#and the sunset wash bleeds all together

[why-bless-your-heart]

My mom sent me a watercolor she just did and I’m going a little crazy over it, tbh.

[wandasaura]

GOLD THATS IN YOUR EYES

summary — you’ve known natasha romanoff since she first defected to shield, but it’s taken you years to realize that you’ve loved her since then too

warning(s) — fluff, mentions of the ohio mission, hurt/comfort

prompt — finding excuses to be alone with each other x noticing their individual quirks

song — mood ring by kira kosarin

🌞⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰🧺꒱ 🌷 ･ mommy maximoff ✧

Natasha Romanoff was not a very sociable person, in fact, she was quite the opposite. Most people would be surprised to learn that the infamous ex assassin was admittedly somewhat of an introverted homebody, preferring the chosen silence of isolation over bustling crowds where judgment ran wild. For a woman with such a bold way about her, she was admittedly rather soft. She was soft in the way she moved around the kitchen when nobody was around to watch her frolic through cabinets on the balls of her feet, arches deep and perfect, and heels exquisitely raised above the floorboards. She was soft in the way she spoke, too. Her words were always calculated, always direct, and blunt enough to be chalked up to dry humor, but if you listened closely, if you closed your eyes and let the weight of her spoken sentence weigh on your heart in the way she’d never intended for anybody to actually do, you’d notice the soft hitch to her tone that was endearingly Russian, and the way her nose twitched whenever she wasn’t sure how a comment would be received by the masses. Natasha Romanoff was a lot of things, but an arrogant agent was not one of them; not that she’d ever admit that. 

You supposed that she felt a crippling need to assert herself as if she were in a position of calculated authority. Some could say that she was in a stance of power, having been deemed not only a level six agent but also an Avenger by time she was twenty-nine, yet even with the moniker of being the only reformed Black Widow to escape Dreykov’s grasp, Natasha was never the authoritarian she prided herself on being when others were around. Granted, you were never one to challenge the way she raised her chin when she was at the center of a room full of men, and you were never one to comment on how her shoulders squared defensively whenever someone took a step to close for comfort. She radiated confidence and certainty, but beneath all of the hurt that she had turned into defensiveness, she was merely a woman that had been wronged and burned by every bridge she’d ever dared to build. You saw her as such, she knew that you did, so maybe that was why she never tried to act that way with you. It was an unspoken mutual understanding that all bets were off when fate brought you two together. 

Natasha Romanoff played a lot of games. She liked the challenge of breaking down her opponent before they had the chance to break her down themselves, but the second anyone got too close she pulled a mask over her features and her bleeding heart became a loaded gun. You’d never met someone so guarded in your life, and yet she placed all cards face up on the table whenever she got you alone. Natasha Romanoff was not the sick and twisted woman she allowed the general public to believe she was. She woke up screaming from nightmares bi-weekly, the rasp in her gravely tone not natural but consequential. She closed her eyes whenever she washed her hands in fear of the clear water becoming red with the blood of her innocent victims. She stepped only on the tiles that she knew were silent, scared to make ripples in the water and alert attention. People who didn’t know Natasha Romanoff would say she was something similar to the atrocities that occurred beneath the midnight sky, but you would say she was the shadow of sweet flowers that disappeared after sunset. 

You noticed every miniscule detail there was to know about Natasha Romanoff, but you know that she noticed every detail about you as well. She noticed the way you avoid going out in the rain when it’s cold, and how none of your socks ever seem to match even on missions. She noticed how you migrate down to the kitchen in the ungodly hours of the morning just to bake pastries for the team to eat at breakfast, usually cinnamon rolls or blueberry muffins with a crumb coating that Wanda particularly is a fan of, but eventually, she’d unraveled that your little habit wasn’t merely because you wanted to be hospitable toward the people you fought alongside with when extraterrestrial disasters fell to earth, but rather because your mind needed something to focus on when the nightmares of human travesties became too paralyzing and suffocating to handle alone in the dark. The first time her attention to detail became apart was a gloomy day in November, the leaves not all fallen from trees but the air frigid enough to belong in a barren January day. At that point, you’d fallen into a routine of going out for a run through central park each morning, always returning with not only a coffee for yourself, but one for her as well, but with the downpour of raindrops the size of nickels, you’d chosen the lower level gym as your route that day. Natasha wasn’t much a fan of the rain, but she never minded freezing temperatures. She found you in the debriefing room that early afternoon, her hair sodden and crimped from pallets of rain that fell overhead, but in her hands were two cuts of still steaming coffee from your favorite little cafe. She’d tried to say that she was just in the area, but you knew that she had gone out of her way to assure that at least part of your morning remained unchanged throughout the storm. 

Your relationship with Natasha had been an unspoken arrangement for as many months and years as you could remember, but recently things had changed. You’d always found yourself alone in a room, two friends existing within the same space naturally, but lately even that hadn’t felt so innocently charged, and you were as much at fault as Natasha was. The Russian lingered in the kitchen just to watch as you mixed together batter for muffins that Tony would eat half of, but you hung around in the lower level gym just to hand off a water bottle when she completed her workout. Any excuse either of you could grasp onto just to spend a few uninterrupted minutes together had been abused and properly overused, but there was no admission of feelings anywhere close to the tip of your tongue. 

There were some days that passed, even now years later, where when you looked at her beneath the kitchen lights, or against the punching bags, you only ever saw the broken woman that Clint had brought in from the KGB. She’d been merely a shell of herself at that time, fiery red hair matted with knots and the blood of her targets, face smeared with dirt and gunpowder. You hadn’t been on base when she’d been dragged in wearing heavy metal shackles and dehumanizing cuffs, but Maria had filled you in on everything prevalent regarding Fury’s newest asset. It had taken you three weeks to run into her when you returned, traumatized from the loss of your team and spiraling into shallow thoughts of death and finality, but from the very first moment you’d never seen her as a threat, and she’d never seen you as the lucky survivor that walked away from a raid. Her eyes were soft, softer than the wings of a newly hatched butterfly, and when she stood beneath the sunlight on the deck of the helicarrier, accent thick and sweet like the spring breeze that carried pollen beneath its current, you’d seen the daintiest twinge of gold within the green of her eyes. Maybe it was at that moment that you’d known you wanted to spend your entire life at her side, or maybe that had come much later, but what you’d definitely realized in that first month of knowing her, was that she wasn’t as complete as she wanted everyone to assume she was. There was so much despair and longing beneath her mask of confidence and casualty, so many agonizing emotions that she’d never fully overcome. There were times where you wondered what could be missing from her life that even now, deemed a hero and residing amongst people that just wanted to do good by the world, but you always circled back to the heavy acknowledgement that aside from you and Clint, nobody truly knew Natasha Romanoff. She’d spent her entire life beneath the thumb of power hungry generals, and when she’d gotten a taste of freedom and self identification, she’d conformed to be the woman that everyone else wanted her to be. 

Some days however, you saw someone entirely different beneath her eyes that still held specks of gold when the sun fell upon her the right way. You saw a woman that was confident albeit flawed, painfully witty although reserved enough to hide within the walls when she didn’t want to be seen fully. But sometimes when you looked at her, you saw a woman yearning to love in the fullest sense of the word, and that broke your heart the most. She had never been shown unconditional love, never been held softly yet tightly, never been allowed to love back. Natasha Romanoff had been taught that love was the greatest weakness any woman could surrender herself to, and yet she was finally at a point where she wanted to experience the tragedy of loving something temporary. Death was unavoidable, she’d learned that young, but love transpired through isolation even if it never felt entirely complete again. For the first time since you’d met Natasha, she wasn’t scared to submit herself to the experience of loving someone to a fault, even though it meant she could very well lose it all tomorrow. Even if it didn’t seem like it to others, you noticed the subtle ways that she made progress as the years progressed, and each time you looked at her and saw a willingness to explore emotions rather than suppress them, you wanted nothing more than to squeeze her tight and be the one to teach her how to love. 

“Hi.” Your voice was soft, delicate as it filled the otherwise silent kitchen. You’d heard her sneak up behind you minutes ago, but only now did it feel like the right time to greet her. She was close, but too far, pressed against the island in the middle of the kitchen whilst you stood beside the sink, hands full of strawberries that Tony had asked you to turn into something delicious. You’d rolled your eyes at the billionaire who had made a habit of soliciting you for pastries, but here you found yourself in the kitchen anyways, trading hours of sleep for muffins that would be gone by the early afternoon. “Wanna help me?” You laid the freshly washed strawberries on a clean kitchen rag, falling into the process of patting them dry without much thought or intention. All of this came so naturally now; she came so naturally now. 

“I, um, I could actually just go for a hug. If it’s not too much trouble for the busy, Chef.” Her voice was hoarse, scratchy and thick as it fell onto your ears. Without the running tap, you could hear the quiet hitch in her breathing, wheezing exhales falling out into the space between your warm and yearning bodies. Your eyebrows furrowed, hands abandoning the strawberries in an instance. In all the years that you had known Natasha Romanoff, in all the years that you had seen her in the aftermath of a nightmare, she had never asked for a hug. You could count on one hand the amount of times you’d ever hugged her, and they’d all been for your own selfish reasons. You spun around to face her, palms dragging across your pajama bottoms and riding the water that clung to your palms so you could embrace her fully. 

You hadn’t spared her a single glance when she’d first entered, wanting to give her the chance and time to make herself known by her own judgment and comfortability, but now that your eyes traced the delicate shadows across her face, you could make out the unbridled tears brimming in her eyes. She was ghastly pale, a fitful sleep indicative by the deep bruising beneath her eyes. You’d never seen her so distressed, but for a single second you thought about how she’d chosen to seek you out instead of trailing down to the gym and bullying a punching bag like she’d gotten into the routine of doing. 

“Can I touch you?” You asked carefully, not wanting to make any sudden movements and spook her back into her shell of isolation. This was progress, and selfishly you wanted any excuse to pull her in close and hold her tight. When she nodded, a weak and fragile incline of her head, you closed the gap between your bodies and melted into her chest. She held you protectively, like she’d needed to feel you to ensure that you were safe and real. A single hand reached up to cradle the back of your head, and her lips found a home on the crown of your head as she inhaled your scent deeply. “You know you can always ask for hugs. Not just because you had a nightmare, but whenever. I mean that.” 

