#and caused the thought to burrow into the back of my mind like a sleeper agent. waiting for the opportunity to spring out

[meanderfall]

thinking of causing psychic damage to everyone who follows me by reblogging call of duty posts

[princehrry-writings]

Daddy?

happy Easter if you celebrate it!! I've been working on this for a couple weeks!! It's the longest one-shot I think I've ever written.

word count: 5180

please please please flood my inbox with your thoughts and comments!! i want to know what you think!!!

warnings: some swearing (i think), absent birth father, single mom, nothing too serious.

“And who might this be?” He said softly, hoping that he wouldn’t frighten her.

“Tell Harry your name baby,” Y/n brushed a stray piece of hair away from her daughter's face who shied away behind her mom’s leg.

“Stella,” the little girl mumbled, fidgeting with the jeans she hid behind. He felt his heart flutter. She was just so freakin cute.

“It’s lovely to meet you Stella, m’Harry!”

“You talk funny.” The child said, making Harry laugh and Y/n gasp, scolding her daughter for being rude while trying not to laugh at her blunt comment.

“Stella Rose, that was not a very nice thing to say!” Y/n softly reprimanded.

“Sowwy Hawwy,” He chuckled, letting her know he forgave her.

or

Y/n is a single mom and Harry wants to be a part of the family.

.

.

.

Getting pregnant was definitely not something Y/n wanted to be doing at 20 years old. She had a boyfriend and the career of her dreams but as soon as the news broke, one of those things was no longer true. Her ex skipped town faster than she could even finish telling him she was pregnant, so Y/n was left to her own devices since her family was so far away.

She was a songwriter. She had worked with all the big names in the industry from Taylor Swift to All Time Low. She was known for being able to write in any genre, that’s what set her apart and why people were clawing at the chance to work with her.

And then she got pregnant. She kept writing songs until she was eight and a half months along but due to minor complications, her doctor had ordered her to stay home. So she did. She stayed home, had the baby, and raised her all by herself. Now that baby, whose name is Stella, is four years old and is traveling the world with her mom. Y/n had gone back to work when Stella was a year old. At first, she would leave her baby with a sitter, but eventually, she got to a point where Stella was old enough to come along to writing sessions and quietly color or play with toys in a corner. She really liked going to work with her mom. She got to see a bunch of cool places and meet a lot of nice people.

And one of those people was Harry Styles. Y/n had met him a few times back when he was with One Direction, had even tried to work with the band a few times but things never lined up right. But now he was making his second studio album and only wanted the best of the best to write with him so naturally, he called Y/n. Harry knew she had a kid but he didn’t expect her to bring said kid to a writing session. Harry didn’t really mind- he loves kids, but his friends had been known to curse a lot and he didn’t want to cause any harm to the child.

He made sure to give everyone a stern talking to, even though Kid already knew to hold his tongue (his little ones had repeated some colorful words a few times). He wanted everything to go right, needed it to. Y/n was more than just another songwriter.

“Y/n! I’m so glad you could make it!” Harry smiled as she walked into the studio. She smiled back, walking into his open arms for a hug.

“Thank you so much for having me, I’m super stoked to be working with you!” She said, slightly muffled by his neck. Harry looked down behind Y/n and saw a little girl that looked exactly like the woman currently in his arms looking right back up at him. When the two pulled away Harry was quick to kneel down to her height.

“And who might this be?” He said softly, hoping that he wouldn’t frighten her.

“Tell Harry your name baby,” Y/n brushed a stray piece of hair away from her daughter's face who shied away behind her mom’s leg.

“Stella,” the little girl mumbled, fidgeting with the jeans she hid behind. He felt his heart flutter. She was just so freakin cute.

“It’s lovely to meet you Stella, m’Harry!”

“You talk funny.” The child said, making Harry laugh and Y/n gasp, scolding her daughter for being rude while trying not to laugh at her blunt comment.

“Stella Rose, that was not a very nice thing to say!” Y/n softly reprimanded.

“Sowwy Hawwy,” He chuckled, letting her know he forgave her. Although he wasn’t mad, he understood Y/n had to teach her not to say things like that even if they were funny.

When Stella had settled at a table out of the way of the adults in the room with her coloring book and a juice box, the work began. Y/n and Harry sat at a piano bench ( he hoped she couldn’t hear his pounding heart) while Kid and Mitch, along with Jeff, sat scattered around the other furniture in the studio.

“So, I have a couple of ideas that I’ve been sitting on that I think you might like. You can look through this and see if there's something that catches your eye.” Y/n said, handing Harry a notebook. She tried to ignore the tingle she felt run up her arm when their fingers brushed. He flipped around the pages, noticing random little doodles in the corners and in between lines, and the somewhat messy but readable handwriting. He thought it was cute how she connected her s’s to her t’s and k’s when she wrote.

One page, in particular, caught his attention.

Golden, Golden, Golden

As I open my eyes

Hold it, focus

So you take me back to the light

I know you were way too bright for me

I’m hopeless, broken

So you wait for me in the sky

Brown my skin just right

“Is this a verse or a chorus?” He asked, pointing it out to her. She shrugged saying she didn’t really know yet but it would probably be a verse.

“I like it a lot,” He said and she smiled, picking up her guitar and strumming it to the tune she had thought of for the words. He listened and nodded along, already getting ideas for where to go next.

“I like the golden thing. I think that could be a good hook, something like we’re so golden,” Kid spoke up, tapping his fingers along to what she was playing.

“Or you’re so golden,” Mitch suggested. Harry and Y/n’s eyes widened at the same time, both looking up at each other when they heard the line.

“You’re so golden, you’re so golden…” Y/n hummed.

“I’m out of my head, and I know what you said about hearts get broken,”

“How about I’m out of my head and I know that you’re scared because hearts get broken,”

“I like that better, yeah!” Harry smiled, nodding along to the beat.

Y/n looked over 30 minutes later to see Stella had sprawled out on the floor with her arms folded beneath her head, first finger stuck into her mouth, and she smiled, breathing out a laugh.

“She’s so precious,” Harry murmured from beside you. Your gaze found his and the smile on your face widened a little bit.

“She is, isn’t she.” She said, pride present in her eyes.

“Looks just like you as well,”

“Yeah thank god, I don’t know what I would have done if she had ended up looking like her sperm donor,” Malice dripped from the end of her phrase. Y/n couldn’t even entertain the idea of her looking like the man who helped create her. That nerve was still a little raw, not because she had any remaining feelings, but because he had abandoned not only her but the beautiful baby girl who was napping not 15 feet away from her. She figured they were better off without him, yet her heart always shattered a little when Stella asked if she had a daddy like the people she sees on tv.

“I couldn’t imagine finding out the woman I loved was pregnant and then leaving her, any real man would have stayed.” His eyes were genuine, which she appreciated. Most people would say they felt sorry for her, pity dripping from their gaze, but she didn’t need pity, didn’t need people to feel sorry for her. But what Harry said was out of pity, he just honestly couldn’t understand how anyone would abandon a child.

“Yeah well, I guess I just wasn’t the woman he loved.” She said, looking back at her baby. Stella made all of that pain from when he disappeared worth it.

Harry wanted to be able to take that pain away.

---

“Hey I know it’s late, but I have this idea and I want you to hear it,” Harry’s raspy voice chimed through the speaker of Y/n’s phone. She glanced at the time, reading 1:30 AM, and sighed.

“Ok,”

“Come open the door,” He said.

“Wait what? You’re here?”

“Yeah, come on. It’s cold out here.”

“Ugh, hold on,” The woman sighed, hanging up and tip-toeing out of her room so her footsteps wouldn’t wake the sleeping four-year-old in the next room over. Her door was open and she was a light sleeper.

The door swung open and Harry stood there with a small smile on his face, burrowing as deep into his coat as he could to shield himself from the cold air outside.

“Hi!” His cheeky smile made Y/n’s heart flutter.

This was the first of many times he would show up at her place in the middle of the night.

---

Another night of Harry coming over late with a song idea he couldn’t wait to show Y/n, although now it was more he would come over after Stella fell asleep and the two would watch movies and talk, and sometimes write songs (even though the album was done).

The pair were perched on the couch in a heated conversation about whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza (it does and that is a fact not an opinion) when the sound of little footsteps caught their attention. They both looked up from where they sat at the sound of loud crying coming down the stairs, seeing a small child with tears barreling down her face, cheeks flush an angry red, first finger stuck in her mouth, teddy bear clutched tightly to her chest.

“Baby what’s wrong?” Y/n cooed, getting up and sweeping her into her arms. She went and sat back down on the couch, cradling the baby to her chest, brushing her hair out of her face, and rocking her back and forth.

“Scawwy dweam mommy,” She hiccuped into her mom’s neck, where she hid her face. Her tiny hands clutched onto her shirt, finger stick tucked between her lips.

Harry held back a coo at the little girl, feeling himself fall further and further for the little family of two sitting before him. He hadn’t been able to take his mind off of them since that first day he met Stella. He’d always had a schoolboy crush on Y/n since they first met all those years ago but knew it was one-sided when she introduced her boyfriend one of the last times they had seen each other. As fate would have it though, they found their way back to each other. Neither of them could deny the feelings they held, but Y/n was scared to bring someone into the picture because she didn’t want Stella to get attached to someone who wouldn’t be permanent. She was lucky her ex left before he ever got the chance to meet Stella, the kid had no clue what she was missing, therefore didn’t have any pain due to her absent father.

She would be lying if she said she didn’t imagine Harry stepping into that role. But she couldn’t ask that of him. He was at a time in his career where he didn’t have time to be the father of a four year old.

But life is full of surprises.

“Hawwy.” The baby whimpered and crawled off of Y/n’s chest, into his lap and snuggled her head right into him like it was where she was meant to be all along. His heart just about burst when the little girl fisted his shirt, tucking herself into him. His arms instinctively wrapped around her, cradling her into him and rocking her back and forth like her mother had been only moments ago.

Stella calms down almost immediately, to Y/n’s surprise. It usually takes her a while to console her baby from bad dreams, but all Harry had to do was hold her, and boom, no more tears.

“You alright petal?” He cooed into her hair, soothing his hand up and down her back to keep her calm. She nodded, letting out a huge yawn and closing her eyes, falling back asleep in his arms.

Y/n was astonished. Stella had never fallen asleep on anyone but her mom or her grandmother. She’s known Harry for a few months and was acting like he’d been there her whole life.

“Wow… she loves you.” Y/n whispered, not really meaning for him to hear but he did and his smile gave her the impression that he loved her too. But Stella wasn’t the only one he felt such affections for.

“Y/n....” He starts after a moment of silence, “I know this sounds crazy because we’ve only truly known each other for a few months… but I’ve had feelings for you for years. I missed my opportunity when you got with your ex but I’m here now, and I love you, and I love Stella, and I would do anything to stay in both of your lives if you’d have me. I want to be here for you, and I want to be here for her as well.” His confession shocked the woman sitting across from him.

Y/n was quiet, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought while she took in what he was saying. Trying her best to keep her fantasies of playing house with him at bay, she spoke.

“Harry, as much as all of that sounds lovely, you’re about to start press for the album and then go on tour. You’re not gonna have time to be in a relationship, and as much as I wish I could just jump into something like that, I can’t. I have her to think about…” She gestured to the toddler sleeping on him.

“She needs consistency, her life is already hectic enough.”

“So come with me!” He spouted, and then retracted a bit realizing he could wake Stella up.

“What?”

“Come with me! You two travel around already, so come on the press tour with me and then come on the big tour with me! I know this sounds impulsive and it’s probably the craziest thing I’ve ever said in my life ever, but I’ve never been more sure of anything. I know what I want Y/n, and that’s to be a part of this family. I want to be a part of your lives!”

“Harry, I-”

“Please Y/n. Give me a chance! I won’t let you down!” The gleam in his eyes shows her that he’s serious. He really does want this. Harry just hopes that Y/n can see just how willing he is, how much it would mean to him to have (what he already affectionately considers to be) his girls with him on tour.

It’s quiet, only sounds of Stella’s even breaths and the light noise of her sucking on her finger fill the room. Eventually, Y/n gathers her thoughts, mind made up.

“We’ll try it out… see how it goes….” She said, releasing a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding on to. Harry’s smile grew tenfold at her confession, reaching over and bringing her face closer to his to kiss her lips, careful not to wake the baby in his arms.

He had never been happier, Harry decides, than he is right now.

---

“Hawwy?” Stella’s voice catches Y/n’s attention from where she sits on the plane, in between her and Harry. She turns her little head to the man sitting in the aisle seat, big round eyes staring right into his.

“What is it, lovebug?” He asks, pushing her wild baby hairs away from her eyes. Y/n did her very best not to coo at the two of them. Harry had fallen perfectly into step with the mother and daughter, like this duo had been a trio all along. She was still hesitant to think of him as a father figure for Stella though, just because if things went south somehow, she didn’t want her baby suffering a loss like that (a second time).

Stella’s little fists rubbed at her tired eyes. She let out a small ‘hmph’ and laid her head on Harry’s arm, wrapping her own little arms around his.

“Awe you my daddy?” She asked and Y/n choked on her spit, looking back over at the toddler.

“Stella, baby-”

“I would love to be your daddy lovebug, but that’s not really up to me…” He spoke and glanced up at Y/n quickly, trepidation clear in his eyes. Harry was afraid he might overstep. Sure he knew that things were still new between him and Y/n but he wanted nothing more than for Stella to think of him as her dad.

“Who’s it up to?” Y/n could tell she was about to fall asleep but was fighting it in order to get her answers. She had adjusted to a more fast pace schedule quite nicely. She slept through most plane and car rides and absolutely loved being backstage at concerts. Harry thought she looked so adorable with her big noise-canceling headphones on. They had been on the road for a few months now, and it had been 8 months since Y/n decided to give him a chance.

“It’s up to mummy, baby.” He answered, his fingers tangling into his chestnut curls in a futile attempt to keep them out of his face.

Stella’s head immediately whipped to look at her mom, who sat frozen in her seat, not knowing what to do.

“Mommy, is Hawwy my daddy?” She repeated her question. Y/n had a feeling that Stella thought Harry was her real dad, the one that her mom didn’t like to talk about. She had to make sure there was no confusion.

“Not like you're thinking he is, baby. He’s not your birth dad, he didn’t help mommy make you, but if you want him to be your daddy, then that’s ok with me.” Y/n locked eyes with the man sitting across from her with a smile on his face. She was glad that they were flying private because she really didn’t need anyone ruining this moment for them. All her fears of this not working out felt stupid now.

How could she ever think that things with Harry wouldn’t work out? He was right where he belonged.

---

“Daddy!”

“Baby!” Harry knelt down to catch the running (almost) 5 year old, picking her up and spinning her around in his arms. They were in England for two weeks on tour. One for shows, and one so that Y/n and Stella could meet Harry’s mom and sister for the first time as a part of the family. Y/n had met them before as “a friend of Harry’s” many years ago, but they had never met her as Harry’s girlfriend, and they hadn’t met Stella.

Currently, Harry was in the middle of a show and Stella had just escaped her mothers arms side stage in favor of running to her dad. Y/n still couldn’t get over saying that. Harry is Stella’s dad. She doesn’t think that will ever get old.

No one knew how serious the relationship between Y/n and Harry was. The public knew they were together (after a very vague post on instagram of the mother/daughter duo napping with the caption “my girls”). Many people thought this was a PR stunt, just because it was so unlike Harry to post something like that. But he had actually confirmed in an interview that, yes, he was in a relationship with the songwriter and it was pretty serious. That was all he chose to say, in favor of keeping his secrecy, as he so famously loves to do.

What came as a shock to the audience was what the child had called Harry. They all knew about Stella, obviously, but no one would have thought that this child would think of him as her father. A lot of people didn’t like thinking about Harry being a father.

“What are you doing out here baby?” He said into her ear, making sure he could hear her over the loud noise of the audience. Most of them loved getting glimpses into his life, so the crowd was excited to see Stella out on stage and many thought it was adorable that she already thought of him as her dad.

“Missed you.” She said into his neck. The microphone had somehow picked up their little exchange and the whole crowd sighed a collective “awe” when she said that. She was perched on his hip with her little arms wrapped around his neck, her favorite place if she had to choose one. She was pretty small for a 4-year-old, most people usually thought she was younger.

Harry chuckled and saw Y/n standing there with a smile on her face. Mitch was giggling at the exchange and kept glancing back at Sarah with a knowing look of “That’s going to be us soon,” written on his face.

“I missed you too lovebug, but I’m in the middle of a show! I gotta send you back to mumma.” He said. Stella didn’t like that though, because as soon as the words left his lips she was clinging to him like he was her life force and the tears began streaming down her face. She didn’t like having to share her daddy. She just wanted to be held by him right now, and she’d be damned if she got anything but her way.

This amused everyone, the child's insistence to be in her father's arms, so he sighed and bent to her will because how could he say no to his baby girl?

So he walked over to her mom and got her headphones, slipping them on her, and walked back to his microphone with her on his hip, ready to start the next song.

“Harry and Stella” was trending on twitter the very next morning. No one could get enough of the father-daughter duo.

---

Y/n hadn’t been this nervous since she was about to give birth to Stella. She stood with her baby in her arms as Harry opened the door to his childhood home, announcing to his mom and sister that they were there. She had to wipe her sweaty palms on her jeans more than once.

Anne rushed out from wherever she had been, greeting the three of them. Stella had met Anne via FaceTime many times so it was not news to her (or Gemma) that Harry had stepped into the role of Stella’s father. She will admit she was surprised at first but then she was reminded that Harry had been in their lives for almost a year before Stella had asked the question. It wasn’t something that was rushed into.

Anne was very excited to be meeting her grandbaby and was very excited to meet the girl that had made her a grandmother.

Stella got shy, not being used to seeing ��Nana” in person. Gemma had emerged from her spot in the kitchen as well, greeting everyone.

“Hello, my loves! How was the trip?” Anne said, kissing both of them on the cheek, her hand gently caressing the child's cheek in an attempt to get her out of her shell. Once she realized that this was her Nana that was standing before her, Stella reached out for Anne, silently asking to be held by her. Anne jumped at the chance, sweeping the baby into her arms and giving her a big hug, kissing her on the forehead multiple times, not being able to quell her affection for her first grandchild.

“It was good mum, Stell slept the whole way and traffic was pretty light,” Harry said, slipping his hand into his girlfriend’s, brushing his thumb back and forth trying to help calm her anxieties. For whatever reason, Y/n was worried that Gemma and Anne wouldn’t like her because she had come into their son/brother's life with a child, but it was clear that the two ladies loved the idea of Harry being Stella’s father.

“Oh, that's lovely!” She smiled, cuddling Stella impossibly closer to her. Y/n felt most of her worries melt away seeing the woman with her baby.

She felt silly for thinking Anne would be anything but happy.

---

Anne would not put Stella down for anything. The two were attached at the hip every waking second. Y/n was actually starting to miss her baby, but she appreciated getting to spend time with Harry without having to keep an eye on their little one. Gemma was absolutely smitten with Stella as well. She was very excited to be “Auntie Gem” as Stella had quickly adapted to calling her. Stella was very happy as well. She had never been around so much family in her whole life. She’d been so used to just her and her mom, and then just them and Harry, but now she had two whole grandma’s all to herself and an auntie she gets to call her own, something she never knew she was missing, that Y/n never thought her baby would get to have.

Harry was so happy to see his baby with Anne and Gemma. They had been bumped to spot number 3 and 4 on his favorite girl list, with Stella and Y/n taking spots 1 and 2. They didn’t mind one bit.

“Daddy, can we watch a movie?” Stella jumped up onto his lap as he and Y/n sat on the couch, just talking and enjoying each other's company. Y/n smiled at the girl, tightening her grip around Harry’s shoulders, resting her head in the crook of his neck.

“Of course we can lovebug! Go get Nana and auntie Gem and we’ll all pick one out together!” He replied, petting her wild baby hairs out of her eyes just like he always did.

“Auntie Gemma said to ask you if we could watch…” She paused for a second, her little finger tapping on her chin like she couldn’t remember what she was gonna say. Suddenly, she was up and running back to the hallway she had just come from. Y/n and Harry heard little whispers before she came running back out and plopped back onto Harry’s lap, on ‘oof’ erupting from him.

“This Is Us!” She finally said. Harry’s face dropped as he looked behind them to see Gemma standing there, trying to hold back her laughter. Y/n just started cackling and Stella was giggling even though she had no idea what was going on.

“Daddy’s in that movie baby,” Y/n finally calmed down enough to say to her daughter. The little one’s eyes lit up, her hands clasped underneath her chin. This was what she did when she wanted her daddy to say yes to her because she knew he couldn’t resist how adorable she was.

“Please please please!!!!!!” She whined, leaning in to place her forehead against Harry’s. She knew exactly how to get him. He caved every single time.

“Yeah, fine. We can watch it!” He finally said and all three girls cheered. Anne came in at the noise wondering what was going on.

“What’s all this?” She asked and Stella ran up to her, pulling on her

“We watching Daddy’s movie Nana!” She said, jumping up and down with a glowing beam on her face.

“Oh, are we now? Which one?” Anne asked and Stella paused.

“Daddy, how many movies awe you in?” She came back and crawled into his lap. She still had trouble saying her r’s. Her and Harry were working on it.

“Two, lovebug. But one of them you can’t watch until you’re older. It’s too scary f’you.” He said, cuddling his baby into his chest. She put on a little pout hearing that. She didn’t like when her daddy told her no, but this was something he wasn’t gonna budge on.

“Ok,” She sighed. All the adults thought this was adorable.

So they all settled in and watched the movie. Harry had a permanent blush on his face and Stella would jump up and down every time he was on the screen.

“Nana look!! That’s you!!” Anne laughed and nodded to her granddaughter.

“Yes, it is baby!”

“Mommy, why aren’t you in this movie?” She asked and everyone giggled.

“Me and Daddy didn’t know each other very well back then, baby.” Y/n laughed. Stella didn’t really understand but she didn’t say anything else.

The last few days had worn her out and that became very obvious when Harry looked down and saw his baby asleep on his chest, her first finger stuck in her mouth just like it always was when she fell asleep.

“Love, I’m gonna go lay her down, and then I’ll be right back,” Harry whispered, cradling the sleeping girl in his arms and slowly standing up. Y/n nodded, kissing his cheek before he left.

“He’s so good with her!” Gemma cooed, her face lighting up seeing her brother with his kid. A sight she was still kind of getting used to seeing.

“He really is…” Y/n smiled, “It was pretty instant too. Anytime he’d come over and she was still awake, he’d insist on putting her to bed, reading to her, singing to her, he’d bring her toys. She’s had him wrapped around her little finger since he first laid eyes on her.”

“That’s so precious,” Anne spoke up, coming to sit next to her, wrapping Y/n in her warm embrace.

“I can’t wait until you two get married!” Y/n laughed at Gemma’s confession, snuggling into Anne.

“All he has to do is ask, I’m ready to say yes!” What none of the girls knew was that Harry was standing right outside the living room, hearing everything that was being said. His mind raced back to his suitcase where a velvet box sat tucked away between all of his clothes.

He was hesitant to bring the idea up because it had only been a year, but the saying when you know, you know he thought.

He came back into the living room, acting none the wiser, sitting on the other side of the girl he was going to marry (she just didn’t know it yet), and cuddled into her just as she had cuddled into his mom.

“Daddy,” A small voice broke through the now quiet hum of the tv.

“Lovebug, what are you doing back up?” He asked, lifting the sleepy little thing into his lap.

“Scawwy dweam, daddy.” She said and he pouted, pulling her closer into his chest and snuggling her back to sleep.

Harry was exactly where he belonged in life. With his baby girl in his arms, and his Love by his side.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s Wind and Waves Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 风浪之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ This date was released on 3 June 2021 ]

An early summer breeze causes the papers on the desk to flutter. After doing a stretch, I pick up my phone, realising that it’s already late at night, past 11pm.

Tapping open my messages out of habit, I see that the newest message is a reply from Gavin in the afternoon -

Gavin: Let me know when you’re done with work.

Staring at the chat, I release a long sigh.

Recent overtime work has left me slightly overwhelmed. Because of this, I had no choice but to reject several dates with Gavin.

Thinking about this, I type a response hastily.

MC: I’m getting ready to knock off. Did you have a busy day?

After pressing the “send” button, I stuff my phone into my pocket quickly, turn off the laptop, and carry my bag.

Before I leave, I turn off the single remaining light in the company.

My phone remains silent even after I step into the elevator. Looks like Gavin’s already asleep.

Half-leaning against the wall of the elevator, I massage my slightly sore shoulders.

Fortunately, the remaining work has entered the final phase smoothly. Once this is over, I’ll make up for all the missed dates.

With a “ding”, the elevator doors open slowly. When I lift my head, I see a familiar figure. He’s also the person I’ve been wanting to see most during this period of time...

MC: Gavin?!

I walk towards him in disbelief. He reaches out, pulling me into his arms.

A familiar scent encases me tightly. I subconsciously relax, leaning on him wilfully.

MC: Gavin, why did you come?

Gavin: I missed you.

These words float into my ears slowly, then descend heavily into my heart.

Faced with Gavin’s absolutely unconcealed longing, I laugh contentedly, hugging him tightly and forcefully.

Gavin: Do you still have to work overtime after this?

I lift my head from his chest region, shaking my head with a smile.

MC: There are still a few things to settle, but they aren't as urgent. If things go smoothly, I’ll be able to fulfil the dates I owe you either tomorrow or the day after. Let me properly “make up” for them.

Once I finish speaking, Gavin’s brows arch gently.

Gavin: How do you plan to make up for it?

MC: Ooh... I’ve been flaking on you several times. So when the time comes, I’ll satisfy you no matter what you want!

Suddenly, a soft chuckle is at my ear. 

Before I can react, Gavin has already interlaced our fingers tightly, bending his knees slightly as he lifts up the travelling bag on the ground.

Gavin: Let’s go then.

When I see the travelling bag that I didn't notice earlier, I’m both shocked and confused.

MC: Hang on. Where are we going?

He turns his head over, lifting his sculpted chin.

Gavin: Didn’t you say you’d satisfy me no matter what I want to do? In that case, the rest of the time will belong to me. 

MC: But I was referring to after the program is done...

Gavin: I don’t want to wait a moment more.

Gavin doesn’t wait for me to finish, tightening his grip on my hand and pulling me over. My body tilts along with the inertia, drawing me closer to him.

My silhouette fills that pair of amber eyes, turning all the more clear and bright.

In this moment, I forget about the fatigue from work, and my entire heart is filled only with the person before me.

-

Originally thinking Gavin was simply taking me on a stroll, I didn’t expect that we’d be sitting in a train which is about to set off.

Scanning my surroundings, it seems that it’s currently the off-season for travelling. Gavin and I are the only two in the soft sleeper compartment.

Seeing the luggage Gavin brought, something occurs to me. I stare at him, stumped for words.

Gavin: What’s wrong?

He seems to sense my gaze, turning his head and meeting my line of sight.

MC: Gavin, you planned this way beforehand! The train tickets and luggage were prepared really comprehensively!

Gavin: Traveling requires adequate preparation, doesn’t it?

Gavin seems to deliberately avoid my unspoken implication.

MC: But this surprise attack of yours makes me feel completely unprepared...

Gavin: Isn’t such a “surprise attack” good? You've done it a few times before. Now, it’s my turn.

