#he and others should learn to love the wood more than they love the flame

[movedtone0mile]

camping trip

jaemin x f!reader

warnings: smut, mdni, outdoor sex (this is not hygienic, would not recommend irl kiddos), unprotected sex (again would not recommend but theyre in a relationship)

word count: 1,6K

summary: Jaemin and Y/N go on a camping trip by the lake, and Jaemin has a special plan for nightfall.

Jeno had advised Jaemin to take you on a camping trip, he had said it was more romantic than you may think at first, and Jaemin was all excited about it. Also, Jeno had given him another tip that you would love for sure, but it would have to wait until nightfall. 

The sunny weather was perfect for the weekend getaway Jaemin had planned, and he had a weekend off. If you were maybe reluctant at first, you had decided to give it a chance, so here you were, driving around, your face stuck to the GPS.

“Here! Look at the sign!” you exclaimed when you finally saw a sign indicating the lake. 

Jaemin eagerly turned in the right direction, it had been hours since you were driving among the twisting and winding roads. You were both relieved to finally get to your destination. 

Jaemin let out an exaggerated sigh of relief when the lake finally became visible. He pulled off the car and playfully slapped your thigh. « We’re here princess! »

Opening your door, you rushed to the water. Jeno had not lied about it, it was beautiful. Tall trees hid you from the rest of the world and the light reverbing on the surface of the water gave it a magical appearance. You were impatient to go swimming since the hours in the car had you suffocating for air. 

“Hey! Come help me with the bags!” Jaemin cried from the back of the car.

You helped him bring your things to the place you decided would be best to set up camp. 

“We have to set up the tent before it gets dark.” he declared, opening the manual.

Unrolling the tent, you carefully secured the corners and poles, and about 25 minutes after, the fabric finally had taken the shape of something that may welcome the both of you.

“Good job baby!” He exclaimed, proud of your teamwork. 

Jaemin threw himself inside, spreading his body all over the narrow surface. 

“Well, it’s not as spacious as you told me it was.” You said, looking down at him with narrowed eyes. 

“What do you mean? There’s plenty of space!” He patted his belly, inviting you to join him. 

Throwing your entire weight onto him, you tossed and turned, groaning. “It’s not comfortable at all, we should return it to the store!” 

Jaemin slapped the back of your thigh playfully, faking being offended. “Get up then, we have a fire to set up miss.” 

“Oh, we really are playing little adventurers!”

꧁ ♡ ꧂

Jaemin had gathered some wood and you had displayed some rocks to create a fire pit. 

“Where did you learn how to light a fire?” You asked him, watching him confidently placing paper and kindling in the centre of your preparation. 

“I’m a man full of surprises, you know.” Wiggling his eyebrows, he reached into his back pocket, picking up something. He then quickly took out a lighter to ignite the paper. 

“A lighter?!” You reached out to shove him and you busted out a laugh together. 

Soon enough, the flames began to grow and dance, and you snuggled into Jaemin’s chest as the embers started to crackle. 

“You aren’t impressed by my scout skills?” 

As the fire grew, you roasted marshmallows, snuggling close to each other under a blanket. You and Jaemin shared stories you hadn’t told each other before, as well as your plans for the future. The stars above you shone brightly in the sky and you looked at Jaemin’s features. “Thank you for bringing me here, it’s beautiful.” You murmured. 

Looking down at you, he smiled, “I’m always happy as long as I’m with you.” 

You leaned in to kiss him gently. “And it is only the beginning.” He said once you pulled away. You asked what he meant and he gestured to the lake, “Don’t you want to take a dip?” 

꧁ ♡ ꧂

You both sat down on the dock, settling on the edge, letting your feet dangle above the water’s surface. The full moon cast a soft glow on the lake, and the stars above were reflected on the surface. 

Jaemin leaned his head on your shoulder, as you sat in comfortable silence for a moment.

“Do you really want to swim?” you asked him. “It’s getting late.”

“Of course!” He stood up. “Why go to the lake if it’s not to take a dive?” 

Jaemin took off his shirt and started to unbuckle his belt. 

“Jaemin, our swimsuits are in the tent.” You said. 

“Who needs them?” He wiggled his eyebrows, pulling down his pants and briefs. 

You screamed, putting your hands in front of your eyes, faking outrage. 

Jaemin dived into the water, splashing you on the way. He emerged a bit further, shuffling his head like a dog would do. He was cute like this, you thought.

“Isn’t too cold?” You asked, raising your voice enough for him to hear. 

He shivered, “A little, at first, but it gets better when you move!” With that, he swam to you before putting his hands on your knees, his eyes looking lovingly into yours. 

“You got goosebumps, don’t tell me that it’s not cold.” You said, raising a sceptical eyebrow. 

He faked chattering his teeth, before responding, “I swear! It’s so warm, feels like a hot tub, » you scoffed. « Come onnn, baby!” 

Getting up, you raised your top above your head. Jaemin’s mouth hung open dramatically at the sight of your naked breasts. « Oh please. » you whined, unbuttoning your shorts. Then, you teasingly slid the fabric down your legs, sending shivers down the poor boy’s spine. 

Propping yourself on Jaemin’s shoulders, you let your body sink into the cold water, shrieking at the contact. « Jaemin! It’s freezing cold! »

Jaemin gripped the flesh of your hips as your face got to the same level as his. “I have an idea to warm you up, you know.” 

“Oh I have no doubt.” you mused and leaned in to kiss him.

He pushed your body impossibly close to his and let his hands roam your body. Yours were squeezing his shoulders, your nails occasionally scratching. 

The kiss was an intense one since both of you had the whole day to grow needy. Being just the two of you, recluse from the rest of the world, the set added to your excitation. 

“Open your mouth.” Jaemin always loved to say this kind of thing, which had you unable to contain your laughter, with this smug smile of his. 

You scoffed but complained anyway, you wouldn’t stop this game between the both of you. 

When you opened up your mouth, he slid his tongue inside and sucked on yours. His jerky breathing had you smiling into the kiss. You loved how riled up he could get, even at the slightest touch. And without you realizing it, he had started to grind against you. 

Reaching your hand to his crotch, you grope him. He broke the kiss to moan, his eyes were tight shut, and his voice had become raspy.  “The things you do to me, baby…”

Complacency rushed to your head, and your grin intensified. It was always so satisfying to see how you were able to drive him crazy. Pleasuring him was more than enough to please you. 

Jaemin grabbed your wrist, withdrawing it from his length before sliding it between your thighs, and even in the water he was able to feel your warmth against his own skin. The friction was not yet enough but it was enough to make of Jaemin a whimpering mess. However, after some time, he grew bored and impatient of thrusting in the water. 

“Hold onto me,” Jaemin said, already breathless, before he grabbed your thighs, as you circled them around his hips. He entered you in a swift motion, and you threw your head back, crying his name out. He chuckled and began to move. You had shut your eyes tight as a consequence of the stretch, but Jaemin softly asked you to open them. When you did, you were met with the spectacle of the sky dotted with shining stars, and you thought that the setting had never been this much in line with what you were doing: amazing.. 

Biting on his lower lip, Jaemin concentrated on his movements, thankful for the water that carried your weight. The only things he had to focus on being clinging to you and moving. 

As he sped up, waves began to create around your bodies, and the sensation of hearing your whimpers reach as far as they could, before dying far away from you was all new and exhilarating.

“Jaemin, please, please!” Not even knowing what you were begging for, you begged anyway. The pleasure was too much, the stars in the sky fading into a big white halo, as your vision blurred. 

His head dropped against your neck and you could feel his hot breaths grow into needy groans.

It was hard to understand what he was saying in between moans when he warned you he was about to cum, but his erratic thrusts were enough of a warning. 

Jaemin reached his high a few seconds before you did, but continued to move anyway, sloppy thrusts getting you exactly where you wished to be. Your mouth hung open in a silent cry, as the knot inside you snapped. 

꧁ ♡ ꧂

“I got you, baby,” Jaemin helped you up on the dock, before pulling himself up too. You were still in a daze, so he wrapped a soft towel around you, as he dried your body and hair. “Did you enjoy my surprise?” You nodded, not trusting your voice just yet, and leaned into his rubs. 

He dried himself as well, before helping you to circle your arms around his shoulders and scooped you over. Jaemin carried you as a princess back to the tent. There, you still felt a bit sleepy and couldn’t wait to cuddle with him to sleep. Hastily, he took out some clothes from your bags and came back to you with a hoodie of his. With his signature smile, he tugged the fabric past your head and you lazily put up your arms, as a way not to make things more difficult for him. 

Having slipped you into some shorts, Jaemin put on his pyjamas himself and tugged the both of you into your shared sleeping bag. 

It was not very comfortable but Jaemin’s warmth was enough for you to get comfy. He held you against his chest and listened to your breathing calming down, your peace being his own lullaby. 

In the morning, he wanted you to go explore the woods, and maybe repeat the same scenario the next evening. 

God, this camping trip would do you a world of good. 

[basicinstnct]

arrangement / jacob custos

word count: 2967

tags: size kink, love bites, hurt/comfort, angst, morning wood (more accurately nap wood), referenced masturbation, pining, insecurity, creampies, slight breeding kink, transfer of affection (sorta), savior complex

a/n: personally, i found this guy pretty endearing, especially if you look at his insecurities which are more apparent in some routes than they are in others. i know that isn't exactly a popular opinion (it's certainly a bit frustrating that the writers set him up by making him largely "responsible" for the events to follow), but hopefully there are enough like-minded people to give this some attention.

It’s often said that what you fear, you attract. You’re a little more receptive to that type of loose philosophy than you should be, so you aren’t exactly surprised when one day, the words come true.

Jacob’s voice calls out your name, soft, unlike him. “Are you awake?”

You’re glad you’re facing the wall. It gives you a chance against him, to not let him into your arms again. Other than pretending you’re asleep, there’s really no way out. Now that all the kids are gone, and the counselor you were supposed to share it with never showed up, you have the cabin all to yourself. Thinking about him had already kept you up all night, so you really just want to take a nap before you have to load the van up, not… this.

Seeing his face, those sad eyes, will end your resistance where it stands.

What the two of you have isn’t good. Against your intentions you’ve become at best a therapist, and at worst a replacement. Who you're taking the place of is unclear. At first you thought it was Emma. It wasn’t far-fetched to believe that you were covering for something that clearly wasn’t working. You were so sure, but more time with Jacob has left you doubting that. It has to be something in his past, something that happened a long time ago, inflicted by someone that you remind him of in one way or another. Being a proxy probably hurts him as much as it helps him, and you’re not exactly sure what it does to you.

What have you become? You’re not exactly the other woman. As far as you know, nothing’s really happened between Jacob and Emma in a long time, enough time that there’s a chance those flames have been swept out. You can see how Jacob’s affections burn hard against the cool of Emma’s practically nonexistent feelings.

You’ve let him, at least half a dozen times, come to be consoled by you. It began when he ran into you as you were heading down to the lake, one night when you couldn’t catch a wink of rest. When you later asked why he thought he could trust you, he didn’t have much to say.

You’ve let Jacob speak to you, cry to you. He mostly talks about nothing in particular, but if he nods off against your shoulder, he’ll mumble troubled, troubled words that make your heart pang. Lost thoughts about being alone, unwanted.

He has a lot of problems.

Around everyone else he can pretend he’s fine. You can learn as much from the truth as you can from a lie, but only if you’re looking.

He says your name again, in the midst of you faking a breath. You snuggle deeper into the thin fleece that Mr. Hackett gave you, trying to give the appearance of being slightly disturbed but not awoken. Something about the situation is giving you a feeling. You shouldn’t do this!

You can hardly think of anything at all when you hear his footsteps. He approaches your bunk cautiously, before you hear the creak in the floorboards and the movement of fingers. He tosses his shoes to the corner of the room. Then his sweats and shirt go too. You’re squeezing your eyes shut even though you desperately want to look at him. If not to admire his looks than to read the expression on his face.

When he lifts the blanket from your body. You’re so shocked by the action that you can’t even fight it, the way you shiver all over. Jacob climbs into bed and wraps his arm around you. You can feel the warmth of his body, his furnace-like chest against your back as his head rests against your shoulder.

Without him, you run cold naturally, especially when you sleep. Now that he’s in bed with you, you’re worried the temperature of his body will make you sweat.

“I know you’re awake. You can tell me to go,” he says weakly. “I’ll go.”

“I never want you to go, Jacob, even if I feel like you should.” You can’t hold back the reply. Logic fails you around him, at least when you’re alone.

If your words are vague, he still knows what you mean. He rewards you, you think, by gripping you tighter, murmuring thank you before pressing the lightest of kisses against your neck. You get the sense that he’s used to it, getting affection through transactions. He can’t give you much out here except his body heat, and he has more than enough of that for the both of you.

You’re expecting the regular dialogue when he takes a deep breath, like he usually does, but that’s not what you hear at all.

“I feel totally useless today,” Jacob says, “all I can think about is how nothing ever goes right. I feel like everyone is just tolerating me. I’d just wanted the day to end so I could come here and be with you. Even if you wouldn’t be caught dead speaking to me when the others are around. Then I remembered that we were leaving today…”

Maybe that is how things appear to him. With all the complications between the group, the crushes and the grievances, you’ve always thought you’re better off not adding whatever’s going on between the two of you to the mix. You’ve always acted like nothing had changed around the others, and he’d followed your lead. You didn’t think he had any problem with it.

