#but its just the community that sours it for me that I can’t bring myself to care about it

[bloobluebloo]

I know I’m an adult but I’m allowed to get petty and irritated with comments like this because the people who have been the most racist and aggressive to me have been them 🥰

[punkgrogg]

Doorway Duo pt.4

Pairing: Hybrid!Taehyung x Reader, Hybrid!Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Hybrid!BTS, Non idol AU, fluff

Warnings: Pregnancy

Summary: Y/n was abandoned by her long time boyfriend and moves back home to help prepare for the baby. She’s surprised to find two unfamiliar hybrids at her house.

Length: 2,884

Notes: Okay I got a new laptop :) and I started a new job so I've been a bit busy but I should have a new chapter out sometime next week

Date Posted: 9/13/2021

“Come on, we don’t have all night. Let’s talk this out, communication is key.” That only caused them to meander their way in, softly shutting the door behind them with an audible click in this silence. Jungkook settled in at the foot of my bed but Taehyung stood next to him, his form rigid. The room had a tense air about it, the two refusing to speak. “Okay, fine, You don’t want to start then I will. Taehyung, how long have you been scenting me without me knowing ?”

“We both have,” Jungkook interjected. His face was resigned into one that expected only the worst outcome.

Well, that didn’t answer my question. “How long?”

“The second week after I met you. I’ve been scenting you since then, Jungkook has only scented you since we ran into that asshole at the grocery store.” Tae spoke up finally but kept his eyes trained on the floor. 

That did make sense but I was confused why Hobi never noticed.“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew since Hoseok scents you constantly so after a few days I joined in and started to scent you too. I didn’t know you were oblivious until about a month ago when Hoseok noticed I was on you and you laughed him off. I realized I should probably talk to you about it since you’re dense when it comes to hybrids. But I didn't stop, I kept the pheromones low so I could keep you claimed in between then and now.”His body language was stiff, his eyes trained on the hardwood floors while he clenched his hands at his sides. He looked both defiant and scared, a combination that I would never have expected from the snow leopard.

The possessiveness that permeated the word ‘claimed’ ruffled a few of my feathers and I couldn’t help exclaiming: “You claimed me? What the fuck Tae?”

Taehyung finally looked up, his eyes much softer than I expected, he reached out for me and gently held my hand. “No, it's not what you think. It helps me know you’re okay. I knew something was wrong earlier because the pheromones soured all of a sudden so I ran down to you. Jungkook can attest! With both of our scents entwined with yours, it's easy to know when you’re not okay.”

“It’s why I noticed your pheromones changed with the babies.” Jungkook chimed in once again, he was letting Taehung do all the talking, typical Kookie.

I pulled my hands away to rub my forehead, frustrated a bit at how it just wasn’t clicking for me. A lot of useful information that means jack-shit to me when beating around the bush. “But what does this all mean? You mentioned pack earlier, what does that mean?”

“Well, a pack is a group of individuals who care for each other. It was more common among our grandparents but hybrids our age are bringing the idea back since the laws are changing for us to have more freedoms. By the time the babies are born, I think we’ll be fully independent and we were going to wait until then to tell you about our pack.” Jungkook explained, his hands knotting together under the stress of explaining it to me. I appreciated that he was trying and I knew somehow he was only speaking because of how stressed I looked.

I nodded, that could make sense. “So, we’re all in a pack? Then why did Hobi look so angry when you said that?”

“No, just You, Kook, and I. We are a pack, we claimed you together.” Taehyung finally sat down on the bed with us, his body coiling on the edge as if he was prepared to run at any second.

“Claiming you means we love you Y/n. We want every other hybrid to know that you are loved by us both- so we scent you. It took me a while to do it too but it’s this burning itch under my skin that won't go away until I can smell myself on you. Like Tae said before, when we scent you it helps us keep track of your pheromones so we’re more attuned to if something happens to you.” Jungkook stared deeply into my eyes, his sincere expression willed me to finally understand what they were saying.

Only one thing caught my attention. “It hurts you when you don’t scent me?”

“It drives me crazy, I hate when you don’t smell like me, it’s all I can think about,” Tae explained, his face contrite as he once again reached for my wrist. I let him this time and he lightly rubbed the back of my hand with his thumb. Something he’s done a million times but this felt different.

I swallowed hard at the other major point in Kook’s explanation. “And you think you love me?”

Tae scoffed at that. “We don’t think, We know. You don’t have to love us back but you should at least know how we feel before you send us off.”

“Who said you’re being sent off? So what I reek of you two? It’s not hurting me but we’ll have to set some boundaries if you guys are going to keep doing this.” Both men perked up at that, both coming in closer as if we were huddling on my queen-sized mattress. The change in their moods was soothing to the tension that has bubbled up in my chest. ”First of all, we’ll have to talk about this loving me thing. Then we’ll have to figure out what's going to happen when the shelter is fixed because I'm not too sure when the government is going to get its shit together. Then  we’ll have to discuss this whole pack thing a little more- why can’t hobi be a part of it?”

“Whatever you want. We’ll do whatever, but can I scent you now? Since you know, I can do it now  right?” I’ve never seen Taehyung so excited, his eyes animated like he was a kid at Christmas. He leaned forward while bracing himself lightly against my shoulders while I nodded apprehensively. “I can do it fully right? No light scents?

At my second nod, Jungkook appeared to my left as he too broached my bubble. “Dammit Tae, you’re stinking up the whole room.”

Jungkook took to rubbing his head and neck against my own while Taehyung was butting me with his head seemingly everywhere- my shoulder, forehead, and a hand held my own close to his chest. Tae dragged his forehead from the right side of my neck down my shoulder and arm to my inner wrist. Once there he delicately kissed my pulse point. Jungkook had my right side occupied, pinning me into place, his shoulders crowding most of my frame. Our necks were pressed firmly together as he started to run his lips along the skin behind my ear before firmly pressing a kiss there.

The feeling of Jungkook kissing behind my ear made me shiver at the sudden affection. Taehyung groaned. “She smells so good now, smell her Kookie, she smells like us both. Like she’s finally part of our pack.”

Jungkook merely grunted in response as he pressed his face into my shoulder while taking in a deep breath. Tae reversed his process and traced his way back up to my neck where he decided to rest his head against my clavicle. I took a steadying breath to calm the tingles erupting across my body.

“Okay, that’s what you guys have been holding back? I’m alright with this happening more regularly, but not in front of others since Joonie looked so offended and  I assume it’s a more private thing.” They finally pulled away after what seemed like forever and I could feel the raging blush covering both my cheeks as I tried to calm down at the intimacy. “ Now, onto the love part.”

“I don’t have much else to say, it’s a simple fact for me.” Jungkook shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. He stayed glued to my right side and pulled my arm into his embrace as he played with my fingers idly.

“It’s been three months, you barely know me.” playing with my hand was distracting and there was barely any strength in my argument. It was nice to feel loved but I felt somewhat guilty over this- they deserved much more than I could give them.

“You were meant for us both but if you want us to wait then I’ll hold off on saying it until you’re ready to hear it.” Taehyung raised on his knees and kissed my forehead gingerly.

“You guys can’t be serious.” I shook my head at them both but a quick look at them both showed they had earnest expressions. “Guys what about the shel-”

“Adopt us, as tough as it is right now they’ll allow it especially because you’re living with certified fosters. Then we can’t be separated.” Taehyung spoke matter-of-factly, he reached out and traced lazy patterns on my knee while I stared at him in disbelief.

“I’m not going to adopt you if you guys want to be with me, it’d be a weird dynamic if we went to the doctors and I’d have to sign as your owner .” The thought of them being my property made an acrid taste form in the back of my throat.

“But that’s exactly why you should, we know you’d never see us as lesser and we’ll take good care of not only you but the babies as well.” Jungkook reasoned as he rubbed his cheek against the palm of my hand that he stole.

Another wave of guilty unease at this evolving relationship hit. I was okay with the affection and care that they’ve been supplying but was I okay with the relationship? Those cuddle sessions and tender moments that we’ve had so far now felt much more real and intimate than before. How had I convinced myself that it was platonic? “That’s another reason you guys should reconsider this whole ordeal, it’d be easier for me than you two. Do you want to commit to babies that aren’t even yours.”

A low growl sounded from Kookie’s chest- something I had never heard before. He usually kept his more animalistic traits under a tight leash. He sat up abruptly and reached for my face to make sure my eyes were trained on him while he spoke with a soft gruffness. “They are ours, don’t you even think about saying that again. We are the ones who’ve been supporting you throughout this pregnancy- not that asshole from the store. We tell them stories at night and bring you the food you’re craving. Hell, I rub your feet because of the swelling every time your feet are near me, and Taehyung rubs out the knots in your back when you’ve stood too long. We’ve been here for you the whole time and I know I love them as my babies. I am their dad, more than he would ever be.”

“I guess if you’re dad then I’ll be papa. It has a nice ring to it.” Tae butted in with a smile as Jungkook released me. His smile was so warm it ebbed away any lingering dregs of guilt.

“You guys can’t be serious,” I repeated once again but they were unaffected by whatever I had thrown at them. They were serious.

“Y/n, I’ve been planning this out since I’ve met you, it was love at first sight.” Tae took to holding my face this time, his hands were warm as he stroked my cheek lightly. The love was tangible in how he stared down at me, something I couldn’t ignore any longer.

“Okay, I get it, but what does this mean for us now?” I could hear the fearful hesitation in my voice.

“Nothing has to change sweetheart. We can act just how we always have and the only difference is that you know we love you.” Jungkook nodded along to the ashy-haired man’s assurances.

“Would you be happy with that though? To pretend that nothing has changed even though something has.” My heated tone kept them silent as I collected my thoughts. “Since you’ve claimed me- does that mean you see me as your girlfriend?”

“Well, to be honest, it’s a bit more than that. Girlfriend is a bit fleeting. It's more like you are ours and we are yours- for forever ideally but we don’t want to force that onto you.” Taehyung smiled bashfully as he stuttered through the clarification.

“If it’s more than a girlfriend- do you mean you see me as your wife?” Wow, with just a question I think I broke Taehyung. While he looked like he was blue-screening, Jungkook tried to hide a chuckle.

“For the sake of Taehyung’s face let’s just leave it as girlfriend for now. We can expand on that more later.” Jungkook explained, his smile evident through his words.

“So I'm a girlfriend to both of you and you guys are my boyfriends?” they nodded eagerly at my questioning tone. “Are you also each other’s boyfriends?”

“Uh, while Jungkook is gorgeous, that’s a no. we’re each other's packmates and there is a certain level of love and trust that goes into it but in the end, it's just enough for us to trust each other with you. If that makes sense?” Taehyung trailed off, his face twisted into one of confusion at the word vomit he just spewed.

“I think what Taehyung is trying to say is that we aren’t dating each other. Not that it is impossible for packmates to also get romantically involved with each other - we just haven’t.  we’d prefer to share your love and protect each other.” Jungkook tried to salvage the half-baked clarification.

“I am not protecting you Kookie, you are the one with a police background- you’re supposed to protect me while I protect her.” Taehyung suddenly pointed out.

“First of all, how rude. You’re my Packmate, you’re supposed to protect me too asshole.`` Jungkook playfully glared and by the twitching around his chin, I could tell he was fighting back a smile.

“I can’t protect someone who doesn’t need protecting. You are a one-man army, especially when it comes to the pack.”

Jungkook smiled at that and retorted with a: “You tried to fight Hoseok when he tried to separate our rooms at the shelter.”

“He was putting you with that bitch that growled at you when you first joined the group. How else was I supposed to react?” Taehyung had a beautiful blush rush across his face. He was so affectionate usually; so why was he arguing that he wouldn’t protect him?

“He was moving me because you complained about sharing a room with me for two weeks straight.'' Jungkook's exasperation was tangible; maybe they have this argument often?

“You get up before the sun to work out. How else was I supposed to get my beauty rest?” Tae’s argument was a paper-thin excuse. He was absolutely glowing red with his growing blush.

“Admit it in the end, you protect me just as much as I protect you.” Jungkook smiled at him with no mirth, he was done teasing him about it I guess.

That didn’t stop the flat-out refusal of: “I do not.”

“Y/n, wouldn’t you say Taehyung is just as protective of me as I am of him?” asked as he kissed the back of my hand, drawing all my attention to him.

“Tae, honey, you make his plate every night at dinner.” I sheepishly pointed out, a little unsure of how I'd place in this so-called argument. It was more flirting than anything if I was being asked but I guess I'm not the best person to ask since I did not comprehend them coming onto me in the first place.

Pseudo-shock flashed across his face at my statement.“That's because this idiot will only eat carbs and meat if we let him! I make your plate too.”

“That’s only proving my point. You are protective over your packmates.” Jungkook pushed at his shoulder playfully. A way they only ever acted when it was just us three, damn, maybe I should have noticed it sooner. There were definite lines drawn early on when it came to how our dynamic worked and they often showed me sides of themselves that my parents or brothers had never seen.

“That’s it, I'm going downstairs and giving myself over to Namjoon. His torture would be a mercy compared to this.” The drama queen stalked his way to my door and opened it with a flourish while Kookie and I both giggled.

“Tae are you not going to tell the baby a bedtime story?” My question stopped him in his tracks. He froze for just a second before gently swinging the door shut and marching his way back over to the bed with a smile that eclipsed the rest of his face.

“Babies. And of course, I am, tonight we’ll tell them the story of Hansel and Gretel.” He climbed back onto the bed and sprawled across the bottom of the bed and my extended legs. He settled in with his head resting slightly on my left hip before starting on his fairytale. Jungkook was curled up on my right side, still holding my hand captive, and he traced swirls across my forearm with a content smile. There was a warmth in my chest that I had been ignoring for a while, a warmth they only seemed to bring out and I realized I would be devastated if this warmth was to ever disappear.

Sorry, I forgot about my taglist last chapter! here's it as of right now and if you want to be added or taken off let me know!

@jelly-fishy-babie @nomimits7 @littlewolfieposts @fangirl125reader @xeirisarax @ghostkat23 @gayitachiuchiha @forever1313 @nellaphine @kooky-mysterious @rainbow-realm @xanny91 @demonslover @inumorph @uraveragefangirlsposts@alex--awesome--22 @akacamiworld @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh

[painless-innit-colourful]

Invisible

Potions of invisibility grant the user the ability to disappear, functionally: the concealment of one’s self through magic, distilled into a draught easy to swallow. For better and worse, Tommy’s familiar with the taste.

It tastes sour, primarily. 

Looking at the ingredient list, no wonder. Nether wart and fermented spider eye. Gross. There are some things a golden carrot just can't balance out. 

It's such a disgusting taste he doesn't notice the shimmering feeling, instead focusing his attention on scraping a thin layer of translucent brown sugar-mushroom-spider ick off his tongue. Not until: 

"Tommy?" "Y- Bleh- Yeah?" "Oh!" Tubbo waves his arms in a wild arc, smile growing, before his hand collides with Tommy's arm, and he picks up Tommy's wrist. "It worked!" "What do you- Ohhh..." 

If he blurs his vision, Tubbo's fingers circle around nothing. If he looks properly, he can just about see the edges of his wrist, the lines of his shirt sleeve. "Dude, how does that work?" "Which bit?" "Clothes. My clothes didn't drink it too." "Dude, I dunno... My turn!" 

They learn to spot the tiny signs of an invisible person. They learn to disguise them. Tommy tries to tackle Tubbo and misses completely, and both of them fall about laughing. 

Call that a drug van success story. 

--- 

He sprints past it, hoping they aren’t following, panic filling his bloodstream. He chugs the potion as he runs, drops spilling down his front, staining his navy coat with off-white shadows as he shimmers and disappears into thin air. 

Please don’t see me, please don’t see me.

He stumbles into the shallow waters of the lake, wading - disturbing the water, too many signs, you're gonna be seen - towards Tubbo's tunnel. He takes three steps and slips under the surface, landing on his hands and knees on the tunnel floor, waiting, waiting- Where are they? 

There's the sound of an arrow seeking its mark and hitting true, and for a split second Tommy sees an arm with deft fingers and a dark blue sleeve fall over the side of the entrance, and then the body is gone and shit shit shit- 

Tommy sticks his head back out- Who was that? Wilbur? Tubbo? He feels the shimmering feeling again - "a quick escape", where are the others - and slowly drops back to the tunnel floor. 

Make a decision, what if they find you, Little Laddy One Life? He walks away, opting to live to fight another day, hoping that his friends will join him soon. 

--- 

Funnily though, while clothes disappear with the potion, armour doesn't. He doesn't know why; he's not smart enough to. And right now, as he yanks the shoulder straps of his chestplate tight, he doesn't really care. 

"Stop!" They don't stop, voices mostly drowned out by the overwhelming sound of rushing water. Dream, his face also hidden, but by his signature mask as opposed to the magic of an invisibility potion, holds his hand towards Tubbo and tells him "I need the disc." Tommy crests the wreckage of the Community House, no longer attempting to stay hidden as the water thunders down around his ankles, pulling him towards the platform in the centre. It's a bizarre version of the Pit. It’s an arena. It's a stage. 

"No!" He screams, as Tubbo takes half a step back towards the ender chest. Heads snap to his position, looking at the empty suit of armour that's just appeared beside and above them. Tubbo stutters something in quiet disbelief, and between that and the sudden attention, Tommy falters. If he took off his armour now, could he get out of there? Or would the same fate that once befell Wilbur catch him? The blame for this building is on him, after all. 

He jumps in, landing on his feet between Dream and the cabinet of L'Manberg. He is caught in the crossfire of their questions: "Tommy?" "Is that Tommy?" 

He shouts, and he screams, and he revolves like a merry-go-round, trying to keep his eyes on everyone, not trusting that his armour'll be enough to protect him from the sheer amount of enemies about. So many people hate him, he realises, it's 30 v 2. Technoblade would like those odds. Technoblade, who's standing beside him, not invisible because he went to get milk. He likes the protection; he thinks. 

They don't listen. Tubbo keeps insisting he betrayed them all by teaming with Techno, that he betrayed L'Manberg, but they don't understand, he didn't have a choice, "You don't know what he did to me in exile." Tubbo has the disc in his hands, and without having an inkling of where Dream's eyes are, he watches him consider simply snatching it from Tubbo's hands. 

"You're not gonna give him the disc." Tubbo looks at him like it's a dare, and why can't he see? Tommy's practically crying with the effort and exertion of watching his best friend betray him in slow motion, of being this close to his abuser, of being blamed for something he didn't do, of being beaten down every time he gets on his damn feet. 

"I don’t need to prove myself to you. This wasn’t me. Trust me. Jesus— for once in your life, Tubbo, trust me." Tubbo's eyes are cold, his mind made up. What happened to us against the world?  "I did trust you. Once. The first time all of this happened. And I won’t make the same mistake twice." 

There's a little moment where time stops, and everyone draws nearer like a crowd at the coliseum, and Tommy feels his invisibility ripple slightly, warning him it's about to wear off. Who the fuck cares. 

Tubbo takes a step towards Dream, and Tommy lunges to put himself between them. "Don't you dare." Tubbo's hand goes to his axe. "You betrayed me, Tubbo, you- Did you just-" Both of their eyes are on Tubbo’s weapon, when he puts the disc away, staring Tommy down plainly with his one hand returning to the axe at his waist, and the other taking out his shield. "I didn't betray you." His voice is level, all business. Okay then, Mr President.

"You betrayed everything that you'd built with presidents prior." Tommy's anger, and hurt, and frustration, and pain finally boils over, so much so that it's visible in the way he shakes as he brings out his axe. "You know what?" He bites into a golden apple, feeling its effects drown out the rushing water and the shimmering sensation of his invis. "You've got your axe up." Technoblade’s tone is surprised but light as he tells Tommy to make this decision wisely, but he’s already gone, his safety and conscience be damned. He throws himself at Tubbo, brandishing his axe as the pigman taught him, like he once practised with the brown-haired boy he’s swinging at, thinking You say I betrayed you? I'll show you a traitor. 

Poetically, perhaps, it's less like a fight, and more like a dance. They are a whirlwind - a hurricane - clashing and blocking and pushing and shoving across the otherwise empty floor. Somewhere in the gushing water, Technoblade's bloodlust has seized him, and he's gone for the L'Manbergians and the festival-goers and the unrelated parties that came when they saw the destruction, and he's scattering them this way and that, but who cares about that? 

They are not equally matched. Tommy shakes too much: there is too much of him vulnerable here, not just his mortality, something that neither invisibility nor armour can keep from being scratched and damaged. He's losing. He's quite badly losing, despite Tubbo's inferior armour and weapons and allies, and he leaps into the nearest watery wall, letting the Respiration helmet Techno made for him protect him as the water drags him under and away from his attacker. His best friend. He bites into another golden apple, his pleas swallowed by the torrent. He still hears Tubbo's shout though, permeating the water and being relayed through his communicator from wherever Techno is. 

"Where are you?" 

He pops back up, shaking and soaking wet and sees a familiar sight: an old friend, a brother - once - staring him down with death in his eyes from behind brown hair. He was wrong, oh so wrong, all those weeks ago: at once he is Schlatt, alone at the end of his days, and there's Wilbur, old pals who'll be the death of each other. No. 

No. 

"I didn’t betray you, you teamed up with the very person that destroyed us the first time!" He feels his invis shimmer one more time, and the timing is immaculate, really. Cinematic, one might say. 

"I went for the discs— Tubbo, the discs— The discs were worth more than you ever were!" "No... Wh- Th-" The world stands still, and it feels so good, it's so good to finally say it, to watch Tubbo's face fall, his shield slipping from his hand, listen to the reactions around their little arena, watch as Tubbo shuts his mouth and yanks on the strap of his chestplate and lets it drop to the floor, leaving him defenceless and open to attack and wait- no- wait- 

Mutely, Tommy’s gaze drifts skyward, and it should feel good because they know now, they know how he feels, but it's not, it's not good because that- that wasn't true. That wasn't right. 

And he looks back at Tubbo, and finally, finally, his invis runs out, and he hopes it shows on his face, that he knows he's fucked up because Tubbo looks destroyed, and a shiver goes through him because he no longer looks angry he just- He just looks sad. 

He takes off his helmet, breathing heavily from the ache and exertion, heart burning in regret. 

‘The discs were worth more than you ever were.’

How do you fix that? For one crazy moment, he considers the invis again. Turning translucent and running, back to Techno- back to Technoblade who'd congratulate him on 'moving on' and tell Phil like he was proud and probably write that line on the fucking wall, how could he be such a monumental ass- 

"Tubbo?" Their eyes meet. Tubbo says nothing. 

"Give him the disc." 

He looks bewildered, "You want me to give Dream the disc?" He says, the tiniest sliver of something they used to have peeking through, the bearest hint of kindness, and bless him, it's more than Tommy deserves. It makes him want to go invisible again. 

He smiles softly, and it can't reach his eyes, but he pours every ounce of good left in him into it and desperately hopes it's enough.

"Yeah." And because he's fucked up, because he knows they can never go back from this: "I'm sorry Tubbo." 

--- 

He's done it again, he keeps fucking up. Sam's hand is holding him down by the shoulder, firm fingers digging into him, keeping him from reaching Ghostbur. 

He tried so hard. His throat is sore from not coughing. His muscles hurt from the pure tension and adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream, from his stubborn heart to the ends of his fingers and toes. He thought he'd gotten caught when he drank the potion in the waivers room, and his heart had been beating so loud that he'd thought Sam could hear it. 

Yet, they made it. But it doesn't matter, because he pulled out the axe too early, and now he's busted, and Sam's gonna kill him or Wilbur's going to come back or both, and it's all his fault. 

Every time he tries. Every time he tries to fix things, or do what's right, or have something for himself, it's taken away, destroyed and he's kicked to the ground. Every time. 

It's enough to make anyone want to be invisible.

[honeysidesarchived]

“it was open and i read it.” + two and a half vampires xx

well, stella, we did it. the girls are on main fr (i mean there's like a moodboard but still). trying to get back in the swing of writing things after digging myself into and out of the trenches with a lil blurb on the girls (also world building???? in a skyrim oneshot??? more likely than you'd think). every time i have to put the skyrim kids on main i get a gray hair.

ily thank u for this prompt, i hope it does them justice. <3 ofc, lavinia belongs to stella!

i. omen ✤ astraia volos/lavinia/serana

"it was open and i read it" + two and a half vampires, or: lavinia sticking her nose in her wife's business

words: 1.1k

warnings: none, aside from the fact that daddy volos sucks (i.e. threats of murder and whatnot) not to be forgotten are astraia's inability to access her emotions at any time, ever, and serana and lavinia teaming up. par for the course with them i think. no proofreading we die like men

“who’s aseri?”

the name sends an unpleasant jolt down astraia’s spine. an instinctual sour flavor floods her mouth; a pavlovian response, something close to what she thinks hysteria would taste washing over her senses.

abruptly, the dark elf straightens from the table she'd been bent over to rifle through her bag. lavinia is standing just there, at the writing desk, holding the offending letter in her hand like nothing is wrong.