Wind whistles outside the window, pulling the hidden thoughts in his words to my mind.

I subconsciously recall how I deceived Gavin into coming to the airport and heading to Los Angeles on his birthday.

MC: O-of course it’s good. I like it very much. But that’s not how you were supposed to use the spare key to my house...!

I lower my eyes, grumbling softly.

Gavin: How was I supposed to use it then?

His expression of “earnestly seeking knowledge” seems to be teasing at something gently, and the temperature of my cheeks rises instantly.

I pick up the travelling bag and place it on my lap, face flushed as I change the subject.

MC: ...let me take a look at what you prepared.

I unzip the bag and gently rummage through the objects inside, unable to bear messing up the luggage he had worked hard to pack.

After looking through it for a while, I realise that Gavin was especially conscientious in his preparation.

The clothes I often wear have been stacked into a pile, and the snacks I enjoy eating have been placed in a separate corner.

I can’t help but imagine Gavin shuttling back and forth alone at home -

Him being at a loss as he stands in front of the packed closet. Him being confused as he faces dozens of makeup bottles and skincare products.

His shuttling figure seems to morph into a sense of security filling my heart continuously. The corners of my mouth lift upwards uninhibitedly.

When I touch a hard, square-shaped object, I take it out in curiosity.

My notebook laptop is currently lying in my hand. I lift my head stiffly, blinking at Gavin slowly.

Even before I can speak, he explains.

Gavin: With it, you can handle unexpected situations that crop up at work.

I nod silently, flipping open the notebook laptop subconsciously.

MC: That’s fine. I’ll settle some work then. Do you want to rest for a while?

Right after saying this, Gavin takes the laptop away, placing it into the travelling bag.

Gavin: You’ve been working non-stop. It’s time to take a break.

MC: Don’t worry, I won’t take long~

While saying this, I reach for the laptop. In the end, he shields the travelling bag behind him.

Gavin: I didn’t bring the laptop just to let it replace me. It can only be used when faced with unexpected situations.

Gavin’s dead serious expression gives me the impulse to tease him.

MC: If you don’t give it to me, I’ll have to snatch it!

Just as I stand up, the train suddenly jolts, and the floor beneath my feet rocks sharply.

I instinctively lift my arms to maintain my balance. Unexpectedly, Gavin grabs my hands, and my body leans backwards from the inertia -

By the time I regain my senses, I lift my head from atop his chest, blinking in a dazed manner.

He stares at me, a teasing smile on his lips.

Gavin: How do you plan to snatch it?

MC: I... I’ll snatch it by force, of course.

Right after saying this, he imprisons me tightly with both arms, as though wanting to put an end to my idea of snatching it by force.

Gavin: What about now? How are you going to snatch it?

Not knowing what to do, I can only blush while struggling in a perfunctory manner.

MC: I...

Gavin: If you don’t plan to give up, I won’t let go.

MC: Fine, I promise. Unless it’s really necessary, I won’t work!

A soft laugh burrows into my ear. He releases his grip slightly, but keeps me in his arms gently.

In the next second, the train finally leaves the tunnel, and starlight from outside the window enters my vision.

MC: Gavin, there are so many stars outside!

Following my words, he looks out of the window.

The starlight and night scene outside the window seem to soften Gavin’s sculpted features. He suddenly chuckles.

Gavin: I actually wanted to take you to see the stars in the planetarium a while back. In the end... you had to work overtime. The weather was great last week, and it was very suitable for taking a stroll in the park. But there was an accident at the filming site, and you were called away at short notice. 

Softly, Gavin talks about the countless dates we missed because of work over the past half month.

MC: Gavin...

Feeling a little guilty, I have no idea what to say.

Gavin turns his head to look at me directly, his eyes brimming with a smile.

Gavin: And then, I suddenly understood. If I were to keep waiting without an end, I wouldn’t know how long I’d have to wait. So I should simply take you away at an appropriate time. Just like the many times before.

-

After disembarking from the train, we sit in the rental car Gavin arranged for in advance, and we begin our long car ride.

When the car makes a turn, what enters my vision is a large patch of blue.

The faraway waves roll onto the fair and clear beach in layers, reflecting sunlight and emitting dazzling rays of light.

Pleasantly surprised, I turn my head, meeting Gavin’s eyes.

MC: Why did you think of bringing me to the seaside?

Gavin: You’ve been staying in the office during this period of time. So I’m taking you to a more open place.

Gavin: But there are many places I want to take you to. This is only one of them.

His voice is akin to a wave, rushing into my heart and creating ripples of tingly sweetness.

-

Very soon, the car halts at the seaside. Gavin leaves some instructions with the driver, and the latter sends our luggage to the hotel first.

Gavin and I walk along the beach leisurely. When a sailboat leaning against the harbour appears before us, he finally stops. 

Gavin: We’re here.

MC: Are we going out to sea?

Gavin: Mm. I’m taking you on a “stroll” on the sea.

It seems he has already rented the boat in advance. After exchanging a few words with the person managing the sailboat, he supports me onto it.

The sailboat isn’t large in size, and I’m able to see it completely with a sweeping glance. The areas we can sit in are the two sides of the boat and a narrow deck.

The sailboat sways along with the waves, and I hold onto the railing as I sit down carefully.

Gavin: Sit tight.

With light-hearted steps, he walks to the end of the boat and starts the motor, both hands holding the steering wheel as the boat gradually leaves the harbour.

After that, he grips the rope tightly to raise the main sail, sunlight pouring onto his frame, outlining his edges.

When the main sail is raised up high, he shuts off the motor, and the boat is propelled forward with the help of the wind.

Seeing this series of practised movements, I exclaim in admiration.

MC: Gavin, if you were to participate in a sailing competition, would this be considered "cheating”? After all, you need to know the direction of the wind at all times to sail properly.

Gavin ponders on my question seriously for a second before giving me an answer.

Gavin: Yes. But even if I don’t use the ability of wind, I’m still more sensitive to wind than ordinary people.

He says such “enviable” words with ease while continuing to work on the rope in his hands.

All of a sudden, a gust of strong wind comes from the right. The left side of the boat tilts downwards fiercely, almost sticking to the surface of the water.

MC: Will the boat overturn?!

I grab onto the railing firmly, looking at Gavin with slight worry.

Gavin: Of course not.

Gavin continues operating the steering wheel, a fearless expression on his face.

Gavin: Although I can make the wind stop, that would reduce the fun of sailing in the first place. Trust me. I won’t let you fall off.

A proud smile appears on Gavin’s face. The corners of his shirt are blown up wildly by the wind as he stands steadily on the boat.

After that, he stretches out his hand towards me. Immediately understanding his intention, I grip his hand without any hesitance. 

He pulls me behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. 

Gavin: Don’t let go. Hold tight.

Just as another fierce gale arrives, he tugs on the rope, causing the sail to change directions deftly.

Very quickly, our sailboat is akin to a drifting racing car, continuously changing directions in his hand, and accelerating in movement. 

We allow ourselves to get swept along with the wind and waves, continuing to move headwind.

Without realising it, my initially anxious emotions have turned more and more excited.

MC: Gavin, let’s go!

He doesn’t speak, but the boat beneath his feet speeds up, as though using his actions to respond to me.

Gradually, the whistling at my ears disappears, and the waves grow peaceful.

Small ocean sprays lap the boat gently, as though telling us that our “surfing” experience has come to a temporary end.

I hurriedly pull on Gavin as we sit on the deck, and I massage his palms gently.

MC: Tired?

Gavin: Nope. What about you?

MC: I’m doing okay, just that my legs are a little wobbly from being nervous.

While saying this, I lean on Gavin’s shoulder, relaxing completely.

All of a sudden, a force pushes me gently on the shoulder. My body slides down slowly, and I find myself lying on Gavin’s lap.

Startled, I look at Gavin above me. With a pad of his finger, he pushes away strands of hair from my face.

Gavin: Lie down and rest for a while. I’ll make the wind a little quieter.

-

When I open my eyes again, what I can see is the azure sky and Gavin, who is resting with his eyes closed.

I can’t bear to disrupt such a beautiful image, so I simply purse my lips into a smile in secret.

Suddenly, Gavin’s eyelashes quiver, and he opens his eyes to look at me.

Gavin: What are you smiling at?

I realise that he might have noticed my peeping since early on, but simply allowed me to observe without making a sound.

With this thought in mind, the temperature of my cheeks involuntarily grow hot.

MC: I... I was smiling because the sun is really warm, and my fatigue seems to be swept away completely!

The deck reflects a dazzling light from the sun. Struck with an idea, I shift away from Gavin’s lap, then pat the deck.

MC: You must be really tired from sitting for such a long time. Let’s lie down and bask in the sun together!

I tug on Gavin gently, getting him to lie down beside me.

Perhaps due to the narrowness of the deck, we’re pressed together tightly.

Gavin: Is it a little cramped?

I shake my head quickly, afraid that he’d sit up to make space.

MC: It isn’t cramped at all. It’s just nice!

Gavin might have guessed my intentions. He stirs slightly, lying down sideways and facing me.

Gavin: Lying down like this will be a little better.

I heave a secret sigh of relief. Mimicking Gavin’s actions, I face him while lying down too.

MC: Even though it’s no longer cramped like this, we can’t see the sky in this position.

Gavin chuckles, embracing me gently.

Gavin: I just want to look at you. Other things aren’t as important.

All of a sudden, a shadow hangs above our heads, and sunlight gradually vanishes.

Puzzled, I turn my head towards the sky, only to realise that a thick cloud has completely covered the sun.

MC: The wonderful big sun has been blocked.

Despite the complaints from my mouth, my smile doesn’t leave.

Being with Gavin like this makes nothing worth regretting no matter what it is.

Gavin: In that case, I’ll make it leave temporarily.

Gavin straightens up, and a gentle gust of wind brushes my face.

The sailboat sways, as though sensing this force in the air. The waves sweep up, lapping the sides of the boat gently.

Even that cloud in the sky seems to float forward slowly with Gavin’s wind.

Gradually, rays of fine sunlight pass through the remaining tail of the cloud.

Sunlight pours over Gavin, leaving a pale shadow, making his facial features even clearer.

He lifts his chin, letting the wind sweep his hair into a nice-looking mess.

When the cloud has completely let the sun go, Gavin shoots me a smile.

Gavin: We can continue basking in the sun now.

After saying this, he lays back down on the deck, pulling me into his arms.

He closes his eyes, and all that’s left is the soft sound of his breathing. I can’t help but lift my chin, sticking to his ear carefully.

MC: You’ve worked hard over the past two days to prepare so many things. Is there anything I can do for you?

He opens his amber eyes slowly, the corners of his lips turning upwards in indistinct arcs.

Gavin: You don’t have to do anything. Just lay with me for a while.

With this, he tightens his grip, caging me in his arms.

I don’t insist further, laying by Gavin’s side obediently.

Seeing Gavin before me, I suddenly feel that this moment is so beautiful that it doesn’t seem real.

Last night, I was working overtime in the office. Today, I’m lying atop a boundless stretch of ocean.

Most importantly, the person I’ve been missing most is within reach.

I hug him fondly, tightening my grip.

MC: Gavin, thank you for bringing me here. Even though I still have some relatively unimportant matters waiting for me to handle, I think I really needed a break. Working overtime without an end can make one’s mind turn increasingly stale. If you hadn’t pulled me out from the endless loop, I might have been working inefficiently for a very long time.

Gavin listens as I reveal my thoughts bit by bit. His expression seems to become even more relaxed.

Gavin: Got it. When such a situation happens again, I’ll drag you away like this.

A breeze lifts up my hair quietly, as though agreeing with Gavin.

Even though I can’t hide the smile on my lips, I deliberately pinch his palm.

MC: Even so, you have to tell me in advance next time!

A teasing glint flashes across Gavin’s eyes, and he closes them.

Gavin: We’ll talk about it again when the time comes. I don’t want you to sink into that condition again.

He speaks indolently, but a resolute tone is in his words.

MC: Got it. I’ll take note of my working hours, and will definitely not overexert myself!

Gavin doesn't respond, but the smile on his lips is a clear indication.

Suddenly, a strong wind charges over fiercely, causing the main sail to rustle.

MC: Gavin, the wind seems to be getting stronger again! Will anything happen if our boat remains still like this? 

Gavin closes his eyes without a care, holding me tightly.

Gavin: Nothing will happen. Let me hug you for a little longer. We’ll set off later.

His voice gradually dissipates along with the waves, leaving behind a breeze that leaves one reluctant to part with.

🚤 Call and Moments: here

🚤 Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

[voiceless-terror]

Hey, I hope I'm not bothering you, but I wanted to know if you're still taking requests? My friend cinnamoniic's birthday is coming up (around the seccond week of march) and I know they're a fan! If you have time, could you fit is a short Jontim or Jonmartim? That would be really cool!!! (As a surprise, please only publish this ask if you're able to take the request)

hello, not bothering at all! I don’t know if this is early or late but happy birthday @cinnamoniic !! a silly little jonmartim for my favorite artist!!

Tim is very, very happy to have his boyfriends over for the night.

It’s their first overnight and he’s looking forward to falling asleep in Martin’s arms and cuddling up close to Jon, whatever happens first. And that’s why he’s placed himself right between the two, Jon lying on the side of the bed against the wall and Martin insisting on the edge ‘in case I get up in the night, don’t want to wake anyone up, you need your rest.’ Ever the gentleman.

But it’s been three hours and not once has Martin made any motion to get up. In fact, he’d fallen asleep almost two minutes after they got situated, sprawled on his back and dead to the world. Tim’s glad Martin can sleep so deeply, he deserves it with the hours he’s pulling. But he’s not very happy about the sounds he makes while doing it.

Martin snores. Tim does too, as he’s been told by previous partners, but Martin’s like a goddamn motorboat. It’s deafening. He refuses to wake him and inform him of this fact, though he wishes Martin had warned him ahead of time. Tim doesn’t want to make him feel bad, but it’s getting to be a bit of a problem. It’s not steady enough to be a comforting white noise, as it occasionally turns into whistles or crescendos into loud roars. Martin’s got range.

And if Martin sleeps like the dead, Jon's the exact opposite. It’s not that he’s woken up at all, no, but he’s constantly rolling around, climbing on top of them at strange and uncomfortable angles. Tim wouldn’t mind the clinging so much if he didn’t change position every fifteen minutes with a jab of his pointy elbows.

He also talks.

It’s all nonsense, of course. Snarky little noises, as if he can’t stop being a little shit even as he sleeps. Sometimes it's a steady stream of enthusiastic mumbling, like his sleepy equivalent of an info-dump. Tim hopes he’s got a captive audience in his dreams.

He murmurs something directly in Tim’s ear, having burrowed himself in the crook of Tim’s neck five minutes prior. After imparting this wisdom, he rolls back over to face the wall. 

“You’ve got a point, buddy. He is loud.” Tim sighs, staring up at the ceiling, when a thought occurs to him.

Maybe if Jon’s got a Martin to distract him, he won’t be so bothersome. Martin seems to be a heavy sleeper, and won’t be woken by Jon’s nocturnal gymnastics. With this in mind, he very carefully scoots to the bottom of the bed and reaches for Jon, half dragging, half carrying him closer to Tim’s previous position. Jon immediately clings on to Martin, throwing himself diagonally over his chest with a happy little noise. Martin doesn’t wake. Perfect. Tim shimmies over to Jon’s spot, his back to the wall as he closes his eyes to finally get some rest.

Until Jon’s leg kicks back and hits Tim directly in the stomach. He yelps and struggles to catch his breath, glaring at his two blissfully unaware companions. Jon snuggles into Martin’s arms and the snores reach a new crescendo. This is hell.

Tim tries, he really does. He spends the next thirty minutes curled as far into the corner as he can manage, he puts the pillow over his head. But nothing drowns out the noise and Jon still intermittently kicks at his back, albeit gentler than before.

He truly loves the two of them, more than he ever thought possible. Tim reminds himself of this as Martin attempts to break the sound barrier and Jon puts on a one-man show of Riverdance against his back. But he’s got to get some fucking sleep. 

He considers waking the two of them and voicing his complaints. It’s not unreasonable; hell, Tim would want to know if he were the offending party. But he can’t bear the thought of Martin’s guilty little face, and he knows Jon will use it as an excuse to stay up the rest of the night. He could just slip into the living room, but that’ll just cause a fuss come morning. No, it’s time to do some strategic maneuvering. It’ll be difficult, but Tim thinks he can pull it off without waking the two. And he’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

Tim squirms down to the edge of the bed, flipping Jon’s pliant body back to its previous position. He almost falls out of bed when Jon surprises him with an emphatic “Recording ends!” but he quiets after that, curling into a ball.

“Good job, bossman.” A nickname he can only use when Jon can’t hear. He’s not too fond of it, now that they’re dating. Tim still thinks it’s cute. 

Now for the hard part. For this one, he’ll have to get out of bed entirely.

As he looms over Martin, Tim tries to figure out the best way to go about this. He gives him a gentle, experimental shove but Martin’s dead weight and does not want to move, stubborn even in sleep and now snoring louder in what seems like protest. Tim pushes back the sleeves of his sleep shirt, shakes out his arms. This is why you lift, Stoker. You can do this. A second push: the man budges a few inches, but there’s still not enough room for Tim to slip in. Martin’s always been stronger than him, much to his chagrin, and he’s never beaten him in arm wrestling. He’s built like a brick house, albeit much comfier. But Tim will not let him win in his sleep. That’s just ridiculous, not to mention embarrassing. So he lets out a grunt and gives it his best shot, the push finally managing to get Martin completely on his side.

And directly on top of Jon.

“Shit!” Tim swears, immediately jumping on the bed at Jon’s muffled squeak, his hands starting to pull Martin back when what little he sees of Jon suddenly relaxes, his face going slack. Tim briefly worries he’s killed him but Jon is in fact breathing, an utterly content look on his face as if all he needed to settle was the pressure of Martin’s arm and half of his body. Tim laughs in disbelief, running a hand through his hair when he notices the sudden quiet.

Martin’s stopped snoring. Not entirely, no, but after a minute of hovering over the man, he hears only the lightest of occasional wheezes. God, I’m a fucking genius. He almost wishes someone had been around to see it. He’s debating taking a picture and sending it to Sasha when he glances at the clock- two am. If he wants to wake up slightly rested, and in time to try Martin’s much-lauded pancakes, he’s going to have to cut his celebrations short.

So he climbs back into bed, attaching himself to the large, warm expanse of Martin’s back and burying his face in the softness of his worn sleep shirt. This is how it’s supposed to be, cozy and comfortable and quiet. Just took a bit of trial and error. 

Now to see if it’ll last til morning.

At eight, Martin wakes everyone with a shriek upon finding Jon buried underneath him and takes both Tim and himself off the bed with the force of his backpedaling. They land with a painful thump, Tim swearing as his abused back takes the brunt of the fall. Jon peers sleepily over the edge of the bed and gives the two of them a pleased smile, stretching like a cat basking in sunlight.

“Don’t think I’ve slept better in my life,” he yawns, blinking slowly. “What are you two doing down there?”

“A-are you serious?” Martin stutters, still tangled in the sheets and making no move to get up. Tim can’t help his snicker. “I-I was completely on top of you-”

“We should do that more often,” Jon agrees. “I like having you on top of me.”

It takes Martin about an hour to recover from that statement and around the same time for Jon to realize what he said. And Tim, well, Tim’s just happy to finally get some sleep.

And Martin’s pancakes. He really wasn’t kidding about those.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29931783

[oogaboogasphincter]

A Magpie, a Goose and a Sparrow Walk into a Found Family Trope (Ezra x f!reader)

Summary: A nightmare caused by trauma he endured before and on The Green haunts Ezra one night, his fear bleeding into reality. Under the fog of sleep, he hurts you, thinking you are the monster that is endangering you, Cee and himself while on your next trip. He apologizes by doing something that terrifies him: opening his heart up to another person.

Word Count: 10.7k+ (holy shit i deeply apologize for putting my readers through this agonizingly long junk)

Rating: M (mature) just to be safe (some pretty intense themes but i don’t think there’s anything too explicit)

Warnings: non-fatal manual strangulation and bruises from it, swearing, sexualization of two adults, mild references to sex, mild allusions to sexual arousal, discussion of trauma and its effects, Prospect (2018) spoilers, some argument, hair braiding, one (1) ✨neck✨ kiss, one use of (y/n), sprinkles of that sexual tension we all love, a resolved ending!

Author’s Note: first off, thank you SO much to @martinsmomo​ for this request!💜💕 this was so creative, i hope i did it justice :). second, AHHH!!!!! my first piece ever!!! i haven’t written anything on my own time for my own enjoyment since i was like 13, which may or may not be apparent by my comma splices, repetitive sentence structure/word choice and disagreeing verb tense💀. the thought of i have no idea what i'm doing never left my mind while i was writing this, but i just tried to go with it and have fun :). ALSO, i had so much fun reading all of the lore about the world that Prospect (2018) takes place in. Here is a link to a pamphlet about a lot of stuff that is featured in the movie, which i used while writing this piece. i highly recommend you check it out! i tried to stick to as much canon stuff as i could, but 🦋The Blue🦋 is something that i made up. also this is not beta’d, i just wanted to throw this into the void and see what happens✨. i also also want to point out that in no way am i trying to romanticize or sexualize domestic violence. i know that the subject matter in this piece can be triggering, and even though the violence wasn’t intentional and it’s resolved through love, i don’t want it to be misconstrued as something that it’s not. with that being said, i hope you enjoy it! :)

gif by @anakin-skywalker​

A grunt stirs you from your deep slumber. Your eyes open easily, a treat that you weren’t given often due to the dryness of the pod’s recirculated air. The inside of your shared galactic chamber is as dark as your mind; no illumination to shine on your thoughts and wake them up or to show you how Ezra is doing. You know the grunt had come from him, as the only other passenger was his adopted daughter, Cee. You turn in your pilot’s chair, looking over your shoulder to try and make him out through the impossible darkness.

Parcel-Class Planetary Drop Pods were designed to fit only two travelers, however the three of you had decided to embark on your next journey together. To save on costs, your partners opted for a model without cots. Being the gentleman that he is, Ezra insisted that you and Cee sleep in the pilots’ chairs. He had thrown a few blankets on the cold, flat floor and had proudly announced, “Sleeping quarters fit for a king!”, eliciting pitiful laughter from you and Cee.

Now, your eyes can’t find the sad bundle of warmth that is his sleeping figure. He is a restless sleeper, and every time he made a noise that was more than a good-natured hum or a soft swish of rearranging his blankets, you would wake and turn to make sure that he was okay. You would do the same for Cee, but she was a fantastic sleeper. Not too deep, not too light, and never made a peep. You turn back around, giving up on trying to spot Ezra in the dark, when you hear another grunt.

This one is louder than the last.

You turn back around yet again, your own blanket falling off of your chest and into your lap. Eyebrows furrowing together and eyes squinting, your pupils strain themselves to find any shred of light to let you see. The noises increase in abundance and volume. Ezra’s sleeping fit has transformed from a halfhearted rustling to an aggravated clamor in less than a minute. Your eyes stay on the dark patch of space where you know his “bed” is situated while Cee arises from her sleep. Her chair lets out the slightest creak as she follows your gaze and attempts herself to see what all of the commotion is about. She asks you, “Is he okay?” Ezra answers her with an irritated growl through his teeth. You say to her, “I don’t know, I can’t see him, should we-”

Your suggestion of waking him up is cut short as two hands wrap around your throat. The hands twist your head to face forward, and you’re greeted with Ezra’s sweat-slicken face. Instinctively, you grasp at his forearms in an effort to ease the constriction of your neck.

Cee screams, “Ezra, let go of her!” 

He defies her command and puts one of his knees in between yours on the seat of the pilot’s chair and leans closer to you. The brown eyes that you had grown to love now bore into yours with unwavering menace as the pads of his fingers press harder into the sides of your neck. His palms are flush with your larynx, threatening to crush it. You want to let out sobs of heartbreak, but are unable to. He’s restricted your actions to only being able to watch him attempt to strangle you. Your fingers aren’t able to get a grip on his limbs due to his angry sweat and your panicked claminess. Your mouth hangs open as his is shut tight, his jaw muscles stuttering with intense rage. He starts to growl through his teeth again, but a flash of light turns it into a howl.

His entire body falls back, his hands losing their purchase on your neck. You suck in a harsh breath and lean forward as Cee grabs your hand and pulls you out of the pilot’s chair. In her other hand she grips a Boscelot Frontiersman: the source of the light that had extracted Ezra’s shriek and drilled its way into his thigh. He sat on the floor in front of your chair and laced his hands just above his injury, throwing his head back and wincing. 

Cee puts some feet in between the two of you and guides you across the floor to the other side of the impossibly small pod. Hoarse coughs begin to rise from your surprised larynx, accompanied by trembling of your entire body. Cee, still holding you by your arm with one hand and the Thrower in the other, yells your thoughts at Ezra, “What the fuck was that for?!” She flicks the lights on, allowing everyone to see each other’s face for the first time all night. 

Ezra stares at the two of you in disbelief. Both brunette and blonde strands of hair are stuck to his forehead with sweat, eyes depressed from the subsiding adrenaline, his whole body drenched in distressed perspiration. You and him lock eyes, even through your flailing about as you continue to choke on air and delicately place your own hands over where his just had you in a vice grip. He knows what he’s done as soon as he sees you. He begins to cry and opens his mouth to start an apology that can never be adequate, but Cee hurls a field kit at his head. It hits him and he takes the blow without complaint. His devastated eyes keep to your bloodshot ones as he opens up the kit and starts to treat his justified wound. Cee stares at him with aggravation, and so do you, but her expression is void of confusion. 

You are confused as all hell. What could have possibly made him do that? He seemed to be having a nightmare, but that didn’t give him the excuse to nearly strangle you to death. 

Your coughs and stress start to dwindle as all of you sit there, not saying a word, the only other noise in the room being Ezra opening and closing medical supplies. He squirts a sanitizing solution over his wound, hissing, and then he takes out a Patch Gun. This sets your heart racing. The strangling was unpredicted and almost successful, would he get up once he was healed enough and try to do it again? You push yourself back against the wall and keep your widening eyes on him as he sprays the medicated foam into the hole the Thrower had burned through his trousers. He squeezes his eyes shut, winces intensely, and then fails to keep a painful wail inside his chest. You’ve seen him treat himself before, and usually his next step is to throw more than the recommended amount of pain relievers into his mouth and chew on the tablets, redirecting the pain from his injury to his mouth. He doesn’t do that this time.

Instead he throws the used Patch Gun to the side, closes the field kit and pushes it Cee’s way. He breathes your name out of his mouth, causing you to retreat further into the wall. You bring your legs to your chest and wrap your hands around the back of your neck, resting your elbows on your quaking kneecaps. Burrowing your face into the cavity you’ve created, you start bawling. Pain sears your throat, and is only intensified by your sobs, but you can’t help it. You’re absolutely terrified. Ezra says your name again, genuine with care, in an effort to get you to look at him. You shake your head once and continue to gasp into yourself. Cee startles you by touching your shoulder, and she quells your worries, “He won’t do it again.” 