Natasha cleared her throat, though she simultaneously tightened her grip around your waist as if whatever she wanted to say would be enough to make you either run away or disappear entirely. You didn’t comment on it, letting her have the time she needed to get her thoughts in order. You grabbed onto her sleep shirt, tight fists bunching up the material and holding it possessively. Natasha felt the motions, felt the way the cotton shirt hugged her belly tighter now that most of the slack was taken up by your grip, and you smiled softly against her chest when you felt her breath out evenly.  “Today’s the day we left Ohio.” She started, and immediately your head shot up to search her blue eyes. You’d heard little about Ohio, even littler about the little blonde haired sidekick Natasha found herself protecting for three years, but you knew that what had happened had ruined her. You knew that something as little as moving away was never as simple as it sounded for her. “It was spring break. I left without being able to tell anyone I wouldn’t be coming back. They- They ripped Yelena out of my arms. I– I will always come back for you. You’re the first place that has ever felt like home outside of Ohio. I just– I needed to tell you that I’ll always come back to you.” 

“I will always come back for you.” You meant every word that you said, but you could see a cloud of disbelief hanging over Natasha’s gaze as she let your eyes meet again. There was something different about ehr now, something softer and smaller than you’d ever seen. It wasn’t unpleasant, but you couldn’t bear the thought of her so distraught, you especially couldn’t bear the thought of what she had looked like at only eleven. She’d been so young and the world had been so cruel, you just wanted her to know that she was loved, and she was cherished now. She wasn’t just another soldier anymore. “Nat, can I kiss you?” 

She froze for a minute, arms slackening around your waist as she stared deep into your eyes, an onset of fresh tears threatening to fall from her own, but before you could withdraw your question, before you could backtrack and excuse your vulnerability as simply being exhaustion, she was pulling you impossibly close, settling both of her hands on your cheeks as she cupped your face and settled her forehead against yours. Her touch was familiar and foreign at the same time, a coming of age to all the daydreams you’d fallen into with her at the center of them all. You’d thought about this moment for months, thought about how her calloused palms would feel against every inch of your skin, her she was always cold but not uncomfortably so. Now, beneath the kitchen lights and her greenish-gold gaze, you realized that you’ve wanted her since the very first moment you met her. “I thought you’d never ask.” Her lips, still impressionable with sadness, curled upward into a smirk, but you didn’t waste a second to kiss it away and show her the truth about love and connection. 

Natasha Romanoff had kissed more people then she could keep track of, but never had any of those intimate encounters come voluntarily. For so many years her life had been a means to the mission, but she was free now. Finally, she was entirely free. In so many ways, more than you could even contemplate, you were her first, and desperately you hoped that you would each be each other's last.

[cod-z]

Every time I see or hear "Mermay AU 141"

| One-shots |

Ghost: I've got a special power, that I'm not afraid to use *is sitting on a rock, twirling a small water orb in the air*

Soap:Every waking hour, I discover something new *cannonballs into water, changing into a merman*

Price: So come on this is my adventure. This is my fantasy~ *is sitting on a throne with a trident, pretending to be King of the Ocean (he's not)*

Gaz: It's all about living in the ocean *does a loopy-loop as a merman* Being wild and free~! *twirls and spreads his arms while smiling*

141: 'Cause I'm no ordinary soldier~! *is swimming in a line of 4, doing a loop before swimming further* We're from the deep blue underworld~

Land or sea *Gaz does the little mermaid thing on the rock*

The world's my oyster *shows a oyster* I'm the pearl *Oyster opening revealing Ghost on his hide, batting his eyelashes*

No ordinary soldier~🌸

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

Price: We gotta stick together *is invading eldritch Konig's tentacles while dragging Ghost, Gaz and Soap in his arms* 'Cause the best things come in three

Ghost: *is looking whimsical at the sunset horizon in his human form* I want it to last forever... *looks solemnly at the water's edge* All the magic and fun at sea...

Soap: So come on this is our adventure *is dragging Gaz in their merman form* There's no telling where we'll go~!

Gaz: But all I want is just to live amongst the h2o *swims further and hugs Soap*

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

141: 'Cause I'm no ordinary soldier! *bird's eye view, all four of them swimming on the ocean floor* We're from the deep blue underworld

Land or sea *all of them hanging out at their base in human form*

We've got the power if we just believe *crossfading between mermen 141, Shepherd and Graves in a standoff (yes, like those scenes hero vs villain)*

'Cause I'm no ordinary soldier~! *is swimming in a line of 4, doing a loop before swimming further* We're from the deep blue underworld~

Land or sea *Gaz does the little mermaid thing on the rock*

The world's my oyster *shows a oyster* I'm the pearl *Oyster opening revealing Ghost on his hide, batting his eyelashes*

No ordinary soldier~🌸

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

Ghost: Come along, it just gets better *gets body slammed into a bunch of coral*

Price: So much to do and just so little time *is hiding behind a ship being shot at*

Gaz: 'Cause it all depends on whether- *peaks from his cover to fire at the enemy*

Soap: -you want to leave the land above behind... *his shoulder is bleeding*

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

141, tired as fuck: 'Cause we're no ordinary soldier *walking into their base groggily* We're from the deep blue underworld...

Land or Sea *plops down to rest*

We've got the power... *Soap realises in shock before standing up*

Soap: If we just believe... *goes to their secret water entrance hidden in the base, and jumps in*

Price, Ghost and Gaz: *confused* 'Cause we're no ordinary soldier *follows Soap as they all transform* We're from the deep blue underworld

Land or Sea *exits the tunnel and is now in the ocean following Soap*

Soap: The world's our oyster, we're the pearl *is still swimming (just keep swimming, just keep swimming)* No ordinary soldier~🌸

*Soap continues to swim with Price, Ghost and Gaz following behind till they reach clear waters.*

'Cause we're no ordinary soldiers, we're from the deep blue underworld

Land or sea *they all transform back into their human form as they reach an island*

We've got the power if I just believe

'Cause we're no ordinary soldiers, we're from the deep blue underworld *they all built a secret house on that island, just for themselves to escape their work*

Land or Sea *something washes up on their shore*

The world's our oyster *they walk towards it* we're the pearl *uncovers it and reveals a person, not human or like them but wore a weird attire*

No ordinary soldiers~🌸

[noisyquokka]

Lifetimes Before

PAIRING - Chan x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS - Sometimes all your soul needs is a quiet night with your Lover, something that always feels familiar to you that you can't quite put a finger on.

WORDCOUNT - 2k

WARNINGS - Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, dancing with this man under the stars? sign me up!!

A/N - I've had this idea stuck in my head for a while now, so I thought I'd finally get it out. Giggled, kicked my feet, twirled my hair whilst writing this and now I wish I could dance with my girlfriend... Anyway Happy Chan day, everybody!!🥰🎉

The wood creaks beneath your weight as you descend the staircase, halting at the second-last step and leaning over the railing. You scan the open space in search of your Lover, ears perking at the melody floating about the first floor. Something far older than the two of you, with elements of blues, swing, big band. A man with the vocals of silk and lace, a warm embrace. Nat King Cole. It's a record you're familiar with, one you can imagine your grandparents listening to in their late 20s. It's something that fits a quiet Sunday evening, the spices from a homecooked meal wafting through the house as the family sits down to eat. Something that fits this quiet Sunday evening.

The chosen vinyl spins on the turntable, soundwaves moving you like nothing else can. You skip down the last few steps, turning towards the back patio with a furrowed brow. There's a faint glow shining through the door's glass, fighting its way through the sheer curtains hanging from them; a pathetic excuse for privacy. But you find the golden glow of a sunset too good to pass up most days, the rays bleeding through the hallway, running up the walls like untamed flames in a campfire.

Ah, that glow… one of crackling wood and all-encompassing heat.

A smile pulls at the corners of your lips, your slippers padding across the runner in the hall as you pull the door open. Chan's back is to you, tending to the fire in the freestanding pit. Daylight is fading, the tree tops along your property rimmed in the amber glow of late Summer. The northern breeze assaults the fabric on your person, greeting the bare skin beneath with a sweet kiss of chills. You step out anyway, patio bricks smooth underfoot, and clear your throat. The man's shoulders tense only for a moment, straightening up as he turns to you. That familiar look of affection adorns his face.

"So what's this, then?" You gesture to the fire, the buzzing stereo inside. It's romantic beyond measure, and even as you know the events that are about to unfold, you play coy. "You call me down here for what, exactly?"

"Leave the door open," He says, waving you over with a wag of his fingers. You oblige, unable to hold back your smile as you close in on the sight before you. The mess of curls atop his head move with him, his focus on nothing else but you as you cross the space from the entrance to the patio. The closer you get, the wider Chan's smile gets until you're greeted by those dimples, the fire light washing over the elusive divots as he turns back to the horizon awash in a blaze of vibrant hues. Orange, violet, yellowish-pink.

You stop behind him, feeling the warmth of the fire spill over the broadness of his shoulders. He chuckles when your arms slink around his waist, tightening as you rest your cheek at the space between his shoulder blades. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes. The patio door sways open further with the breeze, the sound of the stereo mingling with the crackles and pops of dry wood. It's almost like the sands in the hourglass stop out here, every single time. If only…

Chan's fingers slip under one of your hands, linking your fingers together to pull you around to his side. The song that's playing ends, and you recognize the next instantly. Those fingers squeeze around yours in a nonverbal question, and Chan follows up with a verbal one.

"May I?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

"I'm just being a gentleman." He insists, pulling you closer with a gentle hand. His other hand settles at your waist, taking the lead in this three-step on this chilly evening. And you follow with no complaints, bringing your opposite hand up to rest on his shoulder. Nat King Cole begins his silken performance from inside.

Three little words,

Oh what I'd give for that wonderful phrase,

To hear those three little words,

That's all I'd live for the rest of my days,

His grip on you is firm but comfortable, there to keep you close even as he knows you're not going anywhere. The two of you ease into that familiar swing and sway, so used to being soul partners in this backyard oasis where the only wandering eyes are the wildlife that slinks through the shadows and the stars that have yet to make their appearance tonight. Moving together as one, sharing the same space as Chan pulls you in so your back is to his chest.