"why are you going through my things?" she demands, reaching for the letter. lavinia's hand darts out of reach, ducking the letter behind her back.

"it's not going through your things if you've laid it out just bloody like that," lavinia defends. "it was open and i read it."

"it wasn't for you," astraia snips, reaching around lavinia again, only for the letter to once more evade her grasp. she's got, perhaps, a solid foot and a hundred pounds on lavinia; there's no reason she shouldn't be able to just wrench it out of her grasp, but more often than not, astraia herself feels like a bull around lavinia, trying desperately not to crash blindly into her and crush her. the result is that she can't just brute force her way into getting the letter back (unfortunately).

lavinia skirts the edge of the bed--a skimpy, straw-ridden thing draped in limp furs, what astraia absently thinks is a poor comparison to the price they've paid for this room--around to the other side, keeping it firmly between them.

"so, who are they?" she prompts again, waving the letter. "a sibling? an old lover, perhaps? they like to call you my astraia--"

"lavinia," astraia growls, planting one foot on the edge of the bed. "reconsider yourself."

"i've done it a great many times already, i think i'm quite darling the way i am." lavinia eyes her for a moment, coy smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "i just want to know you, straia, you're like a little lock box. a big, muscular--well, what are you climbing on the bed for?"

lavinia shrieks, perhaps in delight or perhaps in panic when astraia closes the distance between them by stepping up onto the bed, hooking one arm around the brunette's waist to keep her in place and lift her. she's still managing to keep the letter just out of reach. not for long, astraia thinks, the lenght of her arm quickly overtaking lavinia's.

"stop squirming," she hisses, "and give me the fucking letter."

"only if you tell me--"

"what's going on?"

it's serana's voice that stills them. she's standing in the doorway, luminous, tawny eyes regarding them with a look of what she thinks might be confusion or amusement (or both).

"i just paid the innkeep," she says by way of explanation, "and you two are...horsing around?"

lavinia blinks at their wife, opening her mouth to say something, and astraia takes the opportunity to snatch the letter out of her hand and then drop her unceremoniously on the bed. she hops down onto the floor with a solid thump.

"took my letter," astraia says briskly. "being a brat about it."

"astraia has a secret pen pal and won't tell me who it is," liv interjects. "i told her i just want to know more about her, is all."

serana looks at astraia. "you have a pen pal?" she sounds dubious.

"they're not a pen pal." astraia crumples the letter in her fist and drops it onto the floor.

lavinia hms from the bed, smoothing hair from her face. "not with that attitude, they won't be." she reaches over the edge of the bed, fingertips brushing the letter.

"they're my father."

silence sits for a second between the three of them. astraia resumes her bag-digging, and she knows without looking that serana and liv are exchanging looks. the look, specifically: the one they share when they have concern for her, but they don't know how to say it. she would prefer they say nothing at all.

"straia," lavinia begins, her voice saccharine--the way she sounds before she's about to ask for something she knows astraia will say no to.

"no," astraia says flatly.

"you don't have to talk about it," serana tacks on. "we just think that maybe--"

"--if you wanted to," liv adds, "--you could, and we would just listen--"

"you are incapable of shutting up," astraia replies, deadpan, as she points at lavinia, and then serana. "and you listen far too well. i want someone who will listen and then forget about it entirely."

they exchange the look again. astraia feels her lip curl.

"stop that," she grinds out. "stop--doing that thing where you telepathically communicate to each other."

"we love you," serana points out gently. "and we want you to be happy."

laboriously, astraia replies, "i am happy."

"very convincing," lavinia intones.

she shoots the brunette a look before she turns back to the bag. everything is in its place, of course, just as it should be, but the ritual of double and triple-checking is one of the few things that brings her comfort nowadays. lavinia has given up her efforts to fetch the letter from the floor without moving from the bed, and serana closes the door behind her, setting her own bag on the nearby dresser.

"this bed is way too small," is what serana says after a moment, and the words give astraia a breath of relief; for now, she will think nothing else of the letter.

i will find you, my astraia.

she will think nothing else of the letter.

lavinia says, "it's not too small--astraia always sleeps on her side, all hunched up, you know? it'll be fine."

i will find you, and those monstrous pets you call your companions.

she will think nothing else of the letter.

"you say that," serana teases, her voice glimmering with amusement, "until you're whining that she's not cuddling you, keeping you warm."

and i will kill the whole lot of you.

"throw that letter away," astraia says over her shoulder. "in the fireplace, lavinia. and be quick about it. i want to get to the market before it gets dark."

lavinia crinkles her nose, having just snapped it up from the floor in her elegant fingers. "it's always dark in windhelm."

"i mean it."

"fine," she sighs dramatically, forlorn as she tosses it into the fire. "are you going to buy me something nice?"

"no."

serana clicks her tongue.

"maybe," astraia amends. "if you're good."

"i can be very well-behaved," lavinia replies delightedly. "especially when it means not spending money on myself."

the woman chatters happily, serana trailing her out of the room as astraia slings her bag over her shoulder and watches the edges of the letter flaking into charcoal. she's not surprised that her father's decided to hunt her down, she supposes; only that it's taken this long.

"my love?" serana's voice drifts from the doorway; she's backtracked, watching her inquisitively. "you are alright, aren't you?"

astraia turns away from the fireplace and to the black-haired woman, shrugging.

"never better."

[teaboot]

Hey I just wanted to ask you something I don't know if its personal so maybe I'll start with me, my psychiatrist told me that I have asperger's syndrome and like my mom keeps asking me like what does that means because I think she sees people with autism as stupid and I'm at the top of my class so she feels like it's a mistake, I personally go mute for months sometimes except for like oral tests, and idk I forget about having a body and so I hit onto walls when I'm focused on something but *

"...*is not so exaggerated like I'm pretty functional I just forget that there are walls and doors and that I can't just transport me to the other room or so,I mean I feel like I'm just trying to find what my "weird or autistic" traits are to justify the diagnosis,I didn't asked my psychiatrist to elaborate on that and so I was wondering, what would you say that your autistic traits are?Also just in case,I know that autistic people can be hella smart and I think that you are really wise I admire you"

Thank you so much, that's very sweet of you to say!

Honestly, I'm sort of in a similar situation- My parents' reaction was to say, "you're too smart to be autistic" or, "Everyone of ~your intelligence~ is a little weird in the head, anyways", and then. Expect me to live up to all the positive stereotypes without ever getting bogged down by the negative realities?

This might not be very helpful at all of me to say, but as an adult who grew up in a rather unpleasant environment, there really isn't much help for a number of things except getting old and independant enough to move out, and then just accepting that their perception of reality isn't open to negotiation. You can try debating it, or meeting them on common ground with scientific basis, but in my case....

....well. There's just some things I now know not to talk about at family gatherings.

I'm sorry, I know that's probably not very helpful or heartening to hear. 

As for my personal grab bag of symptoms? I tend to hyperfocus on personal projects. When I'm really invested in an art piece, I often forget to eat or sleep or drink, and the only way I've learned to snap out of that is that if my hands are shaking or I'm falling over a lot, I probably need to eat something and lay down for a while, because otherwise- and yeah, not the healthiest motivator- otherwise I might start fucking up my hard work.

I also get overwhelmed by overlapping noises- if two people are talking at once, even if one is on a radio or TV show, I can't hear either of them and it stresses the shit out of me. White noise, like in malls or assemblies, also tends to burn my energy pretty fast.

Things like leaf blowers, people whistling indoors, and emergency sirens are physically painful. Repetitive noises like a bouncing rubber ball, sniffling, dogs licking things, and low-frequency vibrations from massage chairs, earthquakes, distant bass music, and some fluorescent lighting systems are impossible to ignore, which ranges from irritating to distressing, depending on my headspace du jour.

I hate bland food with a passion. It tends to make me nauseaus. I like lots of spice, lots of sugar, lots of sour and hot and acidic. I love strong flavours, and if I'm cooking for friends and family I often have to remind myself to tone down the seasonings for them.

Some textures make me genuinely ill, too- most types of meat, fat, and other animal bits result in.... Bad times for all. Polyester towels suck ass. Microfiber cloth. Thick cotton knit material. Any fabric covering my forearms. Thin, elastic denim. Vinyl. Polar fleece.

On the flip side, I looooove woven cotton blankets. Cotton sheets, cotton bedding- cold, heavy duvets are good, too. Acrylic, so long as it doesn't get damp. I have.... Perhaps a little bit of a problem here, as I do... Maybe, possibly, get a little impulsive with buying rugs, throws, and blankets when I come across one that feels right.

All my cups and bowls are handmade out of clay. I'm OK with smooth ceramics, but stoneware feels happy in my hands. I think of it as a treat, like packing a bit of chocolate with my lunch, or eating a whole bag of popcorn by myself. Again, I.... May go a little overboard when I come across A nice-feeling piece of dishware.

Basically, from what I understand, a lot of folks on the spectrum are under and over stimulated by various sensory inputs.

Me, I gravitate towards taste, inertia, tactile sensation, temperature, and dark lighting, while I find myself avoiding, limiting, or minimizing sound, light, color, oral texture, and smell.

As for more stereotyped behaviors, I find organizing things such as legal documents, filing cabinets, paint swatches, hardware, coins, stones, or colors to be very soothing and almost meditative. I go through special interests fairly often, and have been 'into' things like animals, insects, natural history, and art since before I could walk. I can't explain why they're such alluring subjects, they just make me happy.

I didn't realize until recently that I do stim, as well- I rock, sway, growl, swish water around, hang upside-down, rotate my thumbs, rub fabric, twirl coins, and flex my hands. I also (rarely) seem compelled to jump up and down in circles very fast when I'm particularly excited, or flap my arms against my sides like a penguin.

When I'm overstimulated, I go.... I'm not sure if you could call it 'nonverbal'. I get the feeling I COULD speak, it's just.... Overwhelmingly difficult. Usually I find a dark space or a corner away from people, put a coat or something over my head, cover my ears, close my eyes... Sometimes deliberate eye contact is hard, or I can't say more than one or two words at a time, or I find myself relying more on a hum or a grunt to communicate that I'm listening.

It... Probably all sounds weird to a neurotypical who may be reading, but I'm perfectly happy with myself as I am. I wouldn't change it if I could, except perhaps to minimize some of the more irritating things.

Mostly, my biggest peeve is being treated like a cool new pet or accessory. "Oh, this is my person with Autism- they're great at cleaning, you should get one!"- yeah, that can fuck right off. I'm right here, I can hear you, I'm a person. A little respect goes a long way.

But, whoops, here I've gone on a ramble- you want the best advice I have, though? Become comfortable with the person you are. Accept and seek out what things bring you happiness. Don't get hung up on the negatives. Love your experience, if you can, and don't worry about validating anything- you are who you are, and the words we use to explain ourselves fall so, so short when faced with the complexity of our individual existence.

The way I see it, the day before your diagnosis is the same as today, you just have one more tool to understand yourself with. The decision of how and if you choose to explain this to those around you is entirely yours to decide! 

I know this kind of went off the rail of your question. My answers are a little limited. I hope I could help anyways! Good luck!!

[alderaani]

hullo pls could you maybe do from the prompt list 'Staying up half the night to finish a game with them.' with jesse? or echo, i love them both very much so whoever you'd rather write would be just fantastic (: 💕

thanks Emma!!!! anything for u 💕 i’m gonna go with jesse for this one, though i’m desperate to write for my boy echo in the near future. (i am very quickly learning i can’t keep these brief to save my life, oops)

pairing is jesse x reader:

“Heard you landed your ass in here again, idiot.”

It comes out harsher than you mean, but the rush of anger-joy-relief that floods through you when you see Jesse propped up in bed, awake and laughing with one of his brothers, is like a battering ram. You put out one hand to steady yourself against the doorframe and blink, startled by the way your eyes are stinging.

“If only he’d actually landed on his ass,” Hardcase laughs. He’s lounging on the end of the bed in the bottom half of his armour, legs crossed in front of him. “Di’kut went down on his head instead.”

“Thanks, ‘Case,” Jesse sighs, before looking at you sheepishly. “I was goin’ to comm you.”

You sniff in distain and push into the room proper. “What, in three to five business days? I had to find out from one of the mechanics, Jesse.”

Jesse scowls and you feel your eyes sting again at just how small he looks against the sheets. The white bandages on his chest and wrapped around his skull are stark against the rich brown of his skin. You don’t think you have really breathed in the last three days, not since contact with Torrent went down and it suddenly hit you that you might never get to speak to him again.

“How is this my fault? I was karking unconscious and you’re going to hold that against me?”

“Well,” Hardcase says, eyes darting between the pair of you. He shoves himself off the bed, clapping a hand on Jesse’s blanketed leg. “Sounds like my cue to check out. The boys are settin’ up a round of sabacc in the barracks, don’t wanna hold ‘em up.”

You wave absently to him as he leaves, not taking your eyes off of Jesse’s as your chest fills with fire. You open your mouth to snap back, but the pure weariness that flashes across Jesse’s face sinks in like a knife between your ribs and suddenly you’re just tired.

You collapse into the vacant chair beside his bed and put your face in your hands.

“Kriff, Jess, I’m sorry.” You huff out a little laugh. “I came here to cheer you up, believe it or not.”

Looking up, you’re in time to see Jesse’s face soften. He reaches out and knocks his fist gently against your temple.

“Bold strategy you’re usin’.”

You swallow tightly and keep your eyes on the blankets when you make your next admission, choking the words out. “I didn’t mean to get mad. You just really fuckin’ scared me this time.”

Jesse chuckles weakly. “Think I scared myself. I…I really thought that was it, for a moment.”

You breathe out, long and slow, and try to push away the could-have-beens. He’s here, he’s whole, and he’s alive. Each one of those things is its own blessing. Some part of you still feels like it’s stuck in the awful silence of your comm station as you typed in code after code and prayed, unable to reach any of them and only being able to think about Jesse. His laugh, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way it makes your stomach tie itself into knots, and the ache in your gut when you thought you’d lost the chance to tell him any of it.

You’re used to being haunted by thoughts of him, but now all your memories have a slightly bitter edge, soured by the possibility that they’d almost been all you had. It’s harder than you expected to let that go, even if you’ve always known you might have to.

“I’m damn glad it wasn’t,” is what you get out eventually. “This place’d be boring without you.”

Jesse quirks a smile. You just want to hold on to him, kiss that smile straight off his stupid face, and can’t bring yourself to care that you’re staring. “Maker, I know, I’m bored already and I’m only stuck in the medbay. What’ve you got for me?”

You reach into the bag at your feet and pull out a card deck and a bottle of blumfruit juice. “I couldn’t bring the boys, but at least I’ve brought the cards, right?”

The way that Jesse’s whole face lights up makes the knot in your chest loosen. You dig around a bit more and pull out Jesse’s razor kit – there’s a fine layer of visible stubble growing on the unbandaged bits of his head. Aside from his huge Republic cog tattoo and the fact the stubble’s dark, he’s starting to look eerily like Rex.

“I thought you might want these tomorrow, too, I cleared them with Coric so I won’t accidentally land you in trouble.”

Jesse tilts his head a little bit and just watches you. You fight the urge to fidget and place the razor kit on the edge of the blanket; it’s hard not to shrug this off like you have a hundred times before, but you made a promise to yourself when you’d heard he’d come back alive. You won’t hide how you feel any more, and he can do what he likes with it. At least you will have given him the choice.

“You went and got these for me?” he asks eventually, his gaze pointed and calculating. You expected it – there’s a reason he’s on the Captain’s core squad – but it still makes you feel naked.

“You always bitch when your hair starts growing in,” You smile. Jesse’s expression clears, but whatever conclusion he’s come to he keeps to himself. He puts the razor on the side table and grins at you.

“The stubble itches. Now are you gonna deal us in, or what?”

You’re halfway through your first hand before you realise something crucial is missing from the set.

“Kriff, I forgot my betting chips! Sorry Jess, I can run back and get them if you like.”

Jesse picks up the bottle of blumfruit juice and gulps a mouthful, his mouth stained slightly red.

“I think I’ve got a better idea. Much more fun if we bet favours, right?”

His expression is far too innocent. You narrow your eyes at him as you accept the bottle and bring it to your lips. “What kind of favours?”

He shrugs. “Just little things. Ship duties, stuff you’ve always wanted to know…that kind of thing. I know you’ve always wanted to get back at Fives for what happened on Orto Plutonia.”

You lick your lips slowly. It’s a tempting proposition, which is dangerous for someone who is so thoroughly shit at sabacc, and for someone who’s opponent knows it.

“…Alright. But we’ve got to agree on the favour before it enters the pool.”

Jesse’s grin is sharklike. “Deal.”

Over the course of the next three hours you lose your mess hall slot, have to tell Jesse the story of how you ended up locked in the communal showers for three hours, and owe him two whole bottles of his favourite Alderaanian spirit.

In return, all you have managed to swindle is that payback on Fives, so when Jesse suggests one more round at 0300, you’re hesitant. You’re pretty sure you’re in love with him, but you still have a little dignity.

“Aw, come on. Where’s the honour in givin’ in?” Jesse grins.

“There’s no honour in marching blindly to defeat, either,” you counter, gathering up the sabacc cards to shuffle anyway. Besides, if you yawn any more you think your soul might escape your body.

“Maybe not, but I think you’ll like what I’ve got in mind.”

His face is oddly serious, and it piques your interest. Before you can stop yourself, you’re nodding and dealing out the cards again, fighting for composure when you lift yours and see the brilliant pair you’ve picked up.

“Fine, one more round. If I win you have to cover my next shift stocking ordnance,” you say quickly.

Jesse swallows, his honey brown eyes boring into you. “Sure. But if I win, I get a kiss.”

Faintly, you think someone must have opened an airlock somewhere, because you can’t breathe. You hear your lungs suck in, see the way Jesse leans a little towards you, the expression on his face almost hungry. There’s a faint ringing in your ears as you nod eagerly, your palms sweating.

What follows is possibly the longest 30 minutes of your life. It figures, really, that the one game of sabacc you desperately want to lose is the one you can’t seem to not win. When the match is up you scowl at the perfect score of 23 in your hand and toss it down onto the bed covers.

“Sorry Jesse, read ‘em and weep. I’ve got pure sabacc.”

Jesse leans over to read, but instead of looking as annoyed as you feel, he just smirks.

“Now now, cyar’ika, don’t be hasty. Let me present to you: the Idiot’s Array.”

You lean forward before you can stop yourself. “No fucking way.”

The rarest hand in the game? You’ve gotta see that.

Jesse smugly spreads out his cards. You smack him. “That’s not the Idiot’s Array!”

“It is too.”

“Then where’s the Idiot Card, genius?”

Without pausing, Jesse lifts his hands and points two thumbs at himself, grinning at you. “Right here, darlin’.”

You laugh, heat creeping up through your cheeks to the tips of your ears. You slide onto the bed and place your palms either side of Jesse’s legs, your pulse thundering under the heat of his eyes.

“Guess I owe you a kiss, then.”

Jesse’s hand sneaks up to cup the back of your neck. “Yeah. Guess you do.”

[sunflowerhae]

Snowflakes ✧･ﾟ:* ♡ *:･ﾟ✧

♡ requested by @ty0ngf

♡ Mark x gn!reader ft. Jaemin

♡ angst, character death, mentions of holidays but nothing specific

♡a.n// ty for the request, I didn’t do Taeyong, as I have a story coming out for him with angst, sometime this summer. If you would like to be tagged, lmk.

♡Requests are open! Request 🧸here🧸

You wanted to make this work. God, more than anything did you want to make this work.

If you could magically brush away the pain, distrust, and anger in yours and Marks relationship, you would do it with no hesitation. You’ll hear from people that the best way to deal with trauma in a relationship is to face it head on; communication is the key to any functioning couple. It’s not like you didn’t know this, it’s not like you didn’t try. Hell, you even moved halfway across the world to make it work. However, you’re soon coming to realize it might take more than a move and a talk to breathe love back into your comfortable-turned-quiet relationship.

It’s become a challenge for you - a task, one might call it - to try and remember the lasts in your relationship. The last kiss, the last hug, the last movie night, the last ‘i love you’, etc, etc. While it was a sad thing, at least it gave you something to do while your boyfriend ignored you and brushed off your attempted affection.

‘It’s been three weeks since the last time we kissed. Or has it been four? I mean, it wasn’t even a kiss, really. Just a peck on the cheek. I’m sure it’s been four. A month ago, righ-“ The harsh sound of a plastic cup you were washing, banging off the counter and onto the floor, pulled you out of your thoughts. With a sigh, you picked up the cup from its displaced spot on the ground and placed it on the drying rack - not even bothering to wash again. Like many times before, you looked around your cold and silent apartment, lost in space. It seemed that lately your thoughts had been your only best friend, but even those turned sour eventually. Everything in your life, it seemed, turned sour.

Just then, the sound of the door opening and the quick beep that usually followed, filled the empty sounds of your home. You walked out of the kitchen and to the foyer, where Mark had already taken off his shoes, and was hanging his jacket up.

“cold out there?” you asked, startling the blank expression on Marks face.

“I suppose, I got a taxi home.” Shanghai was in the middle of winter now, and the snow that graced the ground around your apartment complex was just as cold as what winter generally felt like to you.

You used to love winter. You loved the snow, and cuddling by the fire. You loved hot chocolate, and sweaters, and holiday movies on hallmark. It was cheesy, but winter really was your favorite season.

Was.

Nothing more was said to you. Mark, not expecting anything else, started his trek to the bedroom, where you assumed he would spend the rest of his night.

“I was thinking,” your voice stopped Mark in his tracks, and he turned around with an expecting look, “maybe...we could watch a movie tonight? I saw they’ll be playing How the Grinch Stole Christmas on hallmark, and I don’t know about you, but i’m craving takeout and I thought we could turn on the fire an-“

“I have work.” your small smile dropped, and Mark said nothing else, but instead turned and continued down the hallway.

It angered you, really.

It was Marks idea to move to Shanghai. He said that what your dying relationship needed was a fresh start; somewhere to heal from what happened. You had agreed then, but now you wished you had just let your relationship go. Then, at least, you could be surrounded by people who love and care about you, and you could heal. But now, you’re in a foreign country where you don’t even speak the language, and you’re alone. Even with Mark, you still truly, really alone.

What hurt the most, out of everything, was that you and Mark never even talked about it. You never even yelled, or fought, or cried together.

You were over it.

Following Mark, you paced into the bedroom to find him sitting on the bed, on his phone. He looked at you when you came in, but didn’t keep his attention on you for long; not until you grabbed the phone out of his hand and threw it onto the bed, next to him.

“Y/n, he-“

“Yell at me.” Mark was confused at your words.

“what?”

“Yell at me, Mark. Scream, cry, get red, do anything instead of pushing me away and pretending that what happened didn’t,” the tears came before you let them, and Mark stood up with wide eyes, “I’m tired of playing house and ignoring it! I’m tired of living somewhere that I don’t even speak the language, I’m tired of being alone! If you don’t love me, if you hate me, then okay, i’ll hate me too, more than I do now. But i’ll let you go! Please, tell me if you hate me and let me go. Let me go home! That way, I can at least try to heal, o-or something! Please!”

Mark stood there, contemplating his next move. The silence felt deafening, but in it you realized something. You’re relationship truly was over. You didn’t know what Mark was going to say, but it didn’t really matter. Even if he didn’t hate you, he certainly didn’t love you. This was it.

“I can’t.” He finally whispered.

“...you can’t what?”

“I can’t...bring myself to hate you. I look at you, every day, and I want to hate you. I want to blame you, and despise you, but I know doing that, will only let me pretend for a little longer that what happened wasn’t my fault. That it wasn’t me who...” He trailed off, keeping his eyes to the ground.

“Mark, you’re not completely to blame. We both played a part in it. And you might not hate me, but you certainly don’t love me. I think we’re past trying to, heal whatever this is.” Mark nodded in agreement, and plopped back onto the bed. You slowly walked to where he was, and took a seat next to him.

“do you believe in heaven?” Mark finally asked after minutes of silence. You knew Mark was religious, but, you had never talked about it before. And right now, you didn’t think that anything you could say would make him feel better, so instead you stared out the window to your left. You stared at the snowflakes softly hitting the ground, and as the tears continued to flow, you finally let yourself remember that night.

One Year Ago.