All at once you realize how deep your concern for him goes. Has he wanted for something he felt you weren’t prepared to offer? You wonder how he’s felt every time you’ve paired up with someone else, if there’s ever been a hurt glance you missed. A jealous glance.

You still can’t look at him, but your hand searches for his, and when you find it you squeeze gently. It’s not natural for you, but it’s worth it to hear the way he gasps, like he really can’t believe it.

“It’s never been like that,” you tell him, “I just don’t want things to be awkward. Even if we aren’t usually… I don’t want things to change. I never knew how you felt either.”

He huffs, long and hard (listening for once) and you shake lightly as you feel it on your skin.

“I hope I haven’t been making you feel bad.” You sigh, “I wasn’t even thinking about it like that. Sometimes,” you were worried this would be a blow to his already lacking confidence, rather than anything constructive, “I don’t like the way you act around everyone. Like you have something to prove.”

“I… I feel like I do.”

“I think you think you do, but I think everyone else just feels like you aren’t being yourself. Some people,” you don’t want to say her name, “they can smell the blood in the water.”

“You haven’t been making me feel bad,” he murmurs, mouth close to your ear, “I love the way I feel. Around you, right now.”

You know there’s a chance he doesn’t mean anything by it, that he’s emotional and vulnerable and confused. Desire and confusion could sometimes be the same thing. But when he says things like this, as he has before, you can’t help but think about what it would be like.

You’ve certainly done more than just think. One hand down your shorts and your face buried in the fleece, the scent of him still on it, the smell of his cologne and his sweat. You’d put your palm to clit as you slid a finger inside, thinking of the outline of his cock the one chance you’d had to see him in it.

Down at the lake, a day of swimming, he’d had a swimsuit you swore hadn’t fit him since middle school. It was the definition of tight in all the right places.

Fat, was really all you were able to process. You’d blushed incredibly hard, swimming in the opposite direction before anyone had a chance to notice. The image filed away for later use.

Him, holding you down, slipping inside. The sting of it, of him making you take him. The sounds he would make when he was all the way in, balls against your clit. Teeth on your skin to muffle his moans.

It’d seemed like a pipe dream. Now you weren’t sure. In any case you hadn’t wanted to be fucked so bad, by anybody, in your life.

You flip over to face Jacob, staring deep into his eyes for the first time today. They’re misty, red, and they seem very sad. The whole thing makes you feel like a bad person, like a pervert. You wonder if he can see how black your eyes are with want for him. Can he feel how wet you are, right here next to him?

“Let’s go to sleep…” You venture, not meaning it at all, still glad that he agrees when he shifts to get comfortable and you feel his breathing even out. It’s far too long before you fall asleep yourself, too lost in visions of everything you want.

You know you’ll regret it later, that you’ll be nodding off when you shouldn’t be, but you can’t stop thinking.

. . .

You wake up thinking something troubling. You wish you could make Jacob understand. You don’t always need to get your happiness from people, but you know you only really mean other people. You’d have no problem being a rock for him. You want to give him a way out of the feelings that drown him every day. It’s what he so desperately seems to need.

But it can’t keep going on this way.

He must wake up moments after you do. Possibly aware of the change in your breathing, or maybe the way your heart rate has increased tenfold. He sighs, before chuckling in your ear, “what’s got you so worked up?”

“I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t overslept,” you look at the clock on your dresser. It’s only been half an hour. “Didn’t want to hold everyone up.”

It’s him, of course, but you can’t exactly say that. At least he seems in higher spirits than before, you consider.

The meaning becomes too literal when you feel his cock against you. Morning wood, probably. As much as it makes you wish the sheets would swallow you, it also sends your mind to other places.

Jacob tries to freeze, but his arm is still over your hips, caging you with his body, so there’s little you can do other than ignore it. But that already seems impossible, you can start to feel desire, burning in your pussy. You want him

It’s easy to feel him moving, attempting to be discreet but failing entirely. Every inch moves you with him because he’s unwilling to let go of you, whether he realizes it or not.

“I don’t mind,” you whisper, “or care. I mean I don’t care.”

“I care,” he bites back, seeming insulted. “I know you see that, so stop pretending like you don’t.”

You try to turn in his arms, but Jacob holds you still with little effort. He’s stronger, you think, obviously. You’re never able to escape him, mentally or physically.

“You think my problem is being insecure, fine. Your problem is that you’re always thinking, you never just feel.”

You know he’s right, but what can you say to that?

What was once a tight grip on your wrist turns into a comforting gesture, his thumb rubbing gently over the skin of your hand.

“L-let me make you feel something,” he sighs, “for once.”

You sigh, defeated in the best way possible.

Jacob's hard against you still, and he starts grinding into your ass gently. A gasp leaves you before your head is turned and you feel him on your cheek, a sweet kiss, before Jacob’s lips are on yours and he gives you a nasty one.

It’s your first kiss with him, but it doesn’t feel that way. You learn that Jacob likes to be close to you. He knows just how to get you to sigh, open your mouth up so he can press his tongue inside. It gets sloppy fast. You both moan, unable to part until you need to breathe. There’s spit connecting the two of you.

He moves your body beneath his, palm on the back of your neck an oddly comforting pressure. “Should’ve been kissing you this whole time,” he sighs.

“Doesn’t matter,” you tell him, putting your own hand to his cheek, “you have me now. Do whatever you want.”

Jacob makes quick work of your clothes, rids you of your bra, then tugs his trunks down to free his dick.

You want to blush at the sound it makes, the weight smacking against your stomach, lined exactly up with where he’ll be inside. Almost to your naval.

There’s a moment of just breathing, and when you look you see that he’s eyeing the same thing you are.

“I’ll fit,” he groans when he sees your expression. “Promise.”

You lick your lips. “Just prove it.”

Your panties are pulled to the side before you can hear him lick his thumb, once, twice. He must think it’s enough spit because he begins to use it to touch your clit, only to groan so loud you want to muffle him.

“Oh, oh. Fuck you’re already wet.”

“Yes,” you hiss, “I want you.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles. The words seem to make him shake. “Tell me again.”

You walk your hands up his back, and he moans when your nails drag lightly over his muscles, “I want you. Give it to me, Jacob, please.”

He kisses you again. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll give it to you.” It’s mumbled against your mouth as he preps you. Sliding his cock through the folds of you, gathering enough pre from you and him to just get the head inside.

You shudder, and he moans. It’s loud, scaring you enough to slap your hand over his mouth.

“‘’M sorry,” he grunts, removing your hand. His chest lowers down to touch yours, his face in your neck. “I didn’t mean to. Your pussy’s so good,” he shifts his hips to feel more of you. “I’ll be q-quiet, won’t make a sound. I don’t want to stop.”

You wrap your legs around Jacob, practically humping yourself onto him, “c’mon.”

His cock feels bigger than you should be taking. You want to wheeze when he bottoms out, leaving you stuffed. You can feel his tongue on your neck, hear vague moans as your cunt clenches on him.

Jacob starts to rock his hips, keeping his mouth busy with your skin in an effort to keep the noise down. But none of that matters when he’s fucking you into the mattress. Deep thrusts that make the frame of the bed groan.

You can feel how wet you’ve gotten, how wet he’s made you. You wouldn’t be able to take him otherwise. It’s surely all over your thighs, probably dripping down to his balls. You can feel everything, his skin, his mouth, a hint of teeth, the way his dick is burning you up inside.

You shock yourself when you come, hard. You bite into Jacob’s shoulder to muffle your scream, wrapping every limb you have around him to keep him deep inside.

“Fuuck,” he’s trembling. “Fuck it, I need- I wanna come inside. Tell me you’re on the pill. I want it.” You can feel him throbbing in your pussy. It’s a good thing you are; he probably wouldn’t be able to pull out in time anyway.

You hum out an affirmation, teeth still between his flesh because you can’t stop moaning, and it’s only half a second more before you feel him cum, and if you weren’t wet before you are now. You can feel it, hot, inside, and even leaking out of you.

Jacob’s whole body tenses, before every muscle in his body seems to relax, like he’s been needing this for a long, long time. His arms falter, but he catches himself before he crushes you.

The both of you wince when he pulls out, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t mind the obscene amount of cum that you both will surely have to deal with eventually. The clock tells you It’s still early, there’s still time.

He’s gone to cuddling you again, tucking you into the side of his body. He’s certainly much more open to touching you now that he’s fucked you. His hands explore whatever skin they can reach.

You make an attempt to do the same, but when you touch his shoulder you can feel the slight indent of teeth. Not terribly deep, but there.

“I’m sorry, Jacob. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Don’t say that,” he scoffs, totally nonchalant. “Your neck isn’t looking too hot either.”

“I know,” you sigh, “but some guys are really weird about stuff like that.”

“Ha,” he laughs it off, checking it out before giving you his typical grin. “I don’t mind it. It’s like you claimed me.”

You wonder if that’s something to think about.

Laying there, both of you lightly doused with sweat, the smell of sex absolutely unavoidable, your first thought is that your sheets are ruined. It’s a good thing that you’re leaving today, at least for that reason.

Whatever you’ve just done, you know now that you can’t shut Jacob out. How that will work out isn’t something you need to figure out now, or even today.

Despite Jacob’s epiphany concerning you, you’ve got dibs on a great seat in the van, and that should give you enough time to do all the thinking you need.

[vedgie-demynm]

BEHOLD…

MY MYTHSWAP AU!!!

So, in this Au, Crafty is the only non-mythical critter, while the other seven are all different kinds of mythical creatures!!!

Here’s each character here!!!

Even if Crafty is a plain ol’ pony in this au, they’re still just as important and loving as the others; in fact, they’re the ✨protagonist✨! They stumbled their way into the Realm of the Myths while taking a stroll as they thought about somewhere they could paint, before they met DogDay and Bobby in the woods. During their three years in the Realm of the Myths, Crafty’s been careful, they’ve been loved, and they’re learning more each day!

DogDay is a Werehound, but instead of every full moon, it’s every Solar Eclipse he turns into a monster, while every Lunar Eclipse, he’s your good ol’ normal sun dog!

His younger sibling, CatNap, is a Sphinx, well, except without the “human face” part, lol… Much like his brother, they, too, can turn into a monster, except it’s more at will, and mostly during waxing crescent moons!

Bobby Bearhug is an Onikuma, although, she did use to be an average critter, like Crafty. She, along with Picky, brings in food for the others every night. She stays close by with CatNap because when she became a demon, he was right there by her side… d’awww!

Kickin’ Chicken is a Cockatrice, and since it doesn’t really specify what kind of dragon the rooster has to be, he’s part leviathan! He’s an expert at surfing, and is basically the “rich, popular kid” trope (except he’s the sweetest to his friends!) He and Bubba were best friends ever since they were toddlers, and Kickin wouldn’t want their flame to extinguish any time soon! He even talks about many different themes whilst baking with his sister, so that he doesn’t get too bored.

Bubba Bubbaphant is a Siren (mainly because none of the mythical elephants didn’t really fit ToT), but instead of singing and testing the limits of his beautiful voice (/j), he infodumps about one’s interests to try reeling them in! The nerd’s a bit meaner in this AU, since ocean sirens are usually that way, but he can tolerate his friends!

Picky Piggy is a Boar; she’s pretty violent, but that doesn’t stop her from having fun with her friends! In fact, she uses her violent tendencies to her advantage whenever she cooks! She’s Crafty’s best friend, and she’s the one who made them their “horn” out of a party hat! Picky’s the (adoptive) older sister of Kickin, and she makes sure he’s healthy, both physically and psychologically! (What a sweet sister… sob…)

And last, but DEFINITELY not the least, Hoppy Hopscotch, the jumping Jackalope! She’s pretty mischievous, in fact, to the point where DogDay made her own Time Out Chair™️! She even steals all of the coffee sometimes, so that she can have more energy than when she’s normally hyperactive; but, she is patient whenever she needs to — in fact, out of all of them, she’s likely the most patient.

BTW!!! You can ship anything in this AU, but I have only 3 simple rules:

Nothing Problematic

Nothing that would be in Alabama

And each ship should be to each character’s romantic interest

For example, on what each critter is (of course, there are all headcanons):

Crafty is Lesbian (they/them)

DogDay is Bigender and Bisexual (he/her)

CatNap is Non-Binary and Pansexual (he/they)

Bobby is Transfem and Pansexual (she/they)

Hoppy is Questioning her Interests as of now (she/they)

Bubba is Bisexual (he/him)

Kickin’ is Transmasc and Gay (he/him)

Picky is Transfem and Lesbian (she/her)

That’s all, Folks! Love y’all!

(platonically, of course—)

[adaptacy]

A Found Flame {Pt.8}

Pairing: Mentor!Gale Dekarios x Apprentice!GN!Reader

(Previous Chapter) – (Next Chapter) ➔ (AO3)

A/N: got to the astral boat scene... cried a lil. got to the mystra meeting... punched my monitor a lil. /j anyways i made a new divider thing cause the other one was a placeholder and uhmm dont judge it pls i am nawwwt an artist i just slapped together some bits n pieces

Word count: 1.2k

He couldn’t have been more than sixty miles from Daggerford when he first felt it. Hardly subtle was the sensation that bordered on the edge of painful – a stinging pain, like a papercut or a pinch – as the orb was disturbed. He pulled his brown mare to a halt, who offered only an irritated whinny, and his palm pressed to his chest. Even when it was buried beneath three layers of fabric, he could feel the buried beat, thumping against his ribs in some attempt to escape. He wasn’t sure if it was the cold or fear that rendered his throat so irrationally dry, and his eyes flicked to the saddlebag to his left, reminding himself that his dagger rested mere inches away, should he need to use it. 

