or sniffling. Even if he hadn’t been so observant with his hearing, he could still sense the waves of sadness coming from just past the hallway. They echoed throughout his chest like a wind chime, rippling through him until he felt sad too. 

Cal Kestis had a habit of taking on others people’s emotions. He had, even if it didn’t always shine through, an enormous amount of empathy. He had it even for his enemies, and it was the cause of a lot of lost fights. 

The Jedi had gone to use the bathroom when his face fell. He looked to the doorway of the stairs for a while, seeing just the outline of someone from his view. He couldn’t make out who it was, but he was quick to rule out Merrin and Greez. This left Cere and yourself, but the hood of your jacket gave it away. 

Maker, Cal had to urinate. He had to go so bad. But he went to you first without thinking about it, walking carefully as if not to disturb you. His boots were dropping on the floor louder than he would’ve liked, but it must not have been too loud, since you had not ceased your depressed bobbing or turned around to face him. 

Cal didn’t like asking upset people if they were okay, because he was intelligent to understand that being upset was not equal to being okay. But his baby pink lips were already throwing the words out anyway, his voice croaking slightly from the sleep he’d woken up from. “Are you okay?” he ventured out. 

Immediately, you turned around with a jump. Your cheeks were a deep shade of magenta, eye lashes long and dark and feathery. Eyes were sparkling beautifully, but for all the wrong reasons. One of your hands hastily wiped your face, as if you had simply sneezed. But Cal had already seen it. He knew you were crying, and you knew that he knew. 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you said as your voice cracked slightly. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“You sure?” Cal asked as he took a hesitant step forward. “You don’t look okay.”

Your eyes flitted from him to the miniature tree in Greez’s terrarium. The branches were curled into detailed little swirls, with leaves sprouting in bushes of bright and dark greens alike. In truth, craning your neck to look over your shoulder strained it for you, and looking away alleviated it just as much as it alleviated seeing the boy. “I’m cool.”

You hoped he would leave it and go away. This was a bit of a long shot, and of course he didn’t. Because Cal Kestis had a big, caring heart that was probably corrupted, but big and caring nonetheless. 

He walked nearer to you until finally another step would’ve resulted with him on the stairs too. You didn’t dare look up at him, keeping your eyes on the tree like your life depended on it. 

“I don’t think you’re okay,” Cal said in a very tired, but very soft and real voice. 

You swallowed, trying to keep the tears from falling again. Your eyes had already begun to glisten again like a threat, and your breathing was becoming shaky. But you were a big girl, and you knew you could keep it together if you just kept your eyes on the tree. Where had Cal gotten it? Kashyyyk?

“I mean maybe I’m tired but... you don’t look okay,” he continued. You could feel his soft green eyes on you as your nostrils flared with anxiety. “You don’t sound okay.”

“I’m just having an off night,” you decided to say. Which, by the way, was a safe enough thing to respond with. It wasn’t necessarily a lie- you were having an off night. But somehow it still felt like it wasn’t the truth. 

“Can you please look at me?” the boy said softly, though it felt somewhat dominant. 

Maybe if you looked at him and kept telling yourself to keep it together, you could. Maybe it would help. Like confronting a dare or showing up an enemy. Was that how you saw Cal now? An enemy?

Your knees croaked in protest as you pushed yourself off the floor. When you stood at your full height, much lower than him due to being a step lower, you lost sight of the tree. Cal’s left shoulder was in the way, covered by a black shirt and dark blue poncho. You followed the seam of it down where his collarbone would be, up the neck to where you had left a few marks, around his jaw and finally to his eyes. They were piercing and begging, and you knew at once you shouldn’t have accepted the challenge of looking into them. 

“Are you okay Y/N?” he repeats. 

You bite your bottom lip as the tears well again, telling yourself to nod yes. But for some reason, the message doesn’t get from your brain to the nerves or muscles in your head, and instead it shakes no. 

Cal reaches his arms around your shoulders again and pulls you into him until your head hits his chest. It’s a bit of a weird angle and position, but it feels nice to rest against something. He’s quick to notice your trembling and slowly eases his knees into a bend as you follow, though you’re more melting like putty. 

You start crying again right before he hits the stairs. It’s a little louder than it was before Cal arrived, but only because he knows you feel more protected and comfortable enough to do so. Still, he keeps you close as both a courtesy to others, and yourself. And it’s nice because you can see the tree again, but this time you can hear the rhythm of his heart as well. 

Both of his strong, engineer hands are caressing you- one against your shoulder and the other in your hair. Stroking softly and quietly as a contradiction to your sobs, like something calm against something wracking. 