Mark was pissing you off. It wasn’t anything new, but it didn’t mean it bothered you any less. You loved the holidays, and the thing that you loved the most about it, was holiday parties. Something about a group of loved ones gathered in good spirits to celebrate each other, really made you giddy. This one in particular was great, because it was an ugly sweater party, and as a gag gift for your third anniversary, you got Mark and yourself matching ugly sweaters. They were to die for, he had a bright red “ketchup” sweater, and yours was a piss yellow “mustard”. You were so excited to show them off - Mark, however, not so much.

“I just don’t understand why you’re so upset about it!” Another sigh came from your mouth as you continued to stare out the car window and to the snow filled streets. The weather was particularly bad this time of year, and you couldn’t even see anything besides the road in front of you and the hazy glow from street lights. It would make someone nervous, had they not grown up around it like you had.

“I’m upset, because I bought ugly sweaters and it’s an ugly sweater party! I don’t get why you’re so embarrassed!” You reasoned with Mark, who refused to wear his ketchup sweater, opting instead for a normal patterned one.

“I don’t even like ketchup! Why’d you give that one to me?”

“Because it’s funny! Right Jaemin?” You turned to look at your friend who currently occupied the backseat of your car. Mark and you only lived across the street from Jaemin, so it made sense to carpool to a party you were all attending. Jaemin, however, began to regret it when you and Mark began to argue.

“No, no, no, don’t bring him into this! Keep my friends out of our business!” You huffed Marks way with an eyeroll as you situated yourself back into your seat.

“Our friends” You corrected Mark under your breath.

“what?”

“I said OUR friends. I hate when you gatekeep the guys.” It was Marks turn to roll his eyes.

“I’m not gatekeeping, i’m just saying.”

“saying what?”

“Well, I mean look at it like this - if we broke up, I would get the guys.”

You looked at Mark in surprise, and even Jaemin could tell this wouldn’t end well.

“If we broke up, huh? You think we’ll break up?”

“What? No-“

“-Over ugly sweaters -“

“ -Y/n, what are you talking about no -“ Mark turned to look at you, as you both started talking over the other in the stupidest fight Jaemin had ever encountered. He could tell one of you struck a chord with the other, and he looked on in horror as he saw what was about to happen while the two of you fought.

Mark had swerved just a bit, he promised up and down that he only took his eyes off the road for maybe a couple seconds. Unfortunately, that’s all the time it needed.

“MARK, WATCH OUT-“

The car had been T-boned on the drivers side, right where Jaemin had been sitting.

He never stood a chance.

You dragged your eyes away from the snow, trying again to forget, and to the side of your partners face, where you found that he was already looking at you with tears forming in his eyes. Wordlessly, you pulled him into a hug, and let his sobs stain your shoulder as yours did his.

Mark was running. He was running from Jaemins death, someone younger than him who had so much life left to live. He was running from dealing with the truth that he was somewhat to blame, and more importantly - Mark was running from what you thought of him. He didn’t want to know, he wanted to pretend that you two hated each other, so that it would be easier to let go.

But you were right, it wasn’t just him that killed Jaemin, and it wasn’t just you. The sooner you two learned that, the sooner you could begin to move on. It wouldn’t be easy, and you know at this point that the most you could get out of Mark is a friendship through shared trauma, but that was okay with you. You were tired of fighting, and tired of wanting to make this work. You just wanted to move on, god, did you want to move on.

[dindjarinbae]

It’s all for You (Ben Solo x Reader)

request from @belovedadam :  hello there, can I request a ben x reader when he comes back from exogol looking for her?? cause it’s always and will always be her??? thank you

listen, this was one of my favorite little things to write, i adore writing ben. he’s just... perfection. anyways, thank you lots for this request, soft lil things like this melt my heart. 

also, requests are literally (until further notice) eternally open. send me anything... i will write whatever your heart desires.

TW: none, it’s just literally softness with a touch of angst

WC: 1923

There were nights that the universe seemed so empty.

Though, this wasn’t true, you couldn’t help but feel this way, and you couldn’t help but feel so abandoned, night after endless night. And tonight was no exception. You couldn’t close your eyes without seeing him, without seeing Ben, without replaying the last time you saw him in your head. The last memory you had of Ben was his disheveled face and messy hair standing in front of you while you begged him not to go, begged him to not give himself to the darkness. But, to your dismay, he didn’t give into you as he so often did.

The two of you grew up together, his parents were practically your own, and yours were practically his as well. It was no surprise when the two of you fell in love. And it really was a love to end all loves. There were times the two of you would do nothing but talk, or run through forests, dance together, and when he began Jedi training with his uncle, you were always sneaking around behind his back just to spend time together. For years, you had loved him, and for you, it was always Ben. Every little thing came back to Ben Solo.

But it seemed as if he wasn’t yours to keep.

The day he left, the day that haunted your nightmares, was the day your Ben died, and the only thing left was Kylo Ren.

You were not born with the force, and time had proven that you weren’t force sensitive many times, so there was no way for you to reach out to him, to try and pull him back to the light. You never saw him after he left, and you didn’t really want more material for your brain to weave its’ nightmares, so you kept it that way. Leia knew this, and thankfully, she accommodated it to the best of her abilities as you traveled around with her and the nomadic rebels.You were hardly on a ship and more times than not you were left on whatever planet a base could be settled upon, far from the action.

Like tonight.

Tonight was worse than the others, because it wasn’t just the pain of losing the love of your life keeping you awake tonight; it was the fact that nearly all the rebels were on the most climatic mission of their fight to destroy the first order, and Leia laid comatose, your only parent figure left, was barely clinging to life.

It was dark, and the stars above you seemed sparse and few, and you felt nothing but cold dread in the pit of your stomach, because you knew full well that everyone on those ships might never come back. You stayed still, sitting on a rock, keeping your eyes on the sky for a sign, for a ship, for some indication that someone would return. If no one else, you prayed despeately, that at least Poe (the bain of your existence) would come back. You were too consumed with your thoughts to hear the footsteps approaching you, and you jumped upon hearing your name.

“y/n.”

You turned around quickly to see a communication technician behind you, and you felt instantly guilty for not remembering his name, “Yeah?” you asked and raised your eyebrow, trying to still your shaking hands.

“We’ve just gotten word that it’s over. The war, I mean. y/n, we’ve won,” he breathed, and his wide smile and joyfully tear-stained cheeks were visible under the few stars, “They’ll be here by morning.”

You slowly rose from the rock and looked at him carefully before daring to ask the questions that came forth into your mind, “The General? How is she?” you asked.

His smile was the first thing to fall, followed by a few more tears, “General Organa might just be our greatest loss. I’m sorry, y/n.” he whispered and grabbed your arm gently, “Come back to the command center with me and I can fill you in.”

The walk back to the base was silent, and you felt numb. You truly had lost everything: Ben, your parents, Han, Leia, even a handful of childhood friends, and you regretted your selfish need to stay away from the fight, to stay away from Kylo. A chilly breeze rustled your hair and by the time you got to the communication center, you realized your teeth were chattering together. Inside, the handful of people there bustled around busily and barked out orders to one another.

It wasn’t until the boy spoke your name again that you remembered the nature of your visit, “I mean, we took extremely heavy losses,” he said and pointed to a holopad with names and numbers of ships and their drivers that did not survive, “But we can’t know the full extent of them until they come back. Would you like to stay here until morning?” he asked.

You shook your head and turned on your heel, leaving the small bunker. Once you were outside, you could see dawn’s faintest light. Nothing was right about this, and it truly began to sink in that Leia was gone. Panic and sadness seemed to replace the blood in your veins as coldness spread through your body and your breaths quickened. You couldn’t think of anything at the moment except for getting as far away from that base as possible.

So you ran.

You ran through trees and through fields until the sun was nearly completely risen, before you fell to your knees. A wailing sound filled your ears and it wasn’t until you were sucking in air that you realized that the sound came from your own mouth. Tears fell steadily down your face and you wanted to chastise yourself for being grateful for winning a war, but you couldn’t help but stay in the dirt, sobbing, begging for some kind of absolution to come and save you from the selfishness that was creating your sadness.

You walked on your knees towards a tree and you leaned your back against it, sobs still shaking your body. The golden sunlight that filled the spaces between the trees and their leaves seemed like it was taunting you with its’ mirthful glow, beaming down on you almost like a reminder that everyone was probably celebrating gratefully, and you were sitting alone in your self-pity. The tears in your eyes blurred the world around you, making everything shift and liquefy, but one thing was clear in your vision, and that was the misshapen form of someone in black moving towards you. You gasped and quickly wiped the tears away from your eyes with your dirt-speckled hands, leaving small smears across your cheeks.

At first, nothing about the man registered in your mind as he stood on the threshold of the cluster of trees you were sat in. But as your eyes made their way up his legs which were clad in ripped pants and his shirt which was torn, your face drained of all color.

With a black eye forming, cuts littering his pale face, and his lip split, hair matted to his forehead, stood Kylo Ren. He took a step forward and you scrambled back, falling onto your hands so you wouldn’t fall on your back, “Don’t- don’t take a step closer to me,” you commanded, but your voice was hardly one with authority or strength in it as you struggled to keep in another sob.

He did not heed your request, and moved forward weakly, silently... timidly. You froze as he sunk down to his knees in front of you and you watched his bottom lip quiver before it mouthed your name.

“y/n.” he said after mouthing your name, “It’s me. It’s Ben.”

You shook your head and closed your eyes, “No. That’s impossible. Ben is gone. Kylo Ren killed him,” you stated and shook your head, half expecting to open your eyes and see that he was never really there. But, when you opened them again, there he was still, kneeling in front of you, a bleeding, wounded mess. You re-positioned yourself on the ground and knelt with him, your eyes searching his battered face.

He lifted a shaking hand and wrapped his long fingers around your small wrist. Every bit of common sense told you to yank your hand away, but you didn’t. You couldn’t. He pulled your wrist up and laid your palm flat against his heartbeat, “y/n, there wasn’t a single day I didn’t think of you,” he whispered and you felt the fast paced vibrations against his chest of his heart through your palm. His hand was warm against your wrist and you sniffled, meeting his eyes, “I wanted the darkness so badly, I wanted all of the most forbidden powers the force could offer me, yet every single time I was ready to completely turn myself over, something pulled me back. I never knew what held me back,” he breathed and you listened in shock.

You stared into his eyes, trying to find that malicious gleam he had when he left years ago, but all you saw was the sincerity that only Ben’s eyes could hold within them, “I thought it was my mother, maybe even Rey.” he continued, and you flinched at her name, remembering the one meeting between you two, the bitterness in your chest, and the sour taste in your mouth as she boasted about being the one thing that could turn Kylo into Ben once more.

“But as I tried to save her, revive her on Exegol... I couldn’t. And then i realized,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, “It was never Rey, never my mother, my father... anyone. But, do you know who it always was?” he asked and reached up with his free hand to wipe the tears away from your cheeks with his thumb. Your silence seemed to bring tears to his eyes and he never took his gaze off of you once, “It was you, y/n. You were always my light. And I’ll never forgive myself for not seeing it earlier, for not staying for you, for not being better... for you.”

Moments passed, and the two of you said nothing until one word passed your lips in his direction.

"Ben?”

He nodded and was quick to move his arms around your waist, pulling you securely against his chest, and you were just as quick to wrap your arms around him in return, “I’m here. It’s me. I’ll never leave your side again,” he promised and pulled back to look down at your tear stained face. His eyes fell upon your lips and he ducked his head down with a slight wince to press his lips fully against yours. You could taste the drying blood from his cut and the salt from the tears rolling down both of your cheeks, you could practically smell the darkness and the death on his skin, but there was no doubt that this was Ben in your arms, your Ben.

The story of how he got so beaten up and bloody could wait, the story of how the resistance won the war could wait.

For you, it was always Ben. Every little thing came back to Ben Solo.

As the sun grew higher in the sky above them, casting shadows across his skin, it seemed he was finally yours to keep.

And in that moment, in his arms, the universe seemed a little less empty.

[enigma-im]

I Want You Back

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Lizardman x F!Human

Warning: communication issues, displacement, arguing, confrontation of feelings, healthy communication, sex in the kitchen

          Feelings are hard, talking them out is even harder

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

The front door opens with a sudden click. I look up from my phone, listening intently. I hear the subtle taps of talons on the floor leading towards the living room. I look back down at my phone when I realize who it is.

"You are here quite late," I call out bored. His clicking stops near the couch just behind me. Out the corner of my eye I see his scaled hand slide over the top of the cushion. Quickly he climbs over the back of the sofa and settles with his feet over the top and himself on his back.

"I do things you know," he grumbles as he reaches out for my thigh. As he pulls me closer I feel a wave of annoyance at him. It seems unbridled, if not a little childish. He rubs his face to my leg as he hugs it close.

"What things could you possibly be doing in the woods," I find myself snapping down at him. I don’t bother looking at him, still seemingly stewing in annoyance. I flip through my phone as I wait for an answer. His nuzzling has stopped and out the corner of my eye, I see him staring.

"I do plenty of things, I did have a life before you," he growls.

"Oh, prowling around the neighborhood and taking young women to ravish in the woods. I can see how you can be busy," I snort with a frown. I don’t mean that, I don’t know why I'm being this way. Him being near is both calming and frustrating. It feels like arguing with a sibling or a parent as a teenager.

"you are the only one I have ever done that with and you know it," he barks back. He rights himself on the couch, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he glares down at me. "What the hell is your problem," he sneers. Feeling my anger bubble I snap towards him with my own glare.

"Nothing is my problem, I'm just curious why you were late," I answer.

"Why does it matter that I'm late, I'm here now," he argues.

"trying to hide something? Just tell me what you were doing," I lean into his space. I can't stop myself.

"I was going to telll you until you started snapping my head off so now I rather not," he sits back on the couch, growling like an animal. I glare at him, barely noticing how childish I'm being. To be fair he is being just as ridiculous. Then again, two wrongs don’t make a right.

Not being able to bring myself to calm down I pout back in my seat. I snatch my phone from my lap and angerly read through my feed. I know he wasn’t doing anything bad, I trust him. Still, I feel we are drifting a bit, and it's frustrating when I can't voice my concerns.

With a growl he shoots up," I'm going out." he marches out the room. His claws echo around the house along with the loud stomps. I feel myself panic a bit, not wanting him to leave on such bad terms.

As I hear him grab the door I call out," Heath!" I wait for a response. I hear nothing, not even the sound of the door opening. "I'm sorry," I call out softer. The silence is nerve-racking. Did he leave?

"I'll be back," he sighs. The door creaks open then slams closed.

"Fuck," I grumble as I rub my face.

It feels like weeks since Heath and I have had a normal conversation. At first, it was fine, I was so busy with work. It's a bit of a busy season and we have been so short-staffed. I'd leave early and show up back home so late. Most of the time Heath would be asleep when I got back so we never had the chance to talk. Then, since I was never home he took to entertaining himself. Since he wasn’t home during the day I never saw him on our days off.

Once everything slowed down that’s when the arguing started. I don’t remember who started it or perhaps we both have such a short fuse lately that we began this together. Generally, the harsh words would end with us just going to bed or sitting in stiff silence. Last night was the first time he has left. It scares me, to say the least.

Coworkers have started noticing my sour moods. I hardly acknowledged that I was bringing my anger from home to work but everyone else has. I've snapped at some people, snatching papers from others, answering in short words. It's been stressful.

"Meeting is moved to four," Casey walks into my office.

"Four, what was wrong with three," I huff, typing away at my keyboard.

"Not everyone was available for three so it was pushed to four," Casey leans against the door frame with a smirk. I pass an off-shoulder glance at her, sneering to myself when I see her grin.

"What are you smiling about," I grumble. She doesn’t answer for a moment so I turn fully towards her, cocking a brow. She gives me a once over before shaking her head with a smile.

"Nothing, just thought of something funny," she waves her hand.

"Well please do share with the class," I cross my arms, tapping my foot on the carpet. She continues to eye me, mounting my frustration of this conversation more.

"You have a boyfriend, right," she bites her tongue. I stiffen at the question. Everyone here knows I have someone but don’t know what he is. Can't imagine everyone here would be so open-minded with Heath and I's relationship. Even if he was human I don’t think anyone would approve of how we met either.

"Yes," I answer cautiously.

"Must be a shame you haven't been home much lately, what with all the late hours," she asks with mirth. What the hell is she implying?

"Yea, and," I squint at her.

She chuckles to herself, mumbling," you are a bit slow today, huh?" she straightens and asks bluntly," when is the last time you two had sex?" I choke on my breath, coughing while she laughs.

"There are some HR concerns here," I try to joke as I catch my breath.

"Yea, well, you have been a tyrant as of late so I think that’s more of a concern," she points out.

"I have not been a tyrant," I ponder," ok, I may have been less than civil but I highly doubt its because of my love life."

Casey walks further into the room, closing the door behind herself. " You poor naïve girl. Do you understand the importance of intimacy in a relationship? My husband and I went through a bit of a dry spell and we were at each other's throats. Wanting to be near each other but can't stand the feelings hanging over us," she gives me a sympathetic look.

"Yea, that doesn’t mean that’s what's wrong! Perhaps I am just stressed with work," I counter.

"Then you know a good way to relieve stress," she grins," sex. Preferably with your boyfriend." I grumble at her reasoning, crossing my arms and looking out the window. I hear her sigh beside me, stepping closer and turning my chair. "Has he been tense too," she asks. I glance over to her and nod slowly," have you two talked about this?" I shake my head," then go home tonight and you two talk then fuck each other's brains out. Do you both some good." my face heats up and I immediately cover it with my hands. She reels back and laughs as I grumble into my palms.

"Casey, you disgusting perv," I chuckle along with her.

"Hey, if I'm right then tell me about it tomorrow. Till then, have fun," she continues to laugh as she exits the room, leaving me to my own devices.

I huff in amusement as she leaves. I turn back to my desk and let my mind wander. She could be right, I never thought of it though. I have not been in a serious relationship like this one, never having a stall in my sex life with someone. Do people really get like this over something as ridiculous as sex?

In a rush of questions, I pull out my phone and Google 'What causes arguing in relationships'. Immediately I find a list with explanations on the first link. Most were simple like 'family issues' or ' unshared chore load' but the most common was lack of intimacy.

"Well fuck," I groan as I read. I never knew this was a thing. Who pushes someone away when all they want is to be around them? The article fits exactly what's happening though, down to a tee. I guess that answers it, Casey might be right.

After work, I sit down in the living room going over my thoughts. Heath isn't home yet which has been common as of late. It's still daylight out so I'm not too worried. As he said before, he does have a life outside of me. I find myself feeling a bit hollow as I think about him. I miss him. It’s a weird thought, I have seen him every day but… it doesn’t feel the same.

As I work around my feelings the back door opens. I twist around on the couch and look through the kitchen doorway to see Heath closing the back door.

"Hey," I call out. His head snaps up and I'm disappointed that I'm not greeted with his normal smile. I guess things have been bad lately.

"Hey," he grumbles as he walks further into the kitchen. He steps out of view and I hear the fridge open. I hop off the couch and head towards him, wanting to face him before I lose my nerve. He is hunched over with his head in the fridge when I see him. I can't help but look him over, admiring his strong body. I really have missed him.

I startle him when I wrap my arms around his middle, resting my head to his back. His posture softens as his hands engulf mine.

"I've missed you," I grumble into his scales. His sigh is content like he agrees with me. His hands pet over mine before his fingers separate them. He twists around as he holds me. He holds our hands close to his chest before leaning down and placing a gentle kiss to mine.

"I've missed you too," he nearly whispers. I try to bite back my smile but it has never worked around him. Instead, I pounce forward and hug him close. His chuckle rumbles up from his chest near my ear. His hands settle on my back as he holds me close too. We stand in the kitchen near the open fridge until the machine begins to beep. We part as he shuts the thing. I settle against the counter opposite of him and watch him. His gaze settles on me and I can feel the inevitable confrontation settling above me like a knife on a rope.

"Heath," I sigh," we need to talk."

His head drops with his own sigh," yea, we do."

We stand there for longer than we need to, no one speaking as we continue to prolong the issue. I know what I want to say but having to speak about it feels too vulnerable. It's too personal to explain how much our distance has been hurting. I hate arguing with him so this is necessary.

"I'm sorry-"

"I've been-," we both start at the same time.

We chuckle before Heath points to himself," I should start."

"Yea, go ahead," I lean back on my hands against the counter.

With a sigh he starts," I've been such an ass lately, and I'm sorry for not just telling you what I've been doing. It was never anything bad, it just felt wrong to tell you. We have been so apart lately that sharing things like my day has been alarming. I want to be around you but when I'm there I feel so frustrated. I've been taking that out on you and I'm sorry." I nod at his confession as I think on my own words. I feel the same way, I want him near but I push him away when he is there. Its been so confusing and frustrating. Thank god for Casey or I would have sat in my own feelings instead of confronting the problem.

I look at his worried face for just a moment," I have been less than fair with you. As much as I want to blame you for all of this as a stubborn proud woman I know that’s incorrect. I haven't been home lately and I know that’s been hard on us both. I think because no one said anything about it that we have just been suffering in silence till we just started snapping at each other like children."

"I wanted to say something about you not being here but it didn’t seem fair. It's your job, its how you pay for all this," he gestures to the house," I didn’t want to make you feel bad for me so I just kept quiet about it."

"That's exactly why I think we have been so distant, we haven't shared our feelings. I hate having to work late and not being able to sit down with you on the couch, watching some stupid show while we talked about anything. I adore actually going to sleep together more than showing up when you are already in bed. Also," I turn away with tinted cheeks," do you remember the last time we had sex?" he stares at me confused and in thought.

"Last month, I think. Fuck, has it been that long," he walks over," god, babe, I'm sorry. It has barely crossed my mind, you have been so tired lately I didn’t want to make it worse with my wants." he rests his hands on either side of me, cornering me to the counter.

"No, I'm sorry. I've been so busy I haven't even thought about it and it isn't till Casey brought it up tha-," I try to apologize.

"Wait, who is Casey and why are they more aware of this than us," he looks a bit offended. I reach out and smooth my hands over his arms.

"Casey is a lady from work, she confronted me in my office and offered a reason for my snippiness lately," I find myself chuckling," she said she has experience in this, having gone through it with her own husband. I didn’t believe her at the time but after doing some reading it made sense. I've wanted you around but pushing you away in the process. I love you, Heath, I'm sorry for being a lousy girlfriend." I look down at his stomach as I sit in self-pity. He startles me by grabbing my shoulder and crushing me to his chest.

"Babe, I love you too. I've wanted you around but not being able to talk to you about anything in fear that it will stress you out at work has been killing me. I've been talking with this Were who has trespassed here and I didn’t want you to fret because I had it under control. That’s what has been keeping me busy all week," he finally explains.

The relief of having everything out now is so sweet. I thump my head to his chest, sighing with finality. This whole thing has been ridiculous and childish. All we had to do was talk to each other, it was so simple.

"We are idiots," I laugh," if you want to have sex all you have to do is ask."

Heath snorts, pulling me into a hug. I wrap my arms around him, burying my face into his chest as he nuzzles my hair.

"If I knew it was that easy I would have had you sooner," he rubs his cheek to my head," so, doll, want to have sex?" I huff in laughter, shaking my head with a snicker.

"I think I can pencil you in," I joke," you think you can be free around 8?" I lean away from his chest, smiling at his amused annoyance.

"Shut up," he kisses me. I laugh against his lips, wrapping my arms around his neck. He lifts me onto the counter, growling as his hands fall to my thighs.

Our kiss is hungry, demanding more every second as we begin to palm at each other. A brief split allows him to remove my shirt, diving back in shortly after. He snarls near my neck, licking and nibbling the sensitive skin.

"I've missed you so damn much," he growls," your taste rivals all others." his teeth pinch the skin near my ear while he pulls me into his crotch. I arch my back, pressing my chest to his. The sweet love bites bring my pulse up with every nibble.

"I've missed your fierce attentions," I chuckle, rolling my hips into his hardening cock. He rumbles with a growl, stopping his bites in favor of pushing his cock between my thighs. I lean away, thumping my head lightly against the cabinets, and watch his cock. The pointed tip peaks near my stomach, the sight too appetizing. With a grin I reach down and grab him, thumbing his tip.

"Damn," he seethes," I've missed your soft hands." he watches me jerk him off, nuzzling against my shoulder. His attention son falters as he catches sight of my breast. As I pinch at his tip he licks at my nipple, sucking the nub into his mouth with a purr.

I gasp, stopping my hands," I've missed your tongue." he chuckles against me, swirling his wet tongue over my chest with interest. The cold air cools the saliva covered skin adding more to the otherwise pleasurable assault.

Heath soon lowers his body into a kneel as he licks down my stomach. He is face to face with my clothed crotch. With ease he grabs the hem of my pants and tugs them down, nearly pulling me off the counter with them. He gently guides my legs outs of the clothing, letting it drop to the kitchen floor. He growls eagerly, parting my legs when he focuses back on my crotch. Fitting himself closer he buries his face against my cunt and licks.