Not that he felt it was truly an option he could make – not when they remained in Waterdeep, waiting for him. Not when his mother sent letter after letter requesting his presence, worrying about him spending all of his time in that damned tower. Not when he still had so much to do, to teach, hells – to learn.

But the weave didn’t care. Mortal worries, mortal fears, mortal disobedience. What the weave wanted from him, it would take, and no bargaining would score him any better. 

It beats again, but the reasoning is beyond him. He stumbles, awkwardly shifting off of his horse and staggering off of the road, the saddlebag now in his hand. The horse whinnies once more behind him, giving a stomp of disapproval, but it doesn’t yet flee. 

Another beat, and this one echoes in the very earth around him, the leaves of the woods – the Misty Forest, he concludes – trembling at the power that he holds? The ground shudders, and again, he stumbles, falling to his knees, dirtying the plush plum of his coat. One hand presses against the trunk of a tree, desperate for stability, and the other rustles through his bag, hissing as his fingers grace the silver blade of his dagger, staining it with fresh blood. Then they find the hilt, and the weapon is retracted. He meets its eyes – his own eyes – and he feels the judgment. The shame.��

What a mess he’s become. A terrible waste of talent. A miserable slum of what was once a wonderful wizard. How far he’s sunken, wallowing as a lowlife where he once had a seat at the very table of the Lord’s Helm. A short-lived seat, it was, but the stark difference of status is nauseating. 

He hasn’t said all that needs to be said. He hasn’t seen his mothers face in, what, years? Certainly not since this gods-forsaken blight has invaded his body. He hasn’t told her he loves her, not face-to-face, in perhaps even longer. He used to share tea with her every other week. He used to brag to her about his newest studies, read his journals to her as she praised her son as though he’d done something truly life-changing. He’d promised her – promised her that he would do something with them. That, one way or another, he’d change the world, for her, for his prodigious talent, for Mystra–

Gods, Mystra. 

They’d never understand. Perhaps nobody could – the mere idea of godhood isn’t something the average mortal fumbles with the concept of. To touch godhood, real godhood, to feel godhood’s embrace, to taste godhood, to love and argue and plead with godhood? 

No, nobody could understand. 

There was, once, a reason he wrecked his body to such unfathomable levels. A beautiful, divine, wonderfully perfect reason. A reason he’d hunted down the extent of her reaches, dared to tussle with some influence even larger than his goddess, a reason he threatened the very origin of the weave itself. 

There was a reason he’d gotten so far, and fallen even further. He liked to believe there was a reason he was chosen. A reason beyond his charm. A reason beyond her playfulness. How arrogant everyone else must have been – reminding him again, and again, and again, that he was not special. Not to her, not to them, hardly even to himself. How sweetly she spoke to him. How highly she praised him. How generous she’d been, to so fondly accept his kisses, his touch, his love, only to sever all ties the instant he strayed too far. 

His grip tightens on the dagger, and the earth trembles again – he wants to find a purpose. Beyond being the plaything everyone says he is. Beyond being just a muse in her long history of flings, of mortal manipulation, of abandoned chosen after abandoned chosen. His eyes close, and he tries to find a sense of belonging in his memories with her. Whether it be in her lectures, her fleeting warmth, her luring coos or her mystical prowess. 

He tries to find a sense of belonging seated at her side. So many years of his life, wasted to entertain her for a mere fraction of her trite immortality. In decades, he’ll be nothing more than a few lines in even fewer books, a word of warning to young wizards everywhere. He’s read them before, the names thus far belonging to men all but unfamiliar to him. Karsus, Dornar Silverhand, Khelben. Even Elminster shared such similar encounters, only ever brought up in quickly-fading exhales, shame stringing the sentences along, unwilling and cold. 

Youth lent him such forgiveness. Disregarding the tales were easy – this Mystra would be different. This Mystra would love him the way he loved her. 

But he’s no longer the doe-eyed seventeen year old he was when he granted her the benefit of the doubt. Instead, he’s nearly forty, and tired, and weary, and finding himself at the receiving end of a ridged, steel-forged blade, the orb pulsing, twisting, battling to overrule the beating of his heart.

And the woods shake again, and he feels the apical tip press into his skin, earning a hiss of discomfort from his bared teeth. 

He pressures the blade further, but the earth shakes again, and he’s thrown off his balance, the blade lodging instead in his shoulder, and he groans in overwhelming discomfort, his irritation for the misplacement only overshadowed by the pain searing through his nerves. 

The orb doesn’t erupt, but the sky certainly does, splitting to cast a large darkness over the forest – over the entire world, for all that he knows. He rolls onto his back, fighting to remove the blade from his shoulder, but his grasps are awkward and far too hesitant. A large, snaking mass of flesh-like anatomy swipes over the forest, knocking trees around him, and his chase for suicide is halted by an intense horror, completely unaware of what in the hells is happening above him. He coughs, choking on his pain, and another curse of biology crashes into the forest. 

He’s able to follow the form to its root, finding a terrifically unfamiliar hard-encased body of flight soaring the sky above him. At last, he rips the dagger from his shoulder, crying out at the tearing of muscle, and he instinctually tosses it aside. He hears the horse, at last, galloping to a safety he can only yearn for, and he’s not even granted a chance to see which direction it ran before the appendage of likely certified doom separates into smaller tendrils, the trees knocked aside once more until one grazes his torso, perhaps only by a mere stroke of luck, or the lack thereof, and he’s whisked into a pitch-black loss of consciousness.

[sl33paholics]

Once Upon An Us

This new series I'm currently starting is a current passion project of mine. I really want to show my baby boy Santana some love (since you rarely see him mentioned in anything on here or at all). This series will be updated every Friday. Almost everything in here is fiction (yes, including the names of places n tribes n whatnot). Refer to this post here to see the jist. Other than that, enjoy :P

Chapter One here

Prologue.

In the heart of the dense, emerald-hued rainforest of Narroranna, the rhythmic pulse of tribal drums echoes through ancient banyan trees. The Bright Arrow Horde, stewards of nature's secrets, gathers beneath the celestial hood. As the elders weave tales of ancestors who communed with spirits and danced with the elements, a shadow falls upon the horizon. Unseen forces stir, challenging the delicate balance between tradition and an encroaching modern world. Little do the people realize that the choices they make will shape the destiny not only of their tribe but also the delicate tapestry of the natural world they call home.

The elders, their weathered faces etched with wisdom, recount tales of the first Bright Arrow, an ancient warrior said to have harnessed the lightning's fury and spoken to the spirits of the forest. As the tribe listens, the youngest among them, Y/N, felt an arm snake its way around her shoulder. She turned to find her father, Karey. "My little star," he murmured. Her skin prickled as if electricity crackled beneath his touch. "These stories have been passed down to generation to generation. The Great Ancestors have blessed our tribe." His words were meant for her ears alone, but she knew it was meant for all of the Bright Arrow.

As the elders started their chant around the fire, their tones got more urgent, the air charged. They spoke in voices like thunder. Y/N strained to understand, but every word seemed drowned out by an ocean of sound. Staring into the flames, she saw sparks shoot up from the wood, lighting the shadows dancing on the walls. It felt like something had crawled up from the depths below, crawling toward her, until she felt the weight of another presence hovering over her head.

Y/N tightly gripped onto her father's arm. He looked down at her, concerned. "Are you well?" She shook her head. "What are you seeing?" Another shake of her head. He held her tighter. "Do you want to leave?" She nodded. He smiled sadly, squeezing her hand. "Then stay close to me." Karey took Y/N out of the circle of elders and led her outside.

The night sky was blanketed with a thick layer of clouds. A sharp breeze whistled past, sending droplets of water flying into the darkness. Y/N and her father sat next to each other on a fallen log by the shore. Y/N wrapped her arms around her legs, hugging them tight. "Father," she whispered. "What's happening inside?" He reached out and touched her face gently. "You don't need to worry about it right now, my star." Y/N looked away. "You're young... you're only 14 years old, my little star. You'll get older and wiser and be able to see things much differently than your peers." His gentle smile made Y/N feel so safe. She didn't know what to say. "For now, you should focus on your studies and learning how to hunt and grow crops..." He paused.

"And finding love."

"Love?" Y/N asked.

"Yes. Love is what keeps family strong. It makes us stronger, too. And one day when you're older, you'll know how true it is." Y/N looked away and bit her lip. She'd never thought of it that way. But the truth seemed obvious now. Father was right. Y/N would know the answer soon enough.

It's been nine years.

Y/N walked past the circle alongside her mother, Nayeli. She heard her mother let out a huff as she continued down the path. "I remember those days," her mother spoke quietly.

"You around circle with those other children many moons ago, oh my, how time flies," Her mother said with a chuckle. "Now you're all grown up." Y/N nodded in agreement with her mother's statement, but there was no denying the truth behind it. In fact, she felt quite grown up herself now, at twenty-three years old, but Y/N's mind was consumed by thoughts of the future, of where she was going next, what life would be like when she wasn't surrounded by the people she grew up with. Even thinking about love had never really occurred to her.

She followed her mother down a small hill that overlooked the village. "Mother," Y/N said tentatively. "Will I meet anyone special someday? Someone special enough to marry?" Her mother stopped walking. The wind blew harder, causing her dark hair to whip against her face. She pulled it back with her fingers before answering. "There is someone." Y/N swallowed hard. Why was this such a big deal to her mother, anyway? "Who is he?" Y/N asked. Her mother sighed. "That is why we've waited so long. We wanted to tell you first. He comes from a noble family."

Y/N couldn't help but stay silent throughout the rest of the walk 'a noble family...?' just hearing that made her heart thumped hard in her chest. Upon entering the wigwam, she saw her father across a man and a much more middle-aged male.

Their eyes met, and the moment stretched out for Y/N. Suddenly, the room felt small, suffocatingly hot.

Soon, the three were now sitting in front of the two men.

Their heads bowed forward in respect, waiting for a reaction from the two. "Y/N, this is Chief Alo of The Golden Ribbon Children and his son, Kele."

Y/N smiled politely, offering a small bow. The younger male grunted and crossed his arms as if to refuse the offer of introductions. Y/N was relieved. It felt awkward. She wasn't used to being around people her own age. "We've been told out of many of the women he's introduced to his son, none of them seemed to suit him," her mother said, "but Kele has agreed to accept you as his wife. We've given you the proper ceremony."

Kele glared at Y/N. His dark brown eyes looked almost black. For some reason, that irked her. How dare he look at her that way? She glanced up at her father. He stared back, unblinking. She swallowed hard, hoping her nervousness wouldn't show through her expression. "When exactly are these ceremonies, Chief Alo?" she asked.

Chief Alo chuckled. "Well, you mustn't be too impatient. There's nothing wrong with a few more cycles to settle down, you know." Kele shot him a dirty look. Y/N fought off a smile. Her mother cleared her throat. "Perhaps give us two months? That sounds fair, yes?"

Y/N nodded slowly. Two months sounded good. It was better than being married to a stranger. She would have to learn to live with Kele, after all.

After all of the conversation and arraignment, they said their goodbyes and left. Y/N sat there in silence beside her father. Neither had anything else to say. Eventually, she broke the silence. "I don't think I could go through with this, father." Her voice wavered with emotion. "I mean, marrying a stranger? You told me nine years ago that I should find the one that suits me best. An arranged marriage? How could you and mother do this behind my back...?" Her words tumbled out quickly, spilling forth from deep within her soul. Her father's face softened. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, child. This was bound to happen someday. The Great Ancestors have brought this upon us."

"How can you be so sure?" she cried. Her father hesitated. He stared off into the distance. When he finally spoke, his voice seemed far away. "Because I'm sure that this will bring great happiness to our tribe, to you and your siblings. This will be a blessing." He squeezed her shoulder. "A blessing? To be married off to someone I don't even know? What sort of blessing is this?" Tears started streaming down her cheeks. She tried to hold them back, but she was helpless, sobbing uncontrollably, not noticing as her father wrapped his arms around her.

She hoped that soon things would fall apart.

[velidewrites]

Frozen || Feysand Drabble

Let me pull you out of your nightmares.

Word Count: 1310

When Rhys returned from Illyria, the entirety of the second floor hallway was covered by a sheet of ice.

He’d nearly slipped on the stairs earlier, though he played it off as his mind playing tricks on him, worn out after what must have been hours of pointless debate with the winged warlords. Even Cassian, endless in his patience when dealing with their less-than-progressive perspectives, was practically fuming at the end when Devlon suggested a change in Illyria’s governance, going as far as shooting a grimace at his High Lord.

It was late, and Rhysand simply did not care anymore. Devlon was a problem for another day—perhaps when Nesta returned from the mortal lands. He had a feeling having the eldest Archeron at his side would prompt a much more effective conversation.

He should have ended the meeting the moment he’d realised they were going nowhere. It was well past midnight now, and he longed to be in bed with his mate tucked into his arms. She, too, had been overworking herself lately, and he knew the Illyrian conflict was weighing on her heart just as much.

The River House was quiet when he’d entered—Nyx, Cauldron bless him, was as peaceful a newborn as they came, sleeping through the night soundly in the nursery his mother had painted for him. It was Rhys’s favourite room in the house—he would sometimes wander there aimlessly, content to do nothing but sit on the plush carpets they’d ordered from Sangravah and watch the star-flecked walls. Somehow, Feyre had made the paint glisten without using any magic—as though the love she bore for their family had been enough to bring the mural to life. Every time he watched it, it settled something restless within him—something that, less often now that the war was over, would tug at the corner of his mind and whisper this was all a dream. A dream he’d never, ever deserved.