And what I feel in my heart,

They tell sincerely,

No other words can tell it half so clearly,

His voice rumbles in his chest, swaying you back and forth as he softly serenades you in his arms. You're smiling, lashes fluttering at such a serene and calming voice, the lyrics carrying you on wings of sound as you step in time with the music. And oh, does that voice hold nothing but the strongest affection for the one he's singing to. It erupts butterflies within your chest.

Chan unfurls you from his embrace, your fingers interlocking again as you step backward, shifting your weight to your left foot and coming back to center. It's hard not to smile, something so natural to the both of you - a waltz between two Lovers in firelight as your bodies flow like a river - when you've been here a number of times. The instrumentals fill the air between you both, floating out of the warmly lit home and into the night. 

Three little words,

Eight little letters,

Which simply mean I love you.

Chan's voice fills your ears again as he spins you around the patio, the chill creeping under your shirt. Even so, you feel nothing but warmth radiating from the man that's swinging you around like this is the most fun he's had in all his lifetimes. He pushes you away, shifting his left foot back before strong arms are pulling you back into him. Your laughter echoes through the trees, and you let your head fall back in bliss. You bite your lip as he presses a kiss to your chin.

"Am I doin' this right?" His breath is soft on your neck, arms slipping to the small of your back while yours find their resting place at his shoulders. You're much too close to properly dance, so Chan guides you into a slow and simple sway, shifting your weight from your left foot to your right.

"You're the dancer, Christopher," You reply, tilting your head to lock eyes with the man, "shouldn't you know?" A soft smile takes over your lips as you let your eyes linger on his in the warmth of the fire.

"I was referring to my execution," He gestures to the romantic setting he'd created with a smirk. "but from the look on your face, I'm guessing I've done alright."

You chuckle, blinking as your fingers find the hair at the nape of his neck. Your gaze flits around the backyard, seemingly judging the choices he'd made. The wind kicks up now, rustling the changing leaves that sway along their branches with you two below. The flames crackle with the intrusive whispers of air, embers glowing as they travel on the wind's current like fireflies. Your focus come back to those warm amber eyes, licking your lips.

"I'd say so." You murmur, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Chan grins at that, lifting you with ease and twirling you around, the two of you moving in a smooth circle. You squeal at his movements, eyes wide for the slightest second as the pads of your fingers dig into his shoulders. But then you hear him giggle and you're being brought back down just enough that his lips can find yours. You hum contentedly into the kiss, lashes fluttering against your ever heating cheeks.

And what I feel in my heart,

They tell sincerely,

No other words can tell it half so clearly,

He sets you back to your feet and without missing a beat, you're back in step with little effort. Your body moves in time with Chan's and his with yours, each step blending into the next. The intuitive tells and the way you understand each other's bodies is an artform, with a level of cohesion that defies all logic. Like two halves of a whole, your souls intertwined in a way that's otherworldly. Attuned to the natural rhythm of one another, every step, every touch. It's something learned over lifetimes. It's an enchanting feeling; an experience you could live in for eternity if only you get to experience it with his soul in every single life beyond this one.

Three little words,

Eight little letters,

Which simply mean I love you,

He spins you away again, lyrics dancing on the tip of his tongue. The man's voice is like a soft, melodic lullaby, it's smooth and soothing tones washing over you. The breeze and the fire craft a tranquil and romantic atmosphere as you sway your hips with the music. The flames cast a glow across Chan's face, dancing over bare skin as he draws you back into him, foreheads bumping softly. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing fervently at the warm skin. Time moves slowly in this moment, lasting an eternity as you breathe each other in. You could've sworn this song is only about two minutes long.

"Simply mean I love you."

He sings the last line softly, a wide grin taking over his face. You mirror that grin, unable to hold back as your heart beats heavy in your chest. Two pairs of eyes stare for a long moment, taking in every feature, every imperfection, everything. Nothing but a heart palpitating love in those gazes, melting into one another. There's love.

"I love you."

It's said at the same time, soft chuckles vibrating through warm chests. His breath lightly fans over your cheeks, the hand at your back coming to rest at your hip. He tilts your head up just enough, the softness of his lips meeting yours in another gentle kiss. You're still slightly swaying as the next song plays in the background, your senses tuned into him as you feel the chill on your skin, the scent of burning wood, the taste of Chan's lips on yours.

You dance until the fire begins to die, your bodies intertwined and foreheads resting against each other. Until the vinyl is finished playing, giving way to the chorus of night insects that still sing this close to the start of Autumn. The embers burn away, cooling into white ash as starlight takes over, the moon's soft luminescence illuminating the two of you. And even after all is quiet, you stay in Chan's arms, the warmth of his skin and his voice a gentle comfort.

You know you have work in the morning, but enveloped in your Lover's arms, you don't see yourself finding the willpower to rush back inside to go to bed. Not when everything feels as it should. Heartbeats in sync, two souls sharing such a profound connection that poets of old could only weave into the fabric of humanity's web with their weathered scribes.

You see their gazes now, in the twinkling of the stars above, beautiful and serene. A creation all their own. The scene brings a smile to their shimmering faces, that you know every inch of the man beside you. Every inch of his body, every movement, every sound. There is nothing that Chan does that you don't already know. Your love runs deeper than flesh and bone, deeper than the vastness of galaxies. It's a love that runs to the very essence of your two souls. A love that has lasted lifetimes before this one and will last for lifetimes after.

The hours pass, but you don't rush back inside to sleep. There is no hurry, no need. 

You are where you're supposed to be, in the arms of the man you love.

Psst!! If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my work 💕 I appreciate you!

[novasintheroom]

027. Serious

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 1k

♡ Warnings - first kiss situation :)

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble serious on AO3

The smell hits him first. Over the scent of old cigarette smoke and that ever-present dust of the desert in the inn, he smells something…good. Something that makes his stomach rumble. Vash passes down the short hallways and comes to your shared room. You’re humming on the other side.

He turns the knob, and your humming cuts off. The door opens with a whining creak. You’re turned toward the door as he enters, knife poised for action if the wrong person comes through. Luckily, he’s the right person, and your shoulders relax. “Oh, that didn’t take long,” you greet.

Vash takes in the sight and scents. A portable stovetop – probably rented from the inn – with small pots sits on the dresser. Steam rolls quietly above them. Boiled noodles, cooking meat, tomato sauce and a hint of vegetables. His mouth waters. He closes the door, the lock snicking in place. “Gunsmith was right around the corner and didn’t haggle much.” He shrugs off his coat and nods toward the food. “What’s this?”

You smile and turn back to it. “Dinner! I haven’t gotten to cook in a minute.”

He hums, rubbing his hands together. “Well let’s eat then! I’m starving.”

You grin and turn off the stove.

Moving things around in the room makes a small ‘dining table’ and two rickety chairs to sit in. Dinner is slow and filled with laughter. Chatter. It’s been so long since you two have had a good meal and a safe, comfortable place to lay your heads at the same time. You’re in good spirits.

“Mm,” he hums and takes his last bite, slurping up the noodles and sauce in one go. “That,” he pauses, swallows, then smiles at you, “was the best meal ever.”

You roll your eyes and collect his plate with a laugh. “Whatever, it was just spaghetti.” You walk over to the bathroom sink and start scrubbing off the bits leftover on the plates.

“Then it was the best spaghetti ever! Way better with tomas chunks than worm! Did I ever tell you that story?”

“Ugh, I dunno if I wanna hear it.”

Vash laughs and leans back, stretching his arms out. “Not after we just ate. Got it.”

You continue washing the dishes, piling them on the nearby table. When you turn, you pause.

He’s watching you. His ears go pink, but he doesn’t back down. Not this time.

Your sweet man.

You walk over softly, bare feet brushing the wood. He doesn’t look away. You reach out to take his glasses. Just because. Just as an excuse to touch him somehow. His eyelids flutter ever so slightly when your fingers brush his cheek and lift his eyewear off. Your attention turns to the glasses. Orange, with obvious scratches and a finger smudge. The right side’s wire arm is slightly bent. No doubt all the imperfections would either be minimized or gone by morning. Vash is nothing if not meticulous with the upkeep of his gear. You turn them around and fulfill your months-long desire to put them on. The world turns to browns and muted colors, everything light turning the color of a sunset.

“Does the orange help you or something?” Your nose scrunches, trying to keep the glasses from sliding down your nose. You sit in your chair again, pulling it closer. Your knees brush his.

He laughs and uses a finger to push the glasses up for you. “Sometimes. I see movement better with them on. It keeps other colors from bleeding in.”

You hum, turning around to look at the rest of the room, to wave your hand in front of your eyes. It didn’t seem any different than regular glasses. Maybe it’s a Plant thing. You turn back and smile at him, tilting the glasses to look over the rims. “How do I look? Dangerous?”

Vash rolls his eyes and huffs out a laugh. “The only time you look dangerous is when I take food from your plate.”

“When you try to take my food.” You reach out and bop him on the forehead. “You’re gonna lose your other arm if you keep trying.”

He catches your hand before it can pull away. Such a small action, but it sends chills up and down your spine, his stare unfiltered without his glasses. Slowly, he leans forward and kisses the knuckles of your hand. He looks so serious. Is this serious? His ears are bright red.

This goes against the script. This whole night has gone against the routine you have. You’re both supposed to putter around the inn room, he’s supposed to clean his gun, you write in your journal, and eventually you both go to bed. He isn’t supposed to be this close to you. He isn’t supposed to stare at you like that, like there’s hope for something, anything, happening. You’re supposed to shut this down, play it off as a joke, he’s just being silly, and…and…

And you lean forward and kiss him.

It’s so quick. Too quick. There and gone, a girlish peck. You’re already pulling away, desperately embarrassed. What have you done? You’ve just ruined your friendship, that’s what. He’s made it so clear that he’s not interested in any way. You gasp, your stomach churning and shrieking in your body. “I’m sorry!” You gasp, hands fluttering to your lips. He’s staring, wide-eyed. “I’m so sorry, Vash, I – “

He pulls your hands away from your lips and kisses you again.