Her five simple words plant a seedling of peace in your heart, but it is nowhere near close to blooming. You don’t look up as she gets up and goes over to your pilot chair and grabs your blankets. Her footsteps return to you quickly, and within moments her warm, calm hands are draping the fabric over your shoulders. She rests her chin on your shoulder, moving with your heaves. A softening tone takes over her beautiful voice as she murmurs “It’s okay”s, “I’m here”s and “You’re safe”s into your blankets. Before you know it, your body succumbs to the overwhelming desire to heal mentally, emotionally and physically with sleep. Your trust in Ezra may be broken right now, but you know that Cee will watch over you. Despite her lack of size and experience compared to Ezra, you know she has the upper hand on him intellectually. He may be full of wondrous prose, a never-ending vocabulary and sharp wit, but Cee has had him in the palm of her hand ever since they met. You can sleep knowing that she can protect you and herself, if need be.

You peek out underneath your arm to qualify to yourself that Ezra is in no shape to attack again. 

He sits where he landed when he fell, slouching with exhaustion. His eyes sparkle with tears of regret, his eyebrows quirked in a way that reads “There aren’t enough ways to apologize, but I’ll try every one until you forgive me.” You close your eyes, lay your head against the wall and beg the Sandman to bring you all a night of peace as you rest until the Sun comes up. 

The pale blue morning light penetrates your eyelids and alerts your brain that it is time to get up. You awake to find Cee and Ezra sound asleep, her in her pilot’s chair and him in his “bed”. You are still huddled up against the wall, opposite to Ezra, and look upon him with a wary gaze. The fear he inserted into you last night makes your nerves feel like static, but at the same time you can’t help but be relaxed by his presence. It’s obvious he didn’t cause any more damage during rest of the night, so maybe his eyebrows were telling the truth: that he is sorry.

The muted sunshine washes his complexion out and dulls the warmth that his chestnut locks hold. It makes the blonde patch in his hair and the arc scar on his cheek glisten cerulean. His expression is relaxed, eyelids fidgeting under the controls of REM sleep. 

The sound of Cee’s alarm clock distracts you, and moments later her hand reaches out and pushes the ‘stop’ button. Awakening limbs appear above the back of her chair, accompanied by a yawn. Your eyes dart to Ezra. He’s still asleep. She turns to you first and smiles, “Are you alright?” You nod once, return her smile, and you both turn to the slumbering man. She says, folding her blanket, “He’s fine. Calmed down after you fell asleep. He said he had a nightmare that you had turned against us. He said he wants to apologize but understands if you don’t want to speak to him.” You sigh through your nose, glancing over at him, “That’s okay. I think I would like some time away from him though. Just to process things, y’know?” Cee turns to face you, “That’s what I figured. I told him that.” You look at her and nod once. 

She gets up and stretches again, folded blanket still in hand. She puts it on her seat and looks up at you excitedly, “Want to come look for aurelac with me today?” 

“Definitely.”

Her face lights up with a wide smile and you mirror her reaction. Getting up and dropping your blankets to the floor, you go over to the compartment in the wall that holds your equipment. You take out what you’ll need - suit, helmet, air filter and a few Slurry Packs - and close the latch. The door slams shut harder than you intended, the resulting crash jolting Ezra awake.

A shy, apologetic smile graces his face as he meets your eyes, and you return the expression. You were still tightly wound, but were ready to start dispelling the fear, and that began by being cordial with him. His smile fades when his eyes lower to your hands and take in what you are holding. He gets up off the floor and inquires, “What do you have all that for?” His expression is neutral, but you worry that you will anger him by telling him what your plans are.

He had made it very clear since you joined him and Cee that he did not want you to prospect. He had told you that it was too dangerous of a task in itself, let alone the implications that came along with it: bartering, lying, gambling, stealing, killing. He didn’t want you or Cee to be subjected to any any of the horrors that accompanied prospecting, but Cee had been stubborn about her desires and had proven her abilities. She was great at prospecting, possessing an attention to tedium and an unwavering sense of calmness while performing the task. For a man who seeps with wisdom, Ezra wasn’t all that good of a prospector. He had the tendency to lose patience and cripple under pressure, which sometimes led to compromised digs. 

“I’m going to look for aurelac deposits with Cee.” You nudge your head in her direction and she smiles at Ezra. He waves his hand dismissively, “That’s all fine and dandy,” now pointing a lazy yet warning finger at you, “But don’t you dare let prospecting dance upon those beautiful brain waves of yours.” His comment irritated you. You had never shown any signs of true disobedience to his wishes, besides the casual sigh of boredom or the bratty roll of your eyes. The words also set your heart aflutter. As you try to hide your blush and bury your annoyance, Cee says to him, “We don’t be doing any prospecting if we can’t find any aurelac.” His head tilts in agreement. He pads over to you and gingerly puts a hand on your shoulder. He had sensed your irritation and repeats his mantra of why he doesn’t want you prospecting, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” 

Your anger became fiery again. Shoulder jerking to flick his hand off, you jab at him, “Because I’m safe in the confines of the pod?”

He points a finger at you again, this time accusatory, “That was purely an accident. Do not take it as anything but.” 

Cee commands, “Both of you, stop, now. I’m not dealing with this all day. It was an accident. An inexcusable one, but an accident.” 

Your and Ezra’s eyebrows had shifted to take on the same irate slope, however you both decide to just let it drop. You visibly signal your concession by dropping your shoulders and Ezra reflects you. He spins on his heels to open his own equipment hatch, and you turn to the wall yours is on. You all face the walls and change into your suits, a ritual of trust and time efficiency you decided on when the three of you agreed to work as a group. 

Once dressed, you exit the pod, Ezra being first and Cee being last, and embark on your daily journey. The Sun had retreated behind some dark grey clouds. The sky was a royal blue, the ground was greige and the dark foliage that surround you drips with dew. You were stationed on the Blue Moon, an orbiting moon in the Bakhroma System. This place wasn’t highly traveled like its permanent sister (the Green Moon), due to the popular aftermath of the Aurelac Rush. Although Cee and Ezra had been there and left, many people in the galaxy still went to try and scoop up some valuable remains. Unlike The Green, The Blue wasn’t known for its abundant aurelac deposits, which is precisely why your partners chose to come here. 

Their original plan was to travel to The Blue with just themselves, but while on a stop to Puggart Bench you had entranced Ezra while Cee tried to scope out her old friends and catch up with them before she set off on another mission. Demonstrating your eagerness to explore the galaxy and your expansive knowledge of it, Ezra decided to add you to his partnership. It didn’t hurt that you also tried to express your attraction to him, complimenting the rugged floater on his impressive vocabulary. He had complimented you on your willingness to listen to his ramblings, and it had been love ever since. Neither of you had come out directly and said “I love you”, and you hadn’t partaken in any physical affection, but your yearning for each other could not be more understood. His adoration for you only deepened when he saw how you interacted with Cee. Being closer to her generation than Ezra’s, you were able to connect with her like contemporaries. However, you were far enough away from her age group to the point where Ezra couldn’t act as a father figure to you. This duality made you irresistible to him.

Back to the present, you gaze at the back of his helmet intently, waiting to see what his plan of action for the day is. The Green requires visitors to wear air-tight suits and breathe through air filtration systems at all times because of harmful spores that float in the atmosphere. The Blue’s spores are far less harmful, and helmets can be taken off for 45 minute intervals, but the three of you only took them off when the confinement of the helmets became a little too much. The glass window of Ezra’s helmet swivels to you and he asks, “Split up, hourly check-ins, reconvene for lunch?” 

As you’re thinking of your answer, you notice his eyes dart repeatedly up and down your body. You can tell by the way his mouth is slightly parted that he isn’t assessing your body language to predict your response. He’s thinking about all of the ways he would devour you for apology’s sake. 

You look to Cee in the middle of your answer, “Sure. I’ll go with Cee today.” She smiles at you and turns to him. His mouth closes and he looks down to fiddle with his radio with thick-gloved fingers, “I’ll be on channel one.” Cee says, “Okay,” and beckons you to follow her as she sets off on a worn path. You and Ezra look at each other one more time before you turn in opposite directions and begin your divergent treks.

Catching up to Cee by jogging, your steps slow to match her pace once you are by her side. There’s silence between the two of you for a little while as you weave your way through trees of varying heights, eyes keeping to the ground to spot humps in the dirt. Humps gave away the location of aurelac deposits. A couple of slips were shared between the two of you as you climbed over hills and shuffled through valleys, the forest floor littered with puddles. What The Green has in vegetation, The Blue has in water. There were multiple lakes, some touting depths that are only achievable by advanced marine technology. Rainstorms are common, but they never grow to something like a hurricane. Everything was doused in a blue hue, whether it was the air, the water or the plants. The spores in the air resembled stagnant raindrops, peculiar in the way that they seemed to stay in their place in the atmosphere. 

Cee broke the silence, “So, are you okay?” You know exactly what she is referring to and answer, “Yeah. Still a bit shaken up and confused, but other than that I guess I’m fine. I can feel bruises where his hands were.” She turns around to look at you and you lift your chin for her to see. She grimaces and says, “Yeah, you can see where each finger was and everything.” You look down, feeling disappointed that the event even happened. You ask her, “So he had a nightmare about me?” You watch the back of her helmet as she nods, “Yep. He just said that he thought you were going to endanger the three of us. He didn’t say in what way, really, just that you were a threat.” You take a moment to process the information and then fire off another question, “So, I have nightmares too, but I don’t act on them in real life. So why did he do what he did? Is there, like, an underlying feeling of distrust that he has for me, or...?” She started shaking her head halfway through your last sentence, “No, no, not at all. It’s just that The Green was so traumatic that I can understand just how vivid nightmares about it can be. And even though I don’t know much about what he went through before I met him on The Green, I’m sure prospecting was just as dangerous as it is now. I wouldn’t be surprised if at one point, or at a million points, someone that he trusted backstabbed him. But it’s nothing personal against you at all.” You nod and take in her words, trying to reassure yourself that you can trust him, even though he had done everything he could to prove you otherwise the night prior.

Cee stops and turns to you, chuckling, “If anything-”

A short sound on your radios cuts her off, and Ezra’s voice comes through the speakers, “How are you little birds coming along?” 

Cee answers, “Fine. No deposits yet. What about you?” She grins at you, not forgetting to finish her comment as soon as he leaves the two of you alone. 

“Nothing. I’ll be shocked if we stumble across any hint of a deposit today. Like every day. Over and out.” 

You look at her, eager to hear what she has to say. This only widens her smile, and she rolls her eyes as she begins, “Like I was saying.” You both laugh as she continues, “If anything, you’re the best thing that’s happened to him. I’ve never seen his eyes light up so much at anything like they do when he looks at you.” You blush and look down at your feet shyly. She gives you a playful shove and knocks you out of your butterfly-ridden trance. Her tone changes serious as she sighs, her pitch dropping a little bit lower than normal, “You really don’t have to worry about him hurting you or me. He’s just fucked up from our time on The Green. I am too, but I experienced it in a slightly different way, and deal with it differently too. I mean, I lost my father, but he killed two other people. It got us out of there, but that’s probably going to haunt him for the rest of his life. And since it was recent, he’s still trying to figure out how to handle the whole thing. I’m not making any excuses for him, because he didn’t have any reason to attack you, regardless of any dream, but he seriously wouldn’t do that under any other circumstances.” She puts an assuring hand on your shoulder and smiles. You smile back and nod once in understanding, saying, “I believe you.” She pats your back, and you both turn to continue on your walk. A few moments pass, and she lets out another laugh. You teasingly ask her with a smile on your face, “What is it now?” 

“I mean, it’s obvious that Ezra’s been through some shit, because the guy’s fucking weird as hell.” Your helmets are filled with your cackling as thoughts of the strange man play out in your head. Cee jokes, “I mean, little bird? His confusing speech pattern in general? Someone who talks in crosswords is either an ancient person who is trying to be clever in their last days because that’s the only form of strength they have left or just some asshole who finds enjoyment in verbally tricking people.” Another few moments of giggling pass before she ends with, “And what’s with the drawl?” She turns to you, the injuries in your throat burning from laughing so hard, “Have you ever heard someone else, in the entire Bakhroma System, talk like that?” You shake your head while wheezing and she says, “I haven’t either. So how did that weirdo even get here?” 

The surrounding forests may be quiet, but the inside of your suits are filled with the joyful laughter of two friends who continue on their merry way to find some aurelac.

What yesterday lacked in aurelac, it made up for in emotional gains. You had spent the rest of the day with Cee, strengthening your tender bond, exploring the terrain that The Blue had to offer. Ezra kept to his promise and checked in on you two hourly, making sure that you hadn’t run into any other travelers or went too far off the grid. Your group hadn’t crossed paths with any other citizens of the galaxy since you landed, which didn’t surprise or disappoint any of you; the three of you needed some peacetime for regrouping. 

You start today by scanning the pod’s dashboard of lights to make sure nothing is out of order. Because of his contempt to the idea of you prospecting, Ezra had assigned you to be the pod’s programmer. Pods were cheap to rent, so they were justifiably subject to malfunctions. Given that Cee and Ezra were tasked with mapping out The Blue and harvesting aurelac, you obliged to take the responsibility of operating the astronomical vehicle. The other job you had been given was keeper of the harvested aurelac. Once in its containers, you were to check on the gems every day and make sure that none had cracked during transport. The problem is that you haven’t had any luck at finding such valuables. It has been documented that The Blue does contain aurelac, but that it is extremely difficult to find. However, the average gem on The Blue is thrice the size of that which The Green holds. So the size and abundance differences are a lawful tradeoff. 

While you’re analyzing a digital screen on the dashboard, an expressive yawn escapes a man’s mouth. You twist to see Ezra stretching his arm out, eyes and nose scrunched in delight at the wringing out of his muscles. A smile graces your face as you take in his exaggerated display of awakening, and he mirrors your smile when he opens his eyes. His arm relaxes at his side, and a raspy morning voice greets you, “Hi.” You smirk at his unadorned statement and say back, “Hi.” He holds your gaze for a moment before turning to pick his mechanical arm up off the floor next to him. After losing his arm on The Green, his prospecting abilities fell drastically. He had to take out a loan to pay for the artificial limb, but it would restore his talents, so it was a fair deal. That’s why the three of you had gone on this mission, rather than building your friendship on Puggart Bench: to harvest aurelac to repay the loan.

Cee grabs both you and Ezra’s attention as she wakes with a start. Getting up and out of her pilot’s chair, she merrily folds her blankets and marches over to her equipment hatch. You and Ezra share a look of bewilderment, and he questions, “Good morning?” She flips around to you both, forgetting that you were in the pod with her. She cheers, “Good morning!” Reading the two confused expressions that watch her, she explains, “I want to go and look at this area that we missed yesterday. It has a lot of hills, so maybe that’s an indicator of more deposits. I was going to look at it yesterday, but then we came together for lunch, and I completely forgot about it until now.” Noting that she is the only one in the pod that is anywhere near awake, she asks both you and Ezra, “Is it okay if I go by myself?”

Memories of the last 36 hours flicker in your head, discomforting your nerves. It’s not that you don’t trust Ezra, but you don’t trust Ezra. The outburst that he had the other night frightened the shit out of you, and you’ve been wary to interact with him at all, let alone without Cee present to diffuse the situation if it got too tense. The fear he had shoved upon you was still fresh, but the excitement in Cee’s face and your tiresome brain convinced you that it would be okay. Maybe during this time alone you could patch things up with him. Him and Cee had given you a general rundown of what had happened on The Green when you first met, but you could prod Ezra about the details. Hopefully you could uncover some explanations to his night terrors. 

You look over at him to gauge his reaction to her proposition, and he’s staring at you with puppy-dog eyes. His mouth is turned up in a soft smile, and you can’t help but grin at the way his hair is still unruly from his sleep. Suddenly you feel a pleasant heat between your legs, and you can’t tell if it’s just your body waking up or the overwhelming desire to pepper a million kisses over the sleepy man’s face. Refusing to admit to yourself that the latter is the true culprit of your wetness, you shake your head slightly to rock you out of your trance and say to Cee, “Yeah, that would be fine.” Ezra’s smile at you widens before he turns to Cee and inputs, “I concur. Like always, just be sure to watch your surroundings carefully. You’ll find us here when you return.” She nods once and turns to her equipment hatch, signaling you and Ezra to turn to yours as well to give her some privacy as she changes. Once changed, she closes her hatch, puts her helmet on and departs, “I’ll be on channel one. See you guys later!” You and Ezra both give halfhearted waves, still too tired to formulate any meaningful words. The door to the pod closes behind her, and you are alone with Ezra. 

The anticipation of being alone with him made you more anxious than how you feel now, letting your eyes fall to the man still on the floor. He’s already looking up at you, the lazy smile still pulling at his cheeks. The desire to invite yourself into his bed, wrap yourself in his blankets and limbs in order to match the warmth that is flooding your genitals, and doze off into a lustful nap tries to take over your mind. You fight it with everything you have and make your way over to your pilot’s chair. Positioning yourself so that you’re facing Ezra, he simply asks you, “Hungry?” You nod your head and he reaches behind himself. His hand reappears with a Bits Bar, tossing it to you. The only sounds that fill the pod are the crinkling of the wrappers and your respective chewing. Although you’re both preoccupied with eating, Ezra’s silence is deafening. He tended to drop his confusing lingo when talking to you, since he wasn’t trying to trick you. He hadn’t had the courage to reveal his true feelings to you yet, which will be so poetic and heartfelt it will make you sick to your stomach, so he stuck to simple statements. He wanted you to note the difference between his conversations with you and other people, so he made it a very clear point to forgo his prose and expansive vocabulary. He wanted you to note that he revealed his truest sentiments to you and tried his best to hide them from others. 

The peaceful nature of the morning encouraged you to bring up an irritating topic with him, “I only want to prospect because I want to help you guys.” He tries to keep his eyes on his food, knowing that looking into your eyes will ignite his possessive and protective nature, “I know that. And it doesn’t matter how many motives you come up with, birdie, there will never be a time when you’re in my care that you will prospect. That’s the extent that I will let this conversation fester to.” His dismissive demeanor infuriates you. You fire back at him, trying not to let your tension leak into your voice, “I’m not Cee. You are not my parent or my guardian, you’re my partner. So there’s no social expectation that I have to submit to your desires.” His irritation grows, entertaining his fingers by folding the wrapper, “That is technically true. But a good partner will never put their partner at risk. And I have deemed it risky for you to prospect.” His retaliation sets you off. You didn’t want this to turn into an argument, but you also don’t want to back down from this. Your eyebrows crease together in frustration, your arms cross and your mouth sets itself in a frown. 

He looks up from his distraction and becomes infuriated by your look. Now he’s pissed. He begins a verbal knife fight, “Maybe if you had experienced what it’s like to have a shitty partner, you would appreciate my efforts to protect you.”

“I’m not ungrateful.”

“In a way, you are. You abandoned everything you had on Puggart Bench once you met me and Cee. You had friends, a nice family, a stable living situation, a good education. Don’t blame me for a position that you put yourself in.”

“First of all, that’s how it looked to you. Second, a good education in prospecting! Maybe if you weren’t staring at my ass every second of every day, you would have asked me what I was studying. I can probably prospect better than you can.”

“I’d find pure, mocking enjoyment in seeing you try to harvest. I would bet my life that I can prospect better than you can, even with my impediment!” He motions to his mechanical arm.

“You wouldn’t have the impediment if you weren’t so fucking devious! And don’t even get me started on the arrogance, or the fucking pretentiousness!”

Your overheated exchange comes to a halt when the pod’s door opens. Cee climbs in, and you and Ezra try to mask your fury for each other as much as you can. She acknowledges the two of you and says, “Just need an air filter.” The atmosphere turns awkward as you watch her get what she needs out of her hatch. She’s leaving as soon as she came in, and you hold up a parting hand and say, “Be safe. Have fun.” She tilts her chin at you, and Ezra chimes in, “Be safe, Sparrow.” She exits, disappearing into The Blue.

Her interruption quelled the fire that burned between you and Ezra, subsequently drowning you in a wave of guilt over your words. Ezra’s looking down at his hands, shadows keeping his expression unreadable. You uncross your arms in defeat as you feel tears gather on your bottom eyelids. Opening your mouth to apologize, Ezra puts his hand up and directs, “Don’t apologize.” You protest, “But-” He cuts you off, “Don’t. Apologize.” You audibly sigh and sit back in your chair, not facing him anymore. You wish you could just kiss him. It would shut the both of you up and finally bring your shared, passionate feelings to the surface. Instead you opt to stare at the program board in front of you. How sexy. Such allure. You roll your eyes at your own naivety. 

Both of you sit and replay all of the moments that led you to the peak that you sit atop, questioning how to safely start the descent. You decide to break the silence with a neutral topic, “Why do you call her Sparrow?” Staying turned away from each other, Ezra answers, “Well, now that I have two little birds in my life, I have to distinguish them.” Your heart glows at his comment, but it’s not enough to wipe the somber expression off of your face. 

“Why Sparrow though?”

“She’s adaptable. She’s been able to keep a sane mind while traveling through Puggart Bench, The Green, The Ephrate, The Blue. The presence of others doesn’t deter her from her work, yet she’s not aloof to their existence.”

His musings entertain you. Your anger begins to become a thing of the past as you get off of your chair and sit down on the floor a few feet away from him. Being on a literal level playing field only increases your ease. 

“What are you?”

He smirks, “A magpie.”

“I should’ve known.”

You share a bit of laughter before he explains, “I’m intelligent in trickery. I take pride in my illusions, but that’s not all I possess. Once I find my mate, I become protective of them, sometimes to the point of absurdity. A magpie male and female share the brunt of building a nest; as all great relationships should split the responsibility of reconciliation equally.” Regarding his last sentence, he raises one eyebrow at you. You stretch your legs out so that the soles of your shoes touch his.

“Magpies mate for life.”

You break your eye contact. You have grown shy from his pointed allusions, so you playfully fiddle his feet with yours. A moment passes before he says, “You’re a snow goose.” Confused, you look up at him, “A snow goose?” He nods enthusiastically, “Yes, a snow goose.” You shake your head, giggling, “I’ve never heard of those.” He leans forward with shock, “Really?” “Yep.” He shakes his head once and stands up to open his equipment hatch above you. He pulls out a book and sits back down, this time beside you. All About Birds. You assume the birds are alphabetized as you watch him flip the book open about 4/5 of the way through, and he presents you with a page: “Snow Goose”. Amused by the fact that he wasn’t lying, you let out a laugh. He laughs with you, “My Goose needs to brush up on her avian animal knowledge.” A minute has to pass before the cackling subsides. Then he paraphrases, “Snow geese are another adaptable bird, preferring to travel in packs. They roost mainly in bodies of water: marshes, ponds, the like. Ringing true to stereotypes of the general breed, they are very territorial of their property once they claim what is theirs. Snow geese have a brilliant white coat, which I equate to your magnificent aura. They are similar to magpies in that they mate for life.”

You look up from the book and are greeted with chocolate eyes glazed in infatuation. Thighs and arms pressed together, you turn to rest your chin on Ezra’s shoulder. Flickering eyes go back and forth between his eyes and his lips, signaling to him that if he wanted to kiss you, you wouldn’t object. He inserts, “Snow geese also don’t lack in paying homage to their reputation of being loud bitches.” You gasp and lay a swat on his chest as he chuckles away at his poking. After he has had his fill of laughing, you return to your resting place on his shoulder and let out a sigh. 

A few quiet moments go by before you look up at him and admire the handsome, irritating, brave, stubborn, loving man who are you enamored with. You reach your hand up and comb your fingers through his hair once, twice. He leans into your hand as you continue to brush his locks, “Ezra?” He hums, eyes closing rapidly from the lulling pleasure you’re giving him, “Mm-hm?” You whisper, “I’m sorry.” A stark contrast from earlier, he allows your apology. He opens his eyes and they’re dripping with honest remorse and helpless romance, “I’m sorry too.”

Yesterday didn’t amount to what you had originally planned to accomplish, but it was still a good day. Despite all of the insult hurling and badmouthing, you and Ezra ended the day on a nice note. Getting to the bottom of his nightmares could wait for another time. You both had needed a day of fun together to put aside your hostilities before you embarked on discussing trauma. Cee had returned without a problem, hands void of aurelac but filled with notes of The Blue’s landscape. 

You wake up, startled, All About Birds slipping off of your lap and onto the floor. You had sliced it out of Ezra’s dormant fingers after he had fallen asleep, your curiosity piqued from his earlier paraphrasing. Cee’s awake and bustling about in the pod, trying to find something, anything, to eat that isn’t a Bits Bar or a Slurry Pack. As you lean over to pick the book up from the floor, you catch Ezra’s eyes on you. 

He’s standing at his equipment hatch, doing some much needed cleaning up. He’s a traveler who believes in organized chaos, that putting things in their “right” place takes up too much valuable time. 

You smile up at him shyly and as you sit back upright with the book in your hands he says, “Did you find any specimens that better suit us?” You shake your head, “No, you were pretty damn spot on with your choices.” He flashes a smug grin, one that paints your face pink with amusement. Cee plops down in her chair with a huff of defeat, unwrapping a Bits Bar. Ezra hears her and says, “(Y/N) and I will take today’s assignment, Cee. You’ve warranted yourself a break after your ingenious expeditioning yesterday.” She says, “Good, because my legs feel like jelly.” The three of you laugh and you get up and rush to your equipment hatch. With your and Ezra’s friendship on its way to restoration, you were excited to find what the day would hold. The two of you get dressed in a flash, and you tell Cee before putting on your helmet, “We’ll be on channel one, like always.” She sticks a thumb up from behind her chair, and with that you and Ezra are on your way out of the pod.

The rays of the Sun today are periwinkle, streaming through small gaps in the overhanging vegetation. The air is tinted royal blue, the trees shimmer with teal sparkles, the soil a shade of navy. You inhale deeply as if you can smell the fresh air through your air filter, imagining a place where you could be with your gang without all of this clumsy equipment, without giving up the majesty that this landscape has. 

Ezra snaps you out of your daydream, “Where to today, Snow Goose?” 

You pull out a map from a pocket on your back and scan it, looking for any uncharted territory. “Let’s go west today. There’s a big chunk of land that we haven’t documented yet.” 

He nods and begins your quest by turning to the left and walking. You follow him, folding the map and keeping it in your hands. Little conversation is shared between the two of you for the first bit of the journey and the silences aren’t awkward. The majority of your time is spent looking up, admiring the scenery as the Sun comes up and illuminates more of the land. Different hues of blue are unearthed as light reaches deeper crevices: the underside of leaves show turquoise veins, the inside of a hollowed tree trunk boasts a purplish-blue hybrid. The puddles on the ground vary in shape, size, depth and color, and are scattered about the ground in an oddly methodical fashion. 

After a while of marveling at the sights, you regret getting dressed so quickly. You hadn’t brushed your hair properly, and the braid you had put it in was loose. Rubbing against your helmet with all of your head turning, the braid had fallen almost completely out of his shape and it was threatening to combine with your sweat to mold to your face. You instinctively put your hands to your helmet to try to push it out of your way, but you are met with glass resistance. Ezra, peeking over his broad shoulder to make sure he hadn’t lost you, notices your frustration, “Let me help you with that.” You furrow your eyebrows at him and wave off his help, “No, it’s okay. I’ll deal with it.” He shook his head quickly and spins on his heels, looking around and spots two conveniently placed tree stumps, one behind the other, that will accommodate te his fantasy. He gestures to them, “Have a seat, Goose.” 