It made you cry more when you realized how calm Cal was to all of this. He stayed steady and upright so you could be comfortable against him- you could already feel the tension forming in his back. But his eyes were closed instead of looking around awkwardly. He wasn’t asleep, but it was like his body was entirely dedicated to taking care of you in the moment. He knew how much it meant for you to cry, even if you thought the reasons were stupid and ridiculous and you’d done your best to stop it. He let it happen anyway, and he’d let it happen on him. And if you didn’t know, that’s an incredibly nice thing to do for someone. 

You felt like a little girl again, but this time it felt better. It felt like maybe someone actually wanted you to be okay. 

Cal didn’t even ask what was wrong. Not yet, anyway. He just stayed in his position, tracing loving circles into your skin without really knowing the reasons why. He cared, but not as much as he cared about you being alright first. That meant something to you. It meant that he cared about you more than whatever reasons that galaxy could come up with. It meant that he’d put you first, before logic or shadows of facts or evidence. For now, at least.

In turn, Cal wanted to do everything he could for you. He didn’t know what was hurting you. He’d ask after, when he’d whisked you off to somewhere special and warm and safe that existed just between the two of you. Like your own little planet with a thousand different rings and scenery. Because, like said before, Cal Kestis has an enormous amount of empathy, and a very big heart. 

So, you thought, maybe he can love me like I love him. 

[He could.]

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

I really came into this trying my best but then I feel like it slowly spiraled as I progressively got more tired. I always say I’ll go back and edit but then I get distracted by the Clone Wars and start something new. 

This was based of the song Daddy Issues by the Neighbourhood. I suggest listening to it. AND if there’s any other characters you’d like me to use for this song than tell me! I really like it a lot. anyway, butts. 

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo​ @haztory​ @fanficsforheartandsoul​ [can’t even remember if you’re actually on my taglist but i just tag you in everything anyway i’m so sorry], @anakinswhore​ @chokemeanakin​ @kit-jpg​

[danny-chase]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Titans (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Garth & Dick Grayson, Garth & Donna Troy, Garth & Dick Grayson & Donna Troy Characters: Garth (DCU), Dick Grayson, Donna Troy, Lian Harper Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, snuggling and fluff, self indulgent fic, Cuddling, Hypothermia, Canon Typical Violence, Swearing, POV Garth, Fluffy Ending, no beta we die like Garth, Dick Grayson needs to sleep more, Cold Water, inflatable rafts, Garth has the power to make a mini hot tub, Titans, Titans (1999) feels, Blankets Summary:

The one where Garth has to save his idiot best friend from dying of hypothermia. Incredibly self indulgent with many snuggles.

.

.

.

Garth decided that the next time he had a bad feeling about something, to ignore Dick, and say no. It was for his own good.

 Then.

One of the best parts of living in Titans Tower was that he could set the temperature of the indoor pool.

 It was the middle of February, outside, temperatures had dropped below freezing, but inside the heated water, he was nice and warm. Gliding through, he spun and twirled just for fun. And of course, to show off for his delightful little niece Lian.

“Catch me!” Lian ran off the diving board, a gleeful expression on her face as Garth dove up through the water, snatching her out of midair. He leaned straight back to create a massive splash (not at all enhanced with his powers). All the while keeping Lian completely dry. “Again! Again!” She cried, laughing her head off as he carried her on his shoulders, depositing her on the side.

 “One more, then bedtime. Promise?” Lian was tough to bargain with, a real smooth talker – just like her dad. As it was, the precocious little five-year-old titled her head to the side with a frown.

 “Hmm. I want two more times.” Two? He’d be getting off lucky, he’d been planning on three.

 “Deal.” He immediately replied. Lian padded off towards the board again, carefully walking (they’d told her enough times not to run).

 “Lian, sweetie.” Garth turned to see Dick and Donna walking in, in uniform. He frowned; they didn’t have a mission scheduled for tonight. Lian changed course, veering off at Donna’s call.

 “Hey, sweetheart.” Dick intercepted, swinging Lian up in his arms into a hug. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and Lian giggled back. “It’s bedtime for you, little bird.” Her face morphed into a frown.

 “But Uncle Garth said-”

 “Sorry kiddo, I gotta talk to your uncle Garth.” Dick smiled at her lovingly. “Can you go with Auntie Donna? She’s going to put you to bed with Aunt Toni. Okay?” Garth swam to the edge of the pool, Lian’s lower lip was forming into a defiant pout.