The door to the nursery was the only one that wasn’t coated by frost, the polished wood gleaming under the moonlight that peered through the windows instead. Everything else, though—the doors, the walls, the floor—were scraped by those icy claws, radiating cold. Rhys’s chest tightened—he knew perfectly well what that cold meant.

He’d learned to understand her magic the way he understood her soul—beautiful and entwined with his own the way shadows swirled between the stars. Sometimes, lost in a deep slumber, she would unleash them—velvety tendrils of the night, pooling around their bed. That darkness soothed him—told him she was at peace, her mind drifting calmly into the cloudless sky. At other times, she would burst with sunlight, bright enough to make the darkest of nights appear like daytime. He knew what that light meant, too—her dreams were ones of passion, of deepest, burning desire. On those nights, he’d lean down to brush his lips against her bare shoulder, her neck, her jaw, until they were captured by own, soft lips. On those nights, he drank in her taste like the sweetest nectar, drinking in her scent of lilac and pear as though it were the only air keeping him alive.

There were nights, though, when she engulfed the room in her flames. Real, living flames, licking at their bedframe, their nightstands, threatening to swallow them whole unless appeased by the flick of Rhysand’s own magic. Those flames told him she was angry—that even in her dreams, she sought revenge for everything that had been done to her. To him. To all of them.

He’d wake her up, then, asking for only one thing—to wait for the rising sun, for the clarity it brought as it lifted the misty fog of the night. If she still sought vengeance, even under its light, he would take her wherever she wanted to be—would watch her do what she needed to do, and rage along with her.

Tonight, there was no fire to be seen—and, perhaps for the very first time, Rhysand wished there was. Because he knew what that ice meant, too.

Fear.

Solid and unrelenting, almost impossible to crack. Freezing her heart, her mind, her soul—his soul, too, for they were truly one and the same.

Rhysand practically lunged into the room, the ice nearly yielding under the weight of the darkness gathering at his feet.

It all crashed into him the moment he opened the door.

His breath was knocked out of him, the cold tightening its grip on his lungs. He hadn’t gone into her mind uninvited since he’d taught her how to build her own mental shields—since then, they’d let each other’s thoughts flow down the bond, guided by their love and nothing else. This…this was different. That glaring fear took a brief hold in his chest as Feyre’s nightmares slammed into him, as if they could no longer be contained by her head alone, pushing feelings, images, memories into his.

The screams of twin Ravens, deep beneath the library as a creature of nightmares tore them apart, tore them to nothing. Cassian’s shredded wings as he laid unconscious on the table, his face drained of blood. Elain’s skin, raw and peeling under Hybern’s enchanted chains. Nesta’s head dipping under the murky water of the Cauldron. The Suriel’s body, lifeless and unmoving, Helion’s cloak draped over its form.

Rhysand’s body, colder than the ice around them as Feyre hovered over it, screaming.

Tears poured down her face, so heavy with salt and pain that they all but carved a path into her freckled cheeks. She had never showed him—not that part. Not the raw evidence of her anguish, one she never should have borne. It dripped onto his chest as she pressed her forehead to where his heart laid, soundless, and cried.

In that nightmare, no one appeared at her side, a kernel of light in the open palm of their hand.

Feyre just…kept on crying.

His heart—his real heart, living and breathing—strained inside of him, and even his blood seemed to thicken in his veins. He pushed through the cold, a frigid breeze now howling above her sleeping form, prickling his eyes, his face. He didn’t care—he just needed to get to her, now.

She jerked when his hand laid on her shoulder, warm against her frosted skin. He crawled into the bed, summoning his wings and spreading them wide—wide enough to wrap around her entirely, to shelter her from the wind, its icy needles now shooting into their leathery shield. It didn’t bother him—he barely noticed it, his focus solely on her shivering body, the swirling tattoos on her forearms, as if panicking over the scene playing out before them.

His hand slid to her lower back, pressing her closer into him, letting her bury her face in the crook of his neck—letting her feel the life beating inside him, inside both of them, the life beaming throughout the house they’d built together. He rubbed her back in slow, gentle circles, letting his darkness brush the loose strands of golden-brown hair from her face as he leaned down to graze his lips against her own. 

Her tattoos stopped swirling. The wind dissipated into the midnight air.

Rhys kissed his mate again. Then again. And again—that last kiss longer, deeper, letting his warmth sink into her.

The cold stopped shivering down her spine, and he felt her lean into his touch. He did not stop his hand’s gentle pace on her tense body, or the soft kisses he was now pressing to her freckles, treating each one like a dimming star he needed to pour life into.

He did not stop until her breath settled, and her heartbeat melted into his.

Only then did he finally sleep.

[petitelepus]

Rekindling The Flame, Part 2

Your life is good in the Rengoku household and you've gotten a friend from Lord Rengoku's youngest son Senjuro, but with time you find feelings for Lord Shinjuro also and he seems to have changed a little also. Kyojuro comes home and you meet for the first time and he can see that there are feelings between you and his father and he approves.

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3

WARNINGS: Cursing, Fem!Reader

Months passed and you were quickly getting the hang of how things were done in the Rengoku household. Despite lacking skills to dance or play Shamisen, you were natural when it came to things like cooking and housework.

It also helped a ton that Senjuro, your new best friend taught you everything he knew. Even if you were years older than him, the two of you got along so well.

Despite the scary start you had gotten, you were thankful that it was you who came back with Lord Rengoku from the entertainment district. Your life was much better in the Rengoku household, even better than the time you were supposed to marry a man you didn't love.

Not only were you learning how to keep the house clean and its Lords fed, but you also learned about these monsters or Demons that hunt innocent people during the night to eat them.

You had trouble believing it when Senjuro told you about them, thinking he was telling you a horror story, but his father had heard you two speaking and he had snapped at the two of you, telling you to mind your own business…

Lord Rengoku, or Shinjuro was a complicated man. He had a short temper, and he drank so much that it couldn't be good for him… But he was also a gentleman in his own way. He never hit you or tried to make his moves on you, things you appreciated way more than he could know.

It was a beautiful sunny day and you were in the backyard, ready to do some wood chopping. You had gotten a delivery of nice logs, but the guy responsible for chopping them into nice pieces bailed so it left you and Senjuro with a bunch of wood that didn't fit into the oven or such so it had to be chopped into smaller pieces.

Seeing that Senjuro was much younger than you and that Shinjuro was probably sleeping or drinking, you took it up as your job to chop the wood.

"Big sis, are you sure about this?" Senjuro asked with your nickname as he watched you pull your Yukata's sleeves up. He was worried, "Have you done this ever before?"

"Nope, but how hard can it actually be?" You shrugged as you weighed the axe in your hands. It felt sturdy. You grabbed one wooden log and placed it on the chopping block, before raising the axe into the air and letting it swing down-!

"Wow!" You gasped as the axe sank into the log and you and Senjuro looked a each other in a mixture of shock and excitement, "I actually did it!"

"You did!"

You felt so proud, almost as strong as a man, but you hadn't yet actually chopped the log into two smaller pieces. Nope, your axe was stuck in the middle of it.

"Still needs some work…" You frowned a little as you raised the axe into the air and brought it down, this time actually chopping the wood in two. You laughed victoriously and did a little happy dance while Senjuro laughed at you and your silly behavior.

So you were slowly getting a hang of how to actually chop wood, but you were nowhere near good at it. No, the axe would get caught every so often, and it was getting hot, working out like you were doing in harsh sunlight, not a cloud in the sky.

Senjuro was the sweetest, bringing you water so you wouldn't faint because of dehydration or heatstroke. As you two worked, you didn't notice a pair of sharp golden and red eyes following your every move from the comfort of a cool manor.

You and the young man were working hard, but you were slow. Hardworkers, yes. Quick? Not so much.

"This is taking forever…" You grumbled as you wiped your sweaty forehead with the back of your hand and Senjuro frowned, "Should we take a small pause?"

"Right after this log…" You grumbled but as you swung your axe you missed and by God, you were lucky to sidestep because you totally missed the log and almost took out your own leg while you were at it.

You and Senjuro's eyes were wide open and you both didn't realize that you were holding your breaths.

"That was close."

"Too close."

"The fuck you are doing there!?" Came Shinjuro's voice as the shoji door was slammed aside and the Lord of the mansion stormed to you and Senjuro. You flinched at the sight of him rushing at you and suddenly yanking the axe from your hands.

"Father, we-!" Senjuro was saying when his father grunted and shot a glare at the two of you, "Leave this to me! Go do something useful!"

"Yes!" You and Senjuro both rushed away, leaving Shinjuro alone with the wood chopping. You looked at your friend and frowned, "I hope we didn't bother him…"

"We shall see…" The young man nodded as he looked at you, "Would you like to cut some watermelon if I go sweep the front yard?"

"No, you can cut the melon and I'll go sweep the yard quickly. I'm bad with knives anyway." You said, remembering how you cut your thumb pretty deep when you were a child. That didn't stop you from cooking nearly every day these daya, but you used that as an excuse to let Senjuro get some rest from the sun.

The young man nodded as he headed to the kitchen and you headed outside in the front yard. You grabbed the broom on your way there and went to swipe the dirt and such.

So you were sweeping the front yard, humming a Shamisen melody under your breath when suddenly-!

"Greetings!"

"YIP!" You nearly jumped out of your skin as a loud voice came from behind you and you whipped around to see your Lord standing there- Wait… Lord Rengoku was chopping wood in the backyard… But this man looked exactly like him and Senjuro.

That was when you remembered that Senjuro had told you about his amazing big brother; who was one of the strongest Demon Slayers there was, a Hashira but due to his work, he was rarely home. This must have been the famous Kyojuro!

"Ah, are you perhaps Lord Kyojuro?"

"Yes, but I'm no Lord!" Kyojuro smiled widely and happily as he looked at you and you felt embarrassed, being caught sweaty and tired… But it didn't seem to bother the young man, "You must be the new housekeeper I've heard so much of!"

"Ah, that would be me." You nodded and his smile just grew if that was even possible, "I'm happy that you haven't left yet! My father has a bad habit of chasing any help away."

"It's not like I have a word in it?" You chuckled a little and he tilted his head in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"Your father, Lord Rengoku bought me. I belong to him." You replied and Kyojuro's smile dropped as he pondered your words. You fidgeted nervously on your place until he nodded, "Are you happy here?"

"I…" You swallowed a little. You weren't necessarily sad or such… But you were better here than out there in the big cold world. It was always nice and warm in the Rengoku household, despite your Lord's temper and alcoholism.

"Because if you aren't then I will buy your freedom." He nodded, "I'll give you some money and you can go wherever you want to. Start a new life, a life you want for yourself."

"That…" Was a very generous offer. Maybe best one you have ever heard.

"That is awfully generous of you… But I can't accept it."

"You don't have to fear my father. I will handle him and-!"

"B- but I don't want to leave!" You cried out a little louder than you intended, "I… I like it here. This may sound crazy… But I like my life as it is now?"

"You… Like it here?" Kyojuro sounded surprised and you nodded, "I like your brother and I… I like your father…"

"I see…" The young man nodded thoughtfully before smiling, "Then I'll be in your care until I'm called on another mission! Could you perhaps take me to see my father?"

"Yes, of course!" You nodded as you put the broom aside and led Kyojuro to the backyard where his father and your Lord was… And he had nearly chopped all the logs that were left in such a short time!

You almost yelped as you saw him with the top of his yukata wrapped around his waist, showing off his sweat-glistening body, and despite being drunk almost constantly, he still had some fine muscles left from his years as a Demon Slayer. He looked absolutely gorgeous and-!

"Father!"

You flinched, Kyojuro's shouting startling you, and Shinjuro turned to look at his son who had just arrived.

"Kyojuro…" The older man grumbled and then your eyes met and you panicked, "I- I'll fetch you some water, my Lord!" You stuttered as you rushed back inside, leaving Kyojuro and his father alone.

"I'm surprised! It isn't like you to work like this!" Kyojuro said as he looked at his father.

"Tch!" Shinjuro spat on the side, "You should have seen how that foolish woman was swinging axe. Nearly took her own leg!"

"That's very thoughtful of you!" The oldest son nodded, "I can tell things are different here since the last time I visited!"

"What makes you think that?" Shinjuro asked and Kyojuro smiled, "Well, you don't smell like sake for starters! Have you had a drink today yet?"

"How could I with your brother and the help chopping firewood outside my room?" Shinjuro grumbled as he raised and swung the axe, easily snapping the log before him in half.

Kyojuro nodded as he watched his father work, but he heard voices coming and turned to see you rushing down the hall with a glass of water in your hands.

"H- here is water for you, my Lord!" You bowed as you humbly offered the water to Shinjuro who grumbled as he took the water and drank it slowly.

Kyojuro noticed that you were admiring his father and when he was done with the water, he handed the glass back to you, "Bring me another one."

"Yes, my Lord," You nodded as you turned and left and Kyojuro noticed how his father's gaze stuck to you. It took a second, but his smile brightened when he realized something. You liked his father… And he liked you! It looked like neither one of you were aware of the other one's feelings!

"Why are you smiling like an idiot?" Shinjuro grumbled but Kyojuro's smile went nowhere, "Oh, I just remembered I have something to discuss with Senjuro! I'll be back soon father!"

"Tell that woman to start preparing dinner. All this working is making me hungry."