He hums," I've missed your delicious pussy." he swipes a lick again, swirling his tongue along my clit with practiced ease. I nearly bang my head against the cabinet again as I arch into his mouth. The immediate pleasure screams to me, telling me how stupid I was for forgetting about this. How could I ever forget about how talented his rough tongue is, forget enough to not seek him out every night? I pet his head, panting as he laps at my folds.

My climax is quick, as to be expected from such an unnecessary hiatus. Also to be expected from someone who knows how to play me like a fiddle. He drinks from me, pulling as much as he can from me before he is willing to part. As he leans away I catch the glistening coming from his wet mouth. He licks around his lips, smirking up at me with that cocky smile.

"I've missed your pleased face," he says as he stands. He crowds me as I rest weakly on the counter. I place a hand to his chest, catching my breath still.

"I think it was my turn," I joke," I've missed your cunnilingus skills."

Heath hums as he rests his head against mine," one more and it's my turn again."

"Alright," I pet at his chest," I've missed how hot you make me by just being you." Heath smiles, the fire in his eyes dulling in favor of watching me sweetly. He presses a gentle kiss to my lips.

"I've missed you in general," he almost whispers," I love you."

I cup his cheeks," I love you, too. Now, show me how much I've missed your cock." he snickers, leaning away to look down between us. He grabs himself, pushing the pointed tip to my entrance.

"You have always had a way with words," he pushes in, sighing as he does," but I can confidently say, I've missed how tight you grip me." he releases himself, leaning forward to rest on his hands. His head props against my shoulder, his breath barely coming out. Without preamble he bucks his hips towards mine, burying himself quickly with a stuttering gasp. I copy him, gasping as my head thumps once more against the cabinet.

"oh yea," I pant," I've definitely missed your big dick."

He shakes his head with a laugh," such a way with words."

Heath starts slow, relishing in the retreat then enjoying the entry. The gentle push and pull are enough to ease me, relaxing my body but still stroking a flame. A light pleasurable burn begins where he reaches the deepest, trailing after him with every pull. The burn becomes demanding, taking us both and telling us 'more'.

"Heath," I grab at his shoulder, tightening my legs around him. He catches the message, snapping his hip harshly. He begins a quick climb, bucking his hips faster every second. Soon he is plowing into me, forcing breath from my lungs. His knee bumps into the cabinets below, adding to the sound of our bodies clapping against each other.

"doll," he groans near my ear," I'm at my wits ends here, te-agh-tell me your close." I claw at his scaled skin, pulling him closer as I roll my hips to meet his.

"y-yea," I pant, hugging him to me. We both eagerly take from the other, grunting and groaning as we reach our mutual ends.

He is first, stuttering his hips with a broken growl. I feel him cum, his warmth flooding my insides. The heat brings upon my own climax, squeezing onto his throbbing member. He leans into me, gasping as I milk him. We both stiffen till our bodies take their fill, soon falling lax against each other.

The kitchen becomes quiet, my ears ringing for a moment. I soon hear Heath's ragged breathing, the rushing of my ears fades. As we come back to ourselves I pet at his back, holding him with my legs.

"I've missed this," he kisses my shoulder," I just wish I had enough thought to take you to bed first but I'll take what I can. Though it's hard to cuddle like this." I laugh, resting my cheek against him.

"We can still go to bed," I answer with a shrug.

He nods," give me a moment."

We rest in the kitchen for a second longer before he lifts me off the counter. He carries me upstairs to our room, cradling me against himself as we lay in bed. I grab the blanket and throw it over us before relaxing into his hold. Everything feels peaceful, like the stress of the last few weeks have been lifted. I can finally fall asleep next to him, protected in his warm hug.

"you awake," Heath whispers.

"yea," I answer, humming in content as he pulls me closer.

"I'm sorry for not talking with you about my frustrations, I promise I will talk with you if something is bothering me," he says. My heart flutters at his words, pleased about his declaration.

"I promise I will do the same, I'm truly sorry I was so snippy with you. I hate that I was that way, you never deserved it," I answer.

He hums," so, let's not be idiots again and fuck on the reg."

I snort," That's one way to put it."

"it's a good idea," he shrugs," expect sex in the morning."

"Alright," I laugh," I eagerly await the morning."

"good," he hums," now go to sleep, you'll need it."

I shut my eyes, allowing sleep to begin its claim," good night."

"night."

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

Technically a second part to Crocodile Rock. Also very similar plot to Under Pressure. It just something that i tend to do in relationships. i’m so bad at talking it out that i will stew in my frustrations. its really bad thing to do, just talk it out.

Check out my Archive | Masterlist | Main Blog

Crocodile Rock

Under Pressure

[kylo-hen]

Super Bloom Part 2

A/N: A lot of you guys seemed to like the first part and I don’t think I ever really intended on it being just a one-shot! Here’s part 2, let me know what you guys think and if you have any feedback! I would love to talk to you about Kylo, or any Adam character in general. Thanks!

Kylo Ren X Reader (Intergalactic Soulmate Au)

Summary: So Kylo Ren is your soulmate, but there is so much you don’t know about him yet.

Warnings: Still mostly Fluffy, a little angst if you look hard enough. Soulmate irrationality. Hopefully in the next installment we start to find smut!

    The soft sweet breeze that blew just for the blossoms in the temple lulled me into a calm, and eventually between the sound of Kylo’s heartbeat reverberating in his chest and the comforting lull in the conversation, I fell asleep. I was only awoken by the subtle movements of the man that lay beneath me. Refuting his movements from the comforting position I burrowed into his chest for comfort.

  “My apologies sweet girl,” His rich voice swept over my senses with the name that bubbled deep inside me, in places I’ve never before felt, “I can’t feel my arm anymore.” He muttered.

   “We can’t have that, now can we?” I teased, sitting up to get another look at him, “How would you be able to protect me with one arm?” I goaded at his ego, anticipating a remark back on his skill, or maybe a jest on his health. Neither prepared me for the sweet rush of red that flooded his cheeks at my remark.

  “We can’t,” He adjusted his position, “but I will always protect you.” He looked so intensely into my eyes and I could feel the truth in the statement. For the first time in my life, I felt absolutely safe, there was someone there for my well-being. For the first time. A small smile appeared on his face which brought me out of my thoughts, “what going on in your head sweet girl?” He tucked my hair back once again.

  I hesitated to tell him my feelings, not wanting to show how inexperienced I was in the world of romance, or even just vulnerability. The only problem being him, his soft, expressive eyes make me want to spill my darkest secrets. They make me want to be better for him, to soften the exterior that had calloused from my loneliness. Divulge all of the melodic thoughts that danced in my brain while I locked myself away in the library, or all of the dark intruders late at night after everyone was asleep, or the private profound paradoxes that meddled into my consciousness. He was the other piece of my soul that found me in the vast galaxy, there should be no secrets, nor would there be.

  “I have been alone for all my life,” I confessed to him, he looked surprised, yet pleased, “I have spent every year in the company of others, but been completely alone, and now?” I placed both my hands on his cheeks, cradling his face. His eyes shut, comfort washing over his features as I spoke, “Now I am whole, and I have never felt safer in my life.”

  His eyes crept open, blinking back a mystery that lurked, “I would never let anything happen to you.” He connected our lips tentatively. I pushed back, allowing for the passion to tickle into our bones with every fervent push forward. His hands roamed once more and one landed in my hair, which locked us together, the other made its home on my back. The heat between us grew, his tongue prodding at my lip, which startled me. He pulled away again with a smirk, knowing my experience couldn’t allow me to go farther right now, at least not in the sacred grove that is.

  “I wish we could lay beneath these trees forever,” He murmured softly below the wind, “But you wanted to change before dinner, and I have to finish my duties here.” He sat us up slowly, not to startle our senses by disrupting our blood flow. I sighed and wrapped my arms around his torso in protest.

  “I thought you were in charge of everything, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want.” I pointed out in hopes he would let us lay under the sweet billowing trees for just a while longer. He merely chuckled at my thinly veiled attempts to stay.

  “The only way to stay the supreme leader of the galaxy is by respecting the other planets when they’re complying.” He explained to me, and I only pouted, knowing he was right. “I can only use force and fear for so long before the galaxy sours.”

  “Are you a benevolent leader?” I asked coyly.

  “No,” he answered immediately, “Benevolence is for fools.” He explained, retreating into his shell somewhat. His features hardened and his eyes glazed to the past, his past, once more. I retreated, like him, away from the subject in hopes I didn’t make him too uncomfortable with the question.

  I would like to know the man my soul has wound itself around a million times over, but simply that may lie waiting for the sake of our trust. I trust that he would not hurt me, I trust his ability of self-control that he has shown me, and I trust our souls to communicate that may not be visible to those around us. There is a storm brewing in this man’s chest, a dark windy cyclone circling his heart and I am now at the very center of it. Yet, I wish to be nowhere else than right here with him.

  “Let us go then,” I said after some time still spent lounging in the light of our connection. “You’re right, I need to make myself presentable.” I groaned, not wanting to delve into the wide world of appropriate fashion. Some women studied the arts of fashion and exciting dress wear. I have spent most of my life in dresses for my sisters, and the other portion dressed like my father. There was the only security that I would not worry about what Kylo expects me to wear, as I am dressed casually today. I only hope he doesn’t expect me to own long lavish garments that took hours to construct in a distant galaxy. I am a woman of simple means.

  “You would look presentable in anything sweet girl,” He murmured comfortingly, “For you, set the tone of every room you enter.” His words washed over me like a light warm blanket fresh from the sun. He knew exactly the worries that troubled my head and how to quell them. But I couldn’t relish in it for too long as Kylo wrapped his arms tightly around me to bring us both to standing.

  Once I was on the ground, with my footing even and back to normal I gazed up at him. The sun shone from behind him and the trees, which he was slightly crouched under because of his towering height. His eyes searched for mine and when they met, he smiled lightly, allowing for his cheeks to wrinkle up endearingly. His face had such a capacity for pain for anguish, but also the bright burn of happiness. I smiled in return, reaching up to him to kiss the smile off his face. He allowed it, returning it even, with no hesitation or remorse.

  Only then did he take my hand in his, guiding me from the sacred grove and into the temple once again. We were met with the sight of his six brooding guards, standing stock still ready at any moment to take down a threat. There were also two elders sitting on the far side of the room in meditation, calmly awaiting what I can only imagine was divine intervention. I had never been one for meditation, nor one for the stillness of the mind. I allowed the free flow of thoughts to come and go as the pleased ripping through my mind at imaginary lightspeed.

  “Vicrul, Cardo,” Kylo commanded in ease of menacing power over his men, “Accompany her to her home.” He ordered once the two guards stood before him. He took a step closer, “If anything is to happen to her, it will be on your heads.” He instructed with the precision of a thousand knives slicing through the air and into their target. “Return her here before sundown for the feast.”

  With his last instruction directed at the guards, he swiftly turned to me. His hands at my shoulders endearingly as he took in the sight of me once more. “Go get ready, and bring your things for an overnight stay on my ship.” He all but asked. “I would like to begin acquainting you with my lifestyle.” His hands tilting my head up to make it easier for him to kiss me again. Once that moment had passed, however, it was back to the chaos of the market streets accompanied by the two other strangers protecting me.

  I learned very quickly that they were not talkative people. They were silent killers, intimidating in every sense of the word, and never in my life had a walk from the center of town been so quick. People moved away and stared, most of them knowing me my whole life, horrified for what the possible consequences I had created for myself. But no one dared to stop us or ask if I was alright, and if they did, I do not doubt that the two guards would slaughter them onsite per Kylo’s request.

  So, with my head held high, I diligently swept the streets towards the home I had lived in all my life.

  Once I arrived, Cardo and Vicrul of which I did not yet know the difference, murmured between themselves. The guard that carried the thick blaster attached to his left arm remained outside the door, and the other, the one from before with the long-curved blade, stayed by my side as I walked through the threshold.

  My mother, who sat sewing in our sitting area shot up anxiously at the sound of approaching footsteps. Her small plump frame was somewhat relieved to see me but it was short-lived when she saw the guard tailing me from behind. She abandoned her small sewing project and wiped her hand on her small apron, anxiously pushing away her fizzed-out hair.

  “Oh Hatchlette,” she sighed out as she rushed to give me a big hug, “Your father and I have been worried sick all day.” She swayed me side to side, fending off an onslaught of tears. There was a gruff noise from behind me, the guard was not amused. “Are you alright?” she held my face in her hands looking for signs of distress.

  “No, mama.” I said bashfully, “I’m perfectly safe and healthy.” I reassured her moving into the sitting room farther, the guard shadowing me as I moved deeper into my home. “Where’s father?”

  My mother only sighed as she moved into the kitchen to fill up a kettle with water, beginning to make tea for the guard in our presence. I found it quite endearing, the thought of a big brooding lethal guard like this having tea with my mother. “He is in the back, tending to the garden.” My mother said somberly, as my father only weeds the gardens when he is under great stress. I can’t even imagine what he has been thinking about as I lounge in bliss with Kylo. A rush of guilt began to eat at my heart from the inside out at the thought of making my father worry.

  “I should let him know I’m alright but,” I turned to the guard behind me, “you should probably stay in here.” I felt bad for telling him what to do, but I don’t think my father would be more reassured by the brooding presence of Kylo’s men. My mother returned to the room looking between myself and the man shadowing me. “While I speak with father, do you still have Sennica’s nice dress?” I asked, knowing well Sennica had left it for me once I found my soulmate. It was the of the few dresses Anya was never allowed to touch. It was made for Sennica but now it was just mine, and for the first time in years the dusty thing would have its use.

  “Of course, Hatchlette,” she spoke confidently with her endearment slipping off the tongue easily as it had since I was a child, “Go tend to your father, I’ll make tea for our guest.” Ever the host my mother moved to the kitchen once more to make tea for the guard to have him comfortable. I moved outside, half expecting the shadow to continue his protection there, but surprised when I saw him politely sitting in a chair near the middle of the room. I knew Kylo would have probably been angry for his new relaxation, but it was something I appreciated, as I knew this would be the most peaceful route.

  I opened the door that leads me outside, and as soon as I had stepped out, I could hear the frustrated sounds of my father weeding in the garden. He was too entranced to notice my newfound presence, only focused on the task he adopted to ease his mind.

  “If you’re not careful, you’ll pull up the entire garden.” At the sound of my teasing, he shot his gaze to me, ceasing his activity immediately. He stood rushing to pull me into a hug, similarly to my mother only a few minutes earlier.

  “Oh, my little bud,” He comforted himself with my presence and his hands tremored as the hug faded, “I’m so sorry.” At his apology I stilled, becoming unnerved.

  “What could you have to be sorry about father?” I asked plainly, as I had no foreseeable cause of his guilt. I found my soulmate, I have been having a wonderful day, it’s been incredible.

  “I should have never let you go with that awful man,” His hands gripped at my arms tightly, and I became uncomfortable under his gaze. I moved away from him allowing the metaphoric and physical distance to grow heavy, “I cannot imagine the horrors you have witnessed.” He assumed so much, so much about the man who possessed a tenderness that I had never seen displayed on this planet. No soul had existed as deep and as wide as Kylo’s soul, and it was mine to keep, mine to protect.

  “No, don’t say that,” I defended against his accusations, “I have had the most wonderful day father.” The light in my chest returned as I recounted the tender kisses and soft words exchanged under the sway of the blossoms overhead. “Please, don’t say that,” I begged softly for his approval.

  “You don’t know, little bud, I have kept the darkness from you for so long.” He persisted moving towards me once again, trying and failing to have me see his views. He didn’t need to understand why my soul was made for Kylo, why we belonged side by side, but he could never make me change my mind.  “There is so much you do not know, about him, the empires, the wars!” he emphasized.

  “Then let me learn it from him!” I interrupted, no longer allowing him to decide for me. “I have been chosen for him, father! For this life, I will live at his side.” I began to retreat inside, not wanting to indulge him in more fruitless arguments, “I chose that willingly now, and no one else can make that choice for me.” I hoped that would help him, I hoped he wouldn’t hate me, or judge me, or think I was just some stupid girl following him blindly. I am not blinded by love, but love has allowed me to remove my blinders. I can see him truly for more than just what he shows others. I don’t know why he has been chosen for me yet but I am thankful. My father’s disappointment would break my heart, but Kylo’s absence would crush my soul. I reached the door back inside and turned back to look at my father, “Do not make me choose between my family and my soul.” Then I went inside and left my father to think of his words with the weeds pulled from the garden.

  Inside the house, I found my mother laying out the dress I had requested while speaking with the guard, that was sat, quite prettily, in a seat drinking tea. I would have to applaud Kylo on the manners instilled in this man. It was not expected of him to entertain my mother in the way he has. 

  “Hatchlette?” My mother called out for me when she heard the door shut, “Is that you?”

  “Yes Mama, it’s me,” I spoke softly, walking into the room and focusing on the dress she had hanging near the small staircase. It was a cream color with blue vines of flowers on it. There was soft lace on some of the edges and it made me feel soft, dainty. I can still remember when my mother brought it home for Sennica to wear to meet Patrik’s family. It was such a good luck charm that she hadn’t the heart to take it with her when she left. She saw the way my eyes widened like the moon and sparkled like the stars when I saw it. She knew that if anyone would do the dress it’s justice it was me, and for the first time since leaving her body it would be put to use again.

  “Sennica will be thrilled.” My mother came from behind me and spoke soothingly. Her chin rested easily on my shoulder, looking over at the dress. “Shall we braid some of the wildflowers in your hair?” She offered, knowing I used to ask for it on every special occasion I could find as a child. “I think it would be a nice homage to your home as you leave it behind.” She said without making me feel guilty. She knew this was the natural way of my life, the way it’s meant to be. Yet, she couldn’t find it in herself to be anything but kind, to be anything but her true self.

  “Yes, yes we should,” I confirmed, turning to face her once again. She suddenly looked much wiser than her years before her as she took in my features with pride, “What are you doing Mama?”

  “I’m admiring my work,” its an old joke she had made maybe a thousand times, and yet she managed a chuckled from both of us, “We will miss you when you are gone, but you have always been too large for this tiny planet.” Her encouraging words quelled the fire of fear and doubt that my father had lit outside. I knew at that moment that I needed to blaze ahead, no doubts, no fears, only love and light. There is beauty in the new chapter, there is love, there is respect. With that, I climbed the stairs to a bedroom I had lived in my whole life. A room once home to three, then only two, down to one, and soon it will be empty. It will be ready to start anew, as I am.

  My mother and I had to work diligently to get me ready, having squandered most of my day with Kylo, the sunset was fast approaching. The braids my mother made had small bits of white and blue wildflowers, that matched the dress, woven into it for effect. She helped me gather some things to stay with Kylo for the night, and she even smeared some colored creams of her own on my face to fix some of my blemishes.

  When fighting against the time was nearly up, and my appearance much more graceful than before, I could hardly recognize myself. I was beautiful, and I could hardly wait for Kylo to see me like this, finally presentable for the man I wanted. As I descended the stairwell with my mother the living room was tense, as my father sat opposite the guard that had now abandoned the teacup in place for his blade. My mother only sighed and I made my way towards the side of the room with the exit.

  “Wait!” My father called out, “No goodbyes?” He asked solemnly and for some reason, it sparked an irritable fire in me.

   “I will see you tomorrow, I am only gone for the night.” I snapped back, harsher than I intended. “I only hope this time will help you see things from my point of view,” I suggested at the man, stubborn like myself, sitting across the room. The guard now stationed to my right began to move me out the door.

  “I could only suggest the same for you little bud.” My father bit back, always one to get the last word. It only spurred me further out the door, where the second guard stood watch. The satchel I carried was taken from me by the one stationed outside, to alleviate the stress put on my shoulders. I wondered if that was part of the training, or if he had been trying to suck up to Kylo through me. It didn’t matter, because I was glad to have them flank me on either side, intimidating the masses out of the way of us. The walk was just as fast, if not faster, than the one earlier in the evening.

  Once we made it to the temple, the large doors opened and the smell of the feast lingered on each of our senses. The men diligently helped me up the small steps as I adjusted to the small heel on my shoes that had slowed my pace. I would have to notify Kylo of their dedication to not only my comfort but my wellbeing. I hoped they were handsomely compensated for their troubles.

  The guard’s dedication mattered until the sight of the guest of honor came into view. He was faced away from me, speaking with an elder about an old portrait that hung in the large room where the feast was held. He was pensive, stiff, commanding, everything about him sent a shiver up my spine. He had kept his helmet removed out of respect for the temple. He only turned when the sound of the door shutting behind us reverberated throughout the room.

   When Kylo did turn, his eyes landed on me first, all trepidation and anger from my father’s actions, or my own insecurities melted away. His brown eyes softened, his normally pouted lips upturned in glee, his hands immediately unclenched from his side. All conversations he had ceased, as the guards and elders found entertainment with one another and Kylo moved towards me. His hand outstretched reaching for mine, as he asked the silent question, Will you come with me?

  And there is no hesitation as I lay my hand in his palm. I met his gaze head-on and answered the unasked question the only way I knew possible, Yes.

[fandomtrash264]

I have some Fred and George promts that I don't want to forget so imma put them here. If you are interested in writting them, by all means go for it, just tag me. I don't think I have a preference over who is in each scenario. I will probably write George and Fred based on what I thought but they should work with either twin. I do think they are different, im just saying that I could see the story going with either boy

• Reader and Fred pull a prank on George that changes his hair color based on mood. (Red - angry, blue - sad, green - disgust, light pink - embarrassed, hot pink - flirty, purple - in love/swooning, dark purple -lust) The 3 are sitting in the great hall eating and George is staring at reader and his hair turns purple. Reader thinks he has just zoned out and starts to bug him asking who he is thinking about. Leads to confession (and I imagine he is embarrassed so his hair is pink)

• Reader is a metamorphmagus and they like to switch between male and female so they change their physical appearance as such. (I see Fred as bi ngl) Fred gets a crush on the reader without knowing they are both people. A little while later, he falls for the other side (if that makes sense) of them and thinks he likes 2 different people. He is super torn and has no idea what to do

•This one is a Soulmate AU. The one where you can hear the music your soulmate is listening to. Reader is listening to ✨🌶 S p i c y 🌶 ✨ music and he knows its reader and he is shocked because they don't seem like they would listen to it and he is pleasantly suprised to find they are super flirty and such (he is twin of your choice lol)

•Yet again, one of our boys gets pranked. They lie about something that makes reader upset so they prank them so that everytime they try to talk, bubbles come out instead and the only way to undo it is to do somthing super embarrassing (I'll leave that to y'alls imagination's) and they refuse because they are petty but they eventually give in with this big social stunt or smth

•i imagine reader is a Ravenclaw (could really be any) who is the child of Bellatrix and *Moldy Voldy* (why ravenclaw you ask? I'll explain) They are in George and Fred's year so they are older than Harry. Reader was rescued a little before Harry was born and got to stay with someone else (probably Remus or smth. I imagine a gryfinndor so that way the Slytherin and the Gryfinndor kinda cancel out so you get Ravenclaw. Slytherin is their blood but they know its wrong so they push for the good values. I know slytherins can be good [believe me, I am very big on the fact that not all Slytherins are evil] but when its Bella and Mr. Tom, they have some bad bones) and they keep it a secret from their friends (the twins, the trio, etc.) Until Remus brings them to an OoTP meeting. He doesn't say who he just says he is bringing He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named 's child and they are terrified of how their friends will react. Kinda angsty but eventually they all understand that reader isn't evil

• Branching off of the previous, same family situation but when they were younger, they weren't seen as a child, they were a weapon. Trixie and Tommy boy would experiment on them so they are lowkey fucked up. They are super powerful and struggle to control it. Reader freaks out because they are terrified that he will be able to control them or see in their mind and good 'ole Gred and Forge help our reader to feel better and reassure them

• Reader and a twin are dating in 7th year (With Umbridge) and instead of breaking up or telling them about the plan to start a shop, they just leave and break off all contact. Years later they see each other and reader confronts them about how he couldn't even break up with them before leaving and he confesses his worries. Inspired by the song Ways to Break a Heart by Maddie Zahm [you can find it on YouTube]

• Can happen to either the reader or George or Fred but somehow by prank or accident in class, they get separated into different parts of themselves [parts like the 7 deadly sins (so they would be split into Pride and Lust) but also other things work (like Fear and Wonder)] and the other 2 have to deal with it until the problem is fixed

• (I have a lot with the boys and pranks, sorry lol) the boys get de-aged and reader has to chase them around because they are H E A T H E N S but then later on they put them to sleep and the Love Interest (twin of choice) snuggles up to them and mentions how much they love them and reader gives it no mind because "he was a baby". They snuggle and when they wake up the boys are of normal age and the Love Interest just snuggles closer and says something like "I meant it y'know. I really do love you/think you're amazing" and just. Fluff

• (I wrote George, yet again, could work with either) Reader is playing with the sleeve/hem/string of George's sweater/hoodie and he quips with a flirty comment like "you want the whole thing? Here, give it back when it smells like you" and the reader brushes it off as a flirty comment and teases "how am I supposed to know what I smell like? I'm noseblind to myself" and he gives them a scent. The scent seems familiar to them but oh well. They wear it because its soft and it smells like him and later on when they are chilling in the common room or whatever (George isn't there) they realize that's what he said he smelt in his Amortentia in potions last week and they lowkey freak out and go to ask him about it and aaaah! Cute things ensue

• [!!!TW: Depression, suicidal thoughts!!!] Can happen to either reader or one of the boys.(If it happens to a boy i see it being George as he seems insecure of being in Fred's shadow and I will write the prompt that way but it works with Fred and reader as well) George has been a little off recently and reader and Fred can't figure out what it is until reader goes to the astronomy tower late one night and finds George on the roof of the atronomy tower, seemingly fighting with himself about whether or not he should jump off. Angst, ends with fluff, reader helps him to feel better. Inspired by the song Achilles Come Down - Gang of Youths

•During their 6th year with the Triwizard Tournament, a durmstrange gent takes a liking to the reader. They start to court the reader and flirt with them, give them lots of compliments, try to show their affection. The Love Interest (again, twin of choice) get REALLY jealous tho and decides to try and out-do the durmstrang boy. This leads to really extravagant methods of flirting (ex. Sending a howler that is actually a shower of compliments or after a big quidditch match, the whole team does a choreographed dance where the suitor sings/performs to reader) all of this leading up to the yule ball. They either go with the durmstrange guy and deal with Love Interest later or they end up going with the Twin, whatever you would like

• Everyone is at the Burrow and they decide to watch a movie. While everyone is in the kitchen, the twin (who is the Love Interest) comes by and says "Oh! Are you guys watching a movie?" Readet replies "Yeah, P.S. I Love you" and he just blushes really hard and sits next to them and says "I love you too". Reader doesn't know how of if they are gonna tell him that "P.S. I Love You" is the name of the movie. Then everyone else comes back in so they have to wait until after the movie to talk about it. The whole time the movie is going all they can focus on are the "I Love You"s that escaped each others mouths. Inspired by a wolfstar text post by @starsandmoonys

• Inspired by the drarry work, Mental by sara_holmes on Ao3 (which you should totally go read like holy shit i love this idea sooooo much) written with George but as usual, can work with either. Reader is in for total shock when a joke gone sour ends with George striking them with a bad Legilimency spell. Due to this spell, they can (and have to) hear each others thoughts and see the pictures in each other's minds. What will happen when they see all that goes on in each others heads? Will they learn to communicate? Will they let one another in? Will they like who they see, or will they be scared away from the thoughts behind closed eyes?