It’s sweet and slow. Shaky. He smells like dust, his nose presses to your cheek. Vash’s lips are chapped, and yours aren’t much better, but he presses and presses to let you know, I want this, I want it. Only when his glasses slip down your nose again do you separate. You’re breathing hard. He isn’t much better. Isn’t it funny, how a racing heart can leave one so breathless?

You’re scared to open your eyes. Will you see regret? Will you see that constant, solemn sadness he’s so prone to? You peak one eye open.

He, too, is peaking an eye open.

It startles a laugh out of you, and Vash snorts. Suddenly, with this overwhelming giddiness, you lean forward and laugh into his shoulder. His chuckles sound off in your ear, and he’s got both arms around you now, hugging you close.

“So…that’s...this is…okay?” He asks.

You lean back and do the brashest thing you’ve ever done.

You kiss him again.

[f1-giuki]

casual by chapell roan, smut (u can add angst if u want it's a lil angsty), lestappen <3316

Hi darlinggggggg💖💖💖💖 Honestly yesterday I was listening to the rise and fall of a Midwest princess and it was so good, so this is very much spot on!!!! I have added also De Selby (part 1) by Hozier for the angst! I think they fit nicely together!

so here's you're lestappen drabble!!! hope you like it!!!!! 💖💖💖💖

casual - de selby (part 1) - prompt post

Max looks at Charles' sleeping figure and sighs with a sad smile. That's a moment he'll never relieve again. It's the fruit of forgetfulness and it won't come back ripe in his hands. It's already rotting under Max's remorse.

Max can look only when the whole world is asleep, surrounded by darkness, so that nobody will see the light of love in his eyes.

Max thinks not even God could bear such a life. He's the one who created Charles and put him on this Earth, maybe he's in the same position Max is, with a too-good fruit in his hands and the path to Hell carefully mapped out.

Charles' soft features are smoothed out by the bliss of sleep, and yet, so calm and pretty, they can't utter a word of help to Max's wild heart. He takes a glimpse at the pond, where the virgins wait for Spring to come, but his face is broken, reflected in thousands of shards. He can't see himself.

The point is that Max feels like he takes and takes and takes when he fucks Charles on the hood of his Ferrari, in his garage, his moans echoing red against his Red Bull trophies, but he's the one losing bits of himself among the sheets.

Max thinks Charles gets off when he slaps his face next to the second championship trophy on his bedside table. The empty one. The one Kelly left. Left for Charles is left unsaid, loudly in Max's brain.

Max feels like a monster shutting up Charles, pressing his face on the mattress or filling his mouth with his fingers. He's a monster because he wants so much, knowing that's the one thing he can never have or win.

But the words Charles whispered in his ear when he found out he was alone are branded like cattle marks on his brain. “Now that you're free, wanna have some real fun?”

Fast, passionate, bleeding fun. Everywhere, every time. On Max's couch, in Charles' car, in the bathroom of Charles' mother's apartment, while she cooked them lunch and waited for pasta to cook, on the phone with one of Charles' brothers. 

Max knows it's not casual, for him, when he sinks his nails in Charles's hips, marking and scratching like a rabid dog, marking his territory, praying to God that when Charles comes back home to his girlfriend she'll see him, leave Charles to him.

Max feels like a monster for wanting all the time, and hating Charles at the same time. He hates that “Baby, no attachment,” when Charles' dick is twitching down his throat, shooting his load in Max at the thought of having him at his disposal. Max hates loving power imbalances, knowing he wants but could never have that.

Max loves being so stupid to know about Charles' family, receiving worried calls from Arthur about his future and buying Lorenzo's favourite padel brands. Is it casual still when Joris challenges him to get the wag of the year trophy? 

Is it casual still, when Charles' clothes are in his washing machine and his housekeeper folds them in a neat pile in his dresser, where her things used to be?

Max knows it's not, although Charles is free and bright, he comes to him like darkness at sunset, beautiful and morbid as he takes his hand and places it on his throat.

They feel so entangled Max doesn't know where he starts and where Charles ends, where his paradise staircase became a slide to hell.

Max thinks he can hate, but then he sees that golden plane of skin under his pale fingers, he can't grab the brakes anymore and shall brace for impact.

He is cursed by love herself.

[summertimemusician]

Linktober Shadow Day 3

Twilight

Definitely self indulgent, just a small thing I managed to throw together after a sleep deprivation filled day.

My Twilight Princess lover side definitely comes out on this one, as well as some vague headcanons in a short drabble, as always can be read as platonic or romantic.

There was something special, you think, about the way autumn came in a howling moonson of glory into the Era of Twilight, heralding the coming of the temperate strokes over the woods in flowering tones of russet, bronze, maple and amethyst in gilding gold over the evergreen of Hyrule’s eternity in warmth even as the weather turned ever colder, the late afternoon sunset fleeting in it’s mercurial transition into the hour of twilight, only matched in honor to the abandoned forests of the Era of Sky, the enduring wealds of the Era of time and the untamed thickets of the Era of Wilds. Oh so contrasting to it’s hero but no less lovely for it was a perfect balance, when you first met Twilight (or well, got properly acquainted, really, but that’s a story for another day), it was clear he was no less captivating than his homeland, as steady as the oaks and pines stretching towards the heavens and with the kindness of it’s people, was it any wonder then, that you found it easy to love the man with the loyalty and eyes of wolf to match the divine beast in his soul?

So it was why through a long, long period of trying to make the true extent of your feelings as unseen as a dream after waking hours and trying to hide just how enamored you had slowly become, that you became well acquainted with the tells that showed something weighted on his mind as you left Ordon’s Spring after washing Epona for the long road ahead tomorrow. The way his head hang just a little, ears lowering to match the way Wolfie’s would when he gently nudged one of the members of the Chain into holding him after a nightmare as his walls attempt to come back up, as solemn as a wolf in mourning.

Ever so responsible, ever steady. Trying to take the world onto his shoulders as any hero would.

He should have know it wouldn’t work on you, not after all you’ve been through.

“Rupee for your thoughts?” Your tone gently broke through the stillness of the stream as you fed Epona an apple, Twilight’s ears twitch as he turns towards you, softening as he notes the way the twilit enchanted sunlight lingered upon your visage in a most ephemeral way, shadows holding affectionately and brightening the stars of your eyes and the liminal nature of this moment and how Epona neighs, gently nudging the side of your hand for more rubs or maybe apples he knew you loved sneaking to her when he wasn’t looking, making your airy, fae like laughter free to be taken by the breeze.

“Reminiscing, is all.” He answer you, tone a low rumbling of the fall winds and like handling mirror shards into something new and beautiful as he privately holds onto the memory of your smile, holding it with claws and teeth for he can never quite be sure for how long he’ll have it, “It feels like a lifetime ago since...”

Since the start of his journey, since the beginning of his new one in the throes of attempting to settle in Ordon to lick his wounds after the lingering shaded reality of another realm settled into the crevices of his soul and marrow after grabbing the neck of the beast inside his being and biting down onto the hackles had left the injury open to bleed again.

Since losing Midna shattered his heart and killed him all at once, leaving him to live a life of haunting his own existence until you looked at him, all of him, and guided him back to life. Picking the shards of his heart and slowly putting them back together with the care of someone he’d seen mourn for an unfortunate nightingale on the road even as you cut yourself when he attempted to push you away.

You nod, gently resting your head on his shoulder, your gaze flicking to the Shadow Crystal, you don’t press about Midna and Twilight feels so, so warm, breathing out, you were both working on it, slowly but surely. Midna may not be dead, but he knew her absence left you haunted too, “Does it still hurt?” The twisting of reality upon his form, drawing from a well of ambition from long gone spirits who’d attempted to grab at the Goddesses throat, and the way the darkness so fiercely claimed any part of his he could touch. Making both of your shadows darker as the veil between worlds thinned, refusing to allow anything else to attempt a claim.

He shakes his head, gently putting his chin atop yours, “No, not anymore.”

You hum, gently nudging his chin in a sweet, adoring nuzzle, “I’m glad, then.”

You both remain on the spring until night falls, basking into one another’s presence and soaking into the timeless moment of learning to love one another as you can.

Twilight silently wishes that, just this once, he’s allowed to keep this the same way the Twilight Realm still keeps the old him.

[gallifreyanwriter]

Desolation

They were the ones that picked up their arms and their legs and carried on. And it’s a good job they did, because there was no one else left.

The oldest living human in the universe, and the oldest dead human in the universe, stranded together on an orange cliffside, overlooking a magenta ocean.

It wasn’t their first choice of real estate, but being the only survivors of the crash meant they didn’t have much of a choice. They could only drag their salvaged materials so far, after all. So they settled in for the long haul, and used their scraps and some white wood from a distant forest to build their home atop the great orange cliff. 

There wasn’t anything they could really...do, about the wreckage of the Red Dwarf. Neither of them could swim to it, obviously, and there was something about the local ocean water that made Lister kind of itchy, anyway. So they left it alone, as a great, big reminder of everything, and everyone, they’d lost.

Sometimes pieces would break off, sometimes other pieces would wash ashore, and sometimes, those pieces would even be useful. Sometimes Lister, bleeding heart that he was, would just walk outside of their house, stare into the horizon, and weep.

Bloody tosser, Rimmer would think, with tears in his hologramatic eyes.

There’s a special kind of loneliness, being the only life you know of on a planet. It’s not the kind of loneliness when you’re in the corner of a party and no one will speak with you, oh no. It’s more like when you’re in the corner of a party and no one is speaking to you but all the people who aren’t speaking to you are at least a million light years away, and your only way to even have a hope of a drink thrown in your face is half-submerged in this strange pink ocean, hazy in the distance.

Ah well. They were probably a bunch of smegheads anyway.

But they carried on, with the slow acceptance that they were well and truly lost. No enemies, sure, but also no friends—except each other.

And then, erm. Perhaps a bit more than friends, actually. Not sure when that happened, honestly, but who was left to judge? That’s right, no one, so mind your business, please.

They would often look to the sky. The sky, color of fresh mango juice. The rings that surrounded the planet always bisecting the vast expanse, creating some truly interesting sunsets that Dave was always LOOKING THE OTHER WAY FOR, COME ON-

Oh, they had their moments. But neither of them would ever be the same. They walked slower, lived slower, sat quieter. They had both existed since three million years in the past, and something deep in their cellular DNA seemed to know it. Imagine if you were three million years old and got launched into a new planet that seemed to only have plants on it, and see how you fare, eh? You’d have to become a vegetarian.