"As you say, father!" Kyojuro nodded as he headed inside, just barely passing you as you brought another glass of water for his father. He watched from the sideline how his father ordered you to get the dinner started and how you bowed, telling him that you would do just that.

The current Flame Hashira smiled as you returned and both of you headed towards the kitchen, "You like my father, don't you?" He asked suddenly and you yelped in shock, nearly dropping the glass between your hands.

"I- I-!" You swallowed nervously, "I do, he did save me from becoming an Oiran…"

"No, I mean you like like him!" Kyojuro said and you stopped to look at him, "Wha- wha-?"

"And I can tell he likes you too!"

"I- It can't be!" You shook your head, trying to deny everything, "Lord Rengoku is just…! You guys have a mother- His wife-!"

"Our mother has been gone for years, but she will always be in our hearts," Kyojuro replied and you frowned, feeling absolutely the worst for liking a widower who still grieved in his own way, "That's just even more reasons why I shouldn't approach your father with a relationship in my mind…!"

"Our mother would want our father to be happy again, and I believe that she would approve of you and him," Kyojuro said, but you still couldn't bring yourself to believe him and he could tell. He smiled fondly and petted your head, "I can tell things are better here now that you are here. Have a little faith in yourself."

"I…" You swallowed, "I think I need to ask from your mother?"

"Of course. Go ahead and me and Senjuro will get dinner started."

"But it's my job to-!"

"I insist." Kyojuro nodded, not leaving you any room to argue with him, "Go talk with our mother." And with that, he went to the kitchen and left you standing there. You swallowed nervously as you turned and walked into Ruka's room… And to her butsudan altar.

You kneeled before the altar and bowed in respect. As you raised your head, you looked at the picture of the Ruka, Shinjuro's wife, and Kyojuro's and Senjuro's mother. She was a gorgeous woman and no doubt a brilliant person, and you felt so inferior to her.

"Greeting Lady Rengoku… It's me… The new help in your house… Again…" You spoke gently, "I'm sorry to come to you like this… But I have to confess something…"

You took a deep breath, "I really like Lord Rengoku… Like, I would like to try and court him… But I don't want to do anything without your blessing…"

There was a soft breeze coming through the open door and you turned to look, not noticing if the door was already open or not. You blinked and looked at Ruka's picture, "W- was that you? Can you give me a sign if it's alright for me to… You know? See if Lord Rengoku could like me the way I like him?"

The breeze came again, but this time a beautiful black and white butterfly flew into the room. You watched in awe as the little thing flew around you before it landed on Ruka's picture, resting there and fluttering its wings… Before taking off into the garden again.

You smiled a little, feeling like a great weight had been lifted from your shoulders. You turned and bowed one more time to Ruka's picture, "Thank you, my Lady. I will try my best to make Lord Rengoku happy."

[diludae]

If I may request, a thing where Diluc's crush falls in love with the Darknight Hero after being encountering him one night, but has no clue it's Diluc himself?

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓗𝓮𝓻𝓸 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝔂𝓸𝓾

I actually had a lot of fun writing this, the plot wasn't something I usally write and it was a good learning expierence. Thanks anon!

diluc x gn!reader // mutual pining, fluff // anon suggestion // enjoy! <3

TW: Talk about injuries, battle scene

Ever since the almighty Diluc Ragnvindr had rescued you from a hillichurl attack, facing you was his worst nightmare.

Not because he didn’t like you, in fact he felt quite the opposite. He had been pining for you for years, and once he thought he finally had a chance to court you, in came the “Darknight Hero.”

“C’mon Diluc. If you would’ve just SEEN the way their flames burnt everything to a crisp, you would be just as awestruck as I am.” He simply nodded as you two continued to walk through the woods of Wolvendom. Diluc was hoping he could make you his specialty dish tonight, but his supply of lamp grass was running low. You decided to accompany him to make the meal all the more sweeter.

“I’m still mad at myself for not even catching a glimpse of their face. Maybe then I would’ve been able to thank them. Do you think they live somewhere here in Mondstandt? Or what if they’re a wanderer? What if-” “Y/n.” Diluc paused in the middle of the road. You hadn’t walked too far in front of him before you turned around. Looking up, you saw a face that read of annoyance and anger.

All you could do was stand in a mixture of fear and guilt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know it angered you so much…” 

Diluc still stood silently. Was he annoyed by your presence? Did he not enjoy your company? 

After he finally registered what happened, his eyes widened. He didn’t mean to make you feel guilty, this was all his fault. “No, Y/n. I-I apologize, I didn’t mean to startle you. Let’s keep going.” The words he spoke were rushed, unlike his usual calm tone.

Neither of you had uttered a word for the next hour after the apology. The tension was thick, but it wasn’t like anyone was angry. It was simply awkward. Y/n didn’t have much else to say other than their appreciation and love for the Darknight Hero, and Diluc wasn’t a man of many words himself.

“There, this should be the last one.” You perked up at the sound of Diluc’s voice, finally breaking the silence. “All of the lamp grass we need has been collected, would you mind carrying them?”

“Oh, um, no problem Diluc!” You struggled to fit all the lamp grass in the small basket you brought. You crouched down to put the rest in your backpack, hoping that it would all-

“Y/N! LOOK OUT!”

Suddenly, a wild wolf jumped down from the hills below, inches close from sinking its claws into your skin for its next meal. A pair of strong and familiar arms tossed you to the side, successfully dodging the attack. 

“Run, go hide somewhere, I’ll find you. No need to wait for me.” He stood up, claw marks evident in his clothes. “I’ll be fine.”

You ran off into a nearby bush in order to keep a watchful eye on him. He drew out his claymore and flames surrounded the area. He kicked and launched his weapon across the trees, wincing in pain from the scratches he obtained earlier. His fighting style, his weapon, his flames, they were all familiar. 

The Darknight Hero, the mysterious vigilante you had fallen in love with, was Diluc.

A phoenix descended from his blade as the wolf was finished off. You emerged from the bush you were hiding in, quickly making your way to meet up with him.

“Diluc! Are you okay? Should I call for help? I can bandage you up if you need!” He slowly sat down on the burnt grass below him, resting from his injuries. You sat down next to him, leaning on his shoulder. 

“You’re the Darknight Hero, aren’t you?”

That was it. The question he had been begging you to ask, what he yearned for every night, had finally happened. You knew his secret, and he couldn’t be any happier.

“I am indeed.”

Your face flushed bright red as you realized all the things you said about him directly to his face. The way his flames danced effortlessly, and how he looked ever so attractive with his claymore… You said all of this, yet he didn’t object to it. In fact, it seemed as if he liked it that you were this down bad for him. He just didn’t like that you weren’t talking about him specifically.

A small chuckle escaped his lips. “You have said some pretty embarrassing things to me, haven’t you?” He placed a hand on your cheek. “You do look awfully cute when you blush.”

Diluc shifted his weight so his face was directly facing you. Before he could even make a move, you leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

Now, it was his turn to blush. However, he couldn’t settle with just one quick kiss.

[inlocusmads]

Spades & Arrowheads

In a test to break the ice, the Party learns something new about Killian that threatens what they had always known about physical intimacy and romance.

Characters: Killian Clawthorne (Nightbloom), Mal Volari, Nia Ellarious, Imtura Tal Kalen, Tyril Starfury from Blades.

General Audiences | WC: 2.7k

A/N: For the record, you can never have too many aromantic and asexual characters. And also I just caught up with Heartstopper and I legit cried at Isaac's storyline because it hit too close to home as an aroace myself. And now here's.. things!

"I'm in the mood for something fun. Priestess, do you have something in mind?" Mal crossed his arms as he leaned against a tree. The campfire illuminated his newfound friends' faces. Tyril was seeking warmth from the fire. Threep had curled up in a ball. Imtura was pacing around, trying to fix her heavy armour and Killian was sharpening a long piece of wood into an arrow.

Nia gave them a shrug. "Well, I can conjure up a little spell. It's like -- a erm -- trick that I did to entertain in pubs and other places." - she pressed her hands together and pushed outward, exhaling a ball of white flame in the form of thin, long wisps. "This is supposed to show you if you love somebody romantically. It's a neat trick to get to know people and even greater to -- erm -- tease your friends, I guess?"

"So how does it work?" Imtura asked, as she stood up curiously.

"Ooh, is it like spin the bottle we have at home? I've kissed some nasty fiends. Those gremlins don't even bother washing their mouths." Mal gagged.

"Not exactly. It's supposed to show you whom you truly love. It's a spell I learned from Scholar Vash. You'd have to stand in front of the flame and if it turns red or pink, it means you've got a lover. Or you have loved someone before or essentially had erm -- intimate relationships with them."

The flame turned red even before Imtura could stand properly before it.

"Knew this was coming."

"So, who's your secret lover, Imtura?" Mal teased.

"Ask me again and I'll break ye' skull on that tree, yeah? Why don't ye' go next, Mal?"

"I've got a handful of lovers." Mal stood boldly before the flame, only for it to turn a shade of dull red. "It turned dark for her! What's this?"

"It's supposed to show you how many times you've had such relations too." Nia answered. "The colour turns intense if you've got more."

"HA!"

"No -- no, this is not fair! I've got -- I've loved before!" Mal clapped back. "More than she's -- something is wrong with the spell."

"I think I did a fair job of it." Nia folded her arms with grace. "It doesn't show just your capacity to love, but your frequency too. Imtura's was bold because she had both. You had more love to give and less of -- there's a different side to this, too, Mal!"

"Elfboy can help. Come on!" Mal grabbed Tyril's hand and pulled him up.

"I can assure you, I do not want to-- would you please stop pushing me-- this is absolutely unnecessary. We should be preparing for the journey tomorrow! All of this is --" - Mal and the others paid absolutely no heed to Tyril's complaints. They pushed him collectively in front of the flame which had now turned pink.

"Elfboy's pretentious with his love too. Not much to give but very selected in its takers. Who's the lucky person?" Mal nudged him.

"Kaya. We won't speak of her again." Tyril blurred out and immediately regretted it.

"We will absolutely speak of her, everyday, every minute and every second." Mal followed Tyril around, a gentle skip to his step. "Who's Kaya and is she as frightening as you? And how scandalous was it, given that Elves would scream and scowl at you if you ate a piece of bread wrong?"

"What about ye', Killian?"

"Me?"

The whole group's attention suddenly turned to her. Killian was having a perfect time just working on building up her arrows instead. There were loud insists right after that. People urging her to stand forth the wispy white smoke. They won't be happy, she knew that. She knew that the moment they made her stand up and threw her like how they did with Tyril. She didn't have much of a say, anyway. It was always going to be unabashedly loud. The whole business of this romance thing.

The flame did not turn colours. Instead, it remained in white for a long time.

Everyone's reactions were different.

Nia blamed herself. They'd told her it could never stay still in white. It had to change colours, to at least a light shade of red, because that's how it worked. To her, love was ugly, messy, but worth it. It made her miserable, it made every one of those Priestess Tests absolutely loathsome but it was everywhere, wasn't it? The romance? Killian had to feel it. It must've been her magic.

"I think -- I think it's my magic. I'm so sorry Killian!" Nia sobbed. "I think I must have -- done something to it. It is truly my fault. Maybe I can -- erm -- do something --"

Mal could not trust it. People weren't incapable of love as much as they weren't incapable of climbing mountains. He stared at it in a bit of awe, because it could've been just a momentary thing too. There was hope in his heart that she'd find the right person someday. That it was nobody's but the hardships in arranging a date that was to blame. That it was Killian's scepticism that shielded her from pursuing it, and not anything else.

"No -- way. Are you sure you're standing right? Or is it something to do with belief? Quick! Killian! Think of romantic things! Maybe the flame might do something!"

Imtura was convinced there was something lacking there. Not a lack of romance or sexual attraction, rather a lack of pursuing. Nia was one of the best Priestesses she knew and the most honest ones. If the spell didn't work, it wasn't the incanter's fault. It just wasn't receptive enough and it was obvious Killian hadn't yet tried it. With all those years under the shelter of a human society, how was she ever supposed to figure it out?

"Have ye' even -- done that?"

Tyril's was curious. He'd of course, heard about the Elven customs of Kinvali and Dinvali - the separation of romantic and sexual attachment from each other. He'd seen his own next to kin take multiple partners for the feeling of it, but seldom pass a romantic compatibility test. He'd seen his old friends love with all their hearts and devote their entire lives to one person, ever. He'd seen both too - a mixture of both worlds, where people had both Kinvali and Dinvali. Never had he seen something quite like this and impossible things quite didn't exist in his world.

"It must be impossible. Perhaps you can cast a different spell, Nia Ellarious and we can get an answer."

"I think -- there's no point in poking at this." Killian gave them a shrug, before getting back to her arrow-making.

"No, we are absolutely doing this. What -- what even happened? Is it your fault? Did your Elven senses mess with the magic? But Elfboy did the same and --"

"Mal, it is rude to ask that!" Nia snapped. "It is nobody's fault but mine, so stop blaming Killian for something she didn't do! Or have! Or --"

The squabbles erupted immediately. Imtura was going over with Tyril. Nia was testing if her spells worked right and if she'd uttered the correct incantation. Mal was panicky and jittery, bombarding Killian with a half a dozen questions, until the latter got up on the log of wood and whistled. Their jostles had awoken Threep, who was now in desperate need of some fish.

"Okay! Okay! Can I --" Killian sighed. "I don't know, all right? I just know I don't -- feel it."