You stand there, not wanting to indulge in the dream. This was just as much of a dream for you as it is for Ezra. He watched you, everyday before you went out of the pod, braid your hair and willed that one day it would be his hands that would twist your smooth locks. And everyday you braided your hair, you would envision him standing behind you, concentrating hard on his handiwork, his hot breath cascading down the back of your neck, his knuckles grazing your back. Ezra starts walking over to the stumps and motions for you to follow. 

You obey his command and sit down on the seat in front of his, scooting back so that he doesn’t have to reach very far to touch you. A depressing gasp fills the air as you detach your helmet and set it in your lap. Ezra’s gloves appear over your shoulder, “Can you hold these for me?” You were already turned on enough by the thought of him braiding your hair, now he would be braiding your hair with naked fingers and you got to hold the battered material that guarded those impossibly large hands almost everyday? Yeah, this is an illusion. You wait to wake up from your slumber. but are reminded that this situation is very real when Ezra’s fingers reach around your head to brush the sweaty hairs out of your face. His touch is gentle, unlike from the incident a few days ago. Now that you aren’t fighting for your life, you can take in the small, romantic details that you didn’t notice before. The pads of his fingers are rough but not scratchy. You see his fingernails, neatly trimmed and free from any sort of grime. How he pulls off that sorcery while being a prospector, regardless of the gloves, you will never know. 

You tense as his fingers glide over your bruised neck, collecting your hair and bringing it all to your back. He holds your hair in one hand while the other stutters on a bruise. He senses your unease and strangles out, “I’m sorry.” You grip his gloves a little tighter, trying to fight your tears from spilling, and shake your head slightly, “It’s okay.” You’re ready to move past it. It’s important to remember that it happened, but you’re ready to rebuild your relationship. Like he jabbed at you the other day, leaving Puggart Bench had been tough for you. You worry that your leaving left behind permanent scars that would impact the relationships you had there. Ezra and Cee feel like the only friendships that you can count on to last. You need them. 

Knocking you out of your despair, Ezra pulls your hair to one of your shoulders and rests his chin on the other. He turns his head so that his breath spills across your bare neck. He runs a finger lightly across a bruise and asks, mouth millimeters away from your skin, “May I?” You nod, and he plants an imperceptibly light kiss on your neck. You let a tear dribble down your cheek, wiping it away as quickly as it ran. 

A thought enters your mind: my god, his lips are soft as fuck. The combination of the softness with the tickling of his patchy facial hair was heavenly, if not orgasmic. You giggle at your own thoughts* (*thots), intriguing Ezra, “What is it?” You decide to be transparent, “Nothing, it’s just that your mouth is soft as fuck.” A hearty laugh erupts from his chest, “Now I don’t want to put an end to your seductive observations, Goose, but I want this to be an innocent affair.” You smile and sit up straight, letting him know that you are willing to drop the flirtation. For now.

His fingers separate your hair into three sections and he says, referencing the other day, “As a treaty to our battles, I would like to clarify that I don’t think you’re ungrateful.” A soft smile graces your face and you input your own treatise, “And I don’t think you’re arrogant or fucking pretentious. You are a little devious though.” 

He chuckles, “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be the scoundrel that I am, now would I?”

You shake your head no. No, he wouldn’t be the scoundrel that you are not so secretively in love with. As you sit there, enjoying the limited amount of time you are allowed with your helmet off, the details of your dreams prove to be true: you can feel Ezra’s concentrated breath warm the nape of your neck, his knuckles tap your suit when he twists your hair a certain way. You yearn for the day that you will be able to touch each other, feel each other’s true weight and texture, without the suits getting in the way.

“So, if you’re so good at prospecting, why don’t you tell me how you do it?” 

His tone is playful and your situation could not be more peaceful, so you decide to indulge him, “Well, first you have to find a deposit, which is usually indicated by a lump in the ground.”

He verifies your first step, “Uh-huh...?”

“Then you want to pour a solution into the deposit’s hole. You don’t want to pour too much though, or else it could cause an explosion.”

Ezra’s hands stop. You turn and ask him, “Is everything okay?” He nods, his eyes first staring off into the landscape and then refocusing once they land on you. He continues to involuntarily nod as he says, “That’s what permitted Cee and I to escape The Green. She threw an entire pint of solution into a deposit. Nearly blew the entire place to bits.” 

You feel rude when you realize that your mouth is hanging open in shock. You close your mouth and words about his time on The Green tumble out of his, “I am devious, indeed. But there were people--beings--there that would make me look like an angel. I take responsibility for killing Cee’s father because he tried to hijack my stash. A man’s work is no petty thing, Goose. I ended up having to kill two others there, in the end. I overestimated our luck after the first one, thinking that it would’ve been a simple escape. I killed the other mercilessly. You see now, Goose, the dangers that I encountered on The Green alone. I would never be able to forgive myself if I allowed you into harm’s way, and you became a tragedy.” 

You reach a hand out and cup his face, which he leans into. He still holds onto your hair, your braid halfway done, and you say, “I was ungrateful, and I’m sorry for that.” He shakes his head once, taking your hand from his face and kissing your palm, “Now you see why I wanted to strangle you in my nightmare. I dreamt that you were someone else, some other thing, that was threatening to drag our trio back to that wretched land.” You both breathe out a shaky laugh, trying to lighten the mood. Even though it was nervous, you are glad that the both of you are taking some steps in the right direction. 

He clears his throat and sits up straight, “Now, after you dodge an eruption, what is the next step of prospecting?” 

You face ahead and let him continue your braid as you speak, “Next you want to remove the husk from the deposit, and cut the cord that connects the two. Then you want to remove the inner membrane from the husk.” 

He quizzes you, “And what’s inside the inner membrane?”

“The aurelac gem.”

“Correct. Continue.” 

“Then you want to cut out any blisters, but if you cut too carelessly you could puncture it, which will release acid. If that happens then the gem ceases to be worth anything.” 

“That’s where my expertise usually falters.” 

“Finally you want to remove the gem from the inner membrane, douse it in fazer solution, and you have your stone.” 

He tests you again, “What is the purpose of the fazer solution?”

“To stabilize the gem and increase its clarity. Higher clarity grants higher payout.”

He pats your shoulder twice and ties your hair off with the hair tie you used for your loose braid, “Fantastic job, Goose. Couldn’t have explained it better myself.” He stands, walks around your stumps and holds a hand out to you. You take it, even though you were perfectly capable of getting up yourself. You got to hand him his gloves, and he stops you, “Wait a minute.” Both of his hands come to the sides of your face and push a few stray hairs behind your ears; the finishing touches to his masterpiece. You can tell he did a good job without having to look at it, since it didn't feel too loose or too tight, and the problem you had before was now solved. His tongue darts out and runs the edge of his bottom lip before he takes a step back, throwing his hands up, “Voila!” You giggle, eliciting a smile from Ezra wide enough to make the skin around his eyes crinkle in happiness. You hand him his gloves, which he puts on before you both secure your helmets back to your suits. 

Ezra checks in with Cee, “Everything alright, Sparrow?” 

A few seconds pass before she answers, “Yep, just listening to my music. Everything alright on your end?” 

“Affirmative. We’ll be staying outside for lunch. Over and out.” 

Ezra’s eyes gaze into yours for a brief moment before they move past your shoulder, eyebrows raised and mouth agape. You ask, “What?” before turning and following his stare. A patch of undisturbed soil, littered with lumps. In his rush by you, Ezra grabs your hand and pulls you along with him as you run to the potential aurelac deposits, laughing at his enthusiasm. He halts at the brink of the field, choosing which one he wants to dig up first. You suggest, “Why don’t we start from the outside and work our way in?” He nods, “That’s a great idea,” and drops to his knees. You stare at the mound in front of him as you sink down to the ground, pulling out your map. You mark where this field is located as he preps his harvesting tools. Once he’s prepared, he sighs and takes your hand, “Do you want to help me, Goose?” 

You nearly spring to your feet with excitement, “Would I ever!” 

He beams at your reaction and begins the process by clearing the dirt away from the mound to reveal the deposit. “How about for this first time, you just hand me the tools?” You nod, taking this as slowly as he wants to, “Whatever you’d like.” He grins as he cuts a hole in the deposit, knife already in hand. “Solution,” he requests. You hand him the bottle and he does the honor of pouring it over the deposit. A white steam emits from the hole, and he reaches in and grabs the husk. “Let me cut this cord, you can do the next one.” You agree and watch as he cuts it with his knife. He places the husk on a flat patch of land and requests his next tool, “Scalpel.” You hand him a Ralon Crusader Laser Scalpel and watch him work.

Laser scalpels are primarily used for precision work, like this step and the removal of blisters, while any generic knives will do the job when cutting the cord or opening up the deposit. 

You watch as he makes an incision in the husk, handing you back the tool once he’s done. He wrangles the inner membrane out of the husk and holds his hand out. You know that he wants the scalpel back, and you give it to him. He flashes you a smile for your readiness, but then hands you the scalpel back. You take it, confused, and he says, “I’d like you to cut the blisters off of this one.” 

Your pupils narrow and your muscles grow tense. You know the steps of prospecting backwards and forwards, but you had never carried out a lab experiment, let alone prospected aurelac in the wild. Ezra lays a gentle hand on your forearm, “I have eternal faith in you, Goose.” You move toward the membrane and turn the scalpel on. Ezra holds it steady for you as you go to remove the blister. There’s only one, which is a slight relief. You plunge the scalpel into the membrane, thinking that the skin would be thicker, and a hiss greets you. You pull back as the membrane deflates and an amber liquid seeps from it, the hissing never stopping. Your mortified eyes look up into Ezra’s and you immediately apologize, “I’m so sorry, Ezra, I thought that-” He raises a hand, “It is not a big deal in the slightest, Goose. I’ve never come across a prospector that didn’t puncture the membrane, or fail to mix the fazer solution correctly the first time.” He senses your lingering humiliation and grabs your shoulders, turning you even more towards himself, “Really, it’s fine.” You want to melt into his hands, crawl into his lap and just hide there until you feel better, but you know that you have to move on. 

He points to the mound behind you, “Let’s try that one.” You stay on the ground and move the tools with you, while Ezra stands and walks over before he squats. You hand him the knife, watch him repeat the process and hand him tools as he needs them: slice the deposit, squirt in the solution, remove the husk, sever the cord, open the husk, take the membrane out. He looks to you, “I want you to try again.” Turning the scalpel on, its vibrations feel more vigorous against your heightened nerves than they did last time. Ezra assumes his position of securing the slippery pod, and you begin cutting. Again only one blister, you circle the blemish with the blade. Once the circle is complete, Ezra reminds you, “It’s easiest to pull it off with your fingers.” You follow his directions, turning the instrument off and setting it to the side. You pull on sticky flesh, and the part that you cut comes off easily. Ezra sighs, “Incredible.” Sliding his fingers in between the membrane and the aurelac, he pulls the rock out and discards the pouch. He calls for the fazer solution, which you hand him and watch as he washes the gem with it. Another hissing sound can be heard, much quieter than the one that came when you punctured the membrane. He holds the aurelac up to the blue Sun, and both of you observe, amazed, at how the light shines through the gem. Aurelac is an amber-hued stone, sometimes with ripples in the color, encased in a foggy crystal. The blue light complements the orange shade of the gem exquisitely. 

Ezra turns to you, eyes bright with satisfaction, hands muddied with gristle, “Superb job, Goose!” He leans into you, helmet shields touching and reaches forward to kiss your glass. You smile and laugh with him in gratification. You can’t wait to harvest the rest of the mounds with your partner. 

A warmth you have never felt before bestows itself to you this early morning. It flourishes in your heart and subsequently pumps through your body, reaching from the crown of your head all the way down to the soles of your feet. It stretches from your ribs to the ends of your fingertips, running in cycles back and forth. The cause of this pleasure was not from the large aurelac haul you had pulled yesterday, but from the man that you harvested with. Ezra’s arms encircle you, heavy with sleep. You’re swaddled in his blankets with him, the depths of sleep tempting you to fall back down to their level of subconscious. The Sun hasn’t risen yet. 

You had crawled into Ezra’s awaiting lap after Cee had fallen asleep the night before. It wasn’t that you felt like you had to hide your feelings from her, but the dynamic still made you feel a little bit awkward, even with Ezra’s reassurance and Cee’s encouragement to pursue him. You would feel more comfortable if she were to wake up and find the two of you in your designated sleeping arrangements, and not in an amorous yet innocent entanglement of limbs. 

You can practically feel a rainbow sprout from your chest as you look up at Ezra, finding delight in his relaxed expression. His hair is messy not from the tossing and turning of a restless night’s sleep, but the enamored strokes of a yearning partner’s fingers. The whirlwind of malachite butterflies in your stomach nudges you away from sleep. You press your hands into Ezra’s chest, where they have been resting, and turn to nuzzle your nose into his collarbone before you start to slip out of his embrace. Gently lifting his arms off of you in an effort to keep him asleep, you fail. He cups the side of your face and rubs his thumb back and forth against your cheek a few times before he lets his arm fall to his side. He gives you a smile of understanding, allowing you to leave him only because he will dream about holding onto you for forever once he drifts off again. You give him a playful boop on his nose before you stand and trudge over to your pilot’s chair, sinking down into your own cold blankets. You try your best to recreate the heat you just deserted by bundling yourself up tight, but it’s not the same. However uncomfortable, you quickly succumb to the temptation of sleep. 

The true morning gives rise to an energetic group of prospectors. Still joyful about yesterday’s collection, you, Cee and Ezra are enthusiastic to stroll around The Blue again and see what else could be in store for you. Stretching in your chair, Ezra grabs your raised hands and leans over the back of your seat. You look up into his eyes and he greets you, “Good morning, Goose.” You smile and tease, “Good morning, Magpie.”

Cee blurts out, “Finally, you give her a nickname too!” You and Ezra laugh as he releases your hands, and you turn to face Cee at her equipment hatch. “I like Magpie too. Very fitting,” she raises an eyebrow at Ezra and he shoots you a wink. You get up to fold your blanket, Ezra glides over to his own equipment hatch, and Cee says, “You know, I say you guys last night.” Your face instantly beats red, and Cee notices, “No, it’s fine. It makes me happy to see a couple that can get over obstacles and love each other through it all.” You still feel a bit embarrassed, but shrug it off. 

A word she chose makes you question Ezra, “Are we a couple?” 

“Of course. We’ve always been partners, haven’t we?” 

Suited up, the three of you enter The Blue. After your daily assessment of the land (beautiful, as always) you turn to Cee and wait for her direction. She had mapped out the majority of the Blue Moon the day that you and Ezra stayed inside the pod, so you trusted her guidance the most. Ezra asks, “Where to today, birdies?” Cee analyzes the map before pointing to an area, “This block was filled with hills. It didn’t look like there were many deposits, but then again I’m not the best at spotting them.” Eager to start, you ask, “Which way do we go?” Ezra glances at the map, points to the right and commences your expedition, “This is the way.” 

💘taglist: @pascalpanic​ 

[rosethornewrites]

Saturday NR, E, & M reading

The usual

Finished

Explicit:

My Fool, by SimpleSoupsandAppleTarts (2nd in a series)

Jingyi was walking around the room with restless energy. Oh, he was trying to hide it, Sizhui could tell - only someone who knew Jingyi would see the tension in him, the way that he hadn’t been able to focus on anything all day, the way his eyes did not rest during dinner. Those eyes that had looked everywhere but at Sizhui.

And it was then that Sizhui knew what the problem was.

Today, Sizhui decided to put Jingyi out of his misery.

with you in the morning dark, by qinghe (ocheeva)

Wei Ying stirs again, heaving a sigh before burrowing his face into the pillow. His ear, the corner of his jaw, the long slope of his neck catch the light and Lan Wangji wants to put his mouth there. His lips against the shell of that ear, against the soft earlobe, would cause shuddering sighs; his teeth close to bone could bring with them a cry of pain. He needs to swallow at the thought, mouth watering, lips about to part as he breathes in the sleep-smell of Wei Ying’s throat where a line of bites have begun to fade from purple to pink. He wants to see new marks erupt, wants bruises blooming vivid where he’s sucked at the skin.

or: a winter morning in the jingshi

your passion snapping, by butchgoth (GremlinGirl)

“If I remove this, you will not scream.”

After a moment, Wei Wuxian nodded in assent.

He still hesitated, but Lan Wangji could not see Wei Wuxian so desperate for this. Leaving him unable to communicate was an added cruelty. Reaching behind Wei Wuxian’s head, Lan Wangji loosened the knot he had made and slid the cloth out of Wei Wuxian’s mouth.

Jerking his jaw back and forth, Wei Wuxian let out a hissy breath. “Thank you!” He blinked hard, gazing at Lan Wangji with an expression that made his grateful words come off as obviously disingenuous. “Of all the Alphas… I never thought you would stoop this low, Lan Zhan.”

Lowering his head, Lan Wangji admitted his wrongs. “This Wangji knows this is a sin. I cannot let Wei Ying go, however.”

Brows knitting, Wei Wuxian moved his hips a few times and twirled his captive wrists. “What is the point? Does it make you feel strong to bed the Yiling Laozu?” His voice pitched up higher. “Or is this punishment? You want to put me into my place?!”

“No.” Lan Wangji could hardly speak. His throat seemed tighter. “I am doing this to keep Wei Ying safe.”

in the arms of a dream, by bunnylan

Lan Wangji traces his fingers over the inner of his thigh, relishing the sleepy moan Wei Ying lets out. Wei Ying has always been a heavy sleeper, even the loudest of storms could not wake him up before the sun had well settled into the sky. The idea, the image of having Wei Ying in any way he wants, all the while his husband is peacefully asleep, thrills him. Wei Ying is very vocal and loud. Even in their everyday activities, he is loud and loves to tease him in the waves of pleasure. He does love that but this? Taking his time, his fill in this manner? It’s like spreading fire of need.

Or: where lan wangji wishes to explore a new kink of his and his husband wei ying supports him wholeheartedly

Mature:

from that bitter feeling, by Trensu

Lan Wangji is a paragon among the Lan cultivators. Dressed in white, he is as regal and untouchable as a god. And like a god, he has an uncompromising sense of justice. He is handsome and lawful and powerful.

He is the head disciplinarian of his clan for a reason. People who break the rules under his eye learn to never break them again. He has a mind for justice, but his heart is made of ice.

(Rule 25: Make sure to act virtuously)

Home to Lotus Pier, by hornkerling

“The Yiling Patriarch is dead,” she said. "They have that, but they won’t have me as well. Or A-Ling. This polite fiction where they let me grieve with my brother in the expectation that I present myself and his heir back at Koi Tower can’t last. I won’t let it.”

“What will you do?” asks Lan Zhan.

“First? Remind A-Cheng that he still has one sibling to co-lead the Jiang.” Her smile softened despite herself. Every part of her ached.

“I think it will take some time,” she said, releasing Lan Zhan's sleeve with an apologetic sigh. “Can you make a start on dinner?”

Jiang Yanli, on grief and friendship and the weight of personal names, six months after Wei Wuxian dies from a cut aimed at her back.

Unfinished

Mature:

Divergence and Convergence, by dissentingsweaters

Fate is a fickle thing. If one element was flipped on its head, how would that change a story?

Lan Wangji still composes Wangxian for Wei Wuxian and still loves him, but it is no longer something that is only theirs. Stolen by an outsider and popularized among the masses, it now represents nothing but pain for Lan Wangji who lost his song and the person who inspired it in one fell swoop.

When Wei Wuxian returns from the dead and unknowingly plays Wangxian, Lan Wangji not only fails to recognize his childhood love—he holds no interest in getting to know him. However, Lan Sizhui sees a chance to learn more about his enigmatic father through the arrival of this newcomer. His desire to uncover the past just might be enough to keep Wei Wuxian close and nurture a relationship that never had the chance the first time around.

Or: Our take on writing an alternative storyline where some things are just meant to be, while we try to save some of our favorite characters along the way.

Blood Harmony, by Director_XuanWu

"As for strengthening the alliance between Yunmeng Jiang Sect and Gusu Lan Sect, we propose a marital alliance between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji,” his brother proposes.

Did he hear right? They are to be married? Just for the alliance?

He stares at his brother, who pointedly does not return his stare. He might have an idea of what Wangji is, a cut sleeve. But for him to suggest a marriage to Wei Ying, is ridiculous.

"Yunmeng Jiang accepts this alliance, with a condition that this marriage is an equal marriage, as it is between two sought youths, the Second Heir of Gusu Lan Sect and the Head Disciple of Yunmeng Jiang Sect. Both will not marry into the other sect. Instead, they both will be members of both sects," Sect Leader Jiang confirms.

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

Or, an arranged marriage AU With pain.

Yearning for Miles, by Murahi

Wei Wuxian claims he found it. Jiang Cheng learns to trust his brother more than ever. Nie Huaisang is smarter than he looks and Lan Wangji will still pine even if Wei Wuxian knows they’re supposed to fall in love. At least the token is taking care of most problems. Perhaps we can hope for a happier ending this time.

Or Wei Wuxian finds a strange artefact while he’s studying in Gusu. Apparently it shows the future.

Keep Holding On, by abCEE

As they reached an inn and Wei Wuxian got them a room with three beds, the world seemed to have frozen for Jiang Yanli when her brother suddenly fainted and Jiang Wanyin was just fast enough to catch him before his body could hit the floor.

"A-Xian!"

"Wei Wuxian!"

In which after the Lotus Pier Massacre: Wei Wuxian was greatly injured by Zidian, Jiang Yanli left the inn to buy the medicines and food, and Jiang Wanyin distracted the Wens.

(With a bonus of Wei Wuxian knowing the title of the song and more things ensued inside the Xuanwu Cave that may or may have not involved Lan Wangji's forehead ribbon)

Canon diverged from there.

[kiara-carrera]

“actually i’m…i’m really not okay.” + Leah for the comfort starters?

convinced you can somehow read my mind across the internet because you're always picking the best prompts for them like this allowed me to write a hc that's been living in my head since may anyways. i also wanna fight myself bc this is like 3 fucking thousand words and its super fucking sad idk why i did this to myself. 

content warning for parental abuse and a mention of alcoholism.

In the middle of the night, something brushed against her face. 

She was asleep on her side, some of her hair falling into her eyes, but it was swept aside, the feeling tickling her skin and it caused her to stir briefly. But her eyes stayed shut and she merely burrowed deeper into her pillow.

Leah had never been much of a light sleeper, but the feeling of her bed dipping next to her seemed to rouse her enough. 

It took her a moment to settle into waking, eyes fluttering and lips smacking together tiredly to combat the dryness of her mouth. A tiny yawn escaped her, her eyes doing their best to adjust to the darkness of her room, the only source of light being the sparse moonlight that trickled in through her window.

It was enough to make out the shape beside her.

Her heart nearly stopped at the sight of them sitting on her bed, arm pulling back towards itself. It felt like something out of a horror movie or perhaps the evening news with the headline of a teenager being stolen from their bedroom. Fear gripped at her with icy hands, eyes widening at the realization that someone was in her room with her.

Lips parted, she was a mere second away for screaming out for her father and brother before a shred of moonlight at just the right second highlighted the unruly blond hair of the intruder.

Pushing up on one shaky hand, she asked, “JJ?”

Leah’s sleep addled voice cut through the silence, a harsh and hurried whisper into the dark. If it truly was JJ sitting on her bed, the volume would need to be kept near silent — she wouldn’t put it past Jack Thompson to treat JJ like an actual intruder.

The voice that replied was unmistakably that of her boyfriend’s, a little tired and a little sheepish. “Hey baby.”

Relief flooded her body and she allowed herself to slump back down into her pillow, a quiet groan escaping her lips. “Jesus fucking Christ, JJ, I thought you were a serial killer. What the hell?”

She couldn’t really see the expression on his face, but she saw him look down at his hands. “Wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me at —” She paused, turning to squint at the alarm clock beside her bed, neon numbers vibrant in the dark. “Two am? How the hell did you even get in?”

“Window.” He jutted a thumb behind him in its direction as if to make his point. In an attempt at lighthearted conversation, he jokingly added, “You know, you should really lock that thing.”

Leah pulled a face, disbelief coating her features. Sleep was still mulling in her brain and she couldn’t for the life of her make sense of this situation. It wasn’t the first time JJ had ever snuck into her room. Even before they were dating, he’d mastered slipping in through her window often enough that he even knew which floorboards would creak loudly under his boots.

But the difference between then and now was that this was the first time he’d done it without warning. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d come unannounced like this. It had to have been months ago, when he’d shown up after —

Fuck.

Leah pushed herself back up on her elbow, a sense of unease washing over her as she squinted at her boyfriend in the dark. The last time he’d shown up unannounced in the middle of the night, it hadn’t been for a midnight make out session or because he’d randomly wanted to spend the night — he’d had a bruised cheek and a busted lip, compliments of his father.

He’d dripped blood on her floor by accident and she’d nearly woken up her brother while getting the first aid kit from the bathroom. She’d gotten a mini one from the dollar store the next day to keep in her dresser just in case.

Except, she didn’t want there to be a just in case. Didn’t want there to be a next time. She’d cleaned JJ up from multiple fights in her time as his best friend and now girlfriend, but nothing left her with a pit in her stomach like cleaning him up after his dad was through with him.

“You didn’t come here from the Chateau, did you?”

It was phrased as a question, but it was more of a statement. JJ shifted awkwardly in his spot beside her. Even if she could make out his expression in the dark, he wouldn’t look at her anyways.

“Lee ...” He trailed off, almost as if he wanted to ask her to drop it.

But he knew her and he knew she wouldn’t. “J, did you go back to your place tonight?”

A small noise of discontent escaped him, but he nodded his head.

“Got into it with my dad,” he finally admitted, letting out a chuckle. It was meant to play off the situation, but there wasn’t a single trace of humor in the bitter sound.

Despite how tired she felt, eyelids heavy enough to drag her back under, that single sentence seemed to wake her up just enough. She squinted at him in the dark, heart thumping a little quicker in her chest as she blindly reached for the lamp on her bedside table.

It switched on, bathing the room in a soft glow as Leah pushed herself up into a sitting position. She blinked a few times, letting the now lit room to come in to focus, a hand reaching up to try and rub the rest of the sleep from her eyes. 

Her gaze eventually landed on her boyfriend, looking uncomfortable as ever under her gaze. His hat was in his lap, hands wrung into it, while his hair looked like he’d raked his fingers through it anxiously a number of times on the way over. And his eyes, normally cheery and mischievous, looked almost hollow, a glossy sheen to the redness that surrounded the blue of his irises. 

He looked ... broken and Leah’s heart stuttered a bit at the dejected expression he wore.

She’d never considered herself violent or capable of truly hurting anyone, but it was moments like these where she swore she could put Luke Maybank six feet under if she put her mind to it.

Unless he drunk himself to death first.

JJ watched on quietly as she let her eyes trail across his face intently, no doubt scanning for new scrapes or bruises or split lips. A twinge of guilt flickered in his eyes, one that Leah ignored. She didn’t care if he felt like he was burdening her or that he felt bad knowing she was expecting him to be dripping blood on her floor like he had one too many times before.

She didn’t care about that, because all she wanted was to make sure he was okay.

Leah hated when he went home. She knew that JJ was too proud to spend every night at the Chateau and knew he thought he could handle himself on the off chance that he ran into his dad. Rarely, though, did that seem to be the case.