And when they succumbed to the cold orange earth, and their house fell into disrepair, and every broken and rusted piece of the Red Dwarf had succumbed to the sands of time...the microbes that had set up shop in Lister’s dead bones had evolved to the point of arguing with each other over whether there was a God or not.

Wish I could tell you, dear reader, that their conception of religion was based on dear old Arnie and Davey, but it wasn’t. They lived on this planet, and died on this planet, without anything of sentience to even know their names. Both of them were well and truly forgotten, and there’s no coming back from that.

But hey. They had still mattered.

[unseasoned-brain-worms]

Baldur's Gate 3 Fic- Feelings, or something.

“I heard you found a new lover.”

Dirk can only assume she looks like she's been caught in the middle of nabbing a wallet when he says that.

“What?”

~~~~~~~~

Baldur's Gate 3 Made me kiss Wyll, and my poor Druid had some feelings about his feelings. Enough that I've caved and Started writing Fanfic.

So, have an alternate version of that bit where Astarion asks you to pick someone. Which Dirk did not get, because she just went straight to break up with Wyll the next morning, how dare he attempt emotional sincerity.

“I heard you found a new lover.”

Dirk can only assume she looks like she's been caught in the middle of nabbing a wallet when he says that.

“What?”

“Don't be be coy darling, camp's really not that big, I know all about you and Wyll's little get together last night, I'm sure it was charming.  Probably very sweet.”  

Astarion makes those last two things sound extraordinarily insulting.  

“Well- sort of.”  She admits, watching Astarion make a great show of not being interested. 

She's not sure she views charming and sweet with the same open derision, but, honestly she's not especially comfortable with either.  

“He started talking about fairytale romances and courting me,”  She continues, her Brows furrowing as she does, she expects she looks a bit queasy, standing there chewing on her lower lip till it bleeds. 

Of course Astarion looks delighted by her discomfort.  He's trying to his credit to hide it.  She thinks she might see something else there.  Behind the laugh he's trying to hold back.  A flicker of concern that's being quickly washed away

“Wait, were you jealous?” 

“What, no!” He denies it like it's An absurd notion, pauses a moment and then continues.  A little reluctantly.

 “Maybe a little worried this would mean an end to our late night trysts, but not jealous.”  

No, no, he was definitely jealous, and he's Embarrassed about it, which is making it very hard for Dirk not to laugh.  But it's also not actually important, so she doesn't press the issue.

“Oh, well.  It doesn't.  We can keep doing that.”  She says, with the same awkwardness that always sneaks in when she's thinking about what passes for their relationship.  

Even if they haven't actually had a late night tryst in a while.  

The last two times he's asked she's ended up dragging him into help preparing more healing potions.  

“I told him I'm not interested in- uh, anything like that.” 

Somehow thinking about Wyll, and his painfully earnest affection is worse,  Astarion's flirtations feel insincere and baffling most of the time, but Wyll, thinking about being swept off her feet to ride off into the sunset, she thinks she's going to be sick.

“Really?”  He seems a bit stunned.  

“Yeah, I don't want to be courted-” Dirk blurts, it's out like a crossbow bolt.  And now she can't stop talking.

 “I don't even- he just started having all these feelings at me! And talking about how I was the sun in the sky and the church and the stars when I asked him about it this morning, and we’ve only known each other for a tenday and change! And all I did was let him kiss me and, and I don't know where any of that was coming from!”  

She's pacing back and forth as she talks, scratching a hole in the back of her hand as she does.  Glancing nervously at Astarion for some sign of agreement or encouragement, mostly he looks a little concerned.

“Well, I can hardly blame him for being a bit smitten, you are charming.”

Apparently this wasn't what Dirk wanted to hear.  

“No I'm not!”

He's laughing now, which does nothing to make her feel better.  But at least it distracts her enough that she's not clawing at herself anymore.

“Well,” he says, considering how to respond to that.  Dirk's inability to take a compliment at face value is equal parts insufferable and endearing.  If he just insists she is, she'll find a list of reasons to disagree.

“Maybe not at first, but you uh- grow on people.” 

He doesn't sound quite as flippant in that admission as he would like.

She just stares for a moment. 

“Is it the tadpole?”  She asks 

“Do you think it makes me more likable, or is it just making all of you horny,” she gestured vaguely at Astarion, who is back to trying not to laugh at how distressed she is by the concept of people liking her.

“Because I've never had anyone do this before and now it's like, once every two days, it's going to be Karlach next isn't it!  She can touch people now and she's going to ask me to fuck!”

And he's laughing again.   

She'd love to be mad about that, but this is an objectively stupid thing to be stressed by.

“Darling you're being ridiculous, if Karlach was going to make a move she would have by now, she's not exactly subtle.” 

“Fair point.”  Dirk says, and it is a little reassuring to hear, Karlach is so nice, but also she's intimidatingly tall.  

Dirk takes a deep breath, blowing some stringy hair out of her face as she does.  

“Thanks,” she says, pauses, realizes she isn't quite sure what she's thanking him for.  Which means he definitely doesn't know, so she should explain.  “For being normal.  About the sex I mean.”

She thinks from his face he's still not following.  It's probably a bad compliment.  

“Wyll and me locked lips for all of two seconds and he's acting like we're engaged is all, and I really appreciate you not doing that.  And not being any different at all about it now that we fucked and you know, not feeling a way or being weird about it.  So, uh, thank you for not doing that.  I think feelings are gross.”  

She's not quite sure she got the point across and the prickly undertone when Astarion speaks again makes her sure she hasn't. 

“Oh yes, pesky things, glad neither of us are burdened with them.”  He's trying very hard to be dismissive and is suddenly quite preoccupied with examining his nails.  

She curses in her head, picking at the frayed edges of her coat sleeves.  “Yeah, okay.”  She's definitely done something wrong.  

“I'm gonna help with breakfast.”  

She'll figure out what her latest social blunder is later.  She's gonna run away for now.   

She just turns and high tales it back towards her tent before things can get worse.

[thebatmandiaries]

Title: The (After) Life of the Party

coming to @deancashorrorfest this october!

Author: @thebatmandiaries

Artist: @milfycas

Rating: M

Word Count: 35,000

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Torture, Angst

Summary: After a fight with Sam one night, Dean wakes up in a world he is unfamiliar with. This world only has one rule: kill or be killed. As a designated Killer, he must kill all the Survivors before they have a chance to complete their task. If he doesn’t, he ruins the risk of becoming a Survivor himself. With the help of Charlie and Benny, other Killers, he slowly finds his footing in the new world he was thrust into. If only there wasn’t a strange blue eyed man to distract him…

Excerpt under the cut:

A few weeks had passed since he met that guy, and Dean was frustrated. All these random people popping up, giving cryptic messages and then disappearing like that was going to actually make him do anything. He scowled as he walked down the dimly lit plath. It was the usual sunset red that bleed into the sky, leaving the area with a ghost town feel.

Dean sighed again. He hated doing what he was “meant” to do, but he really didn’t want to tempt the consequences. He may have been also hoping that one guy came back and talked to him. He thought back to the piercing blue eyes and the instant connection he had felt. It was unsettling in the fact that it wasn’t unsettling. Like he had felt a bond, or something.

It worried him that he was getting used to this place. But he could also feel that the longer he was there, the more the place influenced him. He could almost feel the corruption seeping into his skin. It felt like a thin layer of grime covered him and he couldn’t wash it off no matter how hard he tried.

“Fancy meeting you here.” The man said, causing Dean to turn around, startled. For some reason, he was holding a sucker in his hand.

Dean couldn’t help but frown. “Oh, it’s you.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Don't sound too excited.” He uncrossed his arms. “I know I’m not the one you wanted to see, but I wanted to congratulate you on winning that last trial. It was close.”

Dean scowled. “Yeah, well. It happens.”

The man shook his head. “Not here it doesn’t. You’re lucky you managed to scrape a win out of that one. If you ever want the chance to escape, you’re going to have to do a better job.”

That information had Dean perking up. “I can leave?”

“Maybe, if you do the job well enough.” The man shrugged. Dean really needed to learn his name so he didn't always think of him as ‘the man’. “But as of right now, you’re not even mediocre.”

Dean set his shoulders. “Fine. If it gets me closer to getting out of here, I’ll play your game.”

The man clapped his hands together. “Glad to see you’ve finally seen reason Dean-o. Good to have you in the ranks.”

Dean frowned at him. “What did you say your name was?”

The man winked. “I didn’t. But maybe if you’re good I’ll tell it to you some time.” The man smirked. “Consider this a test, Dean. You’ve got an okay streak in those last three trials. Try and really work for this so I know you’re serious. I’ll know if you don’t.”

Dean let out a sigh and before he could blink again, the man disappeared. He’s not sure this was not a hallucination brought on by the environment here, but time would only tell.

[finitevoid]

HI BLAKE 💕 I just got in from the theatre so I'm a bit late BUT some prompts for you (Descendants or TWST or even OC, whatever speaks to your soul): 1. the light we strayed from, 12. sunlight sadness, 16. when the trees sleep 25. paper thin reality (no pressure to write all these ofc, just take what vibes <3)

HI SPARROW don't apologize for being late there was no pressure to respond in the first place. also what did you see at the theater. Anyway I went with TWST mostly because it lives in my brain at the moment.

the light we strayed from

"Shit," Silver hisses, jerking his thumb in surprise. He examines his hand with a cold sort of calmness, watching as a blot of red appears on the pad of his thumb. He observes the cut quietly, a strange fascination in his eyes. He doesn't appear to be in pain; then again, Lilia can't recall Silver vocalizing pain since he reached adolescence.

It was sort of unsettling, watching him spar with the equivalently aged Sebek. They would tussle and fight, and when Sebek won, Silver would stand tall, bruises shining purple in the light. But when Silver won, Sebek would sit on his rump and cry until Lilia or Malleus graced him with a healing spell.

"Goodness me," Lilia says, pressing a theatrical hand to his chest. "My little boy? Swearing?"

"Please, father," his beleaguered son sighs, pulling out his magical pen. He taps the bleeding hand twice, and then the skin is knitting itself back together.

Lilia observes as Silver hooks his pen back into his belt and sets about washing the excess blood from his skin. "That was probably the first spell I ever taught you, wasn't it?"