"Feel romance? That's -- literally --"

"I haven't felt it ever. I haven't had -- fondness for people or likeness or I've never loved anyone. I've never wanted to get intimate with someone either or had that -- feeling. And I'm -- quite happy with it. Honestly. And I'd rather have you not make a big fuss out of this because -- it is said and done. I can't understand all of this--" Killian gestured to the wisp that had faded into the air. "I cannot understand anything about it and I have no interest in pursuing something I've got no idea of."

"It doesn't hurt to try now?"

"I just don't want to."

"Do you want to take the --"

"I'd rather not do it again, Nia."

"But -- it's romance, isn't it? Everyone had to have felt it at some point. You've never felt it? Ever? Pretty men and women? No?"

"Not at all. No -- men. No women."

"Maybe you require something else -- a book or a better understanding of --"

"No, I do not." Killian hopped off the log. "I just know that -- there's something wrong with me and I cannot pinpoint to what it is, but I do know it makes me feel this way. I listen to loud music about people in love and I've got -- no idea. I listen to poetry written by people who have love and intimacy all figured out and they can write in such profound clear language that I can never understand. And I look at people too, who tell me it's all very natural and -- I just know there's just this wrong thing there. Excuse me."

Killian sat with her legs crossed on the bank of a flowing river, tossing rocks at it and hoping to hear something back.

She never really understood it.

Someday, her friends will all part. They'd all have their own sunshine romances, straight out of those fabels and prophetic stories. Star-crossed eternal lovers. Nia would look for someone appreciative of her talent, someone who's kind and thoughtful and someone she can listen to, talk. Mal would like a bold, witty charming individual. Tyril would enjoy the company of someone he could read a book with. Imtura would love someone she can laugh and go on adventures with. All except for her.

It was lonely on the other side. She never understood it entirely and how was she supposed to understand it, when everybody tells her she'd be broken if she didn't do something soon? That something was wrong with her. That this was some burden to be discarded than an identity to be understood. How was she ever supposed to feel the lack of feeling, anyway? Isolated to the side, arrow marks on her hand and heightened sparks of magic in her eyes? How was she ever supposed to know all of this and tell everyone?

Heavy tears fell down her eyes.

What was the point in life without love?

If you aren't intimate, your relationship is doomed to fail.

What's the point in living if you can't even get physical with someone? It's alcohol! Everyone's drunk on it!

You aren't a person if you can't love.

Life isn't complete without a marriage and a person to love. Whatever are you going to do later, when you're old and frail and ugly? You're utterly selfish.

You can't hate people! What are you, some sort of a psychopath?

Killian clutched her sides as she cried. This was burdening, downright impossible. It was lonely because nobody understood it. It lacked description because nobody talked about it. She was invisible in her own skin, unable to understand when people laughed about their wives and their messy lives, how grand gestures and love languages helped and their graphic bedroom stories.

Oh, you're just not interested! This can be cured, of course! This is all scepticism! How would you know if you haven't tried it? It is impossible! Maybe you are looking at it wrong. You're making a mistake.

A grand old mistake.

Romance and sex are like the pillars you need! If you don't have them, how can you ever build a proper life? This is all confusion. You're just in stress. Someday you'll find the one.

Another rock into the river. It went a far good distance, before it sunk. Killian wiped her tears away. She might not understand it enough, yet, but she knew better than to put her faith in the people that thought they understood her better than she ever did. She did have questions, of course. More than Tyril, Mal, Imtura and Nia did. They were all right in some ways. Mal and Imtura had their disbeliefs warranted. Nia did a fine job with the magic and Tyril found the lack of evidence of such a phenomenon in books concerning. They'd all been partially right but had misunderstood it.

You need to have a partner to be complete.

Killian didn't have to. She found a rock that looked like a spade and tossed it into the river. She found a different rock that looked like an arrowhead and threw it again.

She'd made it this far, despite being told she'd never be able to. Whatever she didn't understand, she would soon do. Of course, hope was rare in her heart but she liked to think that one day, they'd start falling into a place and she'd be able to give it a name. The tears were complicated things. Killian never knew if she meant it to be a sign of relief or significant doom to come.

The sky above her shone in a dark purple hue; the moonlight shining the green patch of grass. Tomorrow the sun will rise and she'll still be the same - only a little better about herself than she'd been before.

***

A/N:

Honestly this did come from a personal place. For a long time, I was indirectly told that being aroace wasn't "sustainable" enough. That I was eventually going to have to find a partner to settle down and I might as well make a romantic and sexual thing out of it. In the story, Killian is told the same thing. It's incredibly hard for her, as an adult. She's expected to carry out Elven responsibilities as her heritage suggests and human responsibilities because she's grown up among them and they coincide in romance, marriage and sex that she can never feel, understand or ever have an idea of.

I want to talk about Killian's asexuality and aromantivity in depth through fics like these! PB isn't going to give us the adequate aroace representation and normalisation we need and deserve, so I'm making my own. Jk jk, I hope they do come around to doing that because I guess, Zephyr from TE and Maia from GG are their only two aromantic and asexual characters. I'd love them actually talk about aromantivity and asexuality on the whole too, because it just sucks that half the times they're all just side characters. I'd love to have an LI who's on the aro-spec or the asexual spectrum or both. I'd love to have diversity within the aro- and ace- spectrums without it being just passed off as a small "yay we have more queer people.in this story!" mention.

Sadly there's a long way to go, so I'm just gonna happy-cry, watching Koisenu Futari until the apocalypse comes.

(and also the arrow and spade(ace) references were very much deliberate.)

Tagging:

If you'd like to be removed or added to my list, please let me know! I did try maintaining a tag list but after a while, I just got sick of the tag-list clean-ups. So just let me know if you'd like to receive notifs; however way you'd like to convey it. If you'd like to stop receiving, let me know that too!

Perma: @quixoticdreamer16 @tessa-liam

Blades only: @starlight-starfury

- Also tagging @choicesbookclub

[tomtenadia]

Rowaelin month - Library of dreams

Rowaelin month day 12 - Rowaelin in the library he gave to her ( @rowaelinscourt​)

It had been only two years since the end of the horrible war that had gripped the land. Terrasen was slowly showing signs of recovery, but they were still a long way from the prosperous land it had been before the conflict. Aelin and her court had worked hard to keep the promise she had made on her coronation day. To  guard, nurture and honour Terrasen. Certain days it had been harder than other as Aelin spent hours on end in meetings with the council to try and improve things. On his part, Rowan had supported her and when needed he had attended to his courtly duties, although Aelin knew that he hated it very much. Rowan preferred manual labour so he had started working on the rebuilding plans and the citizens of Orynth and Terrasen were getting now used at seeing the king consort working hard to rebuild all that had been destroyed. Aelin had confessed that the people loved it and he had become very popular. A bit too popular, she would add as a joke. Rowan had also started training young magic users and some of the new recruits for the guards.

On top of that, the king consort had been working hard on a second project. As a mating present he had given Aelin a theatre and promised a library too. All of it with the funds he had recovered once Maeve was dead. He was prince of Doranelle once more and could afford to gift his mate with what she liked the most.

And that was where he was headed now. The library was in Orynth. It was meant to have the best collection of books in the north of Erilea. He had contacted scholars who had fled Terrasen after Adarlan’s invasion. They were going to bring back all the collections they had stashed away to prevent such treasure from being destroyed. With the help of Lysandra and Elide who had travelled back and forth from Caraverre and Perranth respectively he had set up sessions for young people to learn to write and read and for older folks to learn new skills. The library was going to be public. Aelin believed that everyone should have access to it for free. 

It had been a painstaking job that took almost two years. But now it was almost opening time and he was looking forward to show it to Aelin. They would have an evening just the two of them and then it would be followed by the royal inauguration. 

He reached the building and looked at the structure. The dome was made of glass and the outside walls were of granite. It was a stunning building. the main doors where in heavy local wood and had carvings that he had chosen personally. There was a stag, prominent, representing Terrasen, and beside it a flame that was Aelin. On the other door there was a hawk and a depiction of the Little Folk, marking the Fae heritage of the land. He brushed the woodwork and smiled happily. Aelin would definitely love it. 

Inside, the head scholar met him and quickly gave him an update and Rowan relaxed in knowing that all was on schedule for the grand opening. He wanted the library to open its doors on the second anniversary of the end of the war. He had contacted all of their friends and allies. All of this without his beloved wife knowing. A task that had proved hard considering her large network of minions. 

“Your Majesty, please, let me show you the main room.”

Rowan followed the scholar, hands behind his back while his eyes appreciated the beautiful work.

The two walked through a heavy door and once inside Rowan gasped. The room was circular and the walls were covered in books from floor until just under the edge of the glass dome. The shelves stacked with books and ladders leaning against the wall to allow people to access the higher levels. It was a dream.

“We have shelves in the middle too and a catalogue system too that people can browse.”

“This is incredible,” he breathed as he kept looking around him in amazement.

The man at his side motioned to follow him and Rowan forced himself to leave the room “these are the study rooms you have requested and we have created a way for people to register with us, obtain a card and borrow books too.” “Her majesty will be extremely happy with the incredible work you have done.”

The man bowed his head “this is a magnificent project and my colleagues and I are very proud to have helped.”

*

A week later Rowan was in the royal chambers and was getting ready. It was the evening he had planned to take Aelin to the library and was waiting for his wife to finish her bath.

Aelin appeared a few minutes later with a towel around her body.

“Why all dressed up, buzzard? Did Fenrys threw a function behind my back?”

Rowan moved closer and kissed the spot behind her ear “get dressed, fireheart. I have a surprise for you.”

“A chocolate one? Because for that we can stay in bed and have far less clothes on.”

“Get dressed, menace.”

She gave him a small bow “at your orders, my king consort.”

When it was time to leave he grabbed a cloth big enough “it’s okay if I blindfold you?” Two years might have passed but he knew that some of the trauma she had suffered in the coffin had never actually fully left her.

“Yes, it’s okay.”

The carriage ride lasted a good ten minutes and Aelin had sat at his side with her hands in his. He felt bad for blindfolding her but it was meant to be a surprise.

“We are here, fireheart. It’s almost over.”

With extra care he guided her off the carriage and through the door. No one was going to be in the library. He had ordered to have the place all for himself and his queen.

He pushed Aelin at the entrance of the main room and finally removed the blindfold.

Aelin gasped and looked around speechless. She took a tentative step and lifted her head to stare at the never ending amount of books, at the moon light filtering through the glass dome illumniating the walls.

“Rowan…” she turned and looked at him still incapable of express what she was feeling. Rowan stared at her joy and his love for her grew even more.

“Your library, fireheart. It took me a while but I promised.”

“Ro, this is stunning. This place is incredible.”

He took her hand and started walking around the room looking at the various sections until Aelin burst out laughing “did you really create a corner with romance books?”

“Of course, I had to ask Lysandra for some recommendations but yes.”

Hand in hand they walked the entire perimeter while Aelin’s hand brushed the covers.

Rowan then took her to the old books section where the scholars had brought in some of the ancient manuscripts..

“Come,” he took her hand and guided her to the spacious reading room. Along the walls there were shelves too but definitely smaller compared to the main room. There were tables with chairs and a couple of sofas. 

“The library will be open to everyone. People will be able to come and borrow books or just stay here and read.”

“I love this, so much.”

“There will be also session to teach people to read and write or help with anything they need. And this is only the beginning.”

Aelin walked to her husband and kissed him softly “after all the pain our land has suffered, this place is a beacon of hope, and I love it so much.”

Rowan chuckled and extracted something from his tunic.

“This is for you, it’s your library card. You have number one. The first user of this magnificent place.”

She leaned against him “now you are making all wet.”

Rowan laughed hard and lifted Aelin on the table “Library card,” he whispered in her ear.

“I love when you talk dirty to me, buzzard.”

“Books…” a kiss on her neck “romance books, mythology… books… books… books…”

Aelin gripped the hem of his tunic and pulled him, closer. Her lips crashing against his for a sizzling kiss “I assume we are all alone.”

Rowan nodded.

“Then I order you to celebrate this achievement with me, husband.”

Rowan lifted Aelin back in his arms and started walking back to the main room and deposited Aelin on the floor and ran away. He came back a moment later with a blankety and some wine and a white box.

“Buzzard…”

“I was prepared.”

He spread the blanket and filled two goblets of wine and then opened the box exposing a chocolate cake.

“Now I am really horny.”

Rowan’s boisterous laugh resonated in the empty room “you love chocolate more than me.”

Her hands brushed his hair now long once again “you are right behind, I promise.”

He leaned forward and kissed her deeply.

Chocolate cake and wine forgotten, Aelin pulled him down towards her “How much you want to make love to your wife surrounded by books?”

His reply was an avid kiss

Together they had a picnic in the library, celebrating life and dreams and the flicker of hope that was now burning brighter every day.

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[separatist-apologist]

rank the characters in order of their thoughts on furries LMAOOOOOOO

STOP IT- okay fine.

17. Tarquin- Sweet, seahorse Tarquin. He's not AGAINST it...but when he learns about what's happening in Autumn and Spring, he's confused and concerned and maybe upset? Shape of DOLPHIN, Tarquin can't participate

16. Rhysand- Darling, I don't NEED to take an animal form and why would you want me to when I'm so magnificent OKAY ALRIGHT RHYS JESUS CHRIST WE GET IT. Tone it down. You're just okay.

15. Amren- Has written more than one twitter thread on the problems with these Fae and their animal/furry fucking ways. They've lost the PAGENTRY of what it means to be Fae. Says this unironically while sipping human blood.

14. Mor- Just not for her. Trying not to judge but like, she is DEFINITELY judging people for what they do in the privacy of their own bedroom. Join Calanmai? Uh no thank you. Not even curious.