“It wasn’t like that,” JJ supplied, noticing the way her eyes strayed to his shirt, more than likely wondering if there were bruises littering the skin it covered. “He was too drunk to start anything physical. Probably would’ve tripped over himself before he got two feet.”

Leah nodded, though his admission didn’t do much to quell her nerves. She didn’t know much about Luke Maybank to start with, but something told her his words were probably as painful as his hits.

After a moment, once she decided that his face looked the way it had when she’d seen him yesterday, save for the frown and his bloodshot eyes, some of the tension in her shoulders relaxed. Not all of it, though, because her mind had already started jumping to the next possible idea of what exactly had happened in the Maybank home earlier that night.

“Do you ... do you wanna talk about it?” she asked gently, tucking her legs under her.

Getting JJ to open up was ... tricky. Leah had been around him long enough that she could clock his bad moods at the drop of a hat, could read most emotions swirling in his eyes like second nature.

Noticing something was wrong, that something was eating away at him, was easy. Getting him to verbalize it and let her in fully was the hard part. Even around the Pogues, around Leah, JJ held a certain level of walls up. Thoughts and secrets and the level of abuse at the hand of his father that he kept guarded for one reason or another. There were things that they knew, things that they found out on accident or because he’d hit his breaking point, but Leah wouldn’t be surprised if there was a whole slew of things she didn’t know.

Her heart clenched painfully at the thought, but it didn’t surprise her when JJ waved off her question.

“Nah, it's not a big deal,” JJ replied easily, brushing it off as he adjusted his position on her bed.

He forced another smile on his lips as he regarded her. It was one that almost looked genuine. Almost. It might have fooled someone who didn’t know him well into thinking that he was fine, someone who wouldn’t pick up on the way he was fidgeting with his rings or how he seemed incapable of looking her in the eye for more than a brief moment before glancing away. But Leah wasn’t just someone and she could pick up on his unease just as easily as she was taking her breaths.

Because Leah knew when JJ wasn’t okay. She always knew.

Treading lightly, like she was dealing with a deer who might spook, she said, “Well, it must have been if you came all this way here.”

Annoyance wrinkled his expression. Tossing his hat to the side, he asked, “Can’t a guy just stop by to see his girlfriend?”

“JJ, it’s two in the morning,” she told him seriously.

His frown deepened. She could see his jaw clench and he nodded his head a few times. “Yeah, okay, you know what, this was fucking stupid. I’ll just leave then if you’re gonna keep looking at me like that.”

She knew the that in question was the pity he was probably reading across her face. But the problem was that she didn’t pity him, she was worried for him, but JJ never seemed to know the difference between the two.

The sight of him getting up and turning to head back towards her window had Leah lurching forward, hand circling around his wrist. “Hey, hey,” she whispered, giving his arm a tug. “No, J, don’t leave, please, c’mon.”

At her pleading tone, he halted, a sigh escaping him. It took another moment before he was sitting back down, a frown still etched on his face.

Leah’s hand slipped from his wrist and she longed to twine their fingers together but she didn’t in favor of scooting a little closer to him on her bed. She tilted her head a bit, trying her best to get eye contact with him.

He finally sighed and looked up at her, another sigh slipping past his lips. “Lee ...”

“Look, I’m not trying to push it, okay?” She bit her lip, thinking over her next words carefully. She didn’t know how many times she could successfully talk him out of leaving tonight. “I just ... I get worried. If you really don’t wanna talk, we don’t have to. We can just go to sleep and leave it, but I need you to know that I will listen if you wanna talk. You came all this way here and it’s so late and I know —”

“I just wanted to see you,” he repeated, cutting her off. There was no edge to his voice. Instead it was softer, a tone that suggested there was more to it. Unconvincingly, he added, “I’m fine, Lee.”

A shaky breath left Leah’s lips, tears beginning to sting at the back of her eyes. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Her words sat in the air for a few moments. Or maybe it was minutes. JJ was watching her intensely and Leah could almost see the legions of thoughts bouncing around his head at her statement. His eyes were glassier than ever, tears brimming along the edges. He chewed on his lip anxiously and Leah could do nothing but wait for him to make the next move. 

When he did, she was certain her heart broke.

“Actually I’m ...” JJ’s voice was thick with emotion and his breath hitched in his throat as his bravado began cracking under her thoughtful gaze. He couldn’t meet her eyes again when he choked out, “I’m really not okay.”

The first tear betrayed him, dripping down his cheek and disappearing somewhere on his shirt.

“Oh, JJ,” Leah whispered, her soft voice, laced with unmeasurable concern, nailing the coffin shut.

Within seconds, tears began streaming down his face as the dam finally broke.

Leah was quick to shuffle across her bed, the last bits of sleepiness washing off her like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over her head. Her arms were curling around him tightly, pulling him into her as the first sob racked through his body. His face was pressed into her neck, the collar of her shirt dampening with his tears.

He was mumbling into her, words muffled by her skin and her shirt, fragmented by the sobs that snuck through. She could only make out pieces, the words hate it and hate him and sorry repeating more times than she could count.

“I’ve got you,” she mumbled into his hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ve got you.”

His arms snaked around her waist, pulling her even closer, impossibly close, like he didn’t think she’d stay with him.

But there was nowhere else she’d ever dream of being, not when he was like this.

This wasn’t the first time Leah had seen JJ cry. While he always tried to hold up a devil may care attitude, the wild Pogue image, the view of a kid from the Cut with no worries besides keggers and weed, there were times where he’d hit his breaking point in the past. She’d seen it before, seen the facade shatter like glass against the floor. There was only so long he could go on being strong, feelings bottled up inside him like a ticking time bomb, before he’d burst.

Another sob wracked through him, a quiet and painful noise buried into her neck.

“I just want it to stop,” he told her between hurried gulps of air. “I’m so fucking sick of it.”

Leah’s eyes squeezed shut and she ran a comforting hand through his hair. She told him, “I know, J, I know,” because what else was there for her to say? What else was there for her to do in moments like these?

Anger burned in Leah’s chest, a sudden hot feeling, akin to a pot left to boil over on the stove. It was seeping into her veins as she listened to his cries, 

Anger at the world, because it took people like JJ and put them through hell. He was sixteen. Sixteen fucking years old and this was the shit that he had to deal with. This was his reality. It was two in the goddamn morning and instead of being asleep in his own bed, safe and loved by his own fucking father, he was here in pieces because of him.

Anger at his father, for being such a useless sack of shit. Who did this to their child? Who could look at a kid like JJ and do nothing but tear them down until they started believing the lies being fed to them? Leah hated him, she’d decided that long ago. Hated him more than she’d ever hated anyone in her life and the feeling of JJ shuddering under her hands only seemed to make it run deeper.

And then there was the anger at herself, because she knew there wasn’t enough that she could do. She could patch up his wounds and hold him tight, could let him cry in her arms until he had nothing left to give, and it would never be enough. She couldn’t fix the world for him and there weren’t enough words in the world to describe how important he was, how special, how loved. His father’s words would always exist somewhere in the back of his mind and she wasn’t sure she knew how to combat them with ones of her own.

It pained her to think he’d believe any of it. To think he was worthless or going nowhere or a waste of space. She wasn’t sure exactly what Luke had said to him tonight, could only guess, but she knew without a shadow of a doubt, with every fiber of her goddamn being that they were lies. 

Leah knew JJ. She knew every reason that she loved him was because he was unapologetically him. He could be brash and impulsive and crude and he didn’t always say or do the right thing. But she also knew that when it came down to it, he was loyal and brave and selfless and better than anyone on this goddamn island. He deserved the goddamn world. He deserved a mansion on the Eight with a koi pond and a ridiculous marble statue or Yucatán and lobsters and surfing all day and whatever else he wanted and it was because he was better than the world gave him credit for.

Tears of her own were pooling in her eyes, steadily dripping down her face as she rested her chin against the top of his head. She knew in that moment that this, being here with him right now, letting him deal with this pain in whatever way he needed to, was all she could offer him. She knew it didn’t come close to what he needed, but she’d hold him as long as he wanted.

As he clutched at her like a lifeline, Leah held him a little bit tighter.

[pluto-art]

Out of the Cold, Out of the Cavern

Type: Fan fiction (PatB) / Self-insert/Y/N/OC (sort of...) Genre: Hurt/Comfort (what else?) Words: 4,841 Rating: K+

Fan Fiction Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13724127/1/Out-of-the-Cold-Out-of-the-Cavern

As usual, I recommend the fan fiction version, which includes all of the italicized words.

Thanks to @shuunthenonbeliever, I was inspired to finally write this. :)

“One-sixty… one-eighty… two hundred,” the plump woman said, sliding a packet of bills off her jewel-laden fingers and into yours, like water pouring out of a spout.

“Thank you,” you replied, hesitant to pocket the load with those two, round, black eyes still staring at you, burrowing into your soul. They belonged to a young girl, nine or ten in age, perhaps, with short, auburn hair, her little white and turquoise dress bouncing up and down as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, waiting, watching.

“She’ll need watch every weekday from three to nine,” instructed the woman, barely even looking at you or her daughter as she checked her purse for something. “If you have any trouble you have my work number.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“But you’ll be no trouble. Will you, Elmyra?”

“Oh, no, Ma’am. Nopey nopey nope! We’re gonna have so much fun laughing and cuddling and playing with all my fuzzy whittle animals!” screeched the girl, in a voice that scratched like sandpaper.

“Yes, dear. Be good to your new babysitter, all right? Mommy has to go to work now.”

“Bye byeeeeeee!!” Elmyra waved, smiling widely in mock innocence as her mother stepped out the door.

“Bye,” you called out, a bit half-heartedly.

As soon as the door snapped closed, Elmyra turned to look at you expectantly, beaming.

“All right. She’s gone. You can go play with your pets,” you said.

“Yaaaaaaaay!! I’m coming, my fuzzy whuzzies!”

And off she hopped, skipping down the hall and around a corner ever so gayly, to a spot that you knew to be her bedroom, where all manner of horrible and unspeakable things happened.

You turned, leaned against the front door, and inhaled a long, deep breath of air, practically sliding against the thing as you counted out the greens in your hand -- one one-hundred, a fifty, a ten, and two twenties. Yep. Checked out.

You pocketed the loose change, paused, then got up and stuck it in your backpack instead. It’s not like it was going anywhere for a while. Besides, you hated carrying around more than you needed to in your small pants pockets.

Tossing the backpack next to the living room couch, you collapsed onto said couch and took a gander at your new surroundings.

It was a quaint little abode. Could have done with a new paint job, perhaps, but the yellow interior and old-style furniture wasn’t completely abhorrent. The whole cottage was rather cute, in its own weird way, sporting the occasional gothic chandelier that would have looked much more at home in Edward Scissorhands’ house, or a wastebasket that was far too frilly and posh to even be used for its original purpose. But the seating was comfortable, the cable was working, and, best of all, the fridge, stuffed to its seams, was, according to Mrs. Duff, 100% at your disposal. If there was anything that solidified a job offer for you, it was free food.

Not that the job was all chipper and charm. You knew what you were getting into when you took it, and the intermittent screams coming from Elmyra’s bedroom, as well as the cat that nearly bit your finger off from earlier as you tried to coax him out from under the kitchen table, were stark reminders of that. Everyone in the city of Burbank knew who the Duff family was, whether it was personally or from the horror stories passed down the school halls. Most who visited their house, unless they were a close family friend or relative, never wanted to step back in it again. It was common knowledge that you only went to Elmyra’s if you wanted a nice, long day of yelling and suffering, and all in your dorm would have rather died than take on the job of babysitter when it was posted online. But you took it. You took it… partially ‘cause you had no choice. What with a full-time college schedule and not much else in the cupboard save for ramen and three-day-old apples, cash was in short supply and desperately needed, and even though the last thing you’d rather do was keep watch over this kid, you also couldn’t find a job anywhere else. Besides, the pay was good. Excellent, in fact. Two hundred every Friday. You might even splurge on Chinese this weekend.

Sliding the remote off the thick, wooden table, you flipped through the channels, one-by-one, finally landing on National Geographic. The narrator was deep in discussion about the living habits of bats. Appropriate, you thought, as Elmyra flitted out of the room, make-shift cape trailing behind her and blindfold on, zoomed into the kitchen and grabbed a packet of cookies before zipping back into her room, sounding very much like a bat as she laughed in a loud, screeching tone the entire time. You did a double-take as she slammed the door behind her. Were there… other voices coming from the room? No. That’s silly. You shook your head. Crazy.

The next couple of hours went by surprisingly uneventfully; so much so, in fact, that you wondered if there was any basis in the rumors that floated around about the Duff residence being a literal “house of horror”. Some even said the place was haunted. It wasn’t until 6:55 PM, when you went to remind Elmyra that dinner was almost ready, that you got a whiff that things weren’t… quite what they seemed.

Of the menagerie loose throughout the house, Elmyra owned a total of one cat, a parrot, a turtle, and two white mice. The turtle hid. The parrot squawked. And the mice? The mice… talked.

“Narf! Hello there!” the taller of the two said, as you meandered into the room. You cocked an eyebrow and hesitantly lifted a hand to wave at him.

“Hi…,” you replied, a little taken aback.

The shorter mouse didn’t look up at you. His focus was heavily trained on a notepad rife with complex calculations far beyond your intellect. He was scribbling away as if his life depended on it. He also called you a “disposable hindrance”, albeit indirectly to his associate, something you didn’t entirely appreciate, but you also didn’t dare talk back. Not yet.

“Oooo. Munchie time! Come on, little mousies!” Elmyra cheered, and she grabbed both rodents tight around the neck with her short, groping fingers, stuffing them into her shirt pocket as she ran out of the room and in the direction of the kitchen.

You stood behind for a moment, nonplussed. Okay then.

A soft shuffling down the hallway made you turn. It was the cat. He still looked quite wary of you.

“Hey, kitty,” you cooed, gently but not in a childish fashion; more like you were simply greeting a friend. “You gonna let me pet you this time?” you asked, bending down and holding out a hand for him to sniff.

Tenderly, cautiously, the cat stepped up to you, wagging its tail slightly behind him. You narrowed your eyes. A wagging tail wasn’t necessarily a good thing, especially when it came to cats, but this was… different. The closer he got to you the more he wagged it, as if he was… excited? Curious? He sniffed your hand… and licked it. Odd. Then he peered up into your face, lolled out a long, pink tongue, and barked.

You sat back a little, wide-eyed, as the cat-dog jumped up onto your legs and actually started licking your face. It was… weird. Cute, but… weird.

After a few hearty licks, the cat, satisfied, jumped back down, scratched itself, and ran off to play with a ball. You wondered why he hadn’t come up to you before. Perhaps he still had more of the cat than the dog in him. You also now understood why some people claimed that this house was “haunted”. Two talking mice and a barking cat. Not exactly “spooky”, under your terms, but definitely unusual. You wondered what other treasures this quirky household held. Pirate bones? Dinosaurs? You had to admit it was rather exciting.

Shuffling back into the kitchen, you found Elmyra at the table, greedily shoveling the macaroni and cheese you’d made for her into her mouth as she watched a cartoon program on tv. The mice sat beside her in a little highchair, both now dressed as infants, the big-headed one looking absolutely miserable. Now and again, Elmyra would shovel a huge spoonful of mac and cheese into one or the other’s mouth against their will. Lanky mouse didn’t seem to mind it too much. Grumpy mouse turned to look at you with an expression that read: “shoot me”.

“Elmyra, be careful with how you feed your pets, okay? They might not like too much mac and cheese…,” you suggested, cautiously, frowning a little at the big-headed mouse in pity.

You knew, of course, about this kid’s harsh treatment of her pets. Everyone knew. But her parents were rich, and could probably buy out the police station and the A.S.P.C.A. if they’d wanted to, and so no one said anything. Still, as an animal-lover, you were curious. Just how badly did she handle her critters? Maybe you could do something to relieve their pain while you were there? And the situation was bad, certainly, but you’d seen worse, and there was only so much you could say besides, at least while she was awake. Too much rebellion and you’d probably be fired. That being said, you fully intended to assist in giving the poor things a little reprieve once Elmyra went to bed in an hour, and so you let the macaroni-shoveling slide… for now.

8:00 PM came and went, with little deviation from the norm aside from Elmyra quickly popping into the kitchen again at 7:23 PM, opening the freezer, and succinctly closing it before racing back into her bedroom. You shrugged at the gesture, barely turning around from the tv, figuring she probably just went to grab some ice cream. Thankfully, Elmyra not only went to bed early, but also was a heavy sleeper, so by the time 8:15 rolled around she was already obediently in bed and snoring, needing only a reminder from you ten minutes prior. The lanky mouse opened an eye as you peeked in. He was sleeping in the bed with her.

“Sorry,” you muttered, making to close the door, but the little mouse sat up.

“Wait! D-Do you mind checking on Brain? Elmyra said he went to Antarctica, but… he hasn’t been back in a while. You’ll go look for him, won’t you?” he asked, twisting his tail as he said it.

“Sure. I’ll look for him,” you responded pleasantly, and you meant it. The mouse smiled.

“Oh, thank you!” he whispered, tucking back into bed. “Good night!”

“Night,” you whispered back, closing the door softly behind you.

You frowned. Antarctica? More than likely, cranky mouse was simply hiding somewhere, but internally you promised to keep an eye out and check a few cupboards.

Several drawers, a pantry, numerous cupboards, and a couple of closets later and you still couldn’t find the little mouse. You even checked the higher areas of the house, wondering if “Antarctica” meant somewhere scalable and colder. Your first thought, of course, had been the freezer, but that was preposterous. She wouldn’t be that cruel. Would she…?

Out of pure curiosity, you headed back into the kitchen, grabbing a bowl from a cupboard as you did so. You were hungry anyway and figured that a hearty helping of ice cream before you left in half an hour certainly couldn’t hurt. You had free reign of the fridge, after all.

You set down your little blue bowl on the counter. You grabbed a spoon from a drawer and set it in the bowl. You even snatched a couple of Oreo cookies from an Oreo cookie box nearby and plopped them next to the bowl for good measure. Could never be too careful.

Noticing that Elmyra had left a box of frozen fruit pops on the counter without putting them back, you shook your head, grabbed it, opened the freezer door…… and dropped the box onto the floor with a loud plop. Hastily, you whipped off your red sweater, reached into the freezer, and pulled out a little white ball of frozen fur and whiskers.

“Oh, you poor baby,” you cooed, cradling the small mouse in your sweater as if he were precious cargo. You tittered. “Goodness. You poor thing. She actually put you in here??”

Closing the freezer door, you brought the mouse up close, pressing a finger to where his heart would be. His eyes were shut tight, and he was curled so firmly about himself that it took a little doing to get your finger up to his chest. He didn’t stir as you moved him about. There was a heartbeat… barely, faint as a whisper. It was a miracle he was still alive.

Almost instinctively, you cupped him in your hands, brought him over to the sink, and slowly turned on the faucet, checking that the water was lukewarm before carefully sticking him under the steady stream. You didn’t want it too hot right off the bat. Even a warm temperature might be a shock.

Two minutes later, after you’d let the (hopefully) stimulating mini waterfall wash over him, you turned off the faucet and proceeded to dry him off with a towel -- softly; slowly. He still hadn’t stirred, not even a little, and you gulped. Were you too late..?

8:35 PM. The stillness of the night, save for the now dimmed volume of the television, found you sitting once more on the couch, this time with a fuzzy occupant in hand. Big-headed mousie -- the… Brain… he was called? -- lay cradled in your arms, encompassed about with a very soft, very woolly blanket indeed. It was the fluffiest you could find in the house. Nothing less would suffice, in your mind. You could only imagine how frightening of an ordeal it must have been, shivering, cowering in a freezer for an hour, not knowing if the next breath you took would be your last….

A thumb gently stroked the snow white fur of the sleeping mouse, and you couldn’t help but massage that oversized head of his from time to time, muttering to him in soothing tones as you did so.

“You poor thing…. I’m so sorry I didn’t see you in there earlier,” you apologized, even though he probably wasn’t listening. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, the only indication that he wasn’t dead being the steady beat, beat, beat of his thumping heart every half a second.

“You gonna blink for me, sweet heart?”

And then, as if on cue, the little mouse sloooowly blinked, opened his eyes, and stared at you.

“Hey there, little one,” you whispered, smiling at him. “Atta boy….”

His eyes began to shift around, rapidly, and he frowned, as if trying to take in all at once where he was and what had happened.

“It’s all right. It’s all right,” you reassured him, readjusting your grip a touch as you continued to hold him close to your chest. “I’ve got you. Elmyra’s asleep. She can’t do you any harm. And if she tried I wouldn’t let her.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it once more, and subsequently shut it again, as if at a loss for words. Perhaps he really was speechless, or perhaps he was still a little stiff from having been locked up in the freezer for so long. Whatever the reason, he continued to stare at you, almost unblinkingly. As you went to pet him again, he reeled back, breathing faster than normal.

“Shhh. Shhh. It’s okay,” you said calmingly, pausing a mite before resuming your soft massage of his head. “It’s all right, little one. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

And slowly, hesitantly, he settled.

“‘Antarctica’,” you mused, shaking your head. “I’m surprised you survived that. Poor thing….”

You continued to talk to him; comfort him. After a solid five minutes of being stroked and cooed to, he actually leaned into your hand. You could tell he enjoyed the massage, reluctant as he was to admit it. A heavy sigh escaped your lips. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for the little fellow, even if he had been a bit of a butt to you earlier. How often did this kind of thing happen to him? Weekly? Daily? How often did he bath in this torment? You decided to ask him.

“Does she do this kind of thing to you often?”

He nodded, gaze still trained on you.

“Like… daily?”

He nodded again. You sighed.

“I’m so sorry….”

He actually shrugged.

“It’s… my life,” he coughed out, in a deep, chocolatey voice that was a little raspy. It was almost comical that a voice that low could come from something so diminutive.

“Well, it shouldn’t be your life,” you countered. “You don’t deserve any of this.” He simply blinked at you.

“How long has she had you for?”

He shrugged again.

“Over a year..?” he guessed.

“Over a year…. Sheesh…. How are you still alive?” you asked, actually chuckling a little… and regretting it immediately after. This was no laughing matter.

“I… I don’t know,” the Brain admitted, his body vibrating for a second as it released a shiver. For once, he looked away from you. “I don’t know….”

There was something in the way that he said “I don’t know”, something in the way his voice quivered a touch as it floated off into the air, that made your heart break in two. It was as if he himself couldn’t believe they’d held out as long as they had; that they hadn’t given up all hope by this time. It was a dry admittance, a sad admittance, and he blinked rather rapidly and sniffed after saying it, as if trying to bite back tears.

Any animosity you’d had for such a creature had completely dissipated by this point. His honesty. His helpless quaver…. They’d destroyed it. With all the more tenderness, you rocked him gently to and fro, taking extra care to massage his whole little body, as best he’d let you anyway, trying to iron out every last bit of pain trapped in those delicate bones. He barely even resisted, save for asking once why you even bothered to help him in the first place.

“Because I think you needed it,” was your blunt response.

He’d looked away a little shyly at this, before turning back to look into your eyes.

“Thank you,” he muttered, and it sounded sincere.

You simply nodded, smiling at him, continuing to rub out the pain as best you could.

8:47 PM. You tossed a frown at the clock. Mrs. Duff would be back in about thirteen minutes. The time you had spent with your new charge hadn’t felt like enough. You were fully aware that you couldn’t take him back to your place for extended relief. He’d have to return to Elmyra’s room, or, at the very least, be put back somewhere in the house before the mother arrived. This posed a bit of a problem, however, for by this point he’d fallen back to sleep in your arms. You stopped rocking him back and forth for a moment to simply… look at him.

He was so small. Much smaller than expected for a pet mouse. Perhaps he’d been a field mouse in the past? A body that fragile shouldn’t be thrown around in a house by a volatile little girl. He should be cared for; comforted; loved.

8:48 PM. He was actually snoring, so quietly it was barely audible. Despite yourself, you leaned down… and kissed him on the top of his head. He stirred, but didn’t awaken.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered again, swallowing thickly.

You looked at the clock. 8:49 PM. You sighed.

You couldn’t do this. You knew you couldn’t do it from the moment you opened the freezer door and saw him lying in there. Two hundred dollars a week wasn’t worth it. You were going to be fired and that was that. Screw the money. The thought of leaving the two mice in such a condition as this was unbearable. You couldn’t rescue all of her animals, of course, and you hated the idea of stealing, but this one had almost died.

8:50 PM. You groaned. This wasn’t going to be easy….

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Sunday morning saw you bright and early, topping off some pancakes in your dorm room with maple syrup, cutting up a few tiny pieces, and setting aside said pieces on a small napkin on a table. Two little white mice immediately stepped up. You smiled at them as you dug into your own, much larger portion of the breakfast, watching the sun rise beyond the balcony.

In the end, you’d chosen the lesser of two evils: voluntary departure. The moment Mrs. Duff had returned home, you’d politely thanked her for the payment, but regretted that you didn’t think you could continue to operate as babysitter. She’d been disappointed, but not surprised. It wasn’t the first time a new hire had quit so suddenly. The turn-over rate with Elmyra was high.

And so you left, leaving the two mice behind at the house, but had returned the next day around 1:00 PM while Elmyra was in school and her parents were preoccupied. She had a tendency to leave her bedroom window open, you see, and it didn’t take much convincing to persuade the mice to consider new living arrangements. The taller one, whose name turned out to be Pinky, was a bit uncertain, and felt bad about ditching without even a note of thanks or apology, but the Brain said it wouldn’t matter, that Elmyra would get over it soon enough and find some other tiny rodents to torture, and so Pinky relented. Not that you could blame him for being hesitant. You also felt bad about literally kidnapping them in this way, but you couldn’t think of any alternative.

Watching Pinky happily lick maple syrup from his lips, however, and observing Brain take notes on a pad while he chewed on pancake satisfactorily, you felt it had been worth it. Pinky still felt a bit guilty about ditching Elmyra so suddenly, but he seemed to adjust to change surprisingly quickly, and sweet breakfast food every morning was a-okay in his book. Brain was still getting used to you, and spoke only when necessary, but he hadn’t forgotten the freezer incident. When he did speak to you it was fairly formal and polite, and he’d even let you scratch behind his ears now and again. Pinky was undoubtedly the friendlier of the two, and you enjoyed spending time with him, talking about movies and playing board games, but there was a special place in your heart reserved for Mr. Grumpy. You figured that would always be there after what had transpired several nights prior. All you could see whenever you opened a freezer door now was an ivory, frost-bitten body trembling in your hands.

Bright sunlight was pouring into the dorm room now, alighting the chairs, the tables, the dishware…. Smiling, you stood up, plate in hand, and stepped out onto the porch, choosing instead to rest in one of the outside seats, the better to enjoy the day’s warmth.

Several minutes later, as you popped a piece of pancake in your mouth, something, or someone, crawled up into the chair beside you. You looked down. It was Brain.

“Hello,” you greeted him pleasantly.

“Hello,” he replied. He licked his lips a little timidly. “Umm….”

“Yes?”

“I…. Well, I… I just wanted to say that… you’ve…. Well, it’s… it’s nicer here than at Elmyra’s….”

“Glad to hear that. I would hope so,” you smirked.

“And… I…. Well, I… um…,” he stammered, scratching at his neck.

You smiled.