"Yes, to help with my training," Silver replies absently, distracted by getting soap underneath his fingernails. The running tapwater almost drowns out his voice.

"No," Lilia says, a little sharp. "It had nothing to do with your training."

Silver shuts off the water to turn around and raise an eyebrow at Lilia. "What? No? Sebek and I would use it after sparring, remember? We had to learn it so we would be allowed to use real swords."

Lilia smiles a little, because that's what Lilia does when the world gets a little too complicated for their little family. Lilia swings himself up onto the counter beside his son. It makes him taller than him, again; it felt like the blink of an eye, the time it took for Silver to go from tiny and toddling to grown and towering.

"I taught it to you when you were very, very young," he taps Silver on the nose, who startles, blinking at the offending finger, "because you kept sneaking out of my house and going off gallivanting through the woods. I was so worried you were going to get hurt," he sets a hand on Silver's head, who ducks a little, submitting to the affection. "But everytime I found you, you were talking to the birds."

I wonder where that little boy went, he thinks, but does not say. He knows. That little boy was lost in the grain and grooves of a sword.

2. sunlight sadness

“I miss the sun,” Ruggie sighs wistfully, tipping his face towards the faux sky of the Savanaclaw dorm. He’s splayed out on the sand, dressed in his dorm uniform, sans the boots.

“What are you talking about?” Jack asks, staring at him incredulously. “This is the sunniest dorm in the school. We don’t even have that shaded awning Scarabia has,” he’s baffled. The Savanaclaw dorm is a desert— magically made or not. It’s modeled after the Sunset Savanna, in everything from its hot sand to its palmy plants to its scorching afternoons. Sometimes Jack feels like the only member of the dorm from somewhere where it’s actually cold.

“It’s not the same.” Ruggie says, with a sarcastic sort of finality. His eyes are shut and his face is stil pointed up, letting the sunlight drip onto his cheeks. 

“It’s the sun.”

“No, it’s not.” He gestures widely with an arm. “It’s magic.”

“It feels like the sun to me.”

“Magic has a smell,” Ruggie tells him, opening his eyes. He curls his knees up to himself, and he sets his chin on top of them. It makes him look extraordinarily small. “It has a taste. A tang, really. If one of the dorms was snowy,” he continues, “wouldn’t you be able to tell the difference?”

Jack shifts in place, his silence conceding Ruggie’s point. With a sigh, he sits next to him, crossing his arms. He tilts his head up towards the sun, and let’s it cover him the way it’s covering Ruggie. It still doesn’t feel right.

“Have you ever been to the Savanna?” Ruggie asks. He’s setting his cheek on his knee, blinking inquisitive eyes at Jack.

He looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “Why would I have?”

Ruggie points to his ears. Then, he points to Jack’s. Jack smacks Ruggie’s hand out of the air. “I know that. You can’t possibly think all Beastmen live in the Savanna.”

Ruggie shrugs. “It just seems like a shame, is all.” He turns away, and then all Jack can see is the wavy poof of his hair, covering his profile. “You actually like Leona, and you aren’t even from the Savanna. Maybe if you were…” he’s quiet. “Maybe I should stop talking.” He chuckles.

“I wonder a lot why the mirror put me here,” Jack replies, unsettled. “But I think it’s because of him.”

“Maybe,” Ruggie concedes. “Maybe.”

I’ll do the other two in a few, thank you for the prompts, Sparrow <3

[mrfeenysmustache]

Gluttony/Orange

For day 5 of @sins-week! Some more InuKag spice.

Spice level: 🌶

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

Inuyasha’s eyes were beautiful.

No matter what light they were in, they always seemed to glow with a supernatural light that made them swirl and churn with all of his thoughts and feelings, drops of molten gold that scorched her when they looked at her, made her blood heat, made her skin flush.

Especially when his yoki was heightened.

When something stirred him up and the red of his demon form began to bleed into his eyes, they would glow a deep, wild orange, and to Kagome, that’s when they were most beautiful of all.

Some would say she was foolish, but sometimes she provoked him, traipsing around unclothed, bending over to clean and swinging her hips out of the way when he tried to grab her.

She would taunt and tease and even go outside, leading him into the woods that surrounded their hut. It was positioned far enough away that she wasn’t at risk of being seen, but Inuyasha didn’t care, and just the idea that she was exposed outside of the tree line was enough add fuel to his frustrations.

He would race out after her and she would run as fast as she could, dodging between the trees and giggling as she managed to evade several of his attempts to grab her.

By the time he caught her he’d be half feral, his eyes glowing that irresistible shade of sunset, and he’d pin her to a tree and remind her who it was she belonged to.

Staring down at the pile of dirt she’d just swept up, a shiver ran down her spine.

She peeked over her shoulder and saw Inuyasha’s gaze boring into her back.

She knew he could smell her arousal, and inspired by the memories she’d just been replaying, she held his stare and slowly untied the knot holding her clothing together.

He shook his head slowly when he saw her eyes dart to the door, and already gold was deepening, darkening, the shadow of his facial markings swimming to the surface.

“You’re a glutton for punishment, Kagome.”

“Some lessons have to be learned the hard way,” she said, turning to face him as she held out her yukata and let him have one good look of her fully nude and within reach.

He sighed and stood up, a graceful, fluid motion that made her heart beat even faster, and a smirk tilted one corner of his mouth.

“Well. Go on. I’ll even give you a little head start.”

He was taunting her now, promising delicious retribution for her antics, and a flush washed over her skin as she anticipated the culmination of their little game.

“Ready. Set. GO.” He whispered, and she dropped her clothing and ran.

[cascadianights]

How is it

That even in the midst of fire and smoke

I can't stop thinking how the smell of sweetgrass on the breeze reminded me of you

Even when it'd been years since I'd last seen your face.

I can't stop thinking about your warm hands taking mine, teasing out the cold while we lay under the stars.

That was the night I realized how quickly the constellations dance across the sky, Milky Way disappearing behind the distant mountains while I tell you the story of the Pleiades.

I can't stop thinking of the sunsets, and the waves crashing against the rocks. The drives to the edge of town, the late night walks on quiet streets.

But

The other day I didn't hear from you until after you were supposed to be at my place, seeing my garden for the first time in a summer spent among your haunts.

You apologized, instead of doubling down. But. You also didn't show up. You offered to make it up to me, with yet another step into your world. Something I wanted for so long that my hesitation now, as I frown at the field of flowers you have yet to know of me, feels like betrayal.

Campfire smoke wreathed with the smell of your body wash, the feeling of lying on your chest and of kissing your fingers and of you behind me with hands on my hips and mouth on my neck.

The night you didn't show, the sky hummed with heat lightning and far-off thunder as a summer storm blew in from the coast. Rain and fire beat down upon the hills around the valley.

When I woke, the sky was grey again and the sun red. I picked blueberries while old women talked about their daughters sleeping in barns and friends returning to find homes turned to ash.

I think about nights spent over cold meals, waiting for you to show. A Thanksgiving spent alone, watching the sun rise and sink into the hills and waiting for you to call. The fury and insecurity and desperate want to be chosen.

To be enough, without being too much. To communicate clearly enough that it could change your actions. To make you understand. To hear you say you loved me, just once.

The mountains where we used to watch the stars burned this year. The valley is on fire, as is much of southern Canada. The streets in the desert ran with water as a hurricane filled Death Valley.

This is the hottest summer on record, a dozen days over 100. The coldest summer of the rest of my life. "The fires happen every year now, you may as well get used to it."

Is it true that the opposite of love isn't hate, but indifference? They say people never change, even though the entire history of our species has been just that. But cycles repeat, and the earth below my feet is split and cracked and bleeding.

I used to wonder if I was only drawn to you because of the conflict, the tectonic push and pull. But all that came later, when we chose to stop seeing one another. It was addicting, but I'd fallen for the soft look in your eyes and your crooked smile long before that.

I thought it would be so difficult to be around you again, but it's as easy as breathing - only difficult when the haze of uncertainty creeps in, offers to spend time followed by an out or a quick "only if you want to." Only difficult when the time and will slip from you, and the ghost of that 21 year old wracked with pain returns.

We dance around it, but talk all night. We are careful that a touch never lingers, but then you call me at 3am when the rest of the world exhausts you. When I stay over I sleep on the couch, but I stay over often, and my heart twists and turns in my chest when you sing in the morning and in the shower.

It's odd to know someone so intimately and think you may never see them again. The childhood scars, the stories, the way you still feel like you could've made a better impression on their grandmother.

The names of cousins and best friends, god kids and figures around town - who's gone who's in jail, who's doing well who still needs to get their shit together. Their first love. Their favorite places.

We spent 5 years apart before we could talk. I don't want to spend another 5 regretting. I want a future with you, and I'm terrified of a mistep that launches us back into pain and prevents that. I want you, but I don't want my heart broken again.

Ash on the curling leaves, on the bursting blackberries, on the windshield driving to you. Smoke and sage and sweetgrass on the air. The taste of berries and apples sweetened with honey and the ghost of your lips on mine. Sweet and sticky and aching with something undefinable.

[skyward-children]

@zelinkweekofficial | Ao3

Light. 

Soft, gentle, amber light, brushing his face, washing his vision in gold. Tender and soothing, like her. 

Except that she was sealed inside the source of the light, locked away in a cage of sunset-colored crystal. 

Link’s chest felt heavy, like someone had bound it in thick ropes, had filled his lungs with water, had thrust a spear through his heart. The crystal was hard and cold beneath his palms and forehead, and within its icy depths was Zelda, arms at her sides, her golden hair cascading down her back, her gaze vacant.

I’m still your Zelda. 

Link sniffled back tears, lifting his head to look at her again. Just before the magic had lowered her eyelids in a deep, boundless sleep, Zelda had given him the softest of looks, her lips tilting upwards in a smile. 

And then she was gone. 

Link drew a long breath, slumping into a cross-legged position on the stony floor. The soft glow of the crystal washed over him, and he dug his fingers into his palms, his vision blurring again with tears. Forgotten were his bruises, his cuts, his still-healing ribs where a Stalfos had dealt him a bone-breaking blow.