 “Sorry, fishsticks, we can do it tomorrow. Three times.” He promised. Somehow, he knew he wouldn’t be getting out of the third round. Fortunately, his luck held, and Lian decided three times tomorrow would be good enough. She nodded, squirming towards Donna.

 “Okay.” She replied. Dick passed her over and stuck a hand over the edge of the pool. Garth took it, and they both pulled; he nearly flew out of the water.

 “Here.” Donna passed him a towel as she left. “See you in a bit.”

 “Bye, fishy.” Lian called as the exited the room, giggling as Donna gave her a little tickle. Lian was such a precious child, Roy was truly blessed to have her.

 He turned his attention to Dick. ‘Have you been sleeping?’ is what he wanted to ask; he was paler than usual, and the bags under his eyes were becoming more pronounced (again). But Dick never took to the question kindly, and at this point, Garth had learned to pick his fights. “What’s up?” He asked instead. Dick gestured towards the locker room.

 “Quick mission, you, me, and Donna. I’ve been hacking the H.I.V.E.’s servers, they’re receiving an arms shipment tonight in about an hour by boat, you game?” Garth nodded hesitantly, the bad feeling from before returning. The others were busy tonight, they likely wouldn’t have any backup.

 “How long did that take you?” He asked nonchalantly. Dick shrugged, but his bloodshot eyes spoke for themselves. Garth repressed a sigh. Fighting Dick Grayson would be counterintuitive, at least if he went, he could keep him out of trouble.

 “Meet in the bay in fifteen.” Dick instructed. “Glad to have you on board.” He grinned, and Garth did his best to ignore how unhinged he looked. This was a bad idea.

 Now.

“I knew this was a bad idea.” Garth grumbled. Cold wind stung his face, as he ducked another punch from the enhanced guard. Dick finished off the normal guards on the left, and Donna was locked in battle with another meta to his right. Fighting in cramped spaces was never fun.

 “Quit whining Gill-for-brains.” Dick teased he’d just finished off the last goon. He turned, chucking a wing-ding into the meta’s palm. The man roared with fury and charged.

 It seemed to happen in slow motion, the wind picked up on the rickety little speedboat, Dick stumbled as he dodged, the minute mistake was all the meta needed. Garth ran, but the meta was closer – he didn’t have a chance.

 “Shit.” He cursed as he watched Dick tumble off the side of the boat, into frigid waters.

 *SPLOOSH*

 “Fuck.” Donna muttered next to him. The meta turned back towards him, invigorated by his victory. Garth cursed, he couldn’t leave Donna alone with two of them, Dick would have to wait, but he needed to hurry.

 “Fucking asshole!” Garth yelled, anger burning in his chest. He let out a violet blast and kicked the man in the knee. “That was my friend!” The meta swiped at him, but adrenaline was coursing through his veins. Ducking, twisting, turning, blasting, he unleashed a barrage of fury on his opponent. All the while, they sped further and farther away from where Dick went under.

 Garth screamed in fury, unleashing a final blast at the man’s head, and finally the man stayed down.

 “Go, I’ve got this one.” He was way ahead of her, running to the side of the speeding boat. His muscles burned from exertion, but he pushed through. “I’ll meet you with the copter!”

 “Nightwing!” He called, diving off the side. Swimmingly in the opposite direction, he scanned the horizon for motion – damn Dick for making his costume so hard to freaking see against the night. “NIGHTWING!” He repeated, frantically picking up speed.  

 His pulse pounded in his head, it was cold out, and while he was resilient to the sub-freezing waters, Dick was human. It didn’t matter how well-crafted his suit was, it wasn’t watertight, and in this weather, it wouldn’t take long for hypothermia to set in. The currents were strong, and the boat had been moving fast, it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since Dick fell in but, he was no where to be seen. Garth tore on, cutting through the choppy waves.

 Finally, he caught a spattering of bright yellow on the horizon – a small inflatable raft was tossed about on the rough sea. There was only one hero (okay probably Batman too) that kept a life raft on him. Fear seemed to pierce through his chest as he willed the water to push him forward. “Nightwing!” He called again, surfacing just next to the little vessel.

 No response. His chest clenched with anticipation and worry as he carefully placed a hand on the lip of the float. Gingerly, he pulled himself up, careful not to overturn it.

 Dick was sprawled on the other side, violently trembling, as one of his arms dangled over the side. His skin had a grayish tone, ice had frozen chunks of his hair. Panic clawed at Garth’s sides. “Dick?” No response.  He scrambled across the raft and pulled the shaking figure into his arms. Dick’s eyelids fluttered behind the lenses on his mask.