“It’s okay,” you said. “You’re welcome.”

He looked up at you, then back at the sunrise. A minute passed. Quietly, inconspicuously, he sidled up close to you, and leaned his entire body against yours, closing his eyes as he did so. Your heart warmed at this show of trust. Oh….

Gently, so as not to startle him, you brought up a hand and began massaging him.

“I love you, little one,” you whispered under your breath.

In response, he pressed closer against you. It wasn’t at all what you expected from him, but you gratefully accepted it all the same.

You both sat like that for a long time, enjoying the touch of the sun’s rays, Pinky finally joining in some moments later as he snuggled up to his friend. Brain actually wrapped an arm around Pinky... and smiled. Pinky hugged him back.

A grin tugged at the corners of your mouth as you watched them, before turning your attention back to the sunrise. Hot pancakes. A beautiful view. Soft mice. And no Elmyra. It was nice. 

As you petted the two little fuzzies cuddled up next to you, warm and full and far away from any girls who would put them in freezers, one thing became absolutely decided in your mind: no amount of money could ever substitute for this.

The End

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

Author’s Note:

I promised myself I’d never do a self-insert. Granted, that applied more to drawings, and even then I’ve made a couple of exceptions in the past, but writing out this kind of thing is still a bit embarrassing to me. I feel like it tampers too much with the canon universe, but, then again, so do AUs and even fan fiction in general. Every story is a “what if”.

This one came about, however, because I was inspired by a friend of mine, Shuun. She’d written a very sweet little story called Haven Forbid (which I suggest you check out), that was, in turn, partially inspired by a soft idea I’d had in which a young woman, taking on the job of Elmyra’s babysitter, discovers Brain trapped in the freezer and proceeds to nurse him back to health. The idea in general is one I’ve had for months and months and months. Whenever I daydream about cuddling and comforting Brain, it often comes back to this particular scenario. So, yes, it’s a flat-out self-insert. Ha-ha. I just normally don’t like sharing these things publicly, but Shuun inspired me to be brave. Heh. :)

Although this is written with a y/n perspective, the character of the babysitter is basically me. This is what I would most likely do if in this situation. Pinky, Elmyra, and the Brain is a show that I not only abhor, but that hurts my heart terribly. The pain I feel regarding Brain, watching him get beat up, tossed around, thrown against walls, choked, and all manner of other despicable things, is nigh through the roof. So dearly do I yearn to rescue him from such a predicament that I’ve literally been in tears thinking about what he had to endure in that show, even though it’s technically not canon. He can be a little butt himself sometimes, but he absolutely did not deserve any of what he was put through in that series.

Hand me a little frozen Brain and I’d do exactly what you saw in the story. Let me warm him; hold him; love him; tell him he’s not alone…. He’d probably balk at a majority of it, but, deep down, he wants to be comfortable and secure as much as the next person. I have so much love for this little fellow. A lot of the time he needs a kick in the pants, to be certain, and occasionally he’d rather be left alone than spoken to, but once in a while, even though he’d never admit it, I think he also needs a kiss to the head.

(As a side note, the title of this story was… paaaaartially inspired by the famous “Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire” chapter title in The Hobbit.)

[gusu-emilu]

Cantatio: Chapter Eight

Ship: Lan Zhan / Wei Ying, but this episode is all Lan Zhan & Wen Qing friendship

Summary: The teleportation closet acts up again, causing Lan Zhan and Wen Qing to step out of one mystery and into another.

Cloud Recesses Academy AU, Rated T - read on AO3

Lan Wangji looked up. He had not realized before, but the sack was covered with talismans, their bottom edges curling up from the fabric.

Dread gripped Lan Wangji. No one would place this many talismans on a bag unless something sinister was inside.

“We should leave,” he murmured.

< Ch. 7 | Ch. 9 > | chapter list

Lan Wangji jumped out of bed and strangled the intruder into his iron grip, only to be surprised that he held the body of a small woman.

“Calm down! It’s me!” she hissed.

Lan Wangji recognized the spiked golden hairpiece below his chin. It was Wen Qing.

“Why are you here?”

“To take a look at this closet, if you stop choking me.”

“It is locked,” Lan Wangji whispered sharply.

“How would you know? I don’t suppose you checked just now?”

The tendons in Lan Wangji’s neck tightened. He released Wen Qing from his grip but still clutched her wrist like a leash. It seemed that she had climbed in through the open window.

Lan Wangji glanced over at the other side of the room. Wei Wuxian lay on his stomach with his hair down across his face and his blankets crumpled in an unusually large heap, breathing loudly with one leg hanging off the side of the bed, oblivious to the charade occurring in his dormitory. This gave Lan Wangji an inkling of relief, but he was still overcome with dread at the knowledge that a girl was in his room. At night.

Boys and girls were forbidden from entering each other’s rooms after curfew. He had violated the same rule in two different ways, all within twenty-four hours!

“This is prohibited. Please leave.”

Wen Qing drew her lips into a thin line. She strained her free arm to reach out of Lan Wangji’s grip and tugged at the locked door of the closet to test it. Having been satisfied that the door was truly locked, she turned back to Lan Wangji.

“Listen. I’m not thrilled to be here, either. But if there’s a portal leading into my room, I want to figure out how it works as soon as possible. My roommates and I might even be in danger if there’s another entrance somewhere.” She leaned closer. “I just found something in an anthology of a cultivator’s travel notes. It’s a stretch, but it might help us.”

“Inform me tomorrow.”

Wen Qing ignored him and began the story anyway. Lan Wangji tried to build a dam around his consciousness to block her words, but like a mighty river, Wen Qing’s words flowed through the cracks and soaked Lan Wangji with intrigue.

“Supposedly, three hundred years ago in Qinghe, there was a shrine built to lock away a treasure. Its walls had over forty locked doors, and only one opened to the treasure. To prevent the treasure from falling into the wrong hands, if the incorrect doors were opened, people vanished within them as if they had been teleported. To further deter thieves, each door was sealed with a magic that could only be unlocked by an object of pure silver treated with special charms and possessing high spiritual power.”

She pulled three needles out of her sleeve. They stuck upward from her closed fist like claws. Lan Wangji’s eyes widened slightly.

“I brought my medical needles with me to test it out. I don’t think their energy is significant enough, but it’s worth a try.”

Lan Wangji did not know what else to do with this information but nod. Then something clicked.

His sword Bichen was made of pure silver.

Wen Qing noticed the flash of realization in Lan Wangji’s eyes. “What’s your idea?” she asked.

“This plan is improbable. Please leave.”

“It’s destined to fail if we don’t attempt it.”

“A trench cannot be filled using a feather shovel.”

She gave an astute tilt of her head. “Then use the feather to patch the tiny crack in the ground before the trench is formed.”

Lan Wangji raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t impressed by her retort, but he was at least surprised. He gave an unsure glance at Bichen, which lay atop a rectangular stool alongside his bed.

Wen Qing drew in an excited breath. “Your sword! It’ll have much higher cultivation than my needles.”

“We should not.”

“Second Young Master Lan, I’m already here. If you need to copy the Gusu Lan Clan rules twice as many times to coddle your ego, so be it. I’ve already broken the rules for you. At least get something out of it.” She paused, as if tasting her next words in her mouth.

“If you refuse, I’ll wake up your roommate.”

A thin line of worry burrowed in Lan Wangji’s forehead. This young woman was very difficult to argue with. He thought back to the words she had said to Clan Leader Nie.

“You have memorized the Gusu Lan Clan rules. Why study, only to disregard?”

“What makes you think I’ve done that?”

“You recited Rule #562 to Clan Leader Nie.”

Wen Qing squeaked out a laugh. “I’m a medical student. My head is crowded enough already. I only memorized that because I knew I could use it against someone.”

“…”

“Are you going to stand there gathering dust, or are we going to try to open the door?”

Lan Wangji looked at the closet. His hands jittered with hesitation. Then he reached for a spare pair of robes and slung them over his body.

“Where are you going?” Wen Qing asked.

“Nowhere. It is improper to be underdressed in the company of a woman.”

Wen Qing rolled her eyes. “How chivalrous.”

After Lan Wangji finished donning his robes, she pointed at the sword. Lan Wangji stared at Bichen for several moments, then with a rush of adrenaline, he scooped it up and unsheathed it. The bright moonlight from the window reflected off its blade with a frosty silver sheen.

He faced the closet door, then looked over his shoulder at Wen Qing with an expression that asked, What do I do now?

“Try drawing some type of array with the tip of your sword. Whatever array you think is best.”

“In the wood?” If Wen Qing wanted him to vandalize Cloud Recesses property, he would have to lay down his weapon.

“No, don’t get all worked up. Just in the air.”

With solemn concentration, Lan Wangji traced a perfect meshwork of interwoven lines in front of the door, deciding to create a qi expansion array. Bichen swished through the air with a muted whirring sound as Lan Wangji dictated its sharp, precise strokes.

They held their breath and waited.

Nothing happened.

“Try opening it,” Wen Qing said.

Lan Wangji pulled on the door. It did not budge. He glanced back at Wen Qing with the tiniest, most imperceptible look of smugness.

It had not worked. Really, it was a total shot in the dark. There was no known connection between this closet and the rumored shrine in Qinghe, which may have never even existed. Wen Qing had no justification for sneaking into his room and turning him into a rule offender.

“I brought the book with me,” Wen Qing said. “Let’s take another look. Do you have anything I can cross-reference?” Wen Qing said as she strode over to the edge of Lan Wangji’s bed. She looked up with dark, determined eyes and a questioning smile, as if asking for permission to sit.

Lan Wangji realized that his odds for persuading Wen Qing to leave were very low. And if he did not comply, Wei Wuxian would be awakened to witness his shamefulness. He nodded in reluctant approval, and Wen Qing sat down on his bed.

An itch scratched at Lan Wangji’s heels, making his movements jumpy and warning him that this scenario was unfamiliar territory. He watched Wen Qing flip through the book for a few moments, then set down Bichen on its stool and perched himself on the bed sufficiently far away from her.

Lan Wangji’s eyes darted to Wei Wuxian’s slumbering body. If the twisted mind of that young man could see him now, he would have deluged Lan Wangji with incessant teasing. Lan Wangji was glad that his roommate was a heavy sleeper.

He selected a borrowed library book from his bedside shelf and began to read under the moonlight that shone down in the shape of a window frame around his shoulders.

Lan Wangji and Wen Qing remained in this position for a long time, scouring pages with lightning speed and murmuring comments to each other.

It was actually quite nice.

Known as a man of his word, Lan Wangji was accustomed to people believing whatever he said with unshakeable faith, until this aspect of his life had become as ordinary as the water he drank. However, at this moment, Lan Wangji felt grateful that Wen Qing believed his story about the closet portal. Despite her sarcasm that nipped at Lan Wangji like a snapping turtle, she believed Lan Wangji so wholeheartedly that she was willing to stay up late in the night to help him study obscure magic and solve this mystery.

As Lan Wangji’s face skimmed through the fourth book of the night, his eyes as placid as glass and his skin as smooth as jade, the corners of his mouth crept into a smile.

The silence was peaceful.

Then, a haunting, ethereal melody coiled through the air like a mournful dragon.

It ceased abruptly.

It was a guqin. Wen Qing snapped her book shut and whirled her head to look at Lan Wangji, who sat motionless with his lips parted.

The guqin’s song had come from the closet.

The closet.

They opened the creaking panel and stepped through the pitch-black doorway together.

When they emerged at the other side, they were not in a closet, and they were not in Wen Qing’s room.

* * *

“What is this place?” Wen Qing whispered.

Lan Wangji blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of his surroundings, which were much brighter than the abysmal black he had passed through in the closet to arrive here, but were still darker than where just minutes ago he had sat safely on his bed underneath a window’s halo.

“Unsure,” was all Lan Wangji could manage.

“Are we still in the Cloud Recesses?”

It was a good question. Lan Wangji had already been trying to determine that for himself. He was not sure how he sensed it, but they were high above the ground. The air held traces of an acrid stench buried by dust and at least four different perfumes. Was this an attic?

Bichen unsheathed itself an inch to shed some light, but there was a magnetism in the room that seemed to swallow Bichen’s glare. The sword vibrated in frustration.

Despite the darkening charm, there was no living essence nearby to cast the spell. Whatever emanated the charm was not alive.

They were alone. And there was no guqin in sight.

Lan Wangji squinted to discern the shapes in the room before him. It was a small square chamber, each edge two or three body lengths long, and a thick stone platform wrapped around the center of the room in a ring. Wide triangular patterns adorned the wall in dark, foreign blotches.

The room was crowded with an assortment of irregularly shaped items that, despite the faint light from tinted arched windows that stretched down from the angular ceiling, were too shadowy to identify. There were many of these objects scattered about. However, they could not be called clutter. They had been carefully placed here, arranged according to some inscrutable scheme.

On the back wall hung an alabaster-white emblem, a hoop with swirling tendrils reaching across its center like cloudy wisps. The symbol of the Gusu Lan Clan. They were still in the Cloud Recesses.

“Yes,” Lan Wangji concluded.

Although he could barely see the expression on Wen Qing’s face, he could sense tension immediately disperse from her body at his words. Lan Wangji also felt something unclench in his gut at the knowledge that they had not gone far from home.

Wen Qing stood close enough for her arm to be lightly nestled into Lan Wangji’s side. He leaned away to break the contact, as touching others made him uncomfortable, but he stayed near enough to still feel the young woman’s aura that brushed the dense air next to him, like a small lantern fire warming the chilly space and reassuring Lan Wangji’s mind.

He checked through the list of buildings in the Cloud Recesses that had multiple stories: pavilions, temples, living quarters, a watchtower. None was recorded of having a room like this. Where could they be?

“Well, the portal worked,” Wen Qing said. “That’s a success. I don’t think it was our doing, though. Do you have a talisman we can light?”

Lan Wangji instinctively reached a hand toward the vast sleeve of his azure robes, only to remember that this pair of robes was his spare. He stopped his hand as it was about to cross over his chest.

“No. Do you?” he said.

Wen Qing exhaled a sharp sigh. “No. Clan Leader Nie confiscated them all. I suppose he didn’t want to afford Wen Chao, my brother, or I any tools that would make it easier to sneak around after curfew.” She shrugged. “Not that it stopped me.”

“Talismans may not work anyway. I believe there is a darkening charm.”

Wen Qing shook her head. “I wish I’d planned ahead better. I could’ve prepared a tonic of mi meng hua to improve our night vision.”

Lan Wangji replied with a polite “hm?” from behind his tightly shut lips. Not because he was interested in further clarification, but because he wanted something to fill the eerie stillness that suffocated the room. He had never been adept at filling silence himself. Not that he was normally this eager to.

Wen Qing seemed grateful for permission to speak a sense of normalcy into the strange void they had entered. “Butterfly-bush flower buds. They clear heat in your qi stage to improve your sensitivity to light. Although they aren’t that effective unless you mix them with bat droppings. It’s not a concoction I tend to keep around.”

Actually, silence would do.

With unspoken synchronicity, they each wandered to opposite sides of the room. Their footsteps were measured, like the ticking of a clock, yet hesitant.

Lan Wangji passed boxes, urns, and diverse magical artifacts. None seemed harmful on their own, but somehow the methodical combination of these disparate objects in one place was unsettling, as if they whispered to each other about a devious plan that Lan Wangji could not decipher. What was this room? What purpose did it serve for the Cloud Recesses?

“Eek!”

Lan Wangji spun around. “What happened?”

“Nothing…nothing…”

A foreboding thought crossed Lan Wangji’s mind. This seemed to be a storage room. Bugs were often found in such places. Lan Wangji did not want Wen Qing to freeze in terror from spiders or termites, leaving him to fend for himself should a more serious threat pounce on them.

Then he envisioned another giant monster bug attacking them. His nose twitched with shame at that memory. He decided that Wen Qing’s entomophobia might not have been as unreasonable as he once thought.

“Have you found anything of interest?” he asked.

“No. Do you think the guqin came from this room? I don’t see one.”

“It is possible.”

“I’ll check in the back.”

Wen Qing’s shadow slinked across the wall on the left side of the room. Having finished inspecting his area, Lan Wangji proceeded along the opposite wall.

He bumped into a sack that hung from the ceiling. It was lumpy and rugged. Tempted by curiosity, Lan Wangji skimmed a hand along a small patch of the scratchy fibrous material. The sack was hard in one place, and then directly next to that protrusion was a deep groove where air sat between the fabric and whatever lay underneath.

What could it be?

He slid his hand a little farther, searching for a seam or an opening of some kind. His fingers closed upon a flimsy tab of paper. He lifted a corner of the rectangular sheet with a faint crinkling sound and leaned his face forward until his eyes were level with the paper.

It was a talisman.

But a talisman for what? It was too dark to study the runes scrawled on its surface.

Lan Wangji looked up. He had not realized before, but the sack was covered with talismans, their bottom edges curling up from the fabric.

Dread gripped Lan Wangji. No one would place this many talismans on a bag unless something sinister was inside.

“We should leave,” he murmured.

“What happened?”

Lan Wangji had only taken one step backward when the talisman he had touched fell from the fabric’s surface.

The entire sack dropped to the ground with a thud, revealing what stood underneath.

The gaunt white body of a female corpse.

“Hnngh!” Lan Wangji cried as he stumbled backward into the curved stone platform. He tripped over its edge and plummeted down until his shoulder blades slammed onto the wooden floor, his neck bent at a frightful angle that shot pain down his spine.

Lan Wangji immediately swung back onto his feet and unsheathed Bichen.

A beam of light shone from the back wall underneath the Gusu Lan Clan emblem. A sky blue guqin appeared, streaking harsh light through the room that pelted Lan Wangji like shards of rock. Its strings played themselves, but it was not the melody a guqin should produce. It was maniacal, strident—the sonic equivalent of a crazed dagger slashing through the air.

It was piercing through Lan Wangji! The twisted music was going to cut his soul!

Before Lan Wangji had time to think, Wen Qing’s nails were dug into his arm, and he was scrambling across the room with her to the door through which they had first entered the room.

But they had been teleported inside! What use was it to run toward a nonexistent door?

But when Lan Wangji reached out, his hand closed upon a weighty stone handle. He thrust it open.

A winding staircase descended into darkness below them.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by liking, reblogging, and visiting me on AO3! New chapters posted every Monday on AO3 and Tuesday on Tumblr.

Ch. 9 > | chapter list

[blackberrywidow]

Stay

Paring: Bucky x reader

Summary: With your life being threatened by a megalomaniac with a murderous streak, Bucky takes it upon himself to keep you safe. Even at the cost of some slight cuddling.

Prompt: “I’m staying with you.”

Warnings: Fluff, slight language.

Words: 1.8k

A/N: Written for @jewelswrites-ish‘s 1k writing challenge. Yes, I did just sigh up for this three hours ago and yes I did drop two other wips to do this, but when inspiration strikes… I know this is short, but I hope everyone likes it.

---

“Thanks for walking me home,” you sighed as you came upon the brightly painted red door of your apartment. It was a bit ostentatious for your tastes, but at least it was easy to find when you were drunk out of your mind. Or exhausted and on the run from a murderer, as was the case now. “It wasn’t really necessary, but I appreciate it all the same.”

“Of course,” Bucky responded, appearing to all the world completely at ease. You knew better though—his eyes scanned the perimeter of your building vigilantly as you fumbled for your keys. His hands were resting casually in his pockets, purposefully near the gun at his waist. He stood only a few inches away from you, blocking your body from the street, and you could feel the heat radiating off of him in the cold winter air. It was distracting, to say the least.

Shaking yourself from your poorly timed thoughts of what it would be like to seek out his warmth a bit more intimately, you finally managed to place your key in the lock and turn it—only to be stopped by a hand to your wrist.

“Let me go in first,” Bucky ordered, blue eyes flashing with intensity in the low light.

You considered protesting—you were a trained S.H.I.E.L.D. agent yourself, and you knew how to clear a room. But Bucky had been asked to get you to your apartment safely, and he was taking that job veryseriously. Any such protests would be swiftly ignored.

You moved out of the way, gesturing grandly with your hands for him to lead the way. He offered you a brief smirk in response before pulling out his gun and nudging the door open with the toe of his boot.

You drew your own weapon, holding it up and ready as you moved in silently behind Bucky and closed the door, ready to cover him if need be. Fortunately, it wasn’t necessary. Your apartment was blessedly tiny, so the two of you were able to check every inch of it for any potential threat within two minutes. Completely empty, save a pair of trained spies that were too exhausted to be dealing with this shit.

You breathed a sigh of relief as you finished the search back in your living room, holstering your gun securely at your hip. “Great. One hundred percent clear of any assassins lurking about, ready to kill me. Which means I’m going to bed,” you dismissed him, heading back to your bedroom on heavy feet. It had been a long day, and you were hoping to still catch a few hours of sleep before you had to head back to the tower at eight o’clock. “Just lock the door behind you. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

“Wait,” Bucky protested, turning with you and grabbing your wrist in his cool, metal hand. “You can’t be serious.”

You blinked down at the hand that was wrapped gently, yet still firmly around your wrist before moving your gaze up to his. His eyes were still doing that strange, intensely serious thing that they had been since Tony had given you the news, and you were growing more and more confused by the second. “I am serious, Bucky. I only got like, 4 hours of sleep last night and I’m completely drained. So… yeah. Bed. Goodnight.”  

You tried to extract your arm from his grip, but his hold only tightened as he shook his head. “Wilson Fisk—one of the biggest crime bosses in the country—wants you dead, and you’re just going to go to bed like nothing’s wrong? Are you insane?”

“Yes,” you said easily, though a frown was now tugging at your lips. He was treating you like you were stupid, a major pet peeve of yours. “I can’t stay awake forever, and the rest of the Avengers are out there right now looking for Fisk and his goons. I’m as safe right now as I’ll ever be, with or without a hit out on me. That’s part of the job.”

“This is different, and you know it,” he shot back, abruptly letting go of your wrist to run his fingers through his hair. “It’s like… you’re a sitting duck here, (Y/N). You’re just waiting for someone to show up and put a bullet in your head, and you’re acting like everything is just fine.”

“We put our lives on the line every day, Buck,” you sighed, running a hand down your face as your eyes started to droop. You were waytoo tired to be having this conversation. “And honestly, I am kind of freaking out. But it’s the nature of the job, and I don’t have the time or willpower to stay vigilant for the next few days while we track him down. So yeah, I’m going to bed, and I wish anyone who tries to break into my home and kill me luck. I’m a light sleeper and an even better shot.”

You gave him a small, teasing smile which he reluctantly returned, which immediately made you forgive any previous irritation. You chalked it up as a win and began inching your way back to your room. But the next words out of his mouth made you freeze.

“I’m staying with you.”

Your eyes, half-closed and clouded with sleep moments before, snapped wide open in shock. “What?”

His mouth twitched up a bit at your stupid question, but he remained entirely professional as he crossed his arms and stared you down. “I said that I’m staying, (Y/N). You’re in no condition to properly defend yourself if someone does come for you here, and it’s my job to protect you. So, I’m staying. Go to bed, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Your lips pressed together in a thin line, and you cocked a brow at him. “Really? It’s your job to protect me now? Steve just said to get me home—mission accomplished. Now go to your own apartment and get some rest. I know you’ve been up just as long as I have, if not longer. I don’t need you to babysit me.”

“No,” Bucky insisted, his voice harsher than you had ever heard it. “I’m not leaving you alone. I know that you’re more than capable of defending yourself—hell, I’ve seen you destroy men twice your size firsthand. But that doesn’t make you invulnerable, and until such a feat occurs, I’m staying.” His tone was firm, resolute, and he dropped down on your couch to demonstrate his point.

“…Why?” you asked, the question coming out more hesitant and breathier than you wanted in the still quiet of the room.

Bucky took a deep breath, seeming to consider your question seriously as you waited in the doorway of your room…for what you weren’t really sure. Until he spoke, that is.

“It’s my job to protect you. Not because Stark or Steve told me to, but because I… becauseI want to. Because the thought of you in danger makes me sick, and the thought of you dead makes me furious.” He finally brought his eyes back up to yours, and the ferocity and sincerity that shown in their azure depths took your breath away. “I’m staying because I have no choice, (Y/N). Not really. So, I suggest you just get used to it.”

You smiled—the slope of your lips slight, but more genuine and brighter than it had been since this Fisk business had started. Something seemed to click into place with his words, and it didn’t matter that he couldn’t bring himself to say what you both felt. This was enough.

“Come on then,” you sighed, holding out a hand to him. “There’s room for both of us in my bed, and there’s no reason either of us should miss out on sleep. We both know no one is going to sneak up on you, even when unconscious. Besides,” you teased, your grin becoming the slightest bit wicked as he stared at you with wide eyes, “there’s safety in numbers, right?”

He considered you for only a moment longer before seeming to resolve himself. He reached out, placing a warm, calloused hand in yours and allowed you to lead him to your bed.

You went through your normal bedtime routine—washing your face, brushing your teeth and hair, stripping down to your underwear (though this time you were considerate enough to throw on a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top as well). By the time you were finished, Bucky had divested himself of his weapons and gear, and was sitting awkwardly on your bed in only his t-shirt and jeans.

Your briefly considered telling him he could take off his pants if he were uncomfortable, but you knew that would have the opposite effect. Bucky was still readjusting to life in the 21stcentury—life in control of his own actions. Being here and being honest with you was probably hard enough as it was.

You crossed the room and threw yourself down on the other side of the bed without a word, causing Bucky to release a chuckle and relax a bit, inkling back on your head board. You wormed your way under the covers and over to him.

“Do you normally sleep sitting up like that?” you asked groggily, eyes peeking up at him from just above the comforter.

He smiled down at you, shaking his head. “I told you, doll. I’m n—”

“Oh, shut up,” you sighed irritably, one hand snapping out from under the blanket to grip his bicep and yank him down until he had half-fallen on top of you.

As okay as you were with the position, he righted himself with a sigh. He did remain laying though, only shifting so he was beside you rather than on top of you, so you let it side. Well, sort of.

Once he had found a comfortable position, lying above the covers, completely straight with his hands behind his head, you wiggled your way back over to him and curled into his side. He let out a surprised exhale, which you resolutely ignored to burrow your head into the crook of his shoulder.

“Mmmm,” you sighed dazedly. “So warm.”

He had tensed the moment your skin made contact with his, but he gradually let it drain from him as he chuckled. “Goodnight, (Y/N). Sweet dreams.”

You couldn’t be sure, but you thought you felt him hesitate a moment before he leaned down and pressed his lips tenderly against your forehead.

You sighed contentedly, all thoughts of mob bosses and assassination attempts fleeing from your mind. In Bucky’s arms, it was impossible to feel anything other than safe and content. “I’m already having the sweetest dream, Buck.”

It was a delirious, sleep-deprived thought that you would surely regret in the morning. But the ensuing sound of Bucky’s deep chuckle and the feel of it rumbling in his chest sent you off to the deepest sleep you had had in years, so maybe it was worth it.

Taglist: @sugarplumparker, @desir-ae, @everythingbooknerd

[atlasuncomfy]

Straying the Beaten Path Ch. 01

Rating: Teen+

Chapter Warnings: Mild, infrequent language

Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Summary: For almost fifteen hundred years, Romano Vargas has tried time and time again to prove to the world, and himself, that his existence was not a fluke. And, time and time again, it became increasingly clear that perhaps that is exactly all he is: a product of luck. So, when he gets a call from Germany that the Allies are after Feli, he decides to-once and for all-seize his fate.