• (TW!!!!: Dreamt character death, War) Fred and reader have been friends-with-benefits for a long time with feelings slowly growing between the 2 of them. They stay in denial until Fred has a nightmare one day where reader dies in the war. The next day he is desperate to hold them and see that they are okay. He confesses his feelings in fear of losing them. Inspired by Woke the Fuck Up - Jon Bellion

• [(TW!!! War) Fred lives] Fred and Reader had a huge fight right before Fred and George left Hogwarts and leave things on a rocky ending. Fred knows just how much he needs Reader and he desperately wants them back. Reader doesn't want to admit it but they miss him.and want him back too. They see each other again after the war and Fred breaks down in their arms and confesses how much he misses them and needs them. How hard it has been without them. Reader reciprocates these feelings and tells him. They start over, slowly building their love up again inspired by Bad Habit - Ben Platt [First verse and Pre-chorus would be Fred's feelings and second verse and Pre-chorus would be Reader. They blend on the 3rd]

• George has been strangely quiet all day. Reader is confused and a little hurt as George seems to avoid them. Leaving rooms when they walk in, not keeping eye contact and staying as physically far as he can. That is until they sit down in the great hall for lunch and Fred tells his friends (including reader) all about having put a truth serum in George's drink and all the funny things he has gotten him to admit. Reader goes to confront George about what he is hiding (because otherwise he would talk to them, right?) And they get an oddly specific but touching confession [ie. "I borrow your chapstick because that is what your lips will taste like" and "I see you in my dreams almost every night" ] inspired by Jenny - Studio Killers

• [Choose whether the person who can dance is reader or Twin of Choice. I will be writting with reader] The yule ball is coming up and reader can't dance to save their life. A certain red-heades friend comes in to help. At first, reader doesn't believe him because "c'mon, why would you know how to ballroom dance?" But they are pleasantly suprised to find they are actually really good at it. Like, REALLY good. "Mum made all of us learn. In case we ever needed it". Reader notices their feelings start to change as they spend more and more sessions together dancing until the yule ball occurs. Take it from there lol

• just a very cliche typical love potion fic. Reader volunteers to be on the receiving end of one of Fred and George's pranks- spike their drink with love potion- on one condition. The person reader will be in love with, knows about it. Reader figures this will allow them some leeway and safety against other pranks. All is going well until they spike the drink for reader to like (twin of your choice) and they realize that nothing has happened except they are a bit more flirty. Everyone is crazy confused because for everyone else they were head over heels swooning and attached at the hip until Hermionie (or somebody else) quips in with "You can't create something that already exists, y'know".

• So this one is less creative and it's also a mix of 2 tropes but bear with me. Reader is a very outgoing flirtatious type of person. They openly flirt with everyone, Fred, Ginny, Neville, Dean, etc. They don't care, its a way they show affection. Then, when they start to get a crush on George (or Fred) they star getting more shy and reserved with him. And he is completely clueless. He's lowkey hurt because "why doesn't Y/n crack jokes like that with me?" And shit like that. He is feeling down when he sees it. No, not 'it', he sees you. You and Fred flirting. He's got you cornered to the wall and your cheeks are flushed and George is big mad. (When really, Fred just cornered them so they couldn't avoid the question and was teasing and asking about their crush on George). George ends up seeing out Y/n, getting them alone and confronting them. Light angst? But ends fluffy as reader explains what actually happened

*im going to keep updating this as I get more ideas so be prepared*

[iridecsense]

𝘯𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘦

                                      𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦

              ──── ⋅ ⍤ ⋅⊰⋅∘ 〄 ∘⋅⊱⋅ ⍤ ⋅ ────

⤷ summary: Proceeding the encounter with Grindelwald in Paris, Newt goes seaward on a secret mission for Dumbledore when his ship is caught in a storm...

✧ word count: 5.2k ✧ pairing: newt scamander | siren!reader ✧ genre: romance, slow burn, angst, adventure ✧ warnings: none ✧ author’s note: You may be wondering when I will stop writing for Newt. I honestly don’t know myself, but here is my new Newt series that I am personally very excited about. Now, in order to set up plot and all that yummy stuff, reader (you) wont appear for the first three chapters, so please be patient with me. I promise you will get all the fluff soon! Feel free to comment or send me feedback via my ask box, I love hearing from you all. That being said, I hope you enjoy this new series!

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About two months passed since Paris. Grindelwald's movement has spread across the wizarding world, earning him a significant amount of followers. Tension grew within the wizard community, causing the ministry a lot of grief. Grindelwald, being the infamous, conniving dark wizard he was, went underground. No one has seen or heard from him. He was nothing but a menacing whisper in the wind.

Even still, the damage he had caused festered. Darkness spread throughout Europe, slowly inching its way around the world like a disease. The loss of Leta Lestrange fell heavy upon Newt and his brother Theseus. Theseus, being Leta’s ex-fiancé, has become vengeful and apt to square his vendetta with Grindelwald. Newt, having also shared a love for the young, beautiful Lestrange, felt obligated to aid his older brother and guide him through his grief.

Newt had his own persuasions for bringing down Grindelwald. Had these circumstances not occurred, Newt would have nothing to do with the Ministry or the dispute at all. Though, fate has been less than kind. Grindelwald seduced his friend Queenie Goldstein and Credence Barebone to his side. This alone was enough to pull Newt from the sidelines.

After helping save Paris from Grindelwald’s killing curse, Newt’s travel ban was lifted, and he was once again called upon Albus Dumbledore for a separate mission. He disliked doing other people’s bidding, but for once this seemed necessary.

Newt was in his London flat feeding a hippocampus when his assistant Bunty called his name. Her quiet-like nature went unnoticed by him and she resorted to tapping him on his broad shoulder.

“Newt, there is a letter for you,” she said, handing him the envelope. Newt took it into his hands. “Thank you, Bunty.”

The envelope was blank, the only defining feature being the unmistakable Hogwarts seal. Newt broke the red wax, opening the letter. As expected, it was from Albus Dumbledore. The letter read simply:

Newt never said it, but he disliked how aloof Dumbledore was with him. Dumbledore would call upon him like a dog, and send him off on some journey that would most likely put him in danger. He wished that just once, Dumbledore could be straightforward instead of cryptic and mysterious. He also wished he wasn’t the one always chosen to aid him in his quarrels.

“Bunty,” Newt called as he tucked the letter into his pant pocket, unaware of Bunty’s presence looming behind him.

She inched closer to his side. “Yes, Newt?”

“I need you to finish up for me. I have taken care of the kelpie and there is no need to bother the zouwu,” he told her as he walked through the maze of creatures. “I can handle her when I get back.”

Newt was searching for his coat. Bunty saw it hung over the mooncalves’ fence and picked it up, shaking the dirt from it. Newt whirled around and she presented his coat to him. He thanked her and she helped him put it on.

“Should I finish the kappa enclosure while you’re gone?” She asked.

“No, that’s not necessary,” he said. “There is no need to wait for me. You can clock off when you’ve finished.” Newt gave her a closed smile and jogged up the stairs, leaving her behind.

Newt left his apartment and walked along the cobblestone road. It was night, and the streets were slick with rain. He looked around to ensure no one was watching before apparating to the London bridge.

Upon arriving, he saw the cloaked figure of Albus Dumbledore just a few feet ahead of him. Dumbledore had his back towards Newt as he looked over the bridge. His hands were tucked into his coat pockets and his collar was turned up.

“Have you ever wondered what controls you, Newt?” He asked, still facing the horizon. “The heart or the brain? Or perhaps you think it’s both.”

Newt ignored Dumbledore’s question and presented his own. “Why have you called me here?”

“I am not sure myself,” Dumbledore continued. “I can’t find the logic behind why we do the things we do. But perhaps that in itself is the answer.”

Newt walked to Dumbledore’s side and leaned against the railing. The air was heavy and thick with the weight of the situation. Evidently, Newt knew why he was being called. In fact, he was expecting it.

Dumbledore turned to Newt in a serious manner. “Grindelwald has successfully seduced half of Europe. Many of his followers have started carrying out his agenda, preaching to others while he continues to weaponize Credence.”

He motioned for Newt to follow him, leading him off the bridge. “What we cannot afford is more enemies. That is why I have summoned you.”

“What do you suppose we do?” Newt asked.

“You are well-traveled, Newt,” said Dumbledore as he rounded a corner. “So, naturally, it could only be you.”

They came upon a small tavern that stuck out from the rest of the surrounding buildings. Dumbledore held the door open for Newt before walking in after him. The tavern was practically empty besides the few drunk persons scattered by the bar and those who worked there. They took a booth in the corner of the room, away from prying ears.

Dumbledore took his seat across from Newt. “Have you talked to the Ministry?”

Newt shook his head. “Not recently. Not since the week after Paris.”

“Good.” Dumbledore waved over the bartender to bring drinks. “As I said before, Grindelwald’s influence has spread. Rumor has it that his henchmen have been killing and enslaving witches and wizards that do not have pure blood.”

“Last I heard, his influence was heavy in Germany,” Newt added.

“Yes, that is the last I’ve heard as well.”

The bartender came upon the two men and gave them mugs of butterbeer. Dumbledore thanked her and gave her two galleons, sending her off.

“The Ministry won't listen,” said Dumbledore. “They’ve been imprisoning traitors.”

Newt’s eyes widened. “The Dementors.” He recalled hearing rumors of Dementors scouring the city in search of Grindelwald’s followers.

Dumbledore nodded. “They think by striking fear into their hearts, they will obtain loyalty. Blind to the fact that their hostilities drive more towards Grindelwald.”

Dumbledore reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a dragon skin pouch, and an envelope. He placed it on the table. “This should be enough,” he said.

Newt furrowed his brows. “I’m sorry, ‘should be enough’ for what?”

“Your trip, of course.” Dumbledore took a swing of butterbeer, drinking it all and exhaling in satisfaction. “I’d suggest going to the Mediterranean first, they’ve yet to be influenced. If I’m not mistaken, there is a ship leaving tomorrow morning in Plymouth.”

Newt was having trouble processing Dumbledore’s words. Dumbledore didn’t seem to notice and spoke to him as if what he was saying were obvious. Newt watched Dumbledore rise to his feet.

Dumbledore looked down at Newt. “I want you to know, I do not take joy involving you in this, Newt. But you are the only one I can trust. You’ll know what to do.”

“But what about—”

“Good luck, Newt.”

Dumbledore gave Newt a lopsided smile before turning on his heels and walking out the door. Newt was left in the tavern alone and defeated. The corners of his lips quirked up and he took the pouch from the table.

When he returned to his flat he ran up the stairs and barged into a side room. It was a small, dreary old room, almost too small for a grown man. It didn’t help that most of the floor was littered with bottles and half-eaten plates. In the single bed pushed up against a corner laid the shell of Jacob Kowalski. His once dapper and bubbly persona had turned sour and grim. Instead of proper pajamas, he wore a dingy wife beater decorated with questionable stains and striped white and blue boxers. He laid face down in the bed, the sheets messily intertwined between his legs, and his hand loosely gripped a half-empty bottle of wine.

“Jacob wake up!” Newt turned on the light by his limp friend’s side. Jacob groaned and turned his back to block the glare from his eyes.

“Go away, I’m sulking,” he mumbled hazily.

“Yes, I can see that,” Newt snarked. “But we have to pack.”

Jacob turned to face Newt, squinting in his direction. “What?”

Newt pulled out a suitcase and started filling it with Jacob’s clothes. Jacob sat upright in the bed. “Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing?”

“We are going on a trip,” said Newt.

“A trip,” Jacob repeated.

“Yes.”

“And where is this 'trip' taking us, exactly?”

“Italy, I suspect.”

“What’s in Italy?”

“People we need to help,” Newt said plainly.

Jacob rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yeah, right,” he scoffed, turning his back to the wizard. “Just leave me alone, Newt.”

Newt stopped packing and glanced at his melancholic friend. Jacob struggled greatly after the battle of Cimetière du Père-Lachaise. Losing Queenie took a toll on his heart. He tried desperately to get her back the first couple of weeks, hardly taking a second to sleep. He drove himself mad following pointless leads, each failure sent him deeper into a downward spiral. By the time they returned to England he was devastated.

Newt told Jacob he could stay with him, and because they both needed a friend to lean on, he stayed. Their loss effected them differently. While Newt never gave himself the time to process his grief, busying himself in any way possible to keep his mind off it, Jacob wallowed in it. He hadn’t left the house since they returned, only leaving his room to eat and relieve himself.  Wine became his new lover, and the bed his concubine. The constant disappointment brought on his own self-loathing, having convinced himself he was the cause of his impotence.

It pained Newt to see him like this. He halted his actions and moved to sit next to Jacob. He placed a soft hand on his shoulder.

“We could find Queenie, Jacob.”

Jacob tensed at the mention of her name. He stayed silent, unrelenting.   Newt withdrew his hand and began to leave the room when he heard Jacob stir in the bed. When he turned around, Jacob was on his feet, a new fire swirling behind his black eyes.

“When do we leave?”

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The moments just before dawn were always the most peaceful. At dawn, the sky was painted lapis, and the air was brisk. The docks were no different. The air was cool and smelled of seawater. A light fog blanketed the boats and piers, providing camouflage for the gulls hunting an unsuspecting fishermen’s catch. Newt ambled down the pier with his case in hand. Jacob less-than gracefully stumbled behind him, nauseated by the portkey they just ventured through.  

“Oh, God, I think I’m gonna be sick,” Jacob groaned weakly.

His wailing went neglected by Newt who was far too busy unscrambling the thoughts in his mind. Dumbledore had told him that a ship to the Mediterranean was leaving in Plymouth this morning, and yet the docks were half empty, the only implements filling them being sailboats and fishing vessels. Upon arrival, he’d asked the first sailor they’d come across when the ship would come to port. The sailor brazenly voiced his annoyance with Newt and claimed that no such ship comes to dock there. Newt clenched his cheek. His own irritation created a deep line in the center of his forehead between his eyebrows. He shoved his hand into his pocket when he felt it brush against a piece of parchment. His mind flew back to last night’s encounter and the envelope Dumbledore had handed him. He pulled the paper out of his pocket and examined its front. The name ‘Uluras’ was written in Dumbledore's hand. He didn't recall seeing that earlier.

He whirled around and caught the arm of another passing fisherman. He asked about four strangers if they knew anyone by the name Uluras, all of whom denied ever hearing such a name. A woman who had just disappointed Newt with her answer left his presence to board a boat when a young man came up behind him. Jacob, having been aware of his presence, nudged Newt’s arm to gain his attention.

“Why are you looking for Uluras?”

A boy no older than seventeen stood in front of them holding a full box of cod. His dark brown skin glistened with a mixture of sweat and seawater. He was tall and skinny, his droopy clothes were muted and clearly worn with age.

“Do you know him?” Asked Newt.

The boy's eyes scanned the two men, using his intuition to determine whether they were a threat.

“Yeah, I know him,” he answered, finally. “What do you need him for?”

“I don’t know. I have this letter for him.” Newt handed the boy the letter. He placed the box on the ground and read the front before flipping it to the back. His eyes were drawn to the red seal that held the letter together. His once stone-set face washed over with recognition. He returned the envelope to Newt, bending down to pick up the box of fish.

He gestured towards the mainland with his head. “Follow me.”

Newt and Jacob shared a look before trailing behind him. They followed him up a trail through a rural plane. They trekked wordlessly for about a mile when they came to an isolated beach. Resting on a cliff overseeing the sea was an odd-looking shack. From where they stood at the base of the precipice it was terribly worn. It looked almost as if one strong gust of wind could send it hurtling into the sea. Taking a look back at the two men lagging behind, the boy adjusted the heavy cargo in his hands and began hiking up the cliff towards the shack. Jacob struggled to walk properly on the inclining ground, still recovering from his protkey-sickness. Newt took long strides, trailing the boy posthaste. Jacob called after Newt breathlessly as he stumbled over the rough terrain of the hill until he finally managed to grasp the back of his coat.

“Newt, buddy,” he huffed. “You know I like spending time with you, right?”

Newt slowed his pace to walk beside him, unsure of where the sudden sentiment came from. “Yes?”

“Good, good. Well, as nice as this boys trip is, don’t you think it’d be faster to do... whatever magic transportation thing you have to get to Italy? This seems shady, even for you.”

“I wish we could, Jacob. But ever since Paris, the Ministry has been adamant in restricting international travel; only aurors are allowed to travel now. They can’t know what we’re doing. We’ll have to travel like muggles to avoid them.”

“Right,” Jacob hummed. “Muggles.”

Newt smirked. “We could always use another portkey, if you’d like.”

Jacob’s face screwed up at the thought. “Nah, I’m good.”

Newt smiled to himself and continued up the hill to the shack. It was even more ghastly looking up close. The structure was crooked and with each gust of wind it appeared to sway. The wood was black with rot and mildew. Spots of green mold and moss crept up the sides and covered the roof shingles. The wind was strong at the crest of the cliff. It howled in their ears like a wailing spirit and caused the wind chimes hanging under the porch to play a tumultuous percussion. Shrieking gulls circled the shack, and swooped low to the ground upon their arrival, hoping to snag a fish from the defenseless boy’s hands. He leads them up the decaying stairs and to the door. Sounds of metal clinking together and floorboards creaking under shuffling feet could be heard from inside. With a kick of his foot, the boy pushed the door open and walked inside.

Inside was surprisingly well kept in comparison to the exterior. Though the structure was still deteriorating, it was more appealing with bright turquoise paint covering obscene blemishes and contrasting the white-painted beams on the ceiling. The various nicknacks and trinkets that lined the walls helped distract from the shabby furniture and moth-eaten curtains that covered grimy windows. It was a reasonably sized abode. From where they stood in the center of the shack they saw a kitchen, a door suspected to lead to a bathroom, and another door that was left ajar, revealing the bedroom behind it. To the left was a set of creaky stairs that disappeared to the second floor.

The boy told Newt and Jacob to follow him into the kitchen where a side room was connected. Across the room was an older man hunched over a blue wooden workbench. Above him was a wall lined with fishing gear ranging from hooks to harpoons. He worked busily on a metal contraption, screwing nails into overlapping metal sheets.

“Baaba,” the boy called.

The man didn’t turn around, entirely focused on the work in front of him. “Nuh badda mi, Niris. You know I am workin’.”

The boy sighed and placed the fish on the ground before walking over to his father. “Baaba, there’s some people here to see you.”

The man lifted his head and turned back to face Newt and Jacob standing by the archway. He had a strong face; angular, and relatively free of wrinkles. The only indication of his age was the silver streaks that colored his black locs and scraggly beard. It was no doubt this man was the boy’s father, he took after him quite well. The man gently pats the young boy’s arm and pushed him back towards the kitchen. The boy went to pick up the box of fish and reluctantly left the three men alone.  

Newt took a step forward. “Are you Uluras?” He asked.

“Aye, that’d be me,” said the man. “Who wants to know?”

“My name is Newt Scamander and this is my friend Jacob Kowalski. He’s a muggle. I have a letter for you.” Newt fished the envelope from his pocket and handed it to him. “It’s from Albus Dumbledore.”

Both of Uluras’s eyebrows jumped. “Albus Dumbledore sent you this?”

Newt nodded. Uluras eyed the two suspiciously before opening the envelope. Newt shifted anxiously while he read. His eyes scanned the paper, his expression softening with each line. When he reached the end, he sucked his teeth and threw the envelope onto the work table.  

“This man come to me asking for something like this?” He exasperated. “I tell him to let me know if there be anything he needs done, and he send me a war!”

Uluras mumbled to himself as he crossed the floor, walking to a bookcase filled with anything but books. He ran his finger across one of the shelves when he came across a figurine of a pirate ship. He pushed the ship back and turned it about ninety degrees. There was an audible click and a low rumbling coming from underfoot. The bookcase split into two and pulled apart to reveal a tunnel carved out of stone leading downwards. It was hard to tell how long it stretched, but occasional drops of water that fell from the ceiling echoed throughout the passage, and flickers of burning sconces lit the way.

Once the rumbling stopped, and the bookcase seemed to set in its open position, Uluras grabbed a pile of rope lying in a corner and slung it over his shoulder, and descended down the tunnel.

“Come this-a-way, foofool!” His voice bounced off the rock walls.

Newt and Jacob peered into the dim hole, their expressions displaying their contrasting emotions.

“Seem’s like a fun guy,” Jacob snarked.

Newt looked at Jacob with an amused smile, before gripping his suitcase and following after Uluras.

Jacob threw his hands up in exasperation, begrudgingly walking inside. “So, this is what we’re doing now?” He mumbled, gruffly. “Following angry old men into creepy tunnels? Where did this tunnel even come from? Is nobody going to ask that? We’re on a cliff!”

Jacob’s remarks went ignored by the others as they descended down the stone passage. It was a downhill walk. Three pairs of footsteps echoed through the cavern as they walked in silence. It was cold, and the scent of seawater grew the deeper they went.

“Where exactly is he taking us?” Jacob whispered. Newt was going to answer that he wasn’t sure where they were heading, but Uluras spoke first, surprising them both.

“You need a ship, do you not?” He said.

“Yes, we do,” Newt affirmed.

“Then that’s where we're going,” Uluras said, effectively silencing all doubts.

As they walked through the tunnel, and the smell of seawater grew stronger, a blueish light slowly engulfed them. Light from an unseen water source reflected against the walls and ceiling of the cavern, casting rippling white beams all over. When they reached what seemed to be an irrefutable dead-end, Uluras, as though he had done it a thousand times before, pressed his hands flat on the rocky wall that blocked their path and whispered a chant in a language neither Newt nor Jacob had heard before. The rock made a terrible crumbling sound and a large crack in the center of the wall formed, splitting the stone into two halves. The earth beneath them began to tremble as the wall slowly parted like sliding doors.