All he could think of was her. 

For perhaps the thousandth time he wished that they were back on Skyloft, laughing and carefree, sprawled on the grass watching the clouds float by. Her bubbling giggle echoed in his ears, and he could almost hear her enthusiasm every time she said “good morning!” to him in the dining hall in the Academy. He could practically feel her hand pressing into his, warm and reassuring, a promise that they would never be apart. 

He felt himself almost smiling, until he looked up at her again and remembered that they were, in fact, apart, separated by a wall of golden crystal.

Link leaned his forehead against the crystal, his eyes closing as he remembered her words; the way her hair floated around her; the way tears clouded her eyes; the way she stood a few feet from him, carefully, as if she was afraid to touch him. 

As if she was afraid of him.

Link swallowed his tears, his fingers clenching. Was she? Was she afraid of him? He knew he had changed, but had he really changed that much? Had– 

He peered at his reflection in the crystal. Broader shoulders, a bloody cut across one cheek, a split and swollen lip, a black eye, gashes and scorch marks covering his tunic. His hair had grown even longer, forming a shaggy halo beneath his battered green cap. His gaze was fiercer, sadder, his face more grim. But he was still Link, wasn’t he? Surely he wasn’t all that different, right? 

His eyes widened as another thought occurred to him. Perhaps she hadn’t been afraid of him, but of their new barrier. She was the goddess, he was her chosen hero. They couldn’t go back to their old friendship after this, Link and Zelda of Skyloft, running around town together as everyone shook their heads and chuckled about the town's most iconic pair. They would never return to that, and they likely wouldn’t remain on Skyloft, and they–

They would never be the same. 

Anguish clogged in his throat, and Link pulled his knees up to his face and wept into them until he went hoarse. “Why?” he questioned aloud, his voice echoing in the stillness, brushing past the curling vines that clung to the walls. “Why me? Why us?” 

But there was no answer, only the sound of water trickling down stone. Drip, drip, drip, slosh. Dust drifted through the silent air. Link gulped in a long breath, wiping his eyes and pressing his palm against the crystal once again.

“I miss you, Zelda,” he whispered, a hot tear dripping down his face, burning his skin. “I wish it could just be us again.” 

He doubted she heard him, but he said it nonetheless. He wanted to scream it until his throat was raw and bleeding, but instead he blinked his eyes against the sting of tears and tried to steady his breathing. Zelda remained frozen, and the room was still.

When Link finally stood, his muscles cramped and his nose stuffy, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the crystal, right above where Zelda’s mouth was.

“I love you,” he breathed against the honey-colored cage, his legs shaking beneath him, his head pounding with suppressed tears.  

Zelda’s expression didn’t change, but her eyelids fluttered, ever so slightly.

Link smiled sadly, rubbing his sleeve across his eyes and checking that his sword and shield were secure on his back. He stepped past a cluster of vines and walked towards the ornate double doors of the room that led into the main chamber of the temple. Impa was probably waiting for him to return, and there were too many things he had to accomplish.

He paused, his fingers brushing the rusted handle of one of the doors, and cast a final look over his shoulder at Zelda, locked away from the world in a valiant attempt to hold back the evil.

“Goodbye,” he said to the silence. 

The door swung shut, leaving Zelda alone in her cage of crystal. 

[xhusu]

; Too Soon

Overwhelmed by grief after a dark guild attacked his home city, a very young Jellal recalls memories and tries to understand the concept of death.

Happens before his abduction, bits of how I imagine Jellal's backstory

You can also read it on AO3! | Words: 2,275

      

Jellal watched a bird fly high in the sky. White and proud, the animal flapped its wings once, twice, and continued his journey with no care for the boy who witnessed his assured flight.

He was envious.

As he brought his legs close to his torso, he wondered why was the world so cruel. Hunger was monstrous but it was nothing compared to the hole carved in his heart. His pursed lips trembled and he sobbed in silence, because that was all he could do, really. Under the burning sun, he cried; alone and lonely.

Dead.

The four of them were dead.

His only family.

He still couldn’t comprehend it fully. Death was a funny concept for such a young child. All he understood was that he would never see them again, ever. All that was left for him was a wounded shoulder and the memory of his uncle bleeding out. Ani was young. Too young. And Neyla was inconsolable. Somehow, she seemed to cry more than he did.

Perhaps it was because he refused to, not in front of the others. Asmae was mean and would punish him for sure.

Just like his mom used to.

She didn’t even go for him, she stayed to protect the temple during the attack. Mom never came for him, she never did, and would never, now that she was dead.

      

Once, he had waited for her on the stairs right before their little home. It was a few weeks ago if he recalled well. Grandpa had told him to come inside, that she would come home late and that he didn’t need to wait for her all day long.

But during the last evening, they had fought. He had screamed mean words at her, making her so sad she hit him. Jellal was a naughty boy, he knew, but he had wanted to make her feel better. So, he made her a drawing and waited.

Because maybe then, she would tell him she didn’t hate him anymore.

Grandma came home before her, as always, and he welcomed her with a smile; staying outside of the house. He wanted to see his mom more than anything.

When she finally appeared, earlier than Grandpa had supposed, she ignored him. But that was because of their fight. So, he followed her quietly and put his drawing on the table once she sat to drink a cup of tea. She looked at it, faintly smiled, and glanced at him.

She had said “Thank you, Jellal,” with tender eyes, “It’s very pretty.”

Afterwards, they played together. His mother never was a great playmate, so it was nice. Normally, it was Grandpa or Ani that played with him. The women of his family had great roles in the city and were mostly absent.

And his mom didn’t like him much either, because he was mean to her. So, she was even less present.

He remembered, right before dinner, they had sat on the stairs together and watched the sunset. He was so happy! That was until she said, “See, everyone prefers a smiling boy over a crybaby”.

Since then, he never shed a tear in front of them. And would never, because they were dead.

      

After the attack, as the city was destroyed, as the adults carried the corpses and washed the blood away, life was different. Quieter, slower, and weirdly nicer. People were nicer to him, somehow. Jellal was one of the many orphans this chaos left behind. That was why he shouldn’t complain, never.

After having cried rivers on his own and wiped his now dry eyes, he joined the others. He was not eager or excited to be with them, because of Asmae. But Neyla had told him to come back soon; they needed to change his bandages and clean his shoulder.

He got hit by an arrow during the attack, that wasn’t much but it was still torturous. Neyla always looked pained around him, but he didn’t know if it was for him or his uncle. As she washed the wound, he held back his tears until he couldn’t and cried again between whimpers.

Worse than hunger and his broken little heart, his injury left him somewhat disabled. “He will overcome it,” Asmae had said, but it was still horribly painful.

Sometimes, he wondered if all of this was because of him. Maybe he was suffering because he did something wrong. Neyla wiped his tears away with her thumbs, once done.

“It’s over, you don’t have to cry anymore. You can say bye-bye to the pain, until the next cleaning.”

He was terrified at the thought.

Because more than soft hands wiping his tears away, all he craved was a hug.

      

Once, he had asked his grandpa about his father. In Mildea, it was fathers who cared for their children. But Jellal got none. He was fatherless, and since he had joined this drawing class he hated so much, it had become even more obvious. The man who would come for him wasn’t marked nor was his dad. A girl had asked him about it, and he didn’t know what to say.

“Ah,” Grandpa had started, “Why don’t you ask Grandma once she’ll get home?”

He threw a tantrum like the naughty boy he was. He hated this answer so much. Luckily, Grandpa always hugged him the best, and he calmed quickly thanks to it. He remembers begging for an answer and was met by a pained expression.

He was even making his grandpa sad.

Later that day, when Grandma was home and not busy, he came to her timidly and asked her. She looked at him for a short while before taking him and holding him close, on her lap.

“What about your dad, you say,” she pondered, “Well, you don’t have any, Jellal.”

“I know…” he had bitten his lower lip, “But…”

“To be honest, whoever he is, he probably doesn’t know about your existence.”

“Aziza,” Grandpa had warned.

“Because, you see, dear, you are an accident. You were not planned, but you bring us so much happiness that it is not a bad thing, if anything you are a happy accident.”

Grandma had always been very straightforward. But Jellal was little, his grandpa had scolded her, as he held him tight, as the boy wailed.

Jellal was no happy accident since he was making people sad. He was just an accident.

      

Jellal walked down the ruins that were once his beloved neighbourhood. How many times did he wander alone, to go reach the temple on his own, to find his mom? Grandpa never was happy about that, but he never scolded him either.

Neyla had told him to stay with the boys while she went to pray. He was ordered to help with the reconstruction by Salim. But he didn’t want to, his shoulder hurt too much still. So, the older boy simply asked him to sit and wait; Jellal disobeyed.

He wanted to go back to his home. Since the attack, he didn’t see it and he missed it dearly. That was after losing everything that he realised the luck he had.

He missed gardening with Grandpa.

He missed painting with Grandma.

He missed playing with Ani.

He missed sleeping with Mom.

He missed all of that so much, that the mere thought of it brought him to tears. He didn’t want to cry anymore, but he was too weak to hold the tears back like he desperately tried to.

Exhausted by his walk, he finally reached his destination. Everything was silent and cold, although the weather made it difficult for him to breathe. He pushed the small gate and saw the stairs he would wait for his mom on, the inside of the house was painted black because fire was not a creative painter.

His face contorted, he had not seen it, as Ani had ordered him to close his eyes and keep them shut when he came to his rescue. He recognised nothing, nothing at all. It was as if all he ever knew had become haunting shadows. The stone table’s silhouette stood in the middle of the disaster. What was once his favourite place was mere darkness now.

He ran to the back of the garden as tears fell, where he last saw his grandpa, where he last heard his grandma. But all he saw was the metallic bucket he’d use to garden and play.

And he realised what death meant.

      

Once, his mom comforted him with a hug as he cried more than he was used to. More than saying mean things, as she violently shook him to make him stop screaming, he had hit her. Her eyes had widened and all he saw was rage. This time, she had hit him harder than normal.