 “-ayy?” He mumbled a string garbled words, weakly squirming as Garth pulled him close to his chest. “-oo ‘ot” He protested, Garth kept his grip firm, and stood, hoisting Dick in his arms and willing water to flood the little raft.

 “I got you, Rob. You’re okay.” He murmured into Dick’s hair, the old nickname slipping out, despite the new costume. Shifting Dick over his shoulders, he plunged his left hand into the raft’s water are brought it up to a warm temperature, careful not to make it hot. “You’re going to be okay, just hang on a moment.” He kept his voice steady and soothing, ignoring the anxiety clawing its way up his throat. He had to stay levelheaded, focus on maintaining the water temperature.

 He gently lowered Dick into the make-shift bath, keeping an arm wrapped around his torso, securely locking him in place against his chest. He twisted his legs around Dick’s preventing him from kicking around. Using his left hand, he held Dick’s head above water, and carefully melted the ice in his hair. He hummed platitudes in Dick’s ear, and after a few moments, he settled down.

 “-arf?” He let out a breath of relief at the acknowledgment.

 “You with me?” He gave Dick a gentle squeeze.

 “-ere’s ‘ay-on?” He gulped in surprise, he wasn’t sure, but that sounded like Jason. Dick never talked about Jason. “-e ‘kaay? -iing.” Garth ran his hand through Dick’s hair and thanked the gods for the faint sound of a helicopter approaching in the distance.

 “You’re all right, love, everything’s fine.” He assured, willing Donna to speed up. “Keep still.” Dick was squirming again, but in his current condition it was a fruitless endeavor. He warmed the water slightly, bringing it back up to temperature. Dick’s head lolled against his chest. “Stay awake.”

 “’ired.” Dick complained. Concern tugged at his insides.

 “I know, buddy, it’s okay, you gotta keep your eyes open for me, alright?” Dick mumbled in acknowledgement. They sat in silence for a moment, tremors wracking Dick’s small frame. Humans were so tiny. “How are you feeling?”  

 “’s hot.” Dick wriggled, trying to pull out of the warm water, again Garth just gently restrained him.

 “Sorry, big brain, you gotta stay put.”

 Dick began mumbling again, Garth only caught the word “skiing” from the gibberish. The wings of the Titan’s helicopter drowned out whatever it was Dick was trying to say. Donna swooped down moments later, scooping them both up, and carrying them up to the small cabin.

 “Great Hera.” She shook her head, fretting as she unzipped Dick’s suit. Garth quickly discarded his wet clothes, vigorously toweling off before hopping in a spare set of pants from a bin they kept in the back. He yanked out boxers and sweatpants for Dick.

 “He’s not making sense.” Garth advised, tossing the clothes onto a nearby seat. Dick swayed on the spot as Donna removed the top half of his drenched suit, and Garth quickly made his way over, placing an arm on his side to keep him upright.

 “Well, that’s what happens when you decide to go swimming in Febuary.” Donna rolled her eyes, but her tone was worried. “You won’t do that again, will you?” Dick’s teeth chattered as he stared past her in response. Garth grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his torso, swapping places with Donna to take off the bottom.

 “The things we do for love.” Donna said wryly, passing him dry clothes. She started toweling off Dick’s hair, as Garth gently patted down his legs with another towel.

 “-ing on?” Dick muttered. “onna?” Garth guided his feet into the pants and pulled them up.

 “I’m right here, sweetheart.” Donna pressed a kiss to his temple.

 “Alright, almost good as new.” He grabbed a blanket off the dash. “Donna, care to join?” She grabbed a second blanket, and the two of them half carried a stumbling Dick Grayson to the cot in the back.

 “I’ll have to take over when we land, but we should be good on autopilot for now.” They threw the blankets over the group, sandwiching Dick in the middle. Garth breathed a sigh of relief, slipping his arms around Dick’s torso and pulling their chests together, making skin-to-skin contact. Donna shuffled closer, scooping his legs together and curling around them, leaning her head against Garth’s side. He leaned back against the wall, together they made a little cocoon of warmth, his naturally high body temperature easily heating their little nest under the blankets.

 “Methinks, we should take a vacation. Somewhere warm.” He suggested, contentedly cuddling Dick close to his chest, the anxiety of the last hour dying down at last. Donna snorted next to him.

 “You remember our last ‘vacation’?” She asked sarcastically. Garth nodded. A disastrous trip to a remote island, plagued with storms and infighting, the latter of which was caused by a villain with a grudge. With a specific dislike of their shivering friend.