Uluras stopped chanting and stepped back as the wall broke off to reveal what it was meant to conceal. What a glorious sight it was, the view beyond the wall. From the grand ceiling were stalactites that protruded threateningly. The air was thick and moist, a refreshing salty mist dampened their skin. It was a glorious cavern where a vibrant blue pool of water collected at its center and stretched farther into a canal that lead out to sea. It wasn’t the cave itself that brought awe to Newt and Jacob’s features, but the grand ship that lay anchored in its wake.

A mighty sailboat, with hefty white sails secured to three proud masts gently, swayed in the water. Despite being dwarfed in comparison to many of the steamboats procured in the 20th century, the Georgian relic was still quite the sight to see. It’s chipping wood had once been painted a radiant royal blue and trimmed with glistening gold, yet both became dulled over time. Detailed heavenly carvings lined the sides and the stern, but they were no match for the wooden angel carved at the bow. A beautiful feminine angel with a length of black coiled hair and mahogany skin stretched its fading white wings in a protective manner in front of the boat.

“A pirate ship,” Jacob gaped. “It’s a pirate ship!”

Uluras scoffed and shook his head, mumbling something under his breath in a foreign language. “This ain’t no pirate ship, boy,” he said. “That there be the fastest ship on earth, Zanj Lanmè.”

“The Sea Angel,” Newt translates, his eyes still taking in the ambiance of it all.

The smallest of smirks managed to tug the corner of Uluras’s lips. “What you know about Creole, white boy?”

Newt’s cheeks spotted red. “I did some traveling around the Caribbean a while ago. I spent some time in a village in Haiti and helped them catch a Loogaroo that had been terrorizing their people.”

Uluras pursed his lips and nodded in understanding. “Nasty things, them Loogaroo are. Even the bokor have trouble ridding them,” he mused. “How a skinny bradda like you was able to subdue one?”

“I was just lucky, I suppose,” said Newt.

Uluras hummed, not completely satisfied with Newt’s answer, but enough to let it go. He turned his attention back to Jacob, who was still processing everything.

“Well, as I was sayin’,” he tells him, “she ain’t no pirate ship. Zanj Lanmè be a ship of liberty. She was once used as a slaver ship and crossed the ocean between West Africa and the West Indies, that be until a captured slave by the name of Asha discovered that she was a sòsyè.”

“She was a witch?” asked Newt.

“Yes, and a powerful one, too. Without realizing it, she called on a great storm. The traders were left to fight against the wind and sea on deck, while the slaves stayed below. Asha’s storm was too great for any pouvwafèb to survive. They all were taken by the sea and when the storm was over, the slaves realized what had happened. They were freed. Asha used her newfound power to break their shackles, and enchanted the ship to glide through water with ease and withstand any storm to take them to the mainland. Zanj Lanmè be the ship of my ancestors.”

“Wow,” was all Jacob could muster to say amidst his amazement.

“That’s incredible,” Newt added.

“Yes, she is.” Uluras smiled proudly and walked towards the ship. Newt and Jacob followed him to the edge of the pool. With a slow wave of his hand, a stream of water rose from the pool, splishing and splashing wildly as it began to form a sort of bridge between them and the boat. Just as fast as it had appeared, it crystalized in front of them, stabilizing it enough to support their weight. Without a smidgen of hesitation, Uluras stepped on the bridge and walked up to the ship.

“Zanj Lanmè will take you wherever you need to be. You should be thanking her, you are the first white men to board her in a century,” Uluras yelled back to them.

Newt stopped on the bridge and turned to the angel at the bow. He lowered his head in a respectful manner as a small thank you and continued up the ramp.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Jacob quickly bowed to the angel as he passed.

Just as Jacob stepped on deck, another low rumbling vibrated the grotto. The three men whipped their heads to the tunnel entrance and saw the wall parting again. With a large sack in tow, Niris emerged from the passage and rushed to the ship, much to Uluras’s surprise.  

“Niris, what are you doing here?” He questioned.

“I am coming with you, father,” said Niris as he made his way up the bridge.

“No, you are staying here!”

“And do what? Sit and wait for you to come home? Besides, you need my help, Baaba. You can’t man Zanj Lanmè on your own.”

Uluras sighed, mumbling something in Creole before placing his hands on his hips. “You’re just like your Mudda: thick-headed,” he demurred, though he increasingly became convinced. “Hurry up and gadda supplies below deck,” he finally conceded.

Niris smiled widely with his teeth, rushed on deck, and thanked his father with a big hug before disappearing below.

“Mr. Kowalski.” Uluras turned to face the shorter man.

“Aye, Captain?”

“Would you mind helping my boy while I talk to your friend here?”

Jacob looked at Newt beside him, who gave him a nod to go on without him. “No, not at all,” said Jacob. “I’ll get right on that.”

Jacob lackadaisically headed in the same direction Niris had since disappeared to. Uluras walked in the opposite direction, towards what Newt recognized as the captain’s cabin. He opened the painted red door and held it for Newt to walk in after him.

The cabin was impressive, to say the least, a real French antique of the late seventeen hundreds. It was as long as it was wide, made up of dark wood in which the walls were paneled and decorated with miscellaneous objects such as maps and paintings. A few bookshelves lined the walls, filled with thick unknown books and some geographical tools. The farthest wall was covered edge to edge with five long, glass arched windows, leaking streams of light into the otherwise dim cabin. To the left was a rather posh canopy bed a few feet from a large cluttered desk that was bolted to the center of the floor.

Uluras let the door close and walked towards the desk. As he passed, the lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and the candles sitting on the desk lit to illuminate the room around them, creating a warm glow of light.    

“Dumbledore sent you to me with the hopes I will take you to Italy,” he spoke. “Normally I wouldn’t be bodda’d to take anyone anywhere in this here ship, but it appears I don’t have a choice.” Uluras crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the desk as he inspected Newt. “I get the feeling you are an honorable man, Mr. Scamander. Odda'wise, you wouldn’t be chasing demons across the world. Demons such as Gellert Grindelwald.”

“Dumbledore told you,” Newt deduced.

“Even if he didn’t, I wouldn't need him to tell me a war is brewing. Everyone knows about Grindelwald and his blind followers. And everyone knows you. You managed to fight against him twice, most recently in France. No doubt you are planning to face him again.” Uluras let out a soft chuckle. “I don’t know if you are brave, stupid, or both. Maybe I am stupid for agreeing to help. Nothing good comes to those looking for trouble.”

“Sometimes it feels more like trouble is looking for me,” said Newt.

“The best people are tasked with fixing the worst of the world. Trouble chooses you because you are destined for greatness. It’s best to remember that.”

Oddly enough, Uluras’s words gave Newt the encouragement he needed. While he was always one for an adventure, the events that transpired the last few months left him feeling defeated. The loss of Leta filled him with a great deal of grief, one that numbed him almost completely. When Dumbledore called him back in arms, there was a flicker of hope that punctured his heart. He could avenge her, and save Credence and Queenie. He could stop Grindelwald once and for all. These were the thoughts that went through his head. But once his high died down, and he realized just how serious a mission he was embarking on. He quickly became apprehensive. What if he was in way over his head? What if he failed? What could he possibly do to stop a psychotic dark wizard from waging war on muggles? All of those anxieties seemed to muffle with Uluras’s reassurance.

Newt was brought from his inner monologue when Uluras placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He must have sensed Newt’s doubts and concerns. “I will take you to Italy,” he promised. “Don’t worry Mr. Scamander, you can trust me and my son to get you where you got to go.”

Newt smiled awkwardly and bowed his head. “Thank you.”

Uluras slid his hand off Newt’s shoulder and gestured to the door. “Why don’t you go find your friend and my son. He should be able to show you to your quarters while I prepare us to sail.”

Newt nodded and headed out the door, leaving Uluras behind in the cabin to find Jacob.

               ──── ⋅ ⍤ ⋅⊰⋅∘ 〄 ∘⋅⊱⋅ ⍤ ⋅ ──── 

❦ 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘺                                                                   𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 ⊱

              ──── ⋅ ⍤ ⋅⊰⋅∘ 〄 ∘⋅⊱⋅ ⍤ ⋅ ────

[the-finch-address]

Tag: Word Find

Tagged by @sharraus! Thank you!!

tHO isn’t at the stage where I can find half of these words in a comprehensible state since most of it is Draft 1 gibberish. So instead I’m using the opportunity to write something new for each prompt; some being canon from the book and others just standing as an excuse to write the characters interacting. Bc of this the length got a bit......Out Of Hand. Sorry about that. Putting it all under the read more so I don’t bombard anyone’s dashboard

> Prompt: Work [Note; This occurs years before the plot begins]

Vestiel ran his fingers through the grass and picked at early yellow blooms. The harsh clang of metal against wood echoed around him, the sounds of the forest easily lost behind it.

“Can we go home soon?” he whined, “I’m so hungry I could eat a bear.” His bottom lip is brought between his teeth, and he waits. Clang. Clang. Clang. “Please?”

The axe stills. Andi turns, wiping the sweat from his brow while fitting Vestiel with a look. Magpies trill in the wake of his silence, the flutter of fallen leaves following the breeze. Andi straightens his back. “Silas won’t have finished dinner yet, lad, the sun’s still well up the sky.” He answers, looking annoyed, “We’ve plenty of light to finish this up first. Fill the baskets if you’re so restless.”

He reaches for the axe again. The disappointment must have shown on Vestiel’s face, though, since the tool remains lodged, and Andi continues to look distracted. He knew the boy was too young to understand how important this work was, how it kept them warm and fed. He couldn’t blame a child for prioritizing an empty stomach over harsh and thankless labor. Still, that morning’s storm had downed too many trees to not take advantage of. It had to be done.

“Tell you what,” Andi resigns himself, a weary smile lifting his eyes, “I’ll let you do a few strokes, but Vestiel-”

The boy is already up and on his feet, dandelions forgotten in the sunken spots of grass where his legs had crossed, “You mean it?” He brightens, “I can do it all by myself?”

“Listen to me,” Andi lifts a hand, demanding attention, while the other remains on the hilt, “you’ll start with the axe wedged in and bring them down together-” he offers a stern look, “--and I don’t want to hear any complaints. This is your first time, I don’t want you lopping off a toe or, North forbid, a whole foot. You need a feel for the tool before you do anything else.”

Vestiel acknowledges this with a hasty nod, the muttered agreement of “Yeah, yeah, sure” crossing his lips, hand already reaching for the axe.

Andi comes between him with a harsher expression than before, eyebrows raised expectantly. Vestiel lets out a sigh.

“The axe will start in the wood. Got it.” The impatience hasn’t fully left his tone, but it’s an improvement, and Andi appears content by it.

The wood is already a narrowed size when the axe is driven through its flesh. The blade settles halfway down the block and wedges itself firmly along the grain with little resistance, just on the edge of splitting. He brings it to Vestiel, who takes the closer end of the block with his left hand and the hilt with his right.

“Now, you’ll want to bring it down towards the back of the splitting block,” Andi starts, “Make sure you do so with both hands together, or you’ll only-”

Clang. Vestiel opens his eyes, already knowing that Andi is going to ring his neck for having closed them in the first place. All is forgotten at the sight of the severed wood, though, and he can’t help but be excited with the results. It isn’t perfect by any means, but it’s his, and he’s no less proud of it despite his brother's hand-holding. He looks to Andi in hopes of praise.

“Mother’s grief, Vestiel, have some patience!” Is the chastised response he receives instead. “You couldn’t have at least waited for me to finish?”

Vestiel makes a sour face. “I did it fine, didn’t I?” He retorts, “Isn’t that good enough?”

Andi raises a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose, a long and tired breath escaping him. After a minute of patience himself he’s able to give Vestiel the reaction he was looking for. A smile, small but proud. “It’s not bad for your first time,” he says, “but you’re going to need more practice, and patience, than that if you want to hack apart whole trees in a few years.”

He extends a hand to bring Vestiel near, pulling him snug against his side. “You did well.” Andi continues, “but, lad,” his voice lowers to a stern whisper, and

Vestiel pales, “If I ever see your eyes closed with an axe in hand again, you’ll sweep the whole corridor. Twice.”

He swallows harshly and answers only with a nod. The pride blooming in his chest doesn't falter.

> Prompt: Weather

The evening sky flashes white, casting shadows across paintings framed in gold and goblets of silver. Across the room, Caprice of the North hunches over a desk painted in candlelight. He draws a finger across the map in study of its various routes and borders, frowning. Behind him, thunder crashes down. He flinches. Pitiful.

Shaking away the thought, the young deliverer refocuses. His back arches further towards the desk until braided locks of gold spill over onto the wood. Especially now, as he squints in the darkness of his shadow, does he wish this dreaded storm had chosen another night. It brought a miserable chill to his bones despite the grizzly pelt draping heavily over his shoulders and brought an ache to his bones.

Lightning comes again, its brilliant light cutting into the room with the swiftness of a sword’s blow. Capri anticipates it this time. When thunder claps against his window he’s decisively ready for it, his knuckles gone white against clenching fists. He can’t stop their trembling no matter how tightly he’s squeezing.

A knock at the door sends him out of his skin.

Like a sharp wound, the anticipation drives him into a panic. Young flesh grasps aimlessly for a new frame to stretch into, finding nothing but mortal bones. By the time the door swings open he is straightened, remembering a human form, begging the drum within his heart to settle.

Silence greets him. A form approaches from the doorway and draws towards the light, illuminating their features quick enough that Caprice’s hand stills where it rested on the hilt of his sword.

“Dove?” He relaxes and lets himself breathe, forcing air into his lungs with more effort than is needed. “I thought you were with Eivind."

“He was needed elsewhere,” Dove signs. His hands portrayed a sense of disappointment where one couldn’t be seen in his expression, brown eyes seeming indifferent.

Caprice looks away shamefully, “You didn’t have to come,” he says.

“I wanted to.”

His gaze again lifts to meet the other with only a grunt, reluctant to answer in words for fear that his voice might betray him.

Light consumes the room with blinding force and concurrently Caprice’s hand reaches blindly for the edge of the desk to ground himself. It’s silly, he thinks, ruined pride staining his cheeks red. Internally he’s counting the seconds as they go by, steeling himself.

Dove reaches for him--

Capri recoils just as thunder cracks and booms overhead. The approach was too quick, well-meaning as it may have been. Dove understands the reaction. He reads Caprice as well as the noble reads his sign.

The thrashing of rain fills the aching silence and neither of them dares interrupt it. Seconds pass by without distraction until Dove again extends his hand forward. He moves slower than he has to under the young emperor’s weary gaze as though addressing a wounded animal.

When Caprice notices it’s not without backlash. His eyes turn hard, looking fussed. His nails dig into the wood beneath them until angry lines form on the underside of the desk and pain shoots up his fingers.

Dove’s palm settles over his hand, squeezing.

He flinches but can’t bring himself to shake the man away. The silence between them stretches on unbearably after, broken only by the rain. He releases the desk and turns his palm face up, intertwining their fingers wearily. “Thank you.” He whispers.

When the thunder comes this time, he doesn’t flinch.

Prompt: Help

Vestiel’s heartbeat thuds like thunder roaring inside his ears. He stares with too much intent at the earth beneath his worn shoes, doing his best to concentrate on the hole boring over the space near his toes.

Much to his dismay, Fannar-Haise appears to notice.

She carries herself past the snow huts and politely cuts through the crowd, stepping lightly around the fire and between celebrants, their songs alight with a different kind of flame.

Vestiel can’t hear them past his own thoughts. Get out, get out, get out. He forces some semblance of greeting out as she approaches but can’t manage to look her in the eyes. It’s hard most days, but especially now.

“Enjoying the party?” She asks, making no mention of the answer being pretty obvious. The smile on her lips is pitying, judgemental at worst, he just knows it. He can’t bear to lift his chin and see. If Andi were here he could explain himself easily but, as it was, he was going into this situation alone. Completely, utterly alone.

“Yeah,” he lies, “just tired from all the traveling.”

It’s a witless excuse and she knows it. Instead of pointing it out, though, she only offers a shake of her head. There’s a lot to say about communication and Fannar-Haise considers herself an expert on the subject. She watches him fumble about; the trouble in getting his tongue to do its job sticking out to her as sorely as the restless, rhythmic tap of his hand against his hip and the blatant avoidance of eye contact. It answered her question more than his words could, and that was okay.

“You’re overwhelmed,” she nods to herself this time, having seemingly come to a conclusion all on her own, “Let me help. You don’t have to answer with words, a nod will do just fine. Can you walk?”

Vestiel squints at the sole of his shoes, looking confused, then apprehensive, “I’m-”

Silence. No matter how hard he pries, not a single word comes loose from his tongue. The thoughts are there and plentiful, excuses and apologies, maybe something more, fastened tightly like honey coating his throat and hidden away between his ribcage, leaving him breathless and useless.

His chin tilts upward, lips parting, but he can’t manage it. Instead, he allows himself the nod she had been looking for.

“Good. That’s good. We’re going to go somewhere quiet and after that you can tell me what you want to do. Can I touch your hand?”

She patiently waits for the resulting, albeit cautious nod, and takes his hand within her own.

She guides him past the bustling scene like this. As they reach a distance where the noise has muffled he finds it in himself to speak again. It’s slow, at first, allowing his mind time to find the right words. “How did you know?”

Calmly she turns her gaze from the sky, not looking directly at him but rather just past where he stands. There isn’t a soul there when Vestiel follows her gaze over his shoulder, but he’d only half expected one. Andi had learned with time not to stare too long; something told him Haise was just as quick of a learner.

“Call it a hunch,” she hums, “I’ve experienced my fair share of things, Vestiel. This isn’t new or strange, it’s just you.” She pauses to face him, eyes still averted. He returns the favor and looks at her nose like it’s his only salvation, seconded only by the sight of his snow hut in the distance and the soft murmur becoming of the crowd ever fading behind them.

“Besides,” she continues, “these celebrations aren’t a requirement by any standard. They’re here to bring happiness. If something causes you to be unhappy you have no obligation to stay. If you need to step away, I will understand. We will always understand.”

Vestiel doesn’t know what to say when they reach the entrance. Despite her words, he can’t help but feel a wave of guilt wash over him for having both left the celebration early-- a celebration of his arrival, no less--and now, leaving their leader at the door.

She picks up on this, too.

“I’m going to head back to the others for a while longer. You can join us if you’re feeling up to it, or you can stay here and get some rest. Don’t overthink it, okay?”

Her warmth is everything to him, more grounding than a hole in his shoe could ever be. He wants her to know, wants to find the right words to explain how much her actions mean to him, but there isn’t an easy way to go about it without making a greater fool of himself. He answers with a weak smile and a simple, “Okay”, the best he can offer in way of thanks.

She matches his smile and bids him goodnight.

Prompt: Hope

The scent of leather tanning above flame clings to his nostrils. It fills him with a sense of despair unlike any other, weighing different from the miserable few weeks he’d spent mourning Andi, even. Putrid, a nauseating sort of agony like snakes writhing and tearing at his stomach. Burning. Burning. Burning.

The forest was ablaze. That was all he could possibly know, here in the dark. Shadows drove past him in a stampede of bodies carving through the night, survived only by a name and footprints worn into the poaching grounds.

He scares awake. Stars wink faintly above him, hidden behind the morning sun.

“Bad dream?”

Tupelo’s voice startles him a second time from where he lay, their trek up the hill all but forgotten until that point.

Vestiel slowly drags himself into a sitting position with a grunt of effort. Sweat collects at his jaw, cold against his cheeks. He licks his lips and tastes salt.

“A fire, just to the north of here-- tonight maybe--the forest, the people-”

Tupelo tends to the campfire, looking drained. It was suddenly apparent neither of them had slept well. “The forest?” they ask with a shake of their head, “Not to the north, yet.”

“Yet?”

Vestiel draws his shirt away and uses the

bottom corner to dry his face. Goosebumps still clinging to his arms, the memory remaining like a fresh wound.

“You don’t have to believe me,” he says, “I can’t explain it to you and if I do, you’ll just think I’ve gone strange. I’m only asking that you take me north of here.”

He reaches for the map tucked inside his rucksack, spilling a few more items in the process, “It shouldn’t be too far off from where we’re going already. I’ll show you.”

Tupelo is quick to rest their hand against his wrist with a sympathetic, albeit calm look on their face. “We’ll go.” They assure him, pointing to the north. “If it’s important.”

_________________________________

It quickly becomes evident that Tupelo is just as ill-equipped for this kind of travel as Vestiel. For as nimble as they are the hill obviously called for a different kind of strength. The original path would have taken them up and around, but this new direction was a straight shot to the north, uphill for the better half of it.

Tupelo watches Vestiel out of the corner of their eye, checking up on him every now and then as though waiting for Vestiel to change his mind, or hoping he’ll get around to it if they climb for long enough.

However, Vestiel remains steadfast in the endeavor, eyes locked on the horizon. He’s certain of what he saw, having learned to trust the dreams long ago, and he had no plans to stop now. The smell of burning flesh still lingered undeniably.

“We’re almost there.” Tupelo breaks the silence.

“Finally,” he gasps, “I don’t think my legs can go on for much longer.”

He can feel it already. The weight of the earth shifting beneath his feet, a familiar pressure that seeps into his bones, pungent smoldering inside his nostrils once more. “It’s right over here,” he drags himself the last few feet to the summit, “It’s-”

Dead. Every tree, every blade of grass, the entire opposite face of the hill lie dusty and black, an empty expanse of burnt trunks where the forest should have been.

Tupelo comes up beside him.

“What happened here?” Vestiel gasps in disbelief, “I was sure-- my dreams have never lied, not once before. Were we too late?”

“Your soul tells stories, not prophecies.” Tupelo answers, “Father told me you can hear them.”

“Them?”

“The spirits,” they gesture to the barren woods, “they speak because they know you will listen. Come.”

Vestiel follows their lead. Dry grass crunches underfoot as they descend the hill. Patches of green pop up here and there, but aren't constant and don’t compare to the full weight of the forest that should have been in its stead. It’s a sight he feels the need to grieve over as though his own soul were tied to the scorched land. The thought scares him.

Tupelo steps ahead and crouches to their knees, hands smoothing over a ring of stones that would have gone unseen had they not brought attention to it. Wordlessly, they pull the canteen from its strap and let the remainder of its water drip out.

Vestiel inches closer now. He kneels beside the other, “What is it?”

Tupelo sits back on their heels, palms opening to show a young sapling, green and healthy, standing tall, small as it may be. It rests in a forgotten graveyard.

“A tree?” Vestiel reaches for it and thumbs carefully along the juvenile bark. “What is one tree to an empty field?”

Tupelo cradles the sapling fondly. “Hope.”

_________________________________

I'm tagging @faenova @squid-scribe @zmlorenz @ashen-crest @henrike-does-writing-sometimes and @sharraus (can I tag the tagger? I'm doing it anyway)

Your words are Drenched, Gather, Cradle, and Howl

[atinytokki]

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Chapter 5: Return to the Maze

Usually Jongho would be suspicious of such consistent good weather, but for now he was simply grateful that the sea goddess had blessed their journey with clear skies and fair winds.

They were moving much faster than they had been last time they visited Maddox’s Island, despite travelling in a very roundabout way, and they had a rescue plan in place. Knowing the territory better the second time had its advantages.

When the sails were squared away and the crew could relax some, Jongho found himself in the captain’s cabin once again.

It had become the regular location for all their gatherings the past few weeks, something about occupying the space lending them confidence in their decisions.

Unsurprisingly, Mingi, Yunho, and Seonghwa were already there. Mingi and Yunho were in a quiet conversation off to the side, sorting through the remaining stacks of gleaming treasure, while Seonghwa sat on his bed reading something.

Naturally, Jongho was curious, and moved to peek over the eldest’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of what it was.

“This is Hongjoong’s...” he realised with a frown, combing over handwritten text that detailed their adventures from the birth of the ATEEZ onwards.

At the mention of Hongjoong’s name, Mingi and Yunho perked up and moved closer, pushing the gold aside. “That was his mother’s diary,” Mingi remarked in a quiet voice when he recognised the book from an encounter years ago, reaching forward and flipping back to the beginning. A wave of nostalgia broke over the group. “He just continued it with his own story.”

Seonghwa nodded and went back to the section he was reading. Events that had taken place before he joined them.

“Did he say anything about me?” Mingi said a moment later, clearing his throat nervously.

“Just that you’re loyal and attentive, and sometimes he thinks back to those days when it was just the two of you on the beach and realises those were the happiest moments of his childhood,” Seonghwa answered, reading off a page from over a year ago.

“Is there any mention of me in there?” Jongho asked quietly, masking his nerves by clearing his throat. He didn’t know what he was expecting to hear, but he hoped it was pleasant.