So much he fell and hit his head on the floor.

So much his nose bled.

So much he wished for it to stop, that was a first, because it felt too much.

He wept so much that she stopped when she was about to leave the house. She had turned to him, staring at him for a short while before approaching – he recoiled, terrified and coughing.

His mom took him in her arms, tightly and firmly, so much that it hurt. She had put her head in the crook of his neck, repeating over and over “I’m sorry, please stop crying.”

He couldn’t, and for each sob came an apology. At some point, his cries quietened and she wiped the blood and snort coming out his nose. She kissed his forehead, whispering a small “forgive me”.

And he did.

      

Neyla found him crying in what was once his garden, head against the shack his grandpa hid him in. She patted his left shoulder, the healthy one. But he couldn’t turn around, not in this state, so he whimpered for her to leave him.

“I can’t, Jellal, I can’t leave you alone here.”

His cries worsened at the “here”, flashing memories of Ani begging him to run away and grandpa saying how much he loved him.

They would never come back. They were dead. Just like the bodies Moishe had shown him to prove how dead their loved ones were. Just like the lizards he would put in his bucket to adopt, only for them to die from the heat. Just like everything around him, the forgotten tomatoes they wouldn’t harvest in time, the flowers he’d offer his mom, the bird at the side of the road, the hope his people were desperately trying to keep.

Everything died too soon. And nothing would ever come back once it did.

And it broke his small heart.

The teenage girl behind him tried to console him, caressing his back slowly.

“I am so sorry Jellal, so sorry…”

But there was too much for him to calm down.

“Please, let’s go back to the others…”

“No!”

      

Once, he asked his mom, “why they hate grandpa?” and she explained to him “because they hate the unmarked.” It didn’t make sense to him. His grandpa was the kindest man, the most patient and the most understanding. The only one who never raised his voice or hand on him. Grandpa was too nice to be unloved.

That was why his mom worked so hard, he gathered. Most people didn’t like them, because of his grandpa. The Olders were the meanest ones, he knew. Mom even confided to him that she didn’t like them either.

“They are cruel,” she had said. And she was right. “If they ever bother you, you must tell me.”

“Why?”

“So I can protect you of course.”

For his mom to say such a thing when she was supposed to respect them, Jellal knew it was serious. He had nodded, mute, his mind filled with thoughts.

“Now sleep.”

She had caressed his tummy and hummed with a smile. He had giggled and closed his eyes. His mom always smelled good and her voice was the softest of all. He had snuggled against her, even though it wasn’t her favourite position, but this time, she had said nothing and held him close.

“Sweet dreams, Jellal.”

      

It was already night when he finally went back to the survivors with Neyla. The sun had set without his family, once more. The stars shone with no care for his grieving heart, as always.

Asmae scolded them both but Neyla took most of the blame and he felt bad for it. He was the naughtiest boy. His wound got cleaned again, but he was too exhausted to cry. He ate what little they gave him as they didn’t have enough for all of them.

That was where the hunger came from.

And finally, he laid down on the ground, under the starry sky. Even at night, it was hot; even at night, he’d hear painful moans from the wounded.

He wondered when would the city be back to the way it was, and when his heart would stop hurting. He wondered when his wound would heal, and when the image of Ani bleeding out would disappear.

Neyla came to each one of the orphans, to murmur them a gentle “good night” and kiss their forehead. When she arrived at him, she brushed his hair slowly and smiled. She tenderly pecked his cheek.

“Neyla, you will stay, right?” he whispered. He didn’t want to lose her, because she was the kindest of them all. Because she loved Ani and somehow Jellal knew Ani loved her back. In some way, she also was family.

“Of course, Jellal, don’t worry. I’ll stay with you.”

      

She didn’t.

      

AN:  Thank you so much for reading! Hope you liked it!

[anacewhowritessmut]

A Pirate’s Treasure - Part 2

Arianna spent the morning overlooking the sea in every direction the ship had to offer. She never knew the sea could look so endless, not seeing a single town or city. She cowered away from the crew’s leering eyes, some licking their lips at the sight of her. Not all the crew were predators. Some tipped their caps as she walked by and some even bowed. One offered her an apple with a flourishing gesture and dramatic bow and she finally smiled for the first time that morning. 

“Golly, she’s a pretty one.” “Lovely mouth.” “Lovely bum.” “Oy, show some respect. Clearly she’s a lady of stature she is.” “Wonder what the captain’ll do with her.”

Gibbs huffed at the thought, watching Arianna with narrow eyes. She caught him staring and quickly hurried up towards the farthest point of the bow to escape the crew entirely. She leaned against the railing with a sad sigh, not knowing that the captain had walked up behind her. 

“Lovely, isn’t it?”

Arianna startled, turning around quickly. Tannis raised his hands, showing he had come in peace. 

“Apologies, my lady, I was just enjoying the view.” “The view?” “Same thing you’re looking at I’m sure,” he said, gesturing to the open ocean and settling in beside her. “I’ve been at sea for most of my life but it never gets old. Just wait until you see the sunset and all the colors of the rainbow stretch across the sky softly bleeding into one another for miles and miles.”

Arianna cocked her head at him. “That was.. rather poetic.” “Are you surprised?” “Well, maybe a little. I was always told pirates were a rather unintelligent group of people who only knew how to be cruel and steal.” Tannis laughed. “My lady, we simply must disparage this terrible preconceived notion of my kind! How dreadful we must seem to you.” “Not everyone on board this ship is like that, you’re certainly not.” “Oh?” Tannis grinned.  Arianna couldn’t hold his gaze. “No, you’re rather charming and clearly intelligent and capable and I can easily see why you’re the captain.” Her cheeks began to flush again as she adjusted the large coat she was practically swimming in. 

“I might have something else you can wear in the meantime, my lady, if that is uncomfortable for you,” Tannis offered. Arianna paused and nodded, following Tannis back down into his cabin. He had bits and pieces from his own wardrobe and of articles left behind by those whose names he forgot ages ago. He left her in his cabin to get dressed. 

Arianna emerged in one of his own baggy shirts that was so long it could be a dress for her, a pair of high waisted trousers underneath, and a corset to tie it all together. The crew whistled and hollered as she slipped some hair shyly behind her ear. 

“She looks better in your clothes than you, cap’in!” “Get back to work, the lot of ya!” Tannis shouted, shooing them away. “You look the part now, my lady. If you’re not careful I’ll sign you into my crew.” “Actually that’s exactly what I’d like to discuss, captain.”

*****

Tannis and Arianna discussed their terms with Tannis promising he’d return her to her home but only after the reach their next destination. She would not belong to any man aboard the ship but she would do her part as a temporary crew member. They shook on it and Tannis noted how soft her hand was in his. 

Arianna spent the rest of the day trying to assist with the sails but the ropes made her delicate hands turn red and sore. The crew immediately set her to another task better suited for her, leaving the physical labor to the men. She helped to mend any torn parts of the sails, washed rum steins, and took stock of their canon balls. By dinner she was exhausted, barely able to keep her eyes open as she ate. One by one the crew trundled off to their cots when Arianna realized she didn’t have one for herself. 

“You may use mine, my lady!” “Mine’s is nice an’ clean, I promise!” “Mine is high away from the rats!” “The lady shall sleep in my quarters tonight,” Tannis said, gesturing for Arianna to head back to his cabin. The crew grumbled at their defeat in the matter but said nothing to the captain’s decision. 

“Looks like captain’s really likes your treasure, eh Gibbs?” a crew mate chortled, elbowing Gibbs in the arm. Gibbs growled at him and watched as the captain and Arianna closed the door behind them. 

Arianna yawned as she shuffled back towards the bed. “I don’t understand how you all do this everyday. My whole body is aching,” she complained, kicking off her boots and trying to undo the ties of her corset. 

“Allow me, my lady-” “Wait!” Tannis moved to undo her laces but Arianna stepped back. “What?” “This isn’t a job for a man to do, much less a pirate,” she stated, still trying to undo the knot behind her back. “I don’t understand, I was able to put it on by myself but now- Urgh!” She sighed and let her hands fall. Tannis waited with a raised eyebrow for her to give in and turn her back towards him so he could assist her. 

He found the knot of the corset and loosened the ties so she could slip out of it. Once the corset came off so did the trousers and she paused again, looking back at him. 

“You can turn around now.” “Ah, of course.” Tannis turned his back but positioned himself to watch her in his mirror instead. She put everything in a neat pile, brushed out her long brown hair, and decided to keep his shirt on for the night. She pulled back the blanket to lay down and Tannis went to the other side to join her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, sitting up right gripping the blanket close to her chest as Tannis made himself comfortable. 

“Uh, laying down for a good night’s sleep?” “B-but you can’t- I thought you said I-” “My lady, this is my bed and I’m letting you share it with me. I never said I’m giving up my entire bed for you,” he explained, continuing to settle himself in. Arianna opened her mouth to rebuttal but her argument evaporated. She settled in beside him, facing the wall and hoping he couldn’t see her blush in the dim light. Tannis blew out the candle and the room went dark. 

“Pleasant dreams, my lady,” he said, closing his eyes to drift off. 

“Pleasant dreams,” she wished him back, her tired eyes closing just as quickly as she fell asleep. 

Unfortunately her dreams would be far from pleasant. The gentle rocking of the ship felt like a raging storm outside and Arianna was at the eye of the hurricane. She couldn’t escape the rain or wind with the water rising and grabbing at her from all directions. She whimpered and began to cry in her sleep, waking Tannis beside her. He turned to see her curled into a ball and gently moved closer to wrap an arm around her, her back right against his warm chest. 

A life raft appeared in Arianna’s dream, something whisking her away from the storm and to somewhere safe again. She turned her body over and was facing him, her own hands holding Tannis’s body and her face resting on his chest. It was Tannis’s turn to blush as he held her close, letting her do whatever she needed to to get through the night. 

The morning after, Arianna found herself in Tannis’s arms with him still dozing peacefully. Arianna didn’t dare move lest she wake him so she stayed beside him, her hands gently smoothing over his strong arms. His chest hair was coarse but smelled of musk and salt. She could hear his strong heartbeat under her ear. If he didn’t wake up for another hour or two she wouldn’t complain.