 “Dick thinks it’s a good idea, don’t you?”

 “Mm?”

 “Close enough, I’m taking it as a yes.” Donna laughed; warm air tickled his arm.

 “Shall we go to the Grand Canyon?” She teased.

 “No.” Dick stated, catching them both off guard. “Garth is a fiiiish.” Even delirious, at least Dick understood Garth plus hot, dry climate equals a bad idea.

 “Well, he’s not wrong. I am a fish.” Garth grinned. “We could go to another island. With more houses.” He suggested.

 “’ruce hass a islaand.” Dick noted. Of course Batman owned an island. Though, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go to an island Bruce had bought.

 “Okay, that sounded like an endorsement. Boy blunder, are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Donna put a hand on his forehead, brushing his bangs to the side.

 “’m fineee.” Ah, yes. Dick Grayson; the pinnacle of good health.

 “See, he’s fine Donna, sheesh, what are you getting so worked up for? The man wants his vacation.” Donna rolled her eyes.

 “He’ll kill us if we drag him on vacation.” She muttered. Though, in his current state, that was highly unlikely.

 “Donna, I’ll kill him if he tries to get out of bed for the next two days.” He assured. Dick would be a nightmare to deal with, but on the bright side, he’d been scheduled to babysit the next few days, and Lian would love another friend to join in watching My Little Pony and Barbie movies.

 “Agreed.” Donna noted.

 “Dooon’t, kill meee.” Dick squirmed again.

 “Dick, Garth won’t hurt him, he doesn’t have it in him.” She knocked her head against his shoulder. “He’s a big old softie.”

 “Heee’s fiiishy.” Dick agreed, relaxing back into his arms.

 “Okay, no one let him near Lian.” Garth joked, taking Dick’s hands in his. Color seemed to be returning to the surface of his skin. He pressed the side of his face to Dick’s ear, nestling his head back against his chest.

 “Youuur warm.” Dick let out a long yawn, sending shivers down Garth’s spine.

 “A yes, another brilliant deduction from the Boy Wonder, Wondergirl, how does he do it?” Garth teased. He felt almost giddy now that Dick was in better shape than before. They’d still need to be careful, but the stress of the situation was slowly leaving him as they snuggled together.

 “It’s his big head, it makes space for his big brain.” He laughed at Donna’s remark and pressed a kiss to the top of Dick’s head. It was a big brain, but a dumb one sometimes too. The conversation hit a lull, and they sat there, in silent companionship with one another.

 After a while, Donna passed him Dick’s legs. “I’ve gotta to land, take care of bird-brain.”

 “Tweet.” Dick commented as she left. Garth wheezed to stifle laughter.

 “You think you’re cute, don’t you?” Donna called from the front.

 “Am.” Dick muttered.

 “Can’t argue with that.” Garth asserted, tucking his legs up underneath Dick’s. As they neared the landing pad, he breathed yet another sigh of relief. He wasn’t thrilled with the state of events, but they’d been lucky tonight. He wouldn’t be attending another funeral tomorrow. Dick’s heart was steadily beating, his breath seeming to get easier with each passing moment. As they landed in the bay, Garth decided, that for tonight, that would have to be enough.

[daisybeewrites]

The Best Medecine

word count: 2.7k

warnings: fluffflufffluff

requested? no i just needed to see daisy take care of daniel

ship: dousy/daniel sousa x daisy johnson

PART 2!! idr have an authors note today, just enjoy :)

(gif not mine)

Daniel felt like crap. 

He had caught Daisy’s cold, and the effects were hitting him harder than a ton of bricks. 

Daisy had recovered fairly quickly after he smoothly convinced her to take the proper medicine and rest. They had a great few days where both of them felt alive and normal, not like zombie versions of themselves. Going grocery shopping (avoiding the soup aisle, they already had a freezer full), taking a day trip to hike the Eaton Canyon trail and picnic, testing out a new prosthetic Fitz designed, and pulling an all-nighter to binge-watch Grey’s Anatomy completed the week wonderfully.

Things were going great! Almost too great. Things never go this great in their universe. Which is why neither of them were surprised when Daniel shot up in bed at 4am sneezing, waking Daisy and, she joked, the rest of the street. He tried to go back to sleep, only to wake up with a loud achoo! ten minutes later. Daniel rubbed his forehead, the pressure centered between his eyebrows insisting that he was not going to get any sort of true rest that day. 