13. Nesta- Arched eyebrow, curled lip when she learns about Lucien. I mean...if you're into that sort of thing I GUESS. You'll never catch Nesta with her cheek in the fucking dirt. She does the fucking, not the other way around.

12. Emerie- You'll never catch her DEAD with one of those half bat ding-dongs. No amount of Cassian explaining that wings do not equal furries will ever convince her. She knows what those men are like.

11. Gwyn- Respectful of what the rest of this list is up to, but would prefer a regular man. Ignores the man she routinely has sex with is half bat. Cognitive dissonance, we know her well.

10. Azriel- Half bat. Furry curious when he's punching Eris in the face at the High Lords meeting. Definitely listening a little TOO closely when he's spying on Spring. WHAT NO HES NOT INTERESTED THIS IS JUST FOR INFORMATION. Don't look at him like that.

9. Cassian- Disappointed he doesn't have an animal form. "Touch my wings, Nesta" he demands one night. "Look I bought this headband with ears-" No okay, yeah I'll put that away. Cassian would GO to Calanmai and fuck someone in a cave as a beast. Wishes he was a dragon (secret)

8. Feyre- Looking too hard and Helion and Rhys in beast form. I saw those descriptions Miss Ma'am. A thing of nightmares? A thing of daylight? Okay, alright. I'm sure you NEVER thought about yourself between them. OG furry fucker, given her time in Spring.

7. Helion- Look my man is liberated. He'll do anything once. Beast form, a fursuit, whatever. Cassian wants to wear little cat ears? Quick, Helion, this is your chance! Man is in love with an Autumn Court resident, he's too used to their strangeness.

6. Eris- Genuinely surprised people think it's weird. "We're MALE- practically animals already" he drawls. "FRENZY IS FOR ANIMALS" and he should say it. Everyone forgets that, but SJM should have taken the mate/frenzy trope to its natural conclusion

5. Jurian- Wife is a goddamn bird 12 hours of the day. He's sitting in this conversation like, what a bunch of pussies.

4. Vassa- Is a bird for 12 hours of the day. Husband does not seem to mind. No, technically theyve never DONE anything while she was a bird, but sometimes the humans stare when she's perched on his shoulder rubbing her head against his cheek.

3. Elain- Fox tail butt plug, a whole drawer of little headbands, my girl is a secret FREAK and I stand by that. Has nothing to add to this conversation, flaming cheeks when Lucien makes some small comment about it. Drags him home and lets him put her on his knees anyway.

2. Lucien- Helions son, former resident of the Spring Court orgy, pretend son of Autumn Lucien Vanserra Spell-Cleaver Archeron is a big fucking fan of furries.

TAMLIN- YOU ALREADY KNEW. FURSONA? YOU MEAN MY BEAST FORM RIGHT? Roaming the woods with claw and fur and talons doesn't mean he stopped having needs.

[mecub]

A rottmnt au I wanna write

Before I start! If anyone has made something like this already, I’d be really interested in seeing it!

Now. As far as I know, we don’t know for sure that bad timeline April died in the attack that killed future Leo and Mikey. She probably did, but maybe, just maybe she didn’t. So consider: bad future April leading the very last of the survivors through an even more broken world than the one they’ve lived in for years, knowing that the Kraang have completely taken control and knowing that they can’t win, but hoping to find some place to live out the rest of their lives peacefully, even though they’ve lost everything and everyone but each other.

I texted this all to a friend, and they said it sounds really dark, and there is that path, but I feel like it could be sorta hopeful if well written, like they find a safe and beautiful place deep in the woods, a long abandoned cabin or something, and the few of them who survived learn to make the best out of what they have now, knowing that soon enough they’ll be with their loved ones again but now they can take even just a few months to make peace with their lives on earth (longest sentence ever written).

It’s April leading maybe five others and giving them hope, knowing that after all this she’ll see her family again.

My current thought is that she almost dies, but when Mikey makes the portal and dies he sends out a burst of magic to all the people he loves, and it reaches April and saves her from the brink of death. Her family reaches out in the brief moment when Mikey and Leo‘s deaths let them interact with the world mystically, and they put their energy into healing April. And she carries that with her. She carries the knowledge that her family is waiting, and the knowledge that they want her so strongly to live, and she uses the time she has left to take care of those who also survived. There are kids amongst them, and she gives them as much of a childhood as she can. Together, this group grieves for those they lost and grows close.

Here’s a scene I’ve written already! It takes place after the big Kraang attack, when April is nearly dead:

At the back of April’s mind, there are two flames. 

One is orange and feels like childhood joy and sage wisdom at the same time. It flares up, bright and warm and brilliant, and then it goes out forever. It feels like, You’re not dying that easily. It feels like, I’ll see ya soon enough.

The other is blue and strong and steady and feels like a safe hand reaching out in the middle of a storm. It bursts with warmth as it flickers out. It feels like, Buh-bye, sis. It feels like, Don’t worry, the kid is safe.  

At the edges of her perception, there’s a trace of purple energy that feels like electricity and dry sarcasm. A trace of solid, smiling red warmth in a protective wall. 

If she looks further, she can feel more.

The smallest suggestion of soft whiskers and ridiculous movie star glasses from days past.

The tiniest possibility of an ancient smile that was briefly a part of her.

The faintest chance of cafeteria food and disgust that covered love.

And maybe it’s her mind playing tricks on her, but she might just sense off-brand girl scout brownies and determination. Might just sense green explosions of joy and stupid jokes about laser tag.

All of the people she’s lost smile at her, and then they’re gone.

And April’s alone again.

April’s eyes open slowly to the red sky and cracked remains of a roof.

That’s wrong. She’s supposed to be dead now. Unless she is, and the world decided to leave her as part of the worst joke ever. Maybe the afterlife is just the real world, but she can’t feel anything around her.

Wait. That’s also wrong. A bit of debris presses into her back, and her arm and leg hurt. Not as much as they should, though.

She should have bled out from those wounds. It doesn’t make any sense.

Slowly, she pushes herself up and looks around. The tunnel is completely destroyed around her. Old concrete lies in chunks and pieces, and underneath are the bodies of those who died in the battle.

She was supposed to be with them. This really, really doesn’t make sense.

She looks at the giant cut on her arm, and finds it… covered? A slightly blue tinted bandage is wrapped around it tightly. Her leg is similarly wrapped in orange stained bandage, with a tiny smile drawn on.

Ta-da! It’s bad, but still, ta-da!

[theladyofbloodshed]

STEEL & FLAME - Chapter 14

Both love sick puppies after their big argument in the woods.

Each morning that Nesta woke alone, her heart cracked further. The absence from Lucien hadn’t made her harder. It had wrenched her heart from her chest and twisted it painfully.

Jurian would greet her gruffly but he was colder towards her. He only spoke to her if she engaged him in conversation but even then, it was brief and monosyllabic. As for Vassa, the mortal queen gave Nesta nothing but a hard look whenever they crossed paths. In the evenings, Vassa would close the living room door as a sign that Nesta was not allowed to enter. She understood. Lucien was their friend and she had hurt him then forced him out of his house. He was too good for her. Any other male would have thrown her out of his home, but Lucien had gone back to Velaris to respect her wishes.

Tears came often. Nesta’s mind forever wandered to Lucien. Knowing he was in Velaris – a place she detested and a place that had never welcomed him either – made her suffering worse. How could she be so foolish to blame him for having a life before she was even born? How could she have let Eris’ poison infect her so quickly?

‘I want him back,’ she voiced on the third day to Jurian as she gazed with longing out of the window as if Lucien might appear on the lawn at her summons.

‘I can’t winnow. You can’t winnow. What do you want me to do?’

In reckless thoughts, Nesta had even imagined taking Sorrell and finding her way to the Spring Court to beg Tamlin to winnow her to the Night Court. Her sheer desperation to apologise had her considering every possibility. The only thing stopping her was the thought of endangering herself; her worry was not for her own safety though, she worried for Lucien’s well-being if she was hurt. The male did not deserve any more pain.

No task could hold her attention for long though Nesta did more than before – sweeping out fireplaces, scrubbing everybody’s clothes clean and hanging them to dry, preparing more meals to ease the burden off Jurian. It was all a tithe so that Nesta could present it to Lucien and prove she was not wholly wicked. She would drop to her knees and beg him for another chance if she had to.

Her own room felt like a tomb. She had taken to sleeping in Lucien’s vacant one and clinging to his pillows to inhale the faint traces of his scent. If he snapped the bond, it was her own fault. The Cauldron had been wrong to pair one as good as Lucien to her. He did not deserve her vicious words or cruel behaviour. The words she had uttered in the forest – the ones that had made him flinch – had caused irreparable damage to their bond already. Why was her first response always anger? Why couldn’t she ever learn to remain silent?

She wished she could take the words back. Wished she had never lashed out at Lucien. It was all she knew - but she should have tried to be better. That part of her that was warped and wicked was the part of her she hated most.

‘Can you mend these?’

Jurian dumped a basket of clothes in front of her. They were mortal garments of varying sizes for both men and women.

‘May as well earn your keep. Villagers have paid to have them fixed. Get to it.’

It had been Lucien’s coin supporting most of the manor. Lucien who paid for everything without complaint because he was a good male, with a good heart, who was always happy to help.

Nesta sat for the rest of the day, straight-backed at the table, sewing lost buttons back onto shirts, mending tears in seams and darning socks. Her eyes had stung with tears frequently throughout the day but she hadn’t let herself stop. She had spent five agonising days without him. Even if her thoughts constantly tracked back to Lucien like a summons that she couldn’t help but answer, she could busy her hands and prove herself useful.

Sewing was something Nesta could do easily. Hours and hours as a child, she’d spent perfecting her needlework on little cushions and embroidery hoops. It had been Feyre who’d sneered at her as a child and said that of course her favourite hobby was one where she stabbed things. Had Nesta always been a bad person?

The day her mother died, Nesta’s world had become colder. That was the day she began growing her own armour to harden against the world. Her mother was also a cruel thing – but Nesta had been her favourite. Nesta had been wanted and praised. She sat through the funeral alone. Her father had been busy with guests all paying their respects, but prior to it, he had walked hand in hand with Feyre and Elain behind their mother’s coffin. She was old enough to walk by herself, he had said – as if Nesta had not needed support too. It was that day that Nesta decided, if her father would not be a loving husband who would have searched the ends of the earth for a cure for his wife, she would not be the dutiful, eldest daughter either.

‘I’ve finished,’ Nesta said quietly as she folded the last item – a long-sleeved, velvet girl’s dress – onto the pile.

Jurian closed the back door behind him, trapping the frigid air from entering. His muddy boots from clearing Sorrell’s stall were dumped on the mat. The male glanced at the full basket and nodded his head appreciatively. ‘Quick worker. It wasn’t a punishment. You didn’t have to sit all day without moving.’

Nesta turned her eyes to her lap. She deserved much worse. ‘You’ve watched me working here all day. Equally, you could have told me earlier that I didn’t have to do it all.’

Jurian shrugged. ‘Lucien’s my friend. I’ll always be on his side. If it had been me that you said those things to, your head would be spiked in the garden.’ The male clapped his hands together, those words scattering to dust. ‘Let’s eat. I’m starving.’

‘I’m going to bed.’

‘Vassa’s not even awake yet. Sit.’

‘I’m going to bed,’ she repeated.

‘No. You’re not,’ Jurian said, a slight snarl in his voice. ‘Because you didn’t eat yesterday and you barely ate before that and your mate is too good and asked me to take care of you. So, you will sit down and you will eat at this table.’

The words weren’t harsh enough for Nesta. She deserved far worse. Each time she entered Lucien’s room in the evening and felt the lingering warmth of the dying hearth, she knew it had been Lucien who’d asked Jurian to keep her warm in his absence. It broke another part of her. Nesta turned on her heel and went to the bedroom.

It took almost an hour before Jurian came stomping through the bedroom brandishing a tray of food. If he could have thrown it at her, Nesta imagined he would have. He certainly looked as if he wanted to.

‘I won’t coddle you. I’m not that sort of man. You fucked up. Don’t fuck it up even more. Just eat the damn stew. Lucien will be back in a few days and you can grovel then.’

Food tasted like ash in her mouth. Nesta could not even imagine how it was for mates who willingly severed their bond. When he was so far away in Velaris, Nesta felt as if she’d lost a limb. She missed his company terribly. Missed the constant physical touch of fingers interlinked or a hand weaving through her hair. Missed Lucien’s beautiful smile and brilliant sense of humour.

‘Eat.’

The man had taken a couple of steps from the room when the front door knocked. He froze. It knocked again and Jurian pressed his finger to his lips, urging Nesta to stay silent. She sat on the edge of the bed, heart hammering wildly against her chest like an animal demanding to be freed.

For a third time, the door knocked. This time, however, the figure rapped and rapped playing a rhythm on the panels of wood with his knuckles. Nesta held her breath as the door scraped along the floorboards.

‘Good evening, Jurian,’ a slick, voice came. ‘Where might my brother’s lovely mate be hiding?’   ***

It would be a lie to say that Lucien continued easily without Nesta, but he certainly presented that way. He was used to bundling up his hurts and continuing on. One week without Nesta was an eternity. Often, he had found himself about to winnow back to the mortal lands then had to grit his teeth and remain in the inn.