Seonghwa smiled softly and flipped until he found the passage of Jongho’s entry into the story.

“At first, I thought he was older than me,” he read in a soft voice. “Not from his looks or his manner, but his eyes. They’re the eyes of someone who has seen horrible things, and as soon as I saw them I wanted him to join us. I want to see light in those eyes, not just darkness.”

Tears gathered and Jongho slowly sat down and let the words wash over him. Some of that darkness lingered, and it felt like failure.

“See, he’s always loved you,” Seonghwa reassured the younger boy, who shook his head and chuckled in disbelief.

“Well, he met me in the middle of a nightmare, of course he took me in, I prophesied it...”

“But he didn’t bring you onboard because he thought you were useful,” Mingi interrupted firmly. “He did it because he thought you belonged here.”

Jongho pulled his knees up to his chest. It was chilling to think about, but from this side of the event, that sudden decision had been the right one. 

“What was his first impression of me?” Yunho piped up. Seonghwa was already turning to the pages that chronicled their introduction and began to read without hesitation.

“Mingi says I’m ‘collecting’ people, but I prefer to think of it as taking a chance on a likeminded individual. Perhaps the ATEEZ is Yunho’s second chance at life, the way it’s also become mine.”

A beat passed in agreement as they considered how true it was for all of them. Mingi nudged Yunho as if to remind him what he had said himself on the beach not long ago. Everything happens for a reason. 

“How about you, did he have much to say?” Mingi smirked, turning to Seonghwa and already anticipating pages of lengthy prose.

Seonghwa rolled his eyes fondly and shook his head.

“Oh, something about me being a thorn in his side, and plenty of other things from back then that he said to my face besides. Not much flattery, at least not until we reached an understanding. ‘I’ve never tasted fish seasoned so well in my life, a significant feat to have accomplished’.”

Together, they laughed at what Hongjoong appeared to consider high praise.

“He worried about me a lot,” Seonghwa frowned, sobering as he thumbed the pages. “I suppose I have been injured frequently, and I’m not one for combat. Even in such a private book, he shares his true thoughts very sparingly. But there is a passage in here that I think he’d want us to read— all of us, together. It feels like a message from beyond the grave. He wrote it that day we spent on the treasure island from what I can discern.”

The three of them pressed closer to look over Seonghwa’s shoulder, even as he read in a soft voice the words that were written in secret.

I’m ashamed to record it, but I must have done something to make Seonghwa convinced I want him gone. I’ll admit, I’ve kept my distance and concealed my thoughts on the subject, but I don’t know what I’ll do if he leaves me alone. I’ve come to realise in this safe haven, far away from the ghosts and shadows that lurked at every corner, that I need him.

I broke my most important rule, to never fully trust anyone, because even the most unlikely can betray you. He decided to try and patch up the hole in my heart and without even knowing it, I’ve started depending on people again.

A feeling wells up inside when I see the faces of those who have become so much more than friends to me. No matter how hard I fight it down, it’s there consuming me until I admit the truth behind why I fight every fight that comes my way when I’m so, so tired of trying.

They’re my family. I love them so much, it hurts, and if I could hold onto all seven of them forever, I would do it. There’s no guarantee we’ll ever be whole again when we set out from this place, and I should never have invested so much of myself in them, but I was defenceless and if I have to have one weakness— let it be this group of brightly shining stars who guide me to better places, even as they think I’m the one guiding them. Let it be this twinkling treasure I’ve found, the value of which can never be compared with all the riches in the world. 

They’re everything to me. Until all our debts are settled, they’ll never know, but one day I’ll have the courage to tell them.

When I’m with you, I’m home. 

The silence after was almost reverent. Like they’d been communicating with the dead, the group dare not breathe for fear of disturbing the moment.

“We knew,” Yunho finally whispered, voice thick with emotion. “We knew without being told.”

Jongho glanced over at him and slung an arm around his waist, pulling him further in to their warm little huddle.

“Hey,” he chuckled wetly. “Now he has told us.”

The contemplative silence was broken by a knock on the door and Yujin’s appearing head.

“What is it?” Mingi demanded, quickly wiping his eyes and returning to his cool professionalism.

Yujin tensed and tilted his head toward the window. A familiar island shrouded in mist had grown closer while they were distracted with the past. It was time to move on.

“We’re here.”

... 

Establishing an exercise regimen after a serious injury was always difficult, but doing so in secret in the cramped belly of a navy warship was much more difficult, Hongjoong found.

There were moments here and there on their voyage southeast to respond to enemy ship sightings that the lucky prisoner wasn’t guarded in the business and activity of the day, which he used to his full advantage.

It was always better to trick the opponent into thinking he had him down for longer than he actually was.

Gingerly, Hongjoong lowered himself down from where he’d been hanging from a ceiling support beam and pulling his weight up and down for as long as he could, smiling at his own perfect timing and then wiping the expression clean before the steward entered with the morning meal. 

He wasn’t in the shape he wanted to be in yet, but he felt marginally less useless this way.

“Chowder again?” Hongjoong beamed teasingly and sat up straight as Doh scooped up some of the soup and waited for the prisoner to open his mouth again.

“No complaining,” the steward muttered as he spooned the food in carefully. “You’re worse than the men. I told them and now I’m telling you; we’re at sea now, with no idea how long the food will have to last. No more delicacies until landfall.” His chastising sounded like Seonghwa’s, and suddenly Hongjoong needed to change the subject again.

“Let me do it,” he insisted with his mouth still full, swallowing and repeating himself until the steward relinquished the spoon. 

Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t manage to get the slop onto the spoon and the spoon up to his mouth without help, and immediately his mood was soured.

“Don’t be upset,” the man scolded him softly when tears gathered. “You’re healing still.”

The reality was that exerting himself immediately before the meal was certainly not helping him control his own limbs and his own exasperation was making him quit before he should have. 

“Steward.” Hongjoong gave him a look and sat back. “I managed to sail alone over five thousand nautical miles in a boat I built with my bare hands, whilst wounded and starving, as an eighteen year old, and came back stronger. Forgive me for being frustrated if I can’t lift a spoon without my hands shaking.”

Doh gave him a once over before placing the bowl to the side and offering his advice.

“If that’s the case, you may want to consider whether your problem is physical or psychological.”

Hongjoong scoffed, but the creeping suspicion in the back of his head was inclined to agree. “What, are you saying I don’t want to get better?”

“I’m saying I think you’re scared,” the steward explained after a hesitant pause. “Of what might happen when you do.”

It had been months since he’d seen a friendly face. More importantly, since any of his friends had seen him alive.

Assuming he escaped the Crow, what then? Assuming he miraculously found the ATEEZ, what would he do next?

Would things just go back to normal?

No, they thought he was gone— they thought he was dead. Things would never just go back to normal.

Presumably, they had moved on... without him.

Silent for the remainder of the meal, Hongjoong let the steward feed him and thought about what kind of changes that Park mentioned might have taken place.

Surely nothing too drastic... nothing that would cost him his friends...

If Seonghwa was alright, he must be looking out for the others. That much, Hongjoong could be sure of. 

The steward, too, was quiet as he gathered his things and made to leave. Hongjoong stopped him just before he reached the door.

“Why are you helping me?”

This wasn’t the first time Hongjoong had needed to charm the pants off someone to get away with his plans, but despite the steward’s kindness, he was clearly a shrewd man who knew much more than he let on.

“The Admiral will need you in good shape,” he answered readily, but there was something in his eyes that told Hongjoong he had him exactly where he wanted him. Time to start making his move.

“Can you do me a favour, Steward?”

Doh cocked his head but his face didn’t change. He was open to suggestion.

“Perhaps.”

“Keep the surgeon away from me,” Hongjoong nearly whispered. If the surgeon came back intending to conduct experiments on him, he’d very quickly lose any surprise fitness and it would be back to square one.

The steward narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“He... makes me uncomfortable.” 

That much was both believable and true. And so the steward bowed his head in agreement and left the room, and Hongjoong was left to lay back and exhale slowly.

He had gained an ally.

When the steward reached the quarterdeck, bundled against the winter winds bearing down on them, Admiral Kim was waiting for a report from him.

“Can he walk?”

Doh paused to decide how much to tell his captain, then smoothly delivered a half-truth.

“With help.”

“Bring him to the quarterdeck,” Kim ordered, eyes cast on the horizon with a sickening air of immense confidence. “I want to see what he’s worth.”

...

Like an ocean wave crashing into the shore, Wooyoung threw himself into Yeosang’s arms.

Not until he was assured that he wasn’t dreaming did he withdraw from the embrace. “How are you here?”

“I was assigned as navigator,” Yeosang explained, laughing in amazement. “The better question is how you ended up here. Weren’t you looking for San?”

All the air went out of Wooyoung and he hunched in on himself, the action cautioning Yeosang to tread lightly. “I was tracking him,” Wooyoung admitted quietly. “But I was pressganged onto this bucket of bolts with no way off in the foreseeable future—”

He was interrupted by Woosung clearing his throat. Having forgotten he was there, Wooyoung beckoned him over with a sigh for introductions.

“Yeosang, my brother Woosung.”

If Yeosang had been amazed earlier, he was astonished now. “The same brother you always talked about?”

“You talked about me?” Woosung teased with a wicked grin on his face for once. Wooyoung jabbed him in the ribs and nudged Yeosang into the wardroom so they could catch up in peace. 

“I’ve been meaning to escape,” he told him quickly. “So it’s a good thing we ran into each other when we did. Now we can work together.”

“Except for the fact that we don’t know where we’ll end up,” Yeosang pointed out as he sunk into a chair. “I’m not keen on running straight into enemy territory.”

“Unless San is there,” Wooyoung corrected him quickly.

“It’s still suicide,” Yeosang warned softly. “All I know for now is that we accompany the Crow from Panhang to intercept the Haemin fleet.”

“The Black Crow,” Wooyoung groaned as he was reminded, pulling up a chair opposite Yeosang. “What if the Admiral sees us? Don’t you think he’ll jump at the opportunity to kill us off? It shouldn’t be too difficult to frame as a casualty of war. I say we jump ship before we reach Panhang.”

“He won’t while my father is with him,” Yeosang insisted. “Father may hate me but he doesn’t want me dead, that would mean the end of his family name.”

Wooyoung thought back to the last night they’d seen one another, the lantern light bouncing off gentle waves in the harbour, the dark scowl on the Head Navigator’s face.

“How... how have things been between you?” He asked hesitantly, not expecting anything good.

“It’s over between us,” Yeosang scoffed. “I’m not speaking to him unless I have to.”

And hopefully, that day would never come.

“Wooyoung, I...” Yeosang began again after a companionable moment of silence. “I have bad news.” There was no point in putting it off.

His voice was witheringly soft, and he looked like the slightest noise could put him over the edge.

Under the table, Wooyoung’s legs began to shake. Not trusting his voice, he simply nodded for Yeosang to go on.

“I went to see Seonghwa’s coronation at the palace, and he told me about the execution. He told me, well... he heard that...”

“Hongjoong’s dead, isn’t he?”

Because if Wooyoung couldn’t say it out loud, he would never begin to accept it.

Yeosang simply exhaled shakily and inclined his head ever so slightly like the weight of the world was upon his shoulders. He didn’t want to accept it either.

Wooyoung knew he had pessimistic leanings due to his upbringing, but there had remained a spark of hope in him. When he considered how many people the information came to him through, or when he considered Hongjoong’s own confidence that he would make it out alive... it didn’t seem possible that he could live in a world where this was the truth.

He couldn’t live in a world without him.

The feeling that rushed in on receiving the confirmation of his worst fears, fears that he had pushed to the far corner of his mind to avoid dealing with, was a strange and disquieting mixture of pain, loss, and relief.

Relief that he could drop his head into his hands and shake with tears without being bothered for it. Relief that he was no longer waiting on bad news to catch up with him all while running away from it. Relief that he wouldn’t have to deliver such news himself.

“How could this happen...”

Such an undignified end after everything he’d survived already. Wooyoung wished he had been there.

“I don’t know,” came the hushed and helpless answer. “I can only hope Mingi, Yunho, Jongho, and San are safe and far away from this war like Hongjoong wanted them to be.”

Hongjoong had told them to save themselves, and they had ended up on a warship anyway.

Those agonising days in the prison at Namhae drifted back into memory while Wooyoung dried his eyes. 

The wind on the beams continued to blow while Yeosang settled down, gently taking Wooyoung’s hands in his and inspecting them. There was a cold emptiness inside now that the message had been relayed.

“You’ve healed,” he noticed aloud, voice soft yet discernable over the outside gusts. 

Wooyoung nodded and shifted to get a better look at his friend. “Have you?”

Yeosang startled and almost pulled away, but Wooyoung kept his grip on him. “I— yes, you know I did. Nothing was broken.”

Still he couldn’t escape Wooyoung’s knowing eyes. Not after everything they’d been through.

“I’ll be fine,” he insisted after a moment. That much he could promise, now that they’d found each other. 

...

The ever present fog made it difficult, but Yunho kept his eyes peeled for ships. Regardless of what colours they were flying, they were enemies, and that meant caution was of the utmost importance.

The plan was relayed to the men who waited, ready to cast off at a moment’s notice, and the four officers set out for the beach. The maze would be a hindrance to deal with, but it was better than docking at the town on the other side of the island and potentially being spotted by soldiers.

The shore batteries had been bombarded by Mingi’s counterattack on their last visit, which made them a perfectly unsuspecting vantage point to keep watch from.

Jongho scaled the stone steps of the bell tower, half of which was decimated, and borrowed Yunho’s spyglass. “I’ll put up a flag if I see anything,” he assured them. “No flares. Don’t want to give away our position.”

Although loath to leave him alone, it was best to finish the mission quickly, so the other three hurried down to the tree line and fought their way through the vines until they reached the entrance to the maze.

“Far right path,” Mingi instructed immediately, remembering how Hongjoong said he got in last year. The maze was only slight less well kept than it had been in Seonghwa and Yunho’s memory, occasional branches jutting out at awkward angles and bush roots stretching across their path. 

It sent a strangle tingle down their spines to return to such a memorable and significant place under wildly different circumstances.

The wrought iron gate was unlocked but closed when they reached it, and Seonghwa rested his hand on the bars before pushing gently and hoping it wouldn’t squeak. Eyes widening, Seonghwa suddenly threw his arm out and pressed back into the shrubbery. Yunho and Mingi followed, confused but obedient, until he explained.

“Soldiers in the courtyard.”

“Now what?” Yunho groaned. “We can’t risk gunfire if we don’t know how many are inside.”

“There should be a secret library somewhere on the third floor,” Mingi wracked his brain for a solution and took a step back to scan the building in front of them again. The top was just visible over the towering greenery.

“There!” He exclaimed, grabbing Seonghwa’s arm. “A sunroof. We can rappel down.”

Seonghwa sighed but nodded, watching intently and waiting for the soldiers to go back inside for dinner. 

It was only about ten minutes, but it felt like longer. Listening to their idle conversation was mildly amusing until the men dropped off into silence, but soon they had shut themselves into their hall and the courtyard was free.

“Here,” Yunho grunted, throwing the rope until it latched on to a ceiling tile and handing it to Mingi, who looked surprised. “You suggested it!” 

Begrudgingly, Mingi grasped the rope in his hands and began to climb, Yunho and Seonghwa following silently.

They had to mind the windows, but made it onto the roof safely, Mingi popping open the sunroof panel and securing the rope to the inner latch while he waited.

After a thorough scan of the inside, what appeared to be a bedroom, all three lowered themselves stealthily, only breaking face when a figure in the room startled and tipped over in his reading chair.

“Maddox? It’s alright, we’re friends of Hongjoong’s!” Mingi panted, holding out his hand. 

“Mingi?” The older man hissed in disbelief as he peeled out from behind the chair.

“Yes, it’s me. We’re here to rescue you.”

...

“It’s Lucky.”

“Look! There he goes.”

“The lucky prisoner...”

Hongjoong ignored the hushed whispers all over the main deck and the way the freezing wind nipped at his nose, but tilted back his head and let it toss his hair. It didn’t matter what they said.

Even a sea breeze that stung your cheeks was a sea breeze, and no one could take the moment away from him.

Byun was at his elbow, a guilty sort of tension emanating from him as he guided the prisoner up to the quarterdeck where Admiral Kim stood and looked down his nose at the both of them. A man Hongjoong assumed was Head Navigator Kang stood to his left. From his familiar features and general air of displeasure, he had a feeling he was correct.

“So I hear you need my help,” Hongjoong smirked, voice quiet but deadly.

Kim just scowled at him, white-rimmed lips pressed firmly together until he snatched the charts from Navigator Kang, rolling them open and casting his eyes away.

“Our spies report mass shipbuilding behind Haemin borders, but none of our fleet have encountered more than two ships at a time,” Kim explained, indicating the locations of the attacks on the map.

They were all lined up along the trade routes, concentrated to the east around the rim of the nearest Jaecho colonies.  

As Hongjoong moved to get a closer look, he enjoyed the way the Admiral visibly became irritated by the jangle of his chains.

He was no longer bolted to the floor but his arms were still restrained and as much as Kim was annoyed by the sound, he wasn’t stupid enough to unlock the cuffs and risk an escape attempt.

“Their strategy is to wear you out with unpredictable strikes along the islands,” Hongjoong surmised as he inspected the charts. “If one ship goes down, it’s replaced by another. They won’t form ranks like you, they’re much more... surreptitious.”

“Then why focus on the colonies? They made it all the way to the capital once, why not march in again?” Kim bit out, yanking the map back over to his side of the table. Kang gently collected it, as if afraid in his anger the Admiral might shred the thing.

“To spread you thin. To wear you out, starve you, frustrate you,” Hongjoong listed off. “Safe access to trade routes and supplies is vital— I should know!” After all, he was usually the person disrupting them.

“So you’re saying we should engage their puny boats in the east instead of strike their homeland and end the war in one fell swoop?” Kim challenged, stepping closer and waiting for the prisoner to back down.

He didn’t.

“Unless you want to lose your territory, yes.”

The two stared each other down and no one else dared move, not even the anxiously hovering Byun whose idea the entire encounter was, until a bird appeared on the horizon and landed atop the rigging, a case attached to its leg.

Lieutenant Park climbed up to retrieve it and handed it to the Navigator, ending the standoff.

“A messenger bird with correspondence. A convoy of Haemin ships has been sighted just south of the colonies,” Kang reported, passing the scroll to the Admiral. Not even glancing at Hongjoong, he began orders. 

“We have the heading, it’s time to move.”

There was a suppressed exhilaration that bubbled up inside Hongjoong when the Crow went underway.

It was that feeling he missed, when there’s one rope between you and the ocean— you and death.

He was joined by Park while he stood at the railing, reaching his chained hands down to feel what misty spray he could.

“What is it?” Hongjoong finally asked when the lieutenant had gone an uncharacteristic full five minutes without talking.

“I saw it in the correspondence...” he muttered nervously, eyes on the Admiral’s back to make sure he wasn’t paying attention. “Our enemies aren’t just interrupting trade and taking over island colonies.”

Hongjoong pulled back and looked at him, confused. Park was shaking his head helplessly but delivered the bad news nonetheless.

“They think Prince Seonghwa is with us, and they’re looking for him, to- to kill him.”

...

Due to the trust he had gained on the Haemin ship over the past few weeks, San almost felt sad to be leaving them soon.

Almost.

When land was only a few hours off, he concocted a sleeping draught with supplies from the infirmary and told his translator it was medicine for a patient. It was a strong enough brew to knock out his guards long enough for him to swim to shore.

Regardless of how he felt about his imprisonment, San wasn’t a monster. He ensured that all his patients were cared for in the meantime, working tirelessly to lower fevers, hack off limbs, and clean wounds. They would all survive in his absence, and he didn’t leave until he was sure of that fact.

Except for the loneliness, it almost felt like being home. Why he had ever considered leaving the ATEEZ back in the day was a mystery to him now. All that pain and regret from his previous trip to these parts had washed away long ago.

San didn’t know where along the road he’d lost his purpose, but he needed to return to the road to get it back, wherever it ended up taking him.

This cramped, stinking warship was not the right place.

He had hoped for so long that his mysterious pursuer was Wooyoung, and that Wooyoung would find him. And then he had gone too far, farther than he could follow. If he was lucky, perhaps Wooyoung hadn’t given up on him yet.

Sudden noise from the main deck prompted him and his translator to join the soldiers outside.

“Land,” the man told him redundantly as they watched the speck grow larger.

San knew it well.

It was Maddox’s Island.

...

Introductions were quick, and without even knowing why, Maddox was instructed to pack his things as quickly as possible.

“Why didn’t you just use the door?” He scoffed as he shoved some loose change into a bag. “Hongjoong has been here once, he should’ve showed you.”

Silence penetrated the room and slowly Maddox turned around, noting his absence.

“Where is he, then? Hongjoong?”

“Killed by Admiral Kim,” Seonghwa told him, solemn and ice cold in his delivery. “A few months ago.”

Maddox needed to sit down again.

“But he— he wasn’t...” he shook his head to collect his thoughts. “He was on his way to find Eden, Kim should never have gotten his hands on him.”

“Actually...” Yunho sighed. “We did find Eden. We were on our way back to the mainland because of Babylon, who I think you’ll remember.”

Maddox’s face darkened, even as his eyes betrayed his distress, like he didn’t know who to blame for this. “You came here for me?” He suddenly realised, brows raising halfway to his hairline in shock.

“It’s what he would have wanted,” Seonghwa explained. “We’re breaking out as many of his friends as we can find and starting fresh far away from the Navy.”

“Well, I certainly won’t keep you waiting,” the older pirate scoffed before collecting a few more of his things and glancing at the rope still hanging from the ceiling. “I suppose that’s also our way out.”

“The soldiers won’t spot us that way,” Mingi explained as Yunho and Seonghwa headed up, motioning for Maddox to follow and then bringing up the rear. With practiced ease, they descended the side of the tower and made their way across the courtyard.

“We make for your ship?” Maddox asked in a whisper.

Mingi nodded. “It would be ideal to get out of here without anyone even knowing.”

Just as he finished speaking, the boom of gunfire blasted to their right near Jongho’s position. Mingi grasped his gun and searched frantically for the decimated bell tower.

A red flag was hanging.

“So stupid,” he chided himself through gritted teeth. “How could I forget to check?”

Before anyone could stop him, he barrelled ahead and raced to the tower, hoping against hope that he would reach Jongho in time.

The disorienting fogginess of the maze slowed him down significantly, and by the time he reached the shore there was an unconscious Jongho, being dragged away by enemy soldiers.

“Hey!” Mingi screamed across the beach, aiming his weapon. “Let him go and I won’t kill you.”

The soldiers looked surprised to see him and debated with each other in a foreign language. Mingi realised with a jolt that they were from Haemin. He clicked off the safety but hesitated.

I should just shoot now.

Jongho had been dropped in the sand and Mingi’s hairs stood on end. Where were the others? Had they fallen so far behind?

He was out of time.

Suddenly, one of the soldiers drew his gun and fired.

Unable to move completely out of the way in time, Mingi dodged to his right even as the searing pain of a bullet grazing his face sent him to the ground.

Blood was pouring into his eye, so all he could see was red that wilted into consuming black and the flashes of pulsating with pain.

Through his remaining eye, he watched Jongho be rowed away onto an enemy ship while he was left for dead.

...

San expected to be sent to his battle station where he could drug whoever happened to be guarding him at the time and slip away in the chaos.

Instead, he was led down to the brig again with some of the other prisoners to watch through the portholes as a pair of men rowed out to investigate the island themselves.

What he gathered from the others was that their captain thought the island looked to be deserted or destroyed in some other battle and assumed no one would be there. 

A very foolish move, one San should’ve expected from the incompetent drunkard. In this world, it should always be shoot first, ask questions later.

For a good half hour nothing happened, until a red flag went up in one of the bell towers and the action began in earnest.

To San, it was a relief.

Easily, he overpowered the guard and forced the draught down his throat, collecting the supplies he’d lain out in the infirmary while everyone was distracted, and preparing to lower himself in one of the longboats while the returning spies rushed their new prisoner on board.

Something deep inside told San to turn his head before he pulleyed down, and so he did. In a lightning flash, his heart dropped.

The unconscious body was Jongho’s. San didn’t know how or why, but it was him.

He didn’t question for a moment whether to abandon his plan. San threw off his bag and ran towards the chained figure.

Escape would have to wait.

...