He told a sleepy Daisy that he felt fine, that he just needed a hot bath. It was probably just the spring allergies, right? Nothing to worry about, Daniel told himself as he swung his leg over the side of the bed, grabbing his crutches and lumbering to the bathroom. He splashed his face with warm then cold water before quickly checking that Daisy was asleep again, her silhouette rising with deep breaths, outlined in diffused blue light from the stars on the ceiling. Maybe he could shake this before it got too bad? Surely, it wouldn’t disrupt his routine too much?

Daniel quietly crutched to the soft couch, grabbing a blanket from the pile on the armchair. The flannel of the blankets and the comfortable give of the couch lulled Daniel into a restless sleep. 

Early morning turned to late morning turned to afternoon, Daniel only waking up from tossing and turning when Daisy shook him and offered a sinus pill, which he gulped down with an entire cup of cool water. Three ice cubes shaped like half moons knocked into each other as he tipped the cup back, letting the smooth liquid drown out the scratchiness in his throat.

A glance at the clock alarmed him, mentally calculating how long he slept. He noticed the second quilt that had been laid on top of him, the fleecy textile one Daisy frequently curled up with when she had a bad day. He could faintly smell her coconut and lavender conditioner. It tickled his nose.

“Sweetheart?” Daniel called weakly.

“Mmm?” Daisy hummed.

“I slept for fourteen hours?” Though he asked a question, his tone was almost a statement.

Daisy nodded, slightly smiling. “I think you caught my cold. Maybe cuddling so much wasn’t a good idea.”

Daniel chuckled a little, but stopped when he saw the flicker of worry in her eyes. He reached over to her and grabbed her hand. “I don’t regret any time spent helping you feel better, Daisy.”

She smiled, mirroring his expression. Their eyes both crinkled at the sides, happy gazes taking in the other. Daisy’s eyes still furrowed though, and Daniel cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the frog there before speaking. The action only scratched his throat, a string of coughs interrupting the couple’s staring contest. 

“Hey, could you bring me som—” Daniel was cut off by more crackling coughs. Daisy threw him a concerned glance. He could hardly keep his eyes open, hands clammy and forehead burning, body shaking with hacks. He could feel the dip in the cushion as Daisy moved to sit down beside him, resting her hand on his forehead. Her cool skin felt incredible on his. He understood why she liked it so much when he had done the same. 

He slowly opened his eyes, ignoring the dry, itchy feeling and opting to focus on Daisy above him. She looked beautiful, like an angel, with airy morning light surrounding her and two messy braids running down her back. She was his angel. His angel was smirking at the way he leaned into her touch. 

“These?” she asked, as she held up a small, blue box of tissues. He nodded, swallowing thickly before sitting up and scooting back to lean against the rounded arm of the tan couch. Daisy laughed quietly. 

“What?”

She continued giggling, her small laugh growing a little.

“What’s funny?”

Daisy leaned forward and rested a hand on his thigh for balance. 

“You’re wearing those pajama pants I got you for Christmas,” she explained. He glanced down, recognizing the tiny planets of their solar system dyed into the plush fabric. “They’re cute on you.”

He smiled, gazing at Daisy. Then he sneezed. Luckily, he picked up a tissue and covered his face in time to not sneeze in Daisy’s face. Daisy leaned back, laughing. Daniel started to, too, a low rumble in his chest diffusing the nerves he had felt. This was the first time Daisy had ever seen him sick. There was that one time in space when he had almost gotten (unintentionally) poisoned by alien coffee, but that was an unpleasant memory he didn’t want to dwell on. Other than that, not a single sniffle had popped up. 

Daisy suddenly stood up and slid to the kitchen in sock feet, a large grin on her face.

“Dais, where’re you going?” he wondered out loud. 

“The kitchen, duh,” she replied as she slid to the soapstone countertops, grabbing a red and white box out of the counter. 

Daniel recognized it as Daisy’s favourite tea, she had bought it on a mission in South Africa and became enamoured with it. Sometimes Daniel would catch her up at odd hours of the night, when she couldn’t sleep, out on the back patio drinking a steaming mug of Rooibos. He knew it was her favourite, and it had slowly become his, too. Lately, they have made a habit out of winding down from long days at work with mugs in their hands, on the couch or in the backyard, red-amber liquid relaxing their minds and limbs. Those were some of his favourite times with Daisy, spent talking and drinking their tea and laughing at reruns of sitcoms.