He would never admit this aloud, not even if you held him at gunpoint and demanded he do so. But among the many things he missed dearly about living with Spain, the one Romano Vargas longed for the most would be the quiet of the Spanish countryside. Now more than ever, not for the first time, with the drum of machine gun rounds and the moan of fighter planes overhead filling his ears—as well as his trauma-laced nightmares—he wished he could return to the days of his childhood and continue to live in total, uninterrupted silence. Things were simpler then: wake up to the sun warming his chubby face, eat chocolate con churros for breakfast, work in the tomato fields, and so on. (And, when Spain taught him about siestas, a few of those were thrown into the mix, as well.) He learned to value the easy-going lifestyle of the Spanish and doing things at one's own pace.

Thus, the ringing of his phone on this, or any, morning was entirely unwelcome.

Romano groaned, clearly annoyed by the unwanted sound invading an otherwise peaceful slumber. For a moment, confusion reigned as the temptation to slip back into sleep gently coaxed him along. His bleary vision faded in and out of darkness, yet the incessant ringing danced at the edge of his subconscious, only just keeping him away from tantalizing sleep. In a feeble attempt to ignore such noisy intrusion-and so early in the morning! -he pulled the covers over his head. It didn't take long, however, for him to realize this was one war he would not win (and he knew quite a bit about those sorts of losses). Ever reluctantly, Romano Vargas rolled out of bed and began the dreaded quest for silence, dutifully uttering curses along the way. Oh, how sleep loved to tease him, and oh how the caller would pay dearly for interrupting their ritual time alone.

The source of the sound—a clearly aging rotary phone whose darkened hues of gold still reflected every bit of the shine and brilliance of the man who gifted it to him—sat seemingly innocent atop his deep mahogany desk. Strewn about it were various war-laden documents, stressfully scribbled notes, and of course: his beloved photo of a family from long ago. A family that would never again be. He gave pause, regarding the tattered still of memory as he did many a time before, before shaking himself. Clearly, someone needed his attention; these days no one bothered to call unless someone wanted something from him, anyway.

For a moment, Romano considered the other body he shared the meager bedroom with: Feliciano. A glance backward, and he fondly noted his younger brother's sleeping form curled up and burrowed in an impressive mountain of covers. The sound of soft snoring and steady breathing made its way into his ears; all was still calm. He debated taking the call here, as sudden conversation posed a risk to waking the resting man. Although, he knew with absolute certainty that the harsh ringing would eventually wake even Feliciano Vargas, a god among even the heaviest of sleepers. On a whim, Romano's fingers wrapped around the device's familiar neck, and with the choice made he allowed his own croaky voice to join the morning's sounds. "Pronto," he muttered, warily eyeing any sign of stirring from his brother. "What do you want so early in the goddamn morning?"

"That's certainly no way to greet your commanding officer, Herr Vargas," came the sharp reply, coated with an unmistakable, gruff German accent. "Especially after trying my patience and making me wait so long. You would do well to remember holding your tongue, lest you find yourself losing it—do I make myself clear?"

Despite contrary belief, Romano was no fool. He knew full well what Ludwig and his superiors were capable of should he mouth off a step too far from usual. Such came the horrors of war and being forced to align with such monstrosity. Unfortunately for his German associate, who he knew for a fact was chasing after Feliciano, Romano also was no coward. "My apologies, commandante," he allowed, sarcasm lazily dripping from his tongue, though with notably less malice than before. "To what, then, do I owe the pleasure of this phone at such a delightful time of day?" It wasn't lost on the Southern Italian just how important this conversation was. Communication between national bodies during times of war was exceedingly rare, especially unencrypted. There simply was no need; anything of importance that needed to be said could be passed along via their respective leaders.

Unless, of course, it was an emergency. So, if Ludwig was calling him now…

"Forget it; it doesn't matter. Time is of the essence."

"Well then, with all due respect, just spit it out already—"

"British forces have begun invading Sicily, you fool!" There was a beat of stunned silence—then two, then three—and the snapped response all but hung densely in the air, threatening to suffocate them both. Before a word of apology could even begin to form on Romano's tongue, however, Ludwig continued. "Italy informed me some time ago that his Southern half would be staying with him for a few weeks—are you still there?"

Despite the dire situation at hand, Romano couldn't help but bristle at being referred to as a southern half, effectively demonstrating the lack of autonomy he seemed to have over his own person. I'm a personification, he thought bitterly, a pawn in a game. The least you could do it acknowledge the one moving the piece, potato bastard. "Yes," he murmured nonetheless, barely able to register the question with all the deafening thoughts racing through his mind. "Yes, I'm still in Florence, with Feliciano. What do you want me to do, commandante?"

"Protect Feliciano with your life. Flee Italy as soon as possible."

"Scusa?"

"Do not argue with me, Vargas," came the sharp reply. "There is no time for it."

Any ounce of subordinate fear Romano had abandoned him in favour of protective instinct. "Make time, then! I can't just tell my brother we're leaving without a good explanation, testa di cazzo!"

"Du hältst jetzt die Klappe! You are a macroregion: a subdivision defined only by traditional politics, globalization, and leading a legacy only comprised of tasteless Americanized film caricatures. Whether or not you are taken by the Allies holds little bearing, save wartime formality, as you hold virtually no worth in terms of political bargaining."

"But Feli does."

"Exactly. Mussolini will be forced to bend at Allied will, as he would need to quickly regain Italy by any means possible—including surrender."

Romano sighed, casting an accusatory glare toward the heavens. For all our country's legacy of dutiful worship, he thought, you really enjoy shitting in my dinner, eh? His earlier fatigue returned to his bones tenfold, this time joined by a faint migraine and an ache marching down his spine. "Message received, commandante. I mean nothing; Italy means everything."

"Indeed. I'm glad you finally seem to understand the severity of the situation." Upon only receiving a half-hearted hum in affirmative, Ludwig continued. "Even if it costs you your life, you must not allow Italy to fall into enemy hands. He is far too valuable to our cause, to his country…" To the heart of Germany himself, although both men knew better than to voice it. "Once Southern Italy has fallen, it will only be a matter of time before they begin heading North. Fortunately, you will have a four-day head start to find somewhere safe for him until the Allied forces are driven out."

If they can be driven out, with the way this hopeless war is going. "Capisco, commandante. We'll leave tonight at dusk. Was there anything else…?"

A pause. "Would it be possible—I only wish to speak privately with Feliciano. It may be some time before I can talk to him again. If this is to be the end of our communication, I want it to be on good terms."

It took everything Romano had not to scoff at that. Even in the depths of cruelty and madness, it seemed only his dear young brother could surface any microscopic amount of humanity Ludwig had left. And, of course, his gut instinct was to end the call right then and there. But he knew how it would break Feliciano if something were to happen and he couldn't properly say goodbye. With Nonnuccio and Holy Rome gone—well, the younger man wouldn't be able to handle the heartbreak a third time. "Let me go wake him," he ceded, feeling every bit like some faceless courier sent between Romeo and Julian. Then again, what else was new? Setting the phone to the side, without bothering to wait for a response from the German, Romano stilled, trying to relish the few seconds of quiet he had left before the weeks of uncertainty ahead.

"Lovi?"

Startled, Romano whirled around; it seemed despite his best efforts, his little brother finally awoke. "Damn it, Veneziano, don't you know not to scare me like that? We're at fucking war, for Christ's sake."

Feliciano, in his infinite sainthood and for all the hostility thrown toward him, only smiled. "Well, good morning to you to! I'm glad to see you up so early with so much energy, fratellone!"

Ignoring the playful ribbing, Romano handed his younger brother the telephone's neck. "Make it quick. We've got somewhere to be soon, so come find me whenever you lovebirds are done." He didn't wait around for a response, hastily moving to dress himself and begin packing. On his way out of the small bedroom, he could hear Feliciano's soft murmuring, no doubt using what little time the duo had left together to tell the German everything and anything. They both knew that this war was coming to an end—a bad one. The Allies made very clear that they were not interested anymore in negotiations or mercy of any kind, especially now that American was eagerly joining in. For all the two of them knew, this could be the last time they ever spoke to each other.

As he closed the door, there was a twisted part of Romano that rejoiced at the thought of his Northern half finally getting to experience a taste of his entire lost childhood. You can't have everything, Vene, he thought. The journey ahead would prove to be tense, indeed.

Previous Chapter  (=ヮ=)೨

Next Chapter  (╬..>////<..)ノ

[sterlingbutler-blog]

Thirsty Spiders

Why is it that all the weirdest things happen to me? I sighed to myself as I studied my surroundings and saw thousands of eight-legged black dots climbing the walls of my room. I sat in stunned silence. I stared for what felt like hours, but was probably only thirty seconds before I had a realization: the dots (spiders I presume) weren’t moving toward me. Well, it seemed like they were. But they were just kind of… moving in place… toward me?

I don’t know how to describe it. I could tell they were moving toward me, but when I looked closer, I saw that one would move closer to me, then disappear and immediately be replaced by one a little further back which would be hurrying toward me, only for it to disappear as well, and the cycle continued.

What the fuck? I scanned my surroundings. My room is exactly as it should be… well except for the perplexing monstrosities crawling all around I guess. This is weird. I wasn’t scared so much as I confused out of my mind.

I looked in the opposite corner of my room and saw my TV, which was playing my favorite show: “How to Tell if Your Mother is Secretly a Pepperoni Eating Goat.” I know that sounds like a really specific and niche program, but it’s actually really good and informative; I’m about 80% sure my mom isn’t a pepperoni eating goat, but I definitely know what to watch out for after watching the show.

The TV was sitting on top of my dresser, and of course I had my Playbox 2. I may be the only person who regularly uses it anymore. I mean, it is over 10 years old, but you’ll never be able to beat the nostalgic games that go with it. Next to my dresser was my mirror. I accidentally put it together upside down, but I feel like it really ties my room together.

I looked into the mirror and saw just how tired my face was. The countless nights of energy drinks, self-pleasure, and procrastination that college brings had caused my artichoke-green eyes to be surrounded by deep bags darker than my soul. The stresses of going to classes I don’t like in order to get a degree I don’t need for a job I don’t want had caused me to mildly breakout in acne. I laughed to myself, because my acne plagued face reminded me of the pizzas that goat moms love to eat.

My constant tossing and turning at night had left my golden brown hair unkempt and I saw a pillow on the ground next to my bed which was suspiciously naked... I am notorious for being a violent sleeper. Not only do I always manage to divorce pillows from their cases, but I have also been known to steal my friends’ pillows and punch them in the face while asleep.

I scanned the room once again. Oh right… spiders I thought, remembering that I wasn’t alone. Just then, the spiders all stopped moving, in unison, and a thought crossed my mind: Wait. Didn’t I already graduate? I was more confused that I ever had been, and that is saying a lot because I get into the most random situations. I hardly know what's going on half the time, and no one believes me when I tell them about things that have happened to me.

My gaze returned to make eye contact with myself in the mirror. But this time, my eyes were no longer the light and endearingly ugly shade of green they had always been… they were black and captivated the world around them. I felt like they were physically pulling on me. It was as though they had their own gravitational pull.

Suddenly, all of the spiders coalesced into a single entity in front of the mirror. It studied me. I studied it. Neither of us looked away.

Its entire body was slowly dripping spiders. They would fall from parts of its body like its voluptuous bosom and ill-defined legs, hit the ground, and then scurry back to the body. From there, the process would continue... and continue... and continue.

After examining it for almost a minute, I noticed that parts of its body were growing. It looked like claws were growing out of its long black fingers. It’s arms were growing to the size of those big packages of ham you see in the glass displays of grocery stores. And a sizable bulge was throbbing in its groin. The beast lifted its claws, licked its lips, and leaped at me like a cat leaps at a mouse.

A moment later, its claws were burrowing into my skin and my world went black.

The Chronicles of Colton Cox is a collection of stories about a misunderstood young adult whose life is completely random. Each chapter is guided by a noun and adjective from a random number generator. I wish I could say what Colton’s life will bring him, but the truth is that I don’t know; I’m here for the ride just as much as you are. The words for this chapter were: Thirsty Spiders.

If you enjoyed this except, please check out more of my work on my website.

[oh-my-otome]

Hello, Amalthea dear! If you’re not too busy, or whenever you get a chance, could you do a headcanon on how the Ikemen Sengoku suitors would lovingly wake up the MC? Much love ❤️💕

Thank you for your patience, my lovely!

Kennyo has been up for awhile, holding you close to him with one arm draped protectively over you, keeping you nice and warm against him, His other arm comfortably under your head, like a pillow. 

When you open your eyes, they focus on his smile– it hangs lazily on his features, handsome for all of its sleepiness. You bring yourself closer to him, earning a low rumble of a laugh that hums in his throat.

He apologizes for waking you up, but he just loves the feel of you in his arms, and couldn’t help cuddling you, first thing in the morning.

Motonari wakes you up accidentally, when he shifts to sit up and stretch. To compensate you, he pulls you back down and cradles your head against his chest, resting his chin gently on top of your head.

He begins stroking your side in an effort to lull you back to sleep and, wrapped in his embrace, you find that it’s a little more effective than you thought. 

You find your eyes beginning to close, despite yourself. 

Before you know it, you’ve taken a little cat nap even though you thought you were fully rested. 

Only this time, when you wake up again, Motonari’s the one who has drifted off to sleep, safe in your arms.

Ieyasu’s got it all figured out, down to the last detail. 

He’s made sure to tell his cook exactly what to make– all of your favorite breakfast treats –and had them ferried up before your usual waking time, for a breakfast-in-bed surprise!

Of course, you can only assume that that was the plan, as Ieyasu is sleeping soundly next to you, curled in a little ball, with one hand clinging to yours. 

Just a little way away from the bed lies a legged tray table packed with a sumptuous morning meal, and even a card with your name on it– in his handwriting. 

He must have fallen asleep after positioning everything just so!

His brow is slightly furrowed as he dreams, and you giggle quietly each time he mumbles snatches of the conversation he must have had with his staff about what foods to include.

Ieyasu stills after you place a kiss on his cheek, and he trades innocently talking in his sleep for burrowing further under the covers.

Shingen takes advantage of you being a stomach sleeper, and lightly moves your hair away from your face, so that he can have better access to your shoulders and neck.

He gives you a gentle massage, as you slowly make your way out of sleep, all soft respectable touches, and you find yourself adjusting in the covers to give him better access.

Chasing each caress with a quick kiss, you sigh a greeting to him, and he gives you a bright smile to rival the brilliance of the morning sun.

Hideyoshi has been up for hours, off doing his morning training. After a stop at the baths, he’s fresh and clean when he returns to your room. 

When he crawls back under the covers, he gives the bed a playful bounce, the momentum causing you to roll over right into his arms.

You wake up mid-roll, but there’s no exasperation in your features– you don’t mind a little silliness first thing in the morning. 

The two of you are all smiles as you fit against each other, and settle in the sheets– nuzzling and sharing chaste kisses –saying ‘good morning’ in your special own way.

Mitsunari shifts a little bit, holding his book aloft as you adjust in his arms. It’s always like this, first thing in the morning, the two of you sleeping in and being late risers to boot.

Typically, he quietly leans over to pluck a book from the shelf, and waits patiently for you to wake up, holding the book in one hand and stroking your hair with the other. 

This morning, though, you ask him to read aloud, and his cheeks color slightly in the morning light.

“Oh, you wouldn’t be interested,” he insists, and you shush him with a sweet peck to his temple.

Emboldened, he sits up straighter, fluffing the pillows behind him, before hoisting you against his chest and leaning back as one, against the headboard.

As he begins to read, you notice that his voice sounds a little more rough and deep than it normally would. Attributing it to him having just woken up, you lay your ear to his chest, hugging him close to your side, as you listen to him read.

Since meeting you, Nobunaga usually likes to sleep in, but this time he’s up before you are. 

Half-asleep, you feel a strange sensation– like you’re floating –and you open your eyes in alarm, looking around wildly.

You realize, then, that you’re being carried princess style, and look up only to find Nobunaga peering down at you in surprise– he’s standing there with you in his arms, out on the tenshu, a thick blanket draped around his shoulders.

He huffs a laugh as you wiggle in his arms, trying to get down. He settles himself on the balcony, placing you in his lap, and wraps the two of you up like a cocoon.

You managed to ruin his surprise– waking to the golden sun, as it rises to greet you –but he smiles at you as if it doesn’t matter, dropping a kiss on the top of your head.

Yukimura has made sure to sneak out of bed to quietly open the windows, wanting to let the call of the morning birds entice you out of your sleep.

With the muted light of daybreak filtering into the room, and the fresh air rolling in, you stir in the bed clothes, shifting closer to seek out his warmth. 

He pulls you to him readily, snuggling as close as he can, savoring the feel of you against him, and drawing the covers higher up– higher than they need to be –to give you the first kiss of the morning.

Sasuke likes the feel of your legs tangled with his, underneath the blankets.

When you try to roll over onto your side, he playfully catches your legs with his, and draws closer to you.

He catches your hand next, when you give a mock push against his chest, and he uses the momentum to pull you with him, feigning being knocked back.

With you half on top of him, he brings his other hand up to nestle it in your hair, while at the same time drawing your captured hand to his lips. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off of yours when he presses a kiss to the top of your hand, and wishes you a good morning.

Mitsuhide is laying quietly, hugged up against your back, with his arms low on your waist. 

Hands clasps and nestled near your stomach, he smooths a kiss on the back of your head, nuzzling into your hair, where you can’t see him smiling warmly– a secret only for him –the covers rumpled all around you.

He knows that you’re awake when you scoot back a little into the cradle of his hips, and arch your back into his chest as you give a little yawn. 

Mitsuhide waits for you to look back at him, over your shoulder, kissing his way from the top of your head to your ear with soft butterfly kisses.

Kenshin has been waiting impatiently for you to wake up, and had half a mind to shake you awake himself. 

Here he sits in the bedding, however– resting on his elbows with you having slid down his chest, into his lap.

He’s not usually the type to notice these things, but the color of the sky as the sun climbs higher looks particularly beautiful this morning, and in a fleeting moment of sentimentalism, he really wanted to share the view with you.

He hasn’t the heart to actually wake you up, though, so he burns the memory into his eyes, stroking your hair where it spill over his lap and down onto the bed.

He finds comfort in the fact that he will be by your side for many more mornings than this, and there is always tomorrow’s sunrise to look forward to.

You won’t find Masamune waiting for your to arise from your beauty sleep, like every other day.

Instead, the sweet smell of freshly-made pancakes– fluffy and golden –are what pull you out of your sleep, this particular morning.

He usually likes giving chase, and has nothing against you waking up by his side, but as you walk into the kitchen and find him waiting for you at the breakfast table with an easy smile– your place set and ready, food still piping hot –you realize that this time, he wanted you to come to him.

[theorganasolo]

Unexpected

Summary Post ROTJ: Han and Leia deal with an unexpected surprise while on their honeymoon on Corellia. 

Here’s a link to ffn if it’s easier to read there: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12778227/1/Unexpected

This was written for @sassfactories for the 2017 HanLeia Secret Santa Exchange! Han being rescued by Leia as one of your likes was really fun to write about :) I hope you enjoy!

A HUGE shoutout to @titasjournal for taking the time to beta during the busy holiday season! Love you :) 

Happy Reading! 

Bright light illuminated the room as a gentle breeze blew through the open window.  Clothes were strewn all over the floor, with the exception of a white dress that was draped over a chair.  Nothing could disturb the two occupants asleep on the bed in the center of the spacious room.  A loud shriek broke the slumber and awoke one of the sentients in the bed.

Leia sat up, startled, never being a heavy sleeper after the Death Star.  Glancing around for the noise that awoke her, her gaze stopped on the man who was still sleeping soundly next to her - her husband.  A smile crossed Leia’s features, I’ll never get used to calling him that.  Han was sprawled out on his back. soft snores escaping his mouth.  Poor thing, I must have worn him out last night, Leia thought with a smirk.  After not finding the source of the noise, Leia decided to try and get some more sleep as she burrowed herself in Han’s side, her arm thrown over his chest.  Closing her eyes, she was about to fall back asleep when another scream pierced the air.  Startled, she quickly sat up, accidentally smacking Han in the process.

Han was slow to awake, despite having been slapped in the face.  

“Leia…” he groggily got out.

“I’m sorry Han, I wasn’t paying attention.  Go back to sleep, you must be tired.”

Leia bit her lip, looking pensive.

Han sat up, “What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

“It’s silly, but I swear I keep hearing a-”

Another cry echoed throughout the room, causing Leia to jump.  Han let out a strangled laugh, “Ah Princess, scared of a little bird?”  He meant it to come off in a teasing manner but an uneasy look washed over his face.

Leia looked indignant, “A little bird made that dreadful sound?”

“It’s definitely not something that I miss from Corellia.  And I guess I shouldn’t use the word ‘little’, they’re a good sized bird.  I remember being chased by them as a kid.”

A laugh threatened to escape Leia’s mouth, “You were chased by birds as a child?”

“Don’t laugh sweetheart, Corellian banshee birds are a real pain in the ass.”

As if knowing that it was being talked about, another piercing shriek permeated the room, sounding a lot closer than before.  

“Now I know why they call it a banshee,” Leia shouted covering her ears.

“Sorry Leia,  guess I should have warned ya ‘bout the birds.”

“Well then we would have had far too normal of a honeymoon, and since when are we normal?”

“Yeah, about that, I never imagined waking up the day after I got hitched with my wife smacking me in the face,” Han joked.

Leia looked sheepish, “Sorry about that.”

Han laughed and pulled her into his side, “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”  Han finally got a chance to properly look at his wife and noticed that she was wearing his white collared shirt.

“When did you put this on?”

“Last night, after um, after...well you know….I was cold.” she sputtered out defensively.

Another laugh escaped Han, “I sure do know.”

Han pulled her onto his lap, his hands caressing her face as he leaned in, kissing her.  Leia’s hands wrapped around Han’s back, threading her fingers through his hair as an appreciative moan left her throat.

Another scream passed through the room and out of the corner of Han’s eye a black and white blur flew into the room.  He practically leaped two feet in the air before diving onto the floor, leaving a startled Leia on the bed.

“Han! What in the world are you do-Ah!”

With the two of them forgetting to close the window last night, busy with more pressing matters, it provided an ample opportunity for a Corellian banshee bird to fly into their room.  

“Leia!” shouted Han, his call muffled and coming from under the bed?

“Han! I-” Leia was cutoff as the bird continued it’s assault in the room going from the bedroom to the living room, and back again in a continuous loop.

“Leia, get rid of it!”

Leia got off the bed, kneeling down and poking her head underneath the mattress, “Han, what are you doing down there?”  

Han had the decency to look sheepish, “Well, I, uh, I-”

A grin creeped up on Leia face, “Han are you scared of a little bird?” echoing Han’s own words to her earlier.

Another scream sounded in the room followed but another little yelp coming from the man underneath the bed, “Leia! Just get rid of it please.”

Leia would have laughed again if not for the desperate look on her husband’s face.

“Okay, hotshot, hold tight.”

With that, Leia drew herself up to deal with the bird.  How do I even catch a bird this large?”  Before she had time to further contemplate her dilemma, the bird flew back in the room heading straight toward the bathroom.  Thinking quickly, Leia ran over and closed the door, trapping the bird inside.  Sounds of distress started coming from the fresher as the poor creature realized it didn’t have a way out.  Leia’s heart went out to it, not liking to see any animal suffer.  

“Is it gone?” Han shakily asked, peeking his head out from under the bed.

“It’s in the fresher,” Leia gestured as the screams began to subside as the bird started to calm down.

“The fresher?”  Han was incredulous, having rolled himself out from under the bed.

“Why didn’t you get it out of our suite?”

“Well, gee Han, excuse me for not being able to catch a bird that’s practically half my size while my husband decided to hide out under the bed!”

Han offered her a small smile before sighing, “Sorry, sweetheart.  Did I ever tell you that I was scared of birds?”

“‘Fraid not.”

With that a pitter patter of feet could be heard from inside the fresher.

“Poor thing, it’s pacing.  Animals pace when they are in distress.  I’m going to let it out.”  Leia went to open the door, before Han braced his arm against it, effectively stopping her.

“Leia, what part of ‘I’m scared of birds’ don’t you understand?”

“Han, that poor thing is probably more scared of you than you are of it.  Why don’t you try facing your fears, I’m sure it’s calmed down by now.  And I’ll be right here to protect you.”

“My hero,” Han joked.

“And don’t you forget it.”  Leia gave him a quick kiss to his lips before Han moved behind her before she opened the door.

“You know, just in case!” Han quipped.

“Just in case,” echoed Leia with a smile.  “Ah, you might want to put on some clothes in case she gets too curious.” she joked.

Han shuddered, “Yeah, I really don’t need her poking around me anywhere.”  With that Han quickly slipped a pair of boxers on his body before resuming his position behind Leia.

“Ready?”

Han gulped, “As I’ll ever be.”

Leia pulled open the door with Han peering over her shoulder.  On the floor before them stood the bird staring right back at them.  She’s beautiful.  The banshee bird was covered with black feathers on its back and over its wings with white feathers clothing the belly and beneath the wings.  The bird cocked it’s head at Leia before pattering it’s way towards her.  Han immediately startled and made a move to dive under the bed before Leia grabbed his hand.

“It’s alright.  See, she’s just checking us out.”

Leia slowly crouched down to her knees, gesturing for Han to do the same.  Han looked down at his wife before deciding to follow her lead so the bird wouldn’t scream and start flying around again.  The bird stood in front of Leia and let out a little chirp.

“Now that is a much more pleasant sound compared to what was coming out of you earlier.”  Leia timidly put out her hand and gently rubbed two fingers against the bird’s head.  The bird let out another chirp and rubbed it’s head back against Leia’s hand.

“See, she’s not too scary.”

Han gulped, “I guess she’s not too bad.”

“Here,” Leia reached around her, “Give me your hand.”

“I’m fine with admiring from afar, thanks sweetheart.”

“Han, you’ll never get over your fear this way.  What if our kids bring home an injured little bird one day?  Are you going to turn it away?”

“Our kids, huh?” Han quipped back with a grin.

A blush crept onto Leia’s face, “Well, you know, in the future.”

“Of course.  When you put it like that Leia, I guess I might as well give it a try so our future kids won’t be disappointed.”

Han positioned himself to Leia’s side and tentatively put his hand out to pet the bird.  She looked at Han’s hand and pittered her way over.  Giving Han a long stare, she gently nudged his hand with her head while letting out a little chirp.  

“Aw, see, she likes you!”

Han let out a grin and slowly petted the bird back, “I guess she does.”

Leia made to get up, before Han gently grabbed her arm arm, and alarmed look appearing on his face  “Where are you going?”

“To get her some food and water.  She’s probably hungry and tired. I’ll be gone for two minutes, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”  

With that, Leia got up, and padded her way into the kitchen, leaving Han and the bird alone.  The two stared at each other before the bird got bored and sat down on the floor.

“You know, you aren’t so bad when you aren’t shrieking.”

The bird let out a little chirp at that.

“See, that sounds actually kinda cute.  But don’t tell Leia I said that, she’ll think I like you.”

The bird simply glanced at Han before nudging his hand again.  He obliged and began petting her head.