Taglist: @serendipityunho @celestial-yunho @atzjjongbby @89staytinyzen21

A/N: I’m very close to the finish line of the semester, so I’ll be back in my usual swing in the next week or so, no worries :) There’s some shifting going on this chapter, and a lot of action is about to go down next time hehehe so stay tuned and let me know what you thought!! Happy birthday Wooyoung and Happy Thanksgiving ;)

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[aurorawest]

Hi! I’d love for a directors commentary on the real Asgardians of the galaxy, any section you choose, it’s my favourite story! Also I was wondering if you could do a commentary on chapter 7 of you come to me wild and wired please? Thank you!

Of course, thank you for asking! I’m so glad you like The Real Asgardians! 😄 I went with this section from chapter 25. Loki, Thor, and Mira have stopped on the Market Planet (aka Promachos), a place entirely of my own invention. Promachos is a planet that’s one giant, sprawling market. The section that the three of them visit looks very much like a souk in my head—I was definitely imagining the Arab Souk in Jerusalem as I was writing it. But you know, think the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, that sort of thing. Old, ancient feeling, labyrinthine covered market where it feels like you can get everything that’s ever existed.

In this conversation, Loki and Thor are having a nice conversation that turns sour, as they so often do.

“You know,” Thor said, the heavy-handed nonchalance in his voice sending up red flags, “that’s something New Asgard doesn’t have.”

“Children?” Loki said, playing dumb and immediately regretting it. 

Not really a reference, but this line has always reminded me of the exchange in Jurassic Park between Grant and Satler: “What are those?” “Small versions of adults, honey.”

Thanos hadn’t discriminated. He’d slaughtered Asgard’s children as easily as he had the adults. 

Womp womp. Seriously though, one of my favorite things to write with Loki is how he absolutely careens from one emotional end of the spectrum to the other. He makes this joke and he immediately jumps to the worst possible interpretation of it.

At least they’d managed to evacuate most of them, though Loki would never forgive himself for allowing a single Asgardian to die that day.

I recently had to put an exact number to how many children survived The Statesman. At this point I definitely was like, ‘eh, no idea!’

“No,” Thor said. “A school.”

“Mm.” Loki was getting increasingly worried that Mira was going to turn around and ask for the necklace. “What do they do, make repairs in the fishing nets because their fingers are smaller?”

This is one of my favorite jokes, actually. Loki is such an ass. There’s so much contempt packed into this sentence.

But more beyond that, his disdain for New Asgard is really important to his arc. We really see him lash out about it in this scene.

Thor glared at him. “No. They go to school. There just isn’t one in New Asgard.”

It couldn’t be overstated how uninterested Loki was in the education policies of New Asgard. Yes, his people lived there, but he had no personal stake or interest in the place. “Where do they go, then?”

Incidentally, I chose this scene because it seems kind of like a throwaway scene, like it’s more to express Loki’s distaste for New Asgard. And it is that...but it’s also got payoff down the line.

Uncertainty flickered over Thor’s face. “They go…I…er. I’m not exactly sure.” Loki didn’t push this issue. It was easy to imagine what had happened, anyway. The children would have been running wild in the months after the Snap. Brunnhilde, ruling New Asgard in all but name, would have gone to Thor, drunk, useless, drowning in depression and grief, and said something needed to be done, and he was the king, so what should they do? And Thor most likely would have slurred at her to figure it out. [...]

“I think they go to school in Tønsberg somewhere,” Thor finally said.

Thor kills me here. He’s pushing down every single bit of his regret and guilt. And Loki doesn’t get it at all. All he can do is snipe at Thor for screwing this up, for not taking charge, for not being the king that Loki thinks he should be. I’m actually enormously proud of “I think they go to school in Tønsberg somewhere,” because it says nothing...and also everything. Or at least, I hope it does.

Arching an eyebrow again, Loki said, “Oh. I see. So you’re raising humans.”

Loki gets none of this. All he can see is how much he doesn’t want to live on Earth, how much he doesn’t like New Asgard. He can’t fathom why the Asgardians would want to be there. It never occurs to him to stop and think about the fact that the Asgardians have been part of this community for six years. That they aren’t totally isolated from Norway or Earth. In Loki’s mind, New Asgard is like...kind of temporary? He can’t accept that it might be permanent.

“No,” Thor said, making a face as though this was the most stupid thing he’d heard in his whole life. “We’re not raising humans, I mean—not that I have a problem with humans, I love humans—”

Sometimes a little too much...but not in a creepy way, in a respectful way...

“As you’ve demonstrated,” Loki muttered, rolling his eyes. Not that he should talk.

Loki is consciously thinking of alt!Strange here, but of course...gosh he spent nine months living at the Sanctum and maybe he got close to one of its occupants...

“The point is,” Thor said, dropping all pretense of subtlety, “you’ve got some experience with it, and you should come back and—”

Thor takes a massive risk here and straight up asks Loki to come back to New Asgard. Not only that, but he’s asking Loki to come back to New Asgard and...open a school? This is the sort of thing that should thrill Loki. Thor is asking him to stick around! Thor is telling Loki that he wants him in New Asgard. And Loki...

Loki’s glare was poisonous enough that Thor took a step back. “No,” he hissed. “I will not.”

Loki doesn’t take kindly to it. Instead of seeing this moment for what it is, which is Thor reaching out to him, all Loki can see is this like, blaring red warning that he’s going to end up as something he Doesn’t Want To Be. And he doesn’t even really know what it is, right? He just hates what New Asgard symbolizes. He hates that he initiated Ragnarok, which necessitated New Asgard’s existence. He hates that New Asgard is so small, because of his own inability to protect his people from Thanos. He hates what Thor became in New Asgard. It’s really not even about New Asgard, it’s all of this other stuff.

Aaaaand chapter 7 of You Come to Me Wild and Wired!

So this was written for a @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt a couple weeks ago. The prompt was ‘broken windows.’ Their prompts are very very open ended, so I generally check them first thing on Friday morning and then let the day’s prompt rattle around in my brain until an idea occurs to me. With this one, I thought I could do something with the Oculus at the Sanctum being broken. I had also, a couple days before writing this, I had seen a reference to some sort of prompt for another ship about Stephen being angry, and I thought, you know what? It’s fun to write Stephen being angry. I should try that sometime! Broken Oculus means attack on the Sanctum, and I thought, what if Loki gets hurt in the course of that?

And to think, Loki was beginning to wonder if Strange ever got angry.

The idea of these fics is for them to be I think between 100-1000 words. This one was 1360, I believe, when I finished it? So I had to trim it down quite a bit (I eventually got it under 1100 but not quite down to 1000). The ‘And’ at the beginning of this sentence would have been an easy one to cut, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I just loved it too much.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” 

I love writing sweary Stephen. I love it so much.

Strange’s hands shake as he pulls Loki’s torn sweater from the wound. One of the wounds. The sweater is ruined. Shame. Loki’s always liked it. Even without the damage, the blood stains will never come out.

I also love writing Loki being more concerned with his wardrobe than his own physical wellbeing.

Loki feels woozy. Strange’s question strikes him as funny. “I was thinking I wouldn’t get hurt.”

This is clearly not the answer Strange is looking for.

Loki finds that funny, too. “I’ll tell you what I wasn’t thinking—I wasn’t thinking I’d ruin my favorite sweater. Do you see this color? Really brings out my eyes, don’t you think?”

See when you’re bleeding out, you can say things like this.

Strange’s jaw clenches. His eyebrows draw together and his eyes narrow. He picks up a bottle and doesn’t bother blotting whatever’s inside onto a cloth—he just sloshes it over the gash on Loki’s stomach.

When Loki yelps, Strange says, “Oh, shut up. That’s not going to kill you. Which is more than I can say for the horde of demons you faced—on your own.”

Gritting his teeth against the sting of alcohol, Loki says, “Yes, but they didn’t kill me.” The wooziness is probably due to blood loss. His sweater isn’t just stained—it’s soaked with crimson. That’s all his blood. The demons’ blood was black.

I’m not actually a big fan of hurt/comfort when Loki is the one who’s hurt. When I’m going to hurt Loki—and I do—I prefer to do it with psychological and emotional torment. Physical pain? Honestly, it’s not that fun for me to write. Here’s the thing with Loki: he doesn’t care. Physical pain doesn’t frighten or even really bother him. He’s completely blasé about it. And in order for it to be dangerous to him, it has to be so bad that he’s passed out. Where’s the fun in a passed out Loki?

In general, I far prefer to put Loki in the comfort role, because it seems like it’s such an unnatural fit for him, and that’s way more fun to write about. I like to make my characters uncomfortable, haha. The two people that Loki is closest to in my verse, Thor and Stephen, are also really not the kind of people that want to show physical weakness. And Loki isn’t nurturing (well, he can be, but it’s buried deep down inside him), so like, it’s way more fun to have Thor be hurt and have Loki needing to feed him or whatever.

And I’m straying from this fic but this is the director’s cut, haha.

Strange doesn’t respond. At all. His hands can barely hold the—what is that? Oh, a bandage. He’s trying to bandage the wound, but he drops it because of his hands’ violent tremor.

Stephen’s hands shake more when he’s emotional.

“You need to go to the hospital,” Strange says as he picks up the alcohol again. He sounds like he might kill Loki himself.

“I’d rather not.”

At these words, which Loki delivers in a perfectly affable tone, 

This line just makes me laugh. Something about the word ‘affable.’ Loki’s so cheerful about his impending death.

Strange drops the bottle. It spills all over their shoes; splashes their pants. Loki’s legs sting as the alcohol soaks through his pants, so he knows he has open wounds there, too.

Trying to show, not tell.

Strange swears, a long string of profanity that penetrates Loki’s fog. He’s never heard Strange talk like this.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Odinson? Like seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Strange rakes a hand through his hair. Blood, Loki’s blood, smears his forehead. “You’re bleeding out. You’re gonna fucking die and you can’t swallow your goddamn motherfucking pride to let someone who can hold a fucking needle and thread stitch you up—”

The beauty of these little ficlets is I don’t have to come up with the whole long slowburn backstory or figure out too much about the characters’ arcs up until this point, but, I will say, I love to write a Stephen who has entirely come to terms with his disability and for him to actually be mad at Loki for not seeking treatment from someone who can actually help.

“This won’t kill me.” Loki considers. “Probably not, anyway. Though I don’t feel well.”

Strange looks like he’s going to scream.

Loki glances around. “Can you use superglue to close a wound? I’m sure I’ve heard Lang say that.”

It cracks me up to imagine Scott describing how like, one time at Baskin Robbins he cut himself on the soft serve machine or something, and he had to close it up with superglue. And that Loki feels this is an appropriate thing to say at this moment.

Strange stares, his eyes blue, then green, then this curious, almost colorless color. Colorless color. That doesn’t even make sense.

In my other fics I usually refer to this as ‘seaglass’ but I try not to be too repetitive.

Perhaps Strange is right. Perhaps Loki is in danger.

“Why would you do something so stupid?” Strange asks quietly. Loki expected more rage. Rage he can deal with. People are always angry at him. 

Lol come on I wrote this fic, you didn’t think there wouldn’t be angst in it, did you?

It’s funny, actually. Loki has always taken pleasure in getting a rise out of people. It’s easy. People are predictable.

Strange has never been predictable.

So Loki tells the truth. No snark. No sarcasm. “The Oculus was broken,” he says. “Broken windows aren’t a good sign. I thought you might be in danger.”

Sometimes, Loki fears he has become predictable. Didn’t Thor tell him so, once? But he can tell this is the last thing Strange expected to hear.

“I wanted to help you,” Loki adds for good measure. He feels light-headed. He probably wouldn’t say these things otherwise. Maybe it’s good, maybe it’s bad. Maybe it’s time he said this to Strange, to Stephen, whom he cares very much for, even if he pretends otherwise. He likes making Stephen angry by being difficult, by being intractable, by being an arse. He likes trying to get a reaction. He feels like he’s standing outside Strange’s window, throwing stones, trying to break the glass of his impenetrable, unruffle-able coolness.

As I write these ficlets, I find that I tend to start with a literal interpretation, and along the way, I find my way to these metaphors. They usually help me tie the fic together, too, so that it’s not just a collection of sentences but actually has a itty bitty plot and arc. I’m particularly proud of this one, I’ll be honest.

But Strange is immune to Loki.

It’s a bit of an act. Alright, it’s entirely an act. Loki isn’t good at seeking attention unless it’s negative.

My cat is also like this tbh.

“Did think maybe I had it under control?” Stephen runs his shaking fingers through his hair again. There’s red in the gray at his temples.

“I thought maybe you didn’t,” Loki replies.

Stephen covers his eyes with a hand. Bloody fingerprints mark where his fingertips rested when he moves it. 

I have a thing for my boys being covered in blood.

“Let me take you to the hospital.”

There’s something in Strange’s eyes. It looks like fear.

Strange’s hands shake more when he’s emotional.

Suddenly, Loki realizes Stephen has been putting on an act, too. He’s not cool and unruffled. He’s not immune to Loki.

Suddenly, Loki thinks Stephen might care more about him than he lets on.

Loki looks at his blood-soaked sweater. Considers how dizzy he feels. Ponders the fact that the shape of Stephen Strange’s lips is very attractive; the way his eyes change color with the light hypnotic.

Maybe it’s the blood loss. But he wouldn’t like to die without knowing how Stephen’s lips feel.

Aaaand there it is. So I’m a serious slow burn person, and that makes it hard for me to write these short little things. You’ll notice actually if you read them that there’s always all this unspoken backstory, like ‘they’d been working together for years...’ etc etc. But I always try to get that build even in these short little things, and if I can make myself go, AWWWWW then I’m happy.

“Alright,” Loki says. “I’ll go to the hospital.” He stands. There’s a rush in his ears. His legs feel like sodden paper. 

Stole this line from myself. I have a nearly identical simile in one of my original novels.

They buckle.

But Stephen is there, holding him, an arm tight around Loki’s waist. His hands may tremble, but he radiates safety and steadiness.

Safety is hugely important to Loki. He couldn’t ever fall in love with someone who didn’t make him feel safe, even though he probably wouldn’t admit that out loud.

A portal blooms, Metro-General Hospital on the other side. Stephen tucks a piece of hair behind Loki’s ear. “The sweater does bring out your eyes, by the way.”

Obligatory callback to the beginning of the fic. When I had Loki note that the sweater brings out his eyes, I knew that I would have Stephen agree at the end of the fic.

“Aha, you think about my eyes,” Loki says. It’s getting hard to hold his head up. Stephen guides him through the portal. “That means you think they’re pretty.”

“I think they’re gorgeous,” Stephen says. He hesitates. “I think you’re gorgeous.”

‘Gorgeous’ is my preferred word for Stephen to use to describe Loki. Loki tends more towards ‘beautiful’ to describe Stephen.

He lowers Loki to a chair. “Now sit here while I get help.”

Loki grabs Stephen’s wrist and lets his head fall against the wall. He peers at Stephen through slitted eyes, knowing he’ll survive this, because he’s survived worse. He still says, “I would kiss you, but I want something to look forward to if I don’t die.”

Emotions pass over Stephen’s face like the play of shadows on the ground as clouds scud across the sun. 

I love the word ‘scud’ but it’s definitely one of those ‘you only get to use this once in a fic’ type of words.

He swallows hard. “Yeah, well.” He squeezes Loki’s hand. “We’ll see how you feel after you’re patched up.”

Loki smiles and lets him go. He knows how he’ll feel. After all, he’s been throwing stones at the windows of Stephen’s heart.

He just never realized Stephen was throwing them back.

METAPHOR! The wonderful thing about finding the metaphor is that it’s a really easy way to end the fic. It’s the central theme, right, so you use the last line to tie into it, and done.

Thank you so so much for asking!

Fanfic Writers: Director’s Cut

[loyally-unfaithful]

—; but “sentimental boy” is my nom de plume

word count: 1916

pairing: connor/gn!reader

genre: slight fluff; hurt no comfort

summary: it has been a year after the android revolution. humans and android alike settled down, an olive branch was offered as a sign of reconciliation. with newfound peace came along newfound love, and many open roads to choose from. this was no different for the rk800—connor. surprisingly or unsurprisingly, he decided to continue working at the dpd, this time as a bonafide detective. but he has also accepted the thrilling uncertainty of life that deviancy has brought; the same strings that brought his lover in his life.the same ones he hated and cursed, the same fates who ripped it all away.

a/n: everytime i convince myself i came out of my dbh hyperfixation i just look at connor and i become lovesick again.

gosh i know i should be finishing my other fic or work on the prologue script for my vn, but,,,,,,, i just had a sudden hankering for connor angst,,,,

written during a sleep deprivation induced moment of epiphany,,,,, (purple prose cuz im extra af uwu)

I’ve never written angst before so i’d love to hear your thoughts on it

maybe if you asked him one year ago whether he’d consider returning someone’s feelings, romantic feelings, he’d reply to you with a placid smile and a polite « i’m sorry, i wasn’t programmed to reciprocate romantic interest. ». he remembered that he’d sneer at them internally. now thinking about it, long before he questioned his obedience towards her, he already showed signs of deviancy.

you did what you were designed to do.

memories from his past would still torment him erratically, doubts would resurface on particularly dark days. but you were the light that cut through that haze. this wasn’t a “fake deviancy”. it couldn’t have been. not when he is holding your body so close to his, warmth radiating off of each other, two heartbeats—similar, but different—thrumming together. all the softly whispered and adoringly announced « i love you »’s; all the quick and coveted pecks and all the feverish and passionate kisses. no, he was alive, he was sure of it—alive and absolutely enamoured by you. all semblance of doubt ebbed away when you entered his life.

whenever he’s around you, he feels more alive: you make him feel everything, all the little precious things. tenderness and adoration when he shares tranquil mornings with you. he feels more alive when he’s with you, all the little habits and routines too endearing: the sweet post-it notes scattered over your shared flat; scribbled upon it are encouraging words or sweet nothings. conflicting work schedules meant that moments spent together were scarce, but that made them even more valuable and coveted. captivation, was another emotion that he felt around you. your mannerism, your dreams and interests, your physical attributes and quality of voice. logically speaking, you were just another human, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. you’d live and then one day, you’d die. as if you never really existed. but he wasn’t being logical. how could he be? when you were right there in front of him? you made him irrational, and he found that new aspect in life thrilling. confusing at first, but exciting. he was eternally grateful that you let him experience all these beautiful emotions with you. he was grateful that you allowed him in your short journey that you called life.

he was happy, absolutely content, with his shared life with you. you were both in perfect places in your respective lives: you both had a stable job, loving family backing you up, and a fulfilling love life. what seemed to be a mismatched couple at first turned to be 2 pieces of the same puzzle finally finding their place. life for the both of you couldn’t be better.

but along with the many exquisite moment that your romantic endeavours brought you, the android didn’t only taste the sweet delicacies of life; no matter how idyllic a moment may be, there were times when he had to taste the astringent and sour desserts life offered.

anger. that was an emotion that he felt. but that’s not accurate, no… it was frustration and shock and betrayal, all the unsavoury feelings in the world. perhaps it was due to his inexperience, maybe his lack of exposure to these negative sentiments, that caused him to snap the way he did. to hurt you the way he did. but it happened and there was no turning back the clock.

no matter how much he begged and cried for it.

he was proud that you got the job offer in canada, he really was. and he, like any other caring boyfriend would, offered to accompany you there, an offer which you gladly accepted. that was the plan. but plans were difficult to follow. crime waits for no man, working for the law meant that connor must always be available for duty. no excuses, he was an android. but connor wasn’t just a simple android detective, no, he had a much more important role: he was the link, the messenger, between jericho and the police force. he was the crucial communication between the two forces. so when jericho contacted him about threats of anti-android attacks, he had to make an appearance at their base. the meeting coincided with the day you were meant to travel to canada. it was a simple trip really. it only took a few hours by train, stay in canada for 2 days (it was the weekend), and then return back to detroit, probably arriving in the late afternoons to their home.

but you were looking forwards to traveling with your wonderful partner after « [we] spent so much time apart ». the day he told you the urgent change of plans, connor was tired, overwhelmed. you were frustrated and expectant. a fight was bound to have erupted. accusatory statements, along the lines of: « you don’t actually care about me! it’s all about work and work and work! » and « i can’t believe how selfish you’re being right now! » in between shouting and yelling and frustration and anger and contempt–

you both went to bed exhausted but spiteful, still not forgiving each other. in hindsight, he felt so utterly pathetic, so unbelievably childish, for being that cruel, and uncaring. he didn’t want to be like him again. so many glares and insults were thrown at each other, tears threatened to spill, LED flashed and shone a true red, doors were slammed. he felt awful, plain and simple. you both lied in the same bed, under the same cover. so close yet so excruciatingly far apart. back facing the other’s, no one said a word.

you woke up before him. bitter and unhappy. no morning kisses, no whispered « i love you » to wake your other half. you wordlessly got yourself ready, grabbed your bag and quietly snuck out. no post it notes were left. no sweet promises or encouraging words. you could do this work trip without him. you were independent. you didn’t need a tin can to chaperone you everywhere. so you left. plain and simple. gone. since you woke up and left earlier than planned, you boarded an earlier train. how lovely and convenient. the carriages were mostly filled with androids. perhaps they were trying to immigrate to canada like the others. who knows. you paid no mind and absentmindedly scrolled through your phone, obsessively checking your messages to see if connor realised. to see if he apologised. because frankly, at that point you were tired of being mad and just wanted to spend the day in his arms. but prideful and petty as you were, you weren’t willing to apologise and admit your mistakes first.

connor roused from stasis a few moments afterward, less bitter and more regretful. he wished to right his wrongs but the normally warm presence beside him was not there. his system was slowly booting back up when his audio sensor picked up an incessant ringing from the living room. he jolted up and rushed out to pick up the ringing phone call and waited for the other side to speak up.

the room was so utterly quiet, a silence so suffocating engulfed the room, that you could hear a pin drop. the voice on the other side asked whether this was indeed your house and that he was indeed connor anderson. he swallowed dryly and answered with a soft, « yes ». running a quick check in his database, he matches the caller’s voice with a certain nathaniel edwards. first responder. he allowed his HUD to display the news. if androids could get pale, have all their blood drain from their faces, his would have certainly done so. he stood, rigid and motionless, consumed by shock and horror.

the news and the first responder’s words blended into one as he gripped the phone tighter: « this morning, at 7:48 am the train from detroit to toronto was caught in a devastating turn of events: the train soon caught in fire and exploded as it made its way over the border. it has been confirmed that there has been 0 survivors. it is unclear whether this was an unfortunate accident or the result of anti-android terrorism. »

the other person’s voice poured through the speaker but he wasn’t listening. he stared blankly in front of him. no way, he thought, it couldn’t have been… the only sign that the android was registering the other man’s input was the now constant red LED.

« sir? sir. i’m sorry to bring this— – no, this isn’t right… you must have the wrong number, he interrupted. there were probably others with your name… maybe they were mistaken... – sir that’s not possible, w— – you must have gotten the wrong house… not… it-it couldn’t have been…» but he knew how improbable it was that they got the wrong number. he was built to be logical, to believe statistics. the statistics told him you were dead. long gone. he hoped and prayed that you stayed back, didn’t get on the earlier train. the statistics told him you did.

he choked out a response, quiet and defeated. you were gone. he’d never get to see you again. « i… i’m sorry… i-i don’t understand… – we tried our best to find them sir, but… the fire was too severe… if we gain any new developm— – you didn’t save them. »

still in a daze, he must have hung up on the poor man and unceremoniously dropped the phone. its clatter the only sound in this deafening silence. the reality of it all comes crashing through and he collapsed, ugly sobs escaping him as the denial faded away to make way for the pure and unfiltered grief. he felt lost. for the first time in a long while since amanda he felt so utterly and completely lost. no more shining beacon during his dark and stormy nights. no more valued affection and coveted kisses. no more notes and no more smile to come home to.

he laughed bitterly, devoid of any humour. it was funny, just how cruel the fates were: made human life so fleeting. lachesisonly gave them such a short eternity. and when he thought you both found your missing halves, bound to another by an invisible string, atropos cuts it. a small snippet that is so easily ripped away from you. he belonged with you, he felt at peace with you. he was able to be what he struggled to be for the majority of his miserable and artificial existence. with you, he was able to be happy.

but now he’ll have to get used to not coming home to a warm embrace. he’ll have to get used to going into stasis alone, in the cold bed. he’ll have to get used to his aching heart being greeted by an empty house. every cold and lonely  nights. it’s ridiculous how human he felt because of you. and he was both thankful and spiteful for it.

sadness and bitter regret ripped through him when he remembered that he didn’t  share goodbyes before he left. he remembered how he couldn’t have apologised to you and tenderly held you. he regretted not being able to tell you how much he loved you and how much you meant to him for the last time. ra9 only knows the things he’d do and the things he’d sacrifice, just to have you in his arms again.

instead he was faced with the bitter reminder that the last thing he’s ever said to you, your last memory of him, was a contemptuous and scornful « i wished i never met you ».

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