The sound of hot water trickling into a mug pulled him out of his thoughts. The mug in question was one he had made for Daisy—large and hand painted, artsy flicks of white and yellow and blue serving as reminders of their time in space. That was a modern invention he was particularly fond of (paint your own pottery, not space). It was mesmerizing to watch the colored, chalky paint glide onto the ceramic surface. He often went to this local hole-in-the-wall café that let you paint one of their mugs and bring it home, for an extra charge. Their coffee and ‘old-fashioned southern’ biscuits were delicious.

Daniel stared as Daisy danced around the kitchen, her fishtails swishing and hips swaying. There was no music, just her. She dunked the tea bag in a couple times and let it steep. When the tea was ready, she poured in a squeeze of honey and grabbed a shiny green bottle of cough syrup, carefully walking over to the couch. Daniel gently took the mug from her, using the corner of the blanket as a barrier so as not to burn his hands. Daisy sat on the coffee table across from him, smiling as Daniel took a sip. 

“Hot!” he exclaimed.

“I know I am, you don’t have to tell me,” Daisy teased. “Do you want some ice cubes?”

“Jemma would disapprove,” Daniel shot back.

Daisy rolled her eyes and sighed. “Jemma has put up with my odd tea-drinking since 2013. I already made the tea wrong, might as well make it so that you won’t burn yourself trying to drink it.” 

Daniel watched Daisy laugh. As ill as he felt, Daisy just being there helped tremendously. The tea soothed his scratchy throat and her laugh sped up his heart. He knew the pink dust on his cheeks couldn’t be attributed to fever alone. 

The pair sat in silence for a while as Daniel finished the tea, thankful for the warm beverage. His headache was slightly dissipating, due to the tea or Daisy’s light aura he wasn’t sure. He sat the mug down on the table and leaned up to peck Daisy’s lips. She leaned in a bit putting her hand on his chest to pull away.

“How about that bath?”

“Only if you come, too,” Daniel whispered.

Daisy chuckled. “You, lover boy, are sick. If we keep this up, one of us is always going to be sick. And plus, I need you distracted while I make a surprise!”

Daniel perked up, his slight pout disappearing. “A surprise…?”

“Yes, Danny-boy, a surprise. Which means I can’t tell you, so sit here and I’ll go fill the tub and then you can feel the full effects of that chill pill.”

Daniel leaned towards Daisy, confused. “What chill pill?”

“This chill pill,” Daisy said, leaning forward until her nose almost touched his. Daniel’s head swam with the scent of her silky blonde hair and vanilla lotion. She gently rubbed her hands up and down his arms and over his shoulders. He took a moment to watch the twinkle in her eye, the warmth resonating through him. He felt the tension from staying on the couch all day slowly release, his arms coming to wrap loosely around Daisy’s back in an attempt to keep her there. She shook her head with a grin and sat up, easing off the couch.

Daisy kissed Daniel’s forehead before walking down the hall to the bathroom. Daniel watched her leave, conflicted. Shouldn’t he be able to take care of himself? He had for years, why stop now? It isn’t like he couldn’t fill up the tub, or cook or grab tissues, no matter how light headed he got. Why did she want to help him? ‘Because I love you, you stubborn square!’ Daisy would say. He could practically hear her protest, ‘Just let me take care of you! It won’t hurt!’

 If he was honest with himself, that’s all he wanted. 

So, he did.

Daisy came back into the living room, the faint sound of water rushing creating a comforting ambience. He didn’t have his leg on, as laying around all day didn’t require it and he was more comfortable without the prosthetic cramming against the back of the couch. He reached back and grabbed the pair of crutches that were leaned against the arm of the sofa. Daisy walked with him back to the bathroom, making sure he didn’t lose his balance due to dizziness from dehydration. Apparently, that was one reason Daisy had felt so horrible after her mission, she had been so busy taking down bad guys that she almost took herself down, too. Even knowing that dehydration isn’t contagious, neither of them wanted him falling into décor à la Daisy. 

They reached the bathroom, Daisy running to their room to grab an extra set of sweats for Daniel to put on once he was done. 

While she was rummaging through drawers, Daniel carefully undressed and got into the deep tub.

The bath felt incredible. He could smell the lavender from the fancy epsom salt that Daisy had gotten him wafting up from small waves he created. The water was warm, but not so hot that it burned and not so lukewarm that it would go cold in a few minutes. 

“Dais, this is first-class,” Daniel called. 

Daisy giggled a bit before responding. “First-class?”

“I know you’re poking fun, but thank you. It feels amazing.”

Daisy peeked her head around the corner, nodding. 