It was remarkable how much room Nesta had claimed in his heart in such a short space of time. One week. One week and he’d return with his tail between his legs and beg Nesta for the chance to talk. He would tell her everything, even if the truth hurt both of them. Every instinct had him crying out to get back to her, to feel the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body. Those smiles – so rare like sunlight in the winter – freely given to him as they played board games or discussed the most toe-curling aspects of her books. He’d loved the latter, loved watching Nesta squirm as she tried to read passages from the book aloud or how she’d dissolve into unrestrained giggles when he read it to her. She’d snatch the book out of his hands and fight to disguise her amusement.

One week was hell – but Lucien had to respect Nesta’s wish to stay away. He was determined to prove to her that he could be a good mate rather than push and push until he got his way. Nesta had had too much stolen from her; Lucien refused to take away her choices even if it was not what he wanted.

It was better to stay busy then to dwell on what a failure he had been in every aspect of his life. Any duty Rhysand asked of him, Lucien had completed. He had even helped Azriel write reports to ease the burden on the busy shadow singer who was keeping a watch on the house in the mortal lands as often as he could. Each day, he’d take a walk around Velaris in an attempt to run from his thoughts. Not that it ever worked.

The tavern that he’d found lodgings in reminded him too much of Nesta. He’d had the window open the previous night to allow a breeze in but music had travelled upwards. It had been a song they’d danced to so he’d slammed the frame so hard, it trembled.

Feyre paid him a visit once on the fifth day – likely out of pity or to be nosy or both. In their stunted conversation, Lucien revealed nothing of Nesta or why he was in Velaris. It felt too much like a betrayal to tell her sister about the blazing argument they’d had in the woods. Nesta would not want others to know her business.

They walked along the Sidra together, Feyre was bundled in a thick coat from the harsh wind carrying across the water and he had wrapped a scarf tightly around his neck. They had ended up taking refuge in a quaint tea house near the centre of Velaris. Spring was coming round the corner, but not quick enough. Most of the snow had melted from the cobbled roads, but the bitter winds bit the skin.  

Feyre settled for black tea whilst Lucien sipped at jasmine. He longed to conjure a flame into his hands to warm them, but his mother had always told him it was improper to use their magic indoors – much less in a tea house. Feyre drummed her painted nails on the wood, watching the waitress potter off to another table.

‘I don’t think Nesta knows how to let anyone in.’

Lucien’s expression tightened at the sudden mention of Nesta. ‘I didn’t come here to perform an autopsy on your sister’s character.’

‘She’s always been this way, Lucien. Even with the bond, Nesta has-’

‘Feyre,’ he snapped. The anger had risen quickly where usually he could master himself. ‘I will not sit here and discuss my mate.’

If Feyre was shocked by his tone, she quickly composed her features though her eyes had gone slightly distant as she stared from the window. The corner of her mouth turned upwards and she shook her head with a little laugh.

‘Must you constantly have private conversations with your mate?’ He asked tersely.

‘Sorry. We have a meeting in the Hewn City tonight. You are welcome to attend as our emissary.’

‘Why is not being held in Velaris?’

‘Your brother will be attending.’

Whatever alliance they had with Eris was fragile at best. Enough warnings had been given to the Inner Circle about his brother’s character yet Rhysand had insisted on ploughing ahead. Let them deal with the consequences of being in Eris’ pocket, Lucien thought. Because that was what would happen. Eris was too clever, too quick to be caught. Even if the Night Court thought they had the upper hand, Eris would change the rules of the game – and Eris never lost. His brother always ended up on top.

‘Why would I want to spend a minute of my time with Eris?’

Feyre clenched her jaw. ‘You know him best. Rhys has asked if you will attend, as our emissary. You might be able to tell when he’s lying.’

Lucien let out a low chuckle. ‘Everything out of Eris’ mouth is a lie. It’s when he tells the truth that you need to be worried. But fine. What else am I to do here?’ ***

‘Leave us.’

‘Like hell I will,’ Jurian spat, casting an arm out blocking Nesta’s path. ‘Whatever you want to say to her, you’ll say to both of us.’

Eris smiled blandly, enjoying the discord he was spreading yet again in the mortal lands. He had a talent for it, Nesta acknowledged. The male shook back his long, wine-coloured hair then said, ‘I think Nesta has a voice that she’s quite capable of using, Jurian.’

The man’s chest rose and fell, the sword still was in his hands. He’d killed fae before – many fae. From the feral look in his brown eyes, Nesta knew he was considering how quickly he could cross the living room and plunge his sword through Eris’ heart.

‘A moment, please.’ She murmured to Jurian.

The door slammed when Jurian departed. Nesta listened to his boots stomping up the stairs then his muffled voice was snarling something at Vassa as she woke.

In their solitude, Eris cocked his head to the side. ‘A lovely display last week, you clever female.’

Nesta folded her arms across her chest. ‘What do you want?’

The fire cracked in the hearth, making her flinch. Eris did not miss it. She clenched her jaw to prevent the involuntary reaction happening again – and to prevent snapping at him for that loathsome grin spreading across his face. ‘I merely wanted to get acquainted with my baby brother’s mate.’

‘A shame I don’t share that sentiment.’

Eris rose from the chair in a graceful movement. His height struck her; she had never stood face to face with him before and Eris stood almost a head taller than her. Flames uncoiled themselves from her marrow, flickering over her hands. Eris raised a hand, letting a ruby flame weave through his fingers and dance with her own silver one.

‘Your power is magnificent.’

Nesta forced her magic to engulf his until it devoured his flame. Eris drew back his hand, shaking away the pain of her icy flames. A laugh broke out of his lips, the sound like silk running over her bare skin. When he took a step closer to her, Nesta backed up until her shoulders hit the wall.

‘The Night Court? The mortal lands?’ Eris glanced up at the cracks in the ceiling, sneering slightly. ‘You are wasted here. Absolutely wasted.’

‘I’m not sure that’s a compliment.’

It would be a denial to say Eris wasn’t handsome, but it was a cold, ethereal sort of beauty. His amber eyes scanned her face; they were unnerving. They lacked the warmth of Lucien’s russet ones. There was no joy in Eris’ face. It was a mirror of Nesta’s own - the aloof mask of disinterest. He trod another step towards her and braced his hands either side of shoulders.

‘Don’t settle for Lucien.’

Nesta stiffened her spine. Perhaps her and Eris were more alike than she knew. Both were the eldest, both modelled into warped, little monsters by their parent. And both had the innate need to break everything in their life because they knew they deserved nothing good. Lucien was his brother. Just as Elain and Feyre were her sisters. How many times had Nesta passed a mean comment or tried to tread on her sisters as a deflection rather than facing her own insecurities? Eris was the same creature she was. They were mirrors of each other. Eris would stamp on Lucien, try to snatch his mate, rather than face the truth that he was alone and friendless too.

‘I can show you how a future high lord plays.’  

***

The Hewn City was magnificent in the same way a mausoleum was, Lucien thought as he followed behind Cassian along the marbled floor of the moonstone palace. Its inhabitants had not been expecting a late-night visit from the high lord and lady though this was the Night Court, after all, and none had been in bed. Kier had bowed in the shallowest stoop that it ought to be considered disrespectful – but Rhysand had completely breezed by him without any sort of acknowledgement. Feyre had her arm looped through his and Azriel flanked her left side. Cassian followed after them then finally Lucien brought up the rear. It displayed their pecking order. Mor and Amren had remained behind for their visit, along with Elain who was content to remain in Velaris for the rest of her days it seemed.

Lucien had spent the few hours prior to the meeting trying to understand Eris’ goal. He would have known his words had caused disruption – perhaps even expected him to show up at the meeting. And knowing Eris, if Lucien didn’t show up, he’d see it as a victory. Eris might have spent his life playing Beron’s game, but so had Lucien. He knew every move, every counter, just as Eris did.

Unexpectedly, Eris was late. He played many games, but manners were not one. Eris was never late to anything. Their mother even laughed that he was early to his own birth.

Cassian swung on the back legs of his chair, tossing a knife in its scabbard in the air. ‘Maybe Beron’s found out and snapped his neck. Can’t say I’ll be too broken up about it.’

‘Play nice,’ Rhys winked though the shadows around Azriel lightened at the joke.

Feyre groaned. ‘I wanted an early night.’

‘We both know that wasn’t happening, Feyre darling.’

The shadows were back and Cassian made a retching noise. ‘Disgusting. I thought that mating frenzy was supposed to wear off.’

The high lord and lady shared a heated look across the room. Lucien hated it. Hated seeing mates in love and happy. Hated that he hated to see it.

For a short while longer, they remained sat at the obsidian meeting table with the only noise coming from the squeak of Cassian’s chair as he rocked. The male, it seemed, was unable to sit still.

Finally, the door slipped open. They heard Eris quietly thanking a servant. Eris would stab someone with their own knife – but thank them for letting him use it.

‘What the fuck happened to you?’ Cassian was torn between shock and joy.

Eris sat in a chair at the far end of the table. A vibrant purple bruise sealed his right eye shut, but the left one turned to Lucien. ‘Your mate happened to me.’

Cassian clapped his large hands together. ‘Who the hell taught Nesta to throw a punch like that?’

‘You should have seen the hit she landed on Graysen. I thought she’d snap his neck,’ Feyre said nostalgically.

Lucien didn’t revel in their amusement of Eris’ black eye. A fire blazed in his chest as he pointed a trembling finger at his eldest brother. ‘Why did you seek out Nesta?’

Clever, clever Eris had waited until the watch on the mortal manner had stopped. He must have swooped in there the moment Azriel had winnowed back to Velaris.

‘Can’t I get to know my brother’s mate better? What a darling she is. Father is just brimming with excitement at meeting her properly.’

The male was too bold to bait him like that – and in front of Nesta’s own sister.  

‘If you have harmed a single hair on her head.’

No other words of his threat would come out. Images of Jesminda thrashing in the arms of Autumn Court sentries as they marched her grim-faced to Beron flashed through his mind. Lucien would rather watch the whole world burn than ever see Nesta in Autumn Court territory.

Pulse throbbing in his neck, Lucien surged out from the room, passing through the wards that prevented winnowing. The frigid Night Court air barely had a moment to whip against his skin before he winnowed right to the front door of the manor in the mortal lands.

His breath came in ragged gulps as he fumbled for the key. It was late. Nesta, if she was still there, would usually be asleep by now. She might cast him out, might screech at him to leave again, but he had to know she was safe.

Lucien called her name as he charged through the hallway.

Nesta stood at the top of the stairs as if she was staring at a ghost. The sconces along the hallway bathed her in golden light. He saw the gasp escape her lips.

Her pale grey gown washed out what little colour she had left. Her body shook with each precise step down each stair then she was racing down the final few.

Her arms locked around his neck, her cheek pressing against his.

‘Come home.’ Her voice cracked – and it was the most painful note Lucien had ever heard. ‘Please, come home.’

His mate was burying her face into his neck, the warmth of her tears soaking into the collar of his shirt. He cradled her face. ‘Did Eris hurt you? Nesta, did he touch you?’

Tears traced down her cheeks. ‘No. He. I don’t know why he came. Just to tease me. Lucien, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, don’t leave again. I love you so much.’

Her mouth pressed to his in a slow, yielding kiss.

‘I love you,’ she breathed. ‘I love you.’

Lucien touched his forehead to Nesta’s, hardly daring to believe that she was in his arms again. ‘I love you. I will tell you everything – anything. No secrets, no stone uncovered.’

‘I don’t care about your past. I want a future with you. I want you. Now. Forever.’  

Eris after causing chaos in the last chapter and fixing it in this one in his own chaotic way

[papermatisse]

Oasis || O.SH (V)

♔ pairing: superhero!sehun x f!reader

♔ genre: fluff, angst, crack

♔ word count: 7.5k

♔ warnings: paranoia, violence

♔ synopsis: EXO: the nine member superhero gang protecting the city of Exodus. For years, they've done just that. A sudden turn of events leads them all stressed, confused, and paranoid beyond belief. A paranoia which could either lead them to answers or turn them against one another— turn them against their city.

♔ (a/n): okay I've learned my lesson and made this one significantly shorter lol. hopefully you like it! (also not proofread so apologies if there's loads of typos)

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Sehun stared at the table before him, his eyes discreetly tracing the lines of the wood, following their trail ingrained in the smooth surface, so entirely fixated on their existence as if hoping they'd lead him away from the hell he was forced to endure right then and there. More specifically, his own personal hell of Junmyeon ranting and raving of his paranoid delusions to the rest of them. Under the guise of an essential briefing regarding the happenings of their current case, Junmyeon continued to explain his findings, point by point, agonizingly digging into details which just weren't there.

He alternated between various forms of data.

A bulletin board shrouded by a dense layer of photos, sticky notes, and strewn about pages, red lines connecting each thought into another through what should have been a seamless transition, yet instead felt frantic and manic almost as Junmyeon ran from one end of the board to another.

A PowerPoint of his information, condensed into a readily available format for the others to supposedly read, though everyone merely looked to one another in concern. Concern for their leader, who was unraveling quicker than they could have ever predicted.

There was this fire in his eyes, though not of passion. The brown of his eyes instead contained the uncontrollable aspects of fire. That potential for disaster as it spread, snagging anything in its reach and infecting it with that perilous rage, that heat which could ruin anything with a single touch.

Straying from Junmyeon's inflamed eyes, Sehun instead looked to the empty seat across from him. The seat which was once designated for Chanyeol. After their last battle, he hadn't since heard from the fire bending hero. As if having disappeared the moment he left those doors. He attempted to reach out to him, though only ever received a voiceless response, merely observing the fact that Chanyeol had read his messages.

And