With that, Leia showed up with a bowl of fruit and water.

“I think she likes meat based on her size but this will have to do.”

Leia set the two bowls down before the bird and sat down next to Han.  The banshee bird immediately began eating the fruit.  Han and Leia watched her eat in silence.

“Well, I guess we should let her go back outside.”

Leia, to his surprise, looked disappointed for a moment. “Yeah, you’re right.”

They stood up and Leia let out a whistle and walked over to the open window.  The large bird following her.  The pair stood beside the window while Leia put some fruit on the sill to get the bird to hop on it to leave.  To Han’s dismay, the bird simply stared at the food before walking over to Leia’s side and sitting down.

“Han, I don’t think she wants to go.”

“Leia, we can’t keep her as a pet.”

“Why not?  Nobles in Corellia owned these birds as pets, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Damn.  She would know that.  “I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t have that tidbit of information.”

A smirk graced Leia’s features, “You’re out of luck hotshot.”

Han glanced between the bird and his wife, both seeming to having pleading faces directed towards him.

Sighing, Han accepted what was about to happen.  “She’ll make you happy?”

Leia grinned, “Yes!  I  always wanted a pet growing up as a child.”

“What the lady wants she shall receive.  I guess we can keep her.  And she is kind of cute.”

“Leia crossed over to Han embracing him tightly, “Thank you Han.”

“You’re welcome Leia.”

Pulling apart they looked to see that the bird had made itself home on their bed.

“We’ll have to give her a name.  I feel bad calling her the bird.”

“What about Maya?” he blurted out after thinking for a few moments.

“Maya…” Leia tested out.  “Maya, I like it!  It’s very unique.

“Like you,” Han retorted before giving his wife a gentle kiss.

“You know, when I imagined my honeymoon I also didn’t think that my wife and I would be adopting a bird.”

Leia laughed, “I couldn’t imagine anything better.”

A sly grin appeared on Han’s face.  “I can imagine a few things.”

“So can I.”

With that, Han lifted her up and carried her out to the living room, as the bed was otherwise occupied with a now sleeping Maya.

[flowers-for-freaks]

Weird headcanons for the Sin Children AU

HOoOOO BOI HERE WE GO, oldest to youngest!

Envy

What they smell like: Sandalwood

How they sleep (sleeping position, schedule, etc): Stomach sleeper

What music they enjoy: Indie garbAGE

How much time they spend getting ready every morning: They just brush their hair and pull it back

Their favorite thing to collect: They like to collect longboards and skateboards

Left or right-handed: Left

Religion (if any): n/a

Favorite sport: Biking or skateboarding

Favorite touristy thing to do when traveling (museums, local food, sightseeing, etc): sightseeing

Favorite kind of weather: clear days as long as it’s not raining or snowing

A weird/obscure fear they have: They have an odd fear of things like Moles and anything they burrows themselves

The carnival/arcade game they always win without fail: ring toss

Lust

What they smell like:  Cotton Candy probably

How they sleep (sleeping position, schedule, etc): She’s probably more of a side sleeper, or halfway on her back and side

What music they enjoy: LiSTEN, she is my precious hot topic child so we all know that MCR is gonna be up there

How much time they spend getting ready every morning: She’s probably 30 minutes, got her makeup down to a science so she knows where to cut corners. But if she’s straightening her hair well….

Their favorite thing to collect: Herbs! In fancy cute little jars. and also buttons

Left or right-handed: Probably right

Religion (if any): n/a

Favorite sport: Never thought of it, let’s say soccer

Favorite touristy thing to do when traveling (museums, local food, sightseeing, etc): sightseeing and visiting local places, live local venues, etc.

Favorite kind of weather: cloudier days but it has to be with those huge fluffy ice cream clouds or what’s the point

A weird/obscure fear they have: They have the fear of holes and clusters, and also because of Pride she hates stray hair

The carnival/arcade game they always win without fail: A L L O F T H E M

Wrath

What they smell like: Taco seasoning cause they don’t shower enough

How they sleep (sleeping position, schedule, etc): He’s a hot box, naked, on his stomach

What music they enjoy: metal and punk

How much time they spend getting ready every morning: just wake him up

Their favorite thing to collect: video games

Left or right-handed: Right

Religion (if any): n/a

Favorite sport: track and boxing

Favorite touristy thing to do when traveling (museums, local food, sightseeing, etc): Just go to the bar

Favorite kind of weather: cloudy days, snowy days

A weird/obscure fear they have: HE HATES THUNDER!

The carnival/arcade game they always win without fail: the one with the milk bottles and you throw the ball at

Gluttony

What they smell like: chocolate ax

How they sleep (sleeping position, schedule, etc): starfish it out

What music they enjoy: not much of a music person

How much time they spend getting ready every morning: wake up and done

Their favorite thing to collect: tea spoons

Left or right-handed: left

Religion (if any): n/a

Favorite sport: no

Favorite touristy thing to do when traveling (museums, local food, sightseeing, etc): Local food

Favorite kind of weather: clouds

A weird/obscure fear they have: being alone or abandoned

The carnival/arcade game they always win without fail: wack a mole

Greed

What they smell like: Vanilla

How they sleep (sleeping position, schedule, etc): fetal position

What music they enjoy: any really

How much time they spend getting ready every morning: just wakes up

Their favorite thing to collect: seashells

Left or right-handed: right

Religion (if any): n/a

Favorite sport: doesn’t mind soccer

Favorite touristy thing to do when traveling (museums, local food, sightseeing, etc): museums and sighseeing

Favorite kind of weather: cloudy days

A weird/obscure fear they have: They hate jellyfish

The carnival/arcade game they always win without fail: skee ball 

Sloth

What they smell like: Honey suckle

How they sleep (sleeping position, schedule, etc): all day everyday just like a kitten

What music they enjoy: he doesn’t mind, current trends

How much time they spend getting ready every morning: as little time as possible so he can sleep in

Their favorite thing to collect: band hoodies that Ira and Tad get him even though he might not know the band

Left or right-handed: both

Religion (if any): n/a

Favorite sport: He was never good at gym

Favorite touristy thing to do when traveling (museums, local food, sightseeing, etc): take his hand and show him the townnn

Favorite kind of weather: sunny days

A weird/obscure fear they have: they hate the complete darkness

The carnival/arcade game they always win without fail: they’re kinda awful at everything when it comes to that

Pride 

What they smell like: Violets

How they sleep (sleeping position, schedule, etc): Center of the bed, fluffy pillow, on her back, sleeping back, don’t touch her, don’t make any sound. She’s a light sleeper

What music they enjoy: jaw’s theme plays in the distance 

How much time they spend getting ready every morning: however long it must take

Their favorite thing to collect: she likes candles!

Left or right-handed: left

Religion (if any): n/a

Favorite sport: baseball that she’s not allowed to play

Favorite touristy thing to do when traveling (museums, local food, sightseeing, etc): sightseeing and museums mostly, but she’s not one for traveling

Favorite kind of weather: Stormy weather

A weird/obscure fear they have: They hate a lot of textures

The carnival/arcade game they always win without fail: Pffft, like she’d go to either. She’d walk right out

[blackphoenixalchemylab]

American Gods Returns To BPAL!

++ AMERICAN GODS 2017

The paradigms were shifting. He could feel it. The old world, a world of infinite vastness and illimitable resources and future, was being confronted by something else-a web of energy, of opinions, of gulfs.

People believe, thought Shadow. It's what people do. They believe. And then they will not take responsibility for their beliefs; they conjure things, and do not trust the conjurations. People populate the darkness; with ghosts, with gods, with electrons, with tales. People imagine, and people believe: and it is that belief, that rock-solid belief, that makes things happen.

The mountaintop was an arena; he saw that immediately. And on each side of the arena he could see them arrayed.

They were too big. Everything was too big in that place.

There were old gods in that place: gods with skins the brown of old mushrooms, the pink of chicken flesh, the yellow of autumn leaves. Some were crazy and some were sane. Shadow recognized the old gods. He'd met them already, or he'd met others like them. There were ifrits and piskies, giants and dwarfs. He saw the woman he had met in the darkened bedroom in Rhode Island, saw the writhing green snake-coils of her hair. He saw Mama-ji, from the carousel, and there was blood on her hands and a smile on her face. He knew them all.

He recognized the new ones, too.

Neil Gaiman is the winner of numerous literary honors and is the New York Times bestselling author of The Ocean at the End of the Lane, American Gods, Neverwhere, Stardust and Anansi Boys; the Sandman series of graphic novels; three short story collections and one book of essays, The View From the Cheap Seats.

Neil is the first author to win both the Carnegie Medal and the Newbery Medal for one work, The Graveyard Book. He also writes books for readers of all ages including the novels Fortunately, the Milk and Odd and the Frost Giants and picture books including The Sleeper and the Spindle and the Chu's Day series. Neil's most recent publication, Norse Mythology has topped bestseller lists worldwide.

Originally from England, he now lives in the USA. He is listed in the Dictionary of Literary Biography as one of the top ten living post-modern writers, and he says he owes it all to reading the Writers' & Artists' Yearbook as a young man.

This series based on Neil Gaiman's American Gods, winner of the Hugo, Nebula, Locus, SFX Magazine and Bram Stoker Awards for Best Novel, and now a Starz television series.

Visit Neil's official site, American Gods at Starz, and NeverWear.

This is a charitable, not-for-profit venture: proceeds from every single bottle go to the CBLDF, which works to preserve and protect the First Amendment rights of the comics community.

Original American Gods art by Hugo-winner Julie Dillon.

PERFUME OIL BLENDS $26.00 per 5ml bottle. Presented in an amber apothecary glass vial.

Believe

Shadow was in a dark place, and the thing staring at him wore a buffalo's head, rank and furry with huge wet eyes. Its body was a man's body, oiled and slick.

"Changes are coming," said the buffalo without moving its lips. "There are certain decisions that will have to be made." 

Firelight flickered from wet cave walls.

"Where am I?" Shadow asked.

"In the earth and under the earth," said the buffalo man. "You are where the forgotten wait." His eyes were liquid black marbles, and his voice was a rumble from beneath the world. He smelled like wet cow. "Believe," said the rumbling voice. "If you are to survive, you must believe."

"Believe what?" asked Shadow. "What should I believe?"

He stared at Shadow, the buffalo man, and he drew himself up huge, and his eyes filled with fire. He opened his spit-flecked buffalo mouth and it was red inside with the flames that burned inside him, under the earth.

"Everything," roared the buffalo man.

A scent of compression and release, of heat and faith, of plunging through the jet-shadowed darkness of uncertainty. The heart of the land: roots plunging ever deeper into thrumming black soil through the graves of faith, disillusion, and skepticism.

Bilquis

The Queen of Sheba, half-demon, they said, on her father's side, witch woman, wise woman, and queen, who ruled Sheba when Sheba was the richest land there ever was, when its spices and its gems and scented woods were taken by boat and camel-back to the corners of the earth, who was worshipped even when she was alive, worshipped as a living goddess by the wisest of kings, stands on the sidewalk of Sunset Boulevard at 2:00 A.M. staring blankly out at traffic like a slutty plastic bride on a black-and-neon wedding cake. She stands as if she owns the sidewalk and the night that surrounds her.

Honey, myrrh, lily of the valley, rose otto, fig leaf, almond, ambrette, red apple, and warm musk.

Black Hats

"So who were the guys that grabbed me in the parking lot? Mister Wood and Mister Stone? Who were they?" The lights of the car illuminated the winter landscape. Wednesday had announced that they were not to take freeways because he didn't know whose side the freeways were on, so Shadow was sticking to back roads. He didn't mind. He wasn't even sure that Wednesday was crazy.

Wednesday grunted. "Just spooks. Members of the opposition. Black hats."

"I think," said Shadow, "that they think they're the white hats."

"Of course they do. There's never been a true war that wasn't fought between two sets of people who were certain they were in the right. The really dangerous people believe that they are doing whatever they are doing solely and only because it is without question the right thing to do. And that is what makes them dangerous."

"And you?" asked Shadow. "Why are you doing what you're doing?"

"Because I want to," said Wednesday. And then he grinned. "So that's all right."

Gunpowder residue, patent leather, pomade, and aftershave.

Coin Trick

Shadow had done three years in prison. He was big enough and looked don’t-fuck-with-me enough that his biggest problem was killing time. So he kept himself in shape, and taught himself coin tricks, and thought a lot about how much he loved his wife. 

 The best thing—in Shadow’s opinion, perhaps the only good thing—about being in prison was a feeling of relief. The feeling that he’d plunged as low as he could plunge and he’d hit bottom. He didn’t worry that the man was going to get him, because the man had got him. He was no longer scared of what tomorrow might bring, because yesterday had brought it.

Glittering gold and silver, rolling over knuckles - concealed in palms - and pulled from the sun, the moon, and the stars.

Eostre of the Dawn

There was a woman sitting on the grass, under a tree, with a paper tablecloth spread in front of her, and a variety of Tupperware dishes on the cloth.

She was-not fat, no, far from fat: what she was, a word that Shadow had never had cause to use until now, was curvaceous. Her hair was so fair that it was white, the kind of platinum-blonde tresses that should have belonged to a long-dead movie starlet, her lips were painted crimson, and she looked to be somewhere between twenty-five and fifty.

As they reached her she was selecting from a plate of deviled eggs. She looked up as Wednesday approached her, put down the egg she had chosen, and wiped her hand. "Hello, you old fraud," she said, but she smiled as she said it, and Wednesday bowed low, took her hand, and raised it to his lips.

He said, "You look divine."

"How the hell else should I look?" she demanded, sweetly. "Anyway, you're a liar. New Orleans was such a mistake-I put on, what, thirty pounds there? I swear. I knew I had to leave when I started to waddle. The tops of my thighs rub together when I walk now, can you believe that?" This last was addressed to Shadow. He had no idea what to say in reply, and felt a hot flush suffuse his face. The woman laughed delightedly. "He's blushing! Wednesday, my sweet, you brought me a blusher. How perfectly wonderful of you. What's he called?"

"This is Shadow," said Wednesday. He seemed to be enjoying Shadow's discomfort. "Shadow, say hello to Easter."

Jasmine and honeysuckle, sweet milk and female skin.

For the Joy of it

In prison Shadow had learned there were two kinds of fights: don't fuck with me fights, where you made it as showy and impressive as you could, and private fights, real fights, which were fast and hard and nasty, and always over in seconds.

"Hey, Sweeney," said Shadow, breathless, "why are we fighting?"

"For the joy of it," said Sweeney, sober now, or at least, no longer visibly drunk. "For the sheer unholy fucken delight of it. Can't you feel the joy in your own veins, rising like the sap in the springtime?" His lip was bleeding. So was Shadow's knuckle.

Whiskey, mead, honey, gold, sweat, and blood.

Glass Eye

"How'd you lose your eye?"

Wednesday shoveled half a dozen pieces of bacon into his mouth, chewed, wiped the fat from his lips with the back of his hand. "Didn't lose it," he said. "I still know exactly where it is."

The depths of Mímisbrunnr: mugwort and frankincense, grey amber and ash.

Laura

There was something he wanted to say to Laura, and he was prepared to wait until he knew what it was. The world slowly began to lose light and color. Shadow's feet were going numb, while his hands and face hurt from the cold. He burrowed his hands into his pockets for warmth, and his fingers closed about the gold coin.

He walked over to the grave.

"This is for you," he said.Several shovels of earth had been emptied onto the casket, but the hole was far from full. He threw the gold coin into the grave with Laura, then he pushed more earth into the hole, to hide the coin from acquisitive grave diggers. He brushed the earth from his hands and said, "Good night, Laura." Then he said, "I'm sorry."

Violets, upturned earth, mothballs, formaldehyde (mixed with glycerin and lanolin), and the memory of the taste of strawberry daiquiris suspended in twilight.

Low Key Lyesmith

"Cigarette, sir?"

"No, thank you."

"You don't mind if I do?"

"Go right ahead."

The driver used a Bic disposable lighter, and it was in the yellow light of the flame that Shadow saw the man's face, actually saw it for the first time, and recognized him, and began to understand.

Shadow knew that thin face. He knew that there would be close-cropped orange hair beneath the black driver's cap, cut close to the scalp. He knew that when the man's lips smiled they would crease into a network of rough scars.

"You're looking good, big guy," said the driver.

"Low Key?" Shadow stared at his old cellmate warily.

Prison friendships are good things: they get you through bad places and through dark times. But a prison friendship ends at the prison gates, and a prison friend who reappears in your life is at best a mixed blessing.

"Jesus. Low Key Lyesmith," said Shadow, and then he heard what he was saying and he understood. "Loki," he said. "Loki Lie-Smith."

"You're slow," said Loki, "but you get there in the end." And his lips twisted into a scarred smile and embers danced in the shadows of his eyes.

Black clove and cassia flung onto glowing cinders and mingled with slow-dripping poisons.

Mad Sweeney

"Coin tricks is it?" asked Sweeney, his chin raising, his scruffy beard bristling. "Why, if it's coin tricks we're doing, watch this.

"He took an empty glass from the table. Then he reached out and took a large coin, golden and shining, from the air. He dropped it into the glass. He took another gold coin from the air and tossed it into the glass, where it clinked against the first. He took a coin from the candle flame of a candle on the wall, another from his beard, a third from Shadow's empty left hand, and dropped them, one by one, into the glass. Then he curled his fingrs over the glass, and blew hard, and several more golden coins dropped into the glass from his hand. He tipped the glass of sticky coins into his jacket pocket, and then tapped the pocket to show, unmistakably, that it was empty.

"There," he said. "That's a coin trick for you."

Barrel-aged whiskey and oak.

Mama-Ji

Shadow saw the old woman, her dark face pinched with age and disapproval, but behind her he saw something huge, a naked woman with skin as black as a new leather jacket, and lips and tongue the bright red of arterial blood. Around her neck were skulls, and her many hands held knives, and swords, and severed heads.

Spices, cardamom, nutmeg, and flowers.

Media

Waiting for them in front of the motel was a woman Shadow did not recognize. She was perfectly made-up, perfectly coiffed. She reminded him of every newscaster he'd ever seen on morning television sitting in a studio that didn't really resemble a living room.

"Lovely to see you," she said. "Now, you must be Czernobog. I've heard a lot about you. And you're Anansi, always up to mischief, eh? You jolly old man. And you, you must be Shadow. You've certainly led us a merry chase, haven't you?" A hand took his, pressed it firmly, looked him straight in the eye. "I'm Media. Good to meet you. I hope we can get this evening's business done as pleasantly as possible."

A news anchor's cologne, a soap star's perfume: perfect, pixelated, and glamorous; aglow with cathodes and anodes, coated with phosphor. "I offered you the world," she said. "When you're dying in a gutter, you remember that."

Mister Wednesday

His hair was a reddish gray; his beard, little more than stubble, was grayish red. A craggy, square face with pale gray eyes. The suit looked expensive, and was the color of melted vanilla ice cream. His tie was dark gray silk, and the tie pin was a tree, worked in silver: trunk, branches, and deep roots.

He held his glass of Jack Daniel's as they took off, and did not spill a drop.

Sleek cologne, the memory of a Nine Herbs Charm, gallows wood, and a splash of whiskey.

Mr. Czernobog

Shadow saw a gray-haired old Eastern-European immigrant, with a shabby raincoat and one iron-colored tooth, true. But he also saw a squat black thing, darker than the darkness that surrounded them, its eyes two burning coals; and he saw a prince, with long flowing black hair and a long black mustache, blood on his hands and his face, riding, naked but for a bear skin over his shoulder, on a creature half-man, half-beast, his face and torso blue-tattooed with swirls and spirals.

Unfiltered cigarettes, the leather and metal of sledgehammers, aortal blood slowly drying, and black incense.

Mr. Ibis

The smoke stung Shadow's eyes. He wiped the tears away with his hand, and, through the smoke, he thought he saw a tall man in a suit, with gold-rimmed spectacles. The smoke cleared and the boatman was once more a half-human creature with the head of a river bird.

Papyrus, vanilla flower, Egyptian musk, African musk, aloe ferox, white sandalwood.

Mr. Jacquel

Shadow looked up at the creature. "Mr. Jacquel?" he said.

The hands of Anubis came down, huge dark hands, and they picked Shadow up and brought him close.

The jackal head examined him with bright and glittering eyes; examined him as dispassionately as Mr. Jacquel had examined the dead girl on the slab. Shadow knew that all his faults, all his failings, all his weaknesses were being taken out and weighed and measured; that he was, in some way, being dissected, and sliced, and tasted.

We do not remember the things that do no credit to us. We justify them, cover them in bright lies or with the thick dust of forgetfulness. All of the things that Shadow had done in his life of which he was not proud, all the things he wished he had done otherwise or left undone, came at him then in a swirling storm of guilt and regret and shame, and he had nowhere to hide from them. He was as naked and as open as a corpose on a table, and dark Anubis the jackal god was his prosector and his prosecutor and his persecutor.

"Please," said Shadow. "Please stop."

But the examination did not stop. Every lie he had ever told, every object he had stolen, every hurt he had inflicted on another person, all the little crimes and the tiny murders that make up the day, each of these things and more were extracted and held up to the light by the jackal-headed judge of the dead.

Golden amber, hyssop, North African patchouli, and embalming spices.

Shadow

"How the hell did you find me here?" he asked his dead wife.

She shook her head slowly, amused. "You shine like a beacon in a dark world," she told him. "It wasn't that hard..."

Grey oudh and bay rum luminous with amber.

Technical Boy

The fat young man at the other end of the stretch limo took a can of diet Coke from the cocktail bar and popped it open. He wore a long black coat, made of some silky material, and he appeared barely out of his teens: a spattering of acne glistened on one cheek. He smiled when he saw that Shadow was awake."Hello, Shadow," he said. "Don't fuck with me."

It's all about the dominant fucking paradigm, Shadow. Nothing else is important: vape smoke and burning electrical parts.

The Ifrit

The taxi driver comes out of the shower, wet, with a towel wrapped around his midsection. He is not wearing his sunglasses, and in the dim room his eyes burn with scarlet flames.

Salim blinks back tears. "I wish you could see what I see," he says.

"I do not grant wishes," whispers the ifrit, dropping his towel and pushing Salim gently, but irresistibly, down onto the bed.

Desert sand, red musk, blackened ginger, dragon's blood resin, black pepper, cinnamon, and tobacco.

The Norns' Farmhouse

The farmhouse was dark and shut up. The meadows were overgrown and seemed abandoned. The farm roof was crumbling at the back; it was covered in black plastic sheeting. They jolted over a ridge and Shadow saw it there.

It was silver-gray and it was higher than the farm-house. It was the most beautiful tree Shadow had ever seen: spectral and yet utterly real and almost perfectly symmetrical. It also looked instantly familiar: he wondered if he had dreamed it, then he realized that no, he had seen it before, or a representation of it man, many times. It was Wednesday's silver tie pin.

The VW bus jolted and bumped across the meadow, and it came to a stop about twenty feet from the trunk of the tree.

There were three women standing by the tree. At first glance Shadow thought they were the Zorya, but no, they were three women he did not know. They looked tired and bored, as if they had been standing there a long time. Each of them held a wooden ladder. The biggest also carried a brown sack. They looked like a set of Russian dolls: a tall one - she was Shadow's height, or even taller - a middle-sized one, and a woman so short and hunched that at first glance Shadow wrongly supposed her to be a child. They looked so much alike that Shadow was certain the women must be sisters.

The smallest of the women dropped to a curtsey when the bus drew up. The other two just stared. They were sharing a cigarette, and they smoked it down to the filter before one of them stubbed it out against a root.

Dusty, ancient wood, horehound, and sage, with viper's bugloss, mugwort, chamomile, nettle, apple blossom, chervil, and ashes.

Zorya Polunochnaya

Her hair was pale and colorless in the moon's thin light. She wore a white cotton nightgown, with a high lace neck and a hem that swept the ground. Shadow sat up, entirely awake. "You are Zorya Polu . . . ," he hesitated. "The sister who was asleep."

"I am Zorya Polunochnaya, yes. And you are called Shadow, yes? That was what Zorya Vechernyaya told me, when I woke."

"Yes. What were you looking at, out there?"

She looked at him, then she beckoned him to join her by the window. She turned her back while he pulled on his jeans. He walked over to her. It seemed a long walk, for such a small room.

He could not tell her age. Her skin was unlined, her eyes were dark, her lashes were long, her hair was to her waist and white. The moonlight drained colors into ghosts of themselves. She was taller than either of her sisters.

She pointed up into the night sky. "I was looking at that," she said, pointing to the Big Dipper. "See?"

"Ursa Major," he said. "The Great Bear."

"That is one way of looking at it," she said. "But it is not the way from where I come from. I am going to sit on the roof. Would you like to come with me?" 

Pale amber and ambergris, gossamer vanilla, moonflower, and white tobacco petals.

Zorya Utrennyaya

"Why you are standing at the door?" asked a woman's voice. Shadow looked over Czernobog's shoulder, at the old woman standing behind him. She was smaller and frailer than her sister, but her hair was long and still golden. "I am Zorya Utrennyaya," she said. "You must not stand there in the hall. You must go in, sit down. I will bring you coffee."

Sweet black coffee and a touch of ambrette seed.

Zorya Vechernyaya

"You see, I am the only one of us who brings in any money. The other two cannot make money fortune-telling. This is because they only tell the truth, and the truth is not what people want to hear. It is a bad thing, and it troubles people, so they do not come back. But I can lie to them, tell them what they want to hear. So I bring home the bread." 

Red musk and wild plum, orange blossom and jasmine, juniper berries, sweet incense and vetiver-laced sandalwood. ++ AMERICAN GODS 2017: ATMOSPHERE SPRAYS 

Bone Orchard

Back in prison, Low Key Lyesmith had once referred to the little prison cemetery out behind the infirmary as the Bone Orchard, and the image had taken root in Shadow's mind. That night he had dreamed of an orchard under the moonlight, of skeletal white trees, their branches ending in bony hands, their roots going deep down into the graves. There was fruit that grew upon the trees in the bone orchard, in his dream, and there was something very disturbing about the fruit in the dream, but on waking he could no longer remember what strange fruit grew on the trees, nor why he found it so repellent.

Clacking white sandalwood bones, grave soil, and the bruise-purple fruits of death and decay.

Crocodile Bar

It was getting late. He was hungry, and when he realized how hungry he really was, he pulled off at the next exit and drove into the town of Nottamun (pop. 1301). He filled the gas tank at the Amoco and asked the bored woman at the cash register where he could get something to eat.

"Jack's Crocodile Bar," she told him. "It's west on County Road N."

"Crocodile Bar?"

"Yeah. Jack says they add character." She drew him a map on the back of a mauve flyer, which advertised a chicken roast for the benefit of a young girl who needed a new kidney. "He's got a couple of crocodiles, a snake, one a them big lizard things."

"An iguana?"

"That's him."Through the town, over a bridge, on for a couple of miles, and he stopped at a low, rectangular building with an illuminated Pabst sign.

The parking lot was half empty. Inside the air was thick with smoke and "Walking After Midnight" was playing on the jukebox. Shadow looked around for the crocodiles, but could not see them. He wondered if the woman in the gas station had been pulling his leg.

Cedar shavings, a swirl of booze, a flattened French fry, and barbeque sauce.

That’s it for now, everyone -- Don’t forget to see AMERICAN GODS shine on Starz starting April 30!