“I'm glad you like it. Now I'm gonna go fix that surprise. Yell if you need anything, k?”

Daniel nodded and relaxed his head back, muscles slowly easing their tension and his eyes softly closing. 

“Oh, shit!!”

Daniel startled, bath water dripping over onto the towels lining the tub. Daisy’s exclamation didn’t seem pained, but he couldn’t help his brow from creasing. He felt fairly rested, he wasn’t sure how long he had been napping in the water. It had gone from pleasantly warm to tepid, he guessed around thirty minutes at the most. 

“Dais, everything alright?”

Daisy paused before responding, “Yep! Got it all under control!”

Daniel smiled and shook his head, figuring it was probably time to get out and troop back to the living room, anyway.

He grabbed the grip-bar beside the tub and eased up, sitting on the edge before swinging his good leg around and stepping onto the floor. He grabbed a towel off his hook on the wall and started to dry off. Daisy had set a pair of comfy pants and a shirt on the counter, which he pulled on before grabbing his crutches and making his way to the kitchen. Something smelled… burnt. 

He rounded the corner, stopping in his tracks. 

“Uh, Dais?”

“It’s burned, I know,” Daisy said, disconcertedly.

“Are you okay?”

Daisy was staring disappointedly at two bowls of seemingly okay soup. She gestured loosely to the sink, Daniel’s eye following. 

“Oh, okay, yeah, I see.”

There was a large pot sitting in the sink, filled with greyish water, black bits glued to the bottom. 

“I’m sorry. I know cooking isn’t exactly my thing.”

Sousa smiled, running a hand through his wet hair. Daisy’s hands fidgeted, rubbing at her neck.

“Is the soup in the bowls good?”

Daisy looked him up and down, a twinkle of mirth in her eye, like she knew something he didn’t. She shrugged, “The char adds flavour.”

At that, Daniel grinned and stepped forward a little, leaning against the counter next to her. “I’m up for some extra flavour.”

Daisy looked over at him with an odd expression. “Even sick, never fails.”

Daniel responded immediately, “Through sickness and health.”

Daisy’s eyes went wide. 

“Relax, I’m kidding. Mostly.”

Daisy’s posture slumped a little as she hit his bicep. “Funny. You’re a funny, funny man.”

He nodded and felt a deep laugh in his chest. “I am very funny, yes.”

Daisy squinted her eyes at him, turning and picking up their bowls of soup to set on the kitchen island. She slid onto one of the backless bar stools that served as seats for when she didn’t feel like being fancy and eating at a table. Sousa took a moment before following, leaning his crutches against the cabinet after sliding onto the stool across from Daisy. He picked up a spoon and tasted the soup, swallowing down a grimace and giving her a thumbs up. 

“It's great!” Daniel exclaimed.

Daisy pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows at him, tasting a spoonful. She was not as great at acting as Daniel was, and could barely keep herself from spitting it out.

“Oh, god, that’s awful!” Despite her wry expression, she was giggling as she picked her cell out of her pajama short’s pocket. Daniel eyed her, perplexed as Daisy hit a button in her .

“Yes, hi... Thank you. Can we get six egg rolls, a small veggie fried rice, a plate of crab wontons, and a small shrimp lo-mein?... Yes! Thank you!... Alright, we’ll be there in ten. Have a good evening!” Daniel watched as Daisy hung up, a bright grin slowly spreading across her face.

Daniel mirrored her, smiling wide. “Chinese food?”

“Yep,” Daisy nodded, popping the 'p'. 

Daisy slid lithely off the seat, grabbing the bowls of blackened soup and trashing them. She felt bad, throwing away food. She never got rid of food unless she absolutely had to. Old habits die hard. 

She turned around and gave Daniel a smile. She noticed that he wasn’t as pale, his face wasn’t as flushed and he wasn’t swaying like his head was full of air. Maybe she had helped more than she thought. They walked out to Daisy’s car, a metallic dark grey crossover with slightly tinted windows. Daisy got in on the drivers side, Daniel climbing into the passenger. She cranked the car and turned up the radio, checking that Daniel was okay. It was a slightly chilly evening, and the windows were rolled down just enough to let the air in. 

The evening felt great, the cool air and orange-pink sky refreshing their senses. Daniel’s eyes were soft as he gazed at Daisy. Even though he caught her cold, he had the feeling that Daisy was the best medicine. Lucky him.

Maybe things do go this great in our universe.

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awwwwwww, cuuuuuuute! as always, feel free to drop a request in my ask box (linked in the bio) or comment any thoughts!! thanks for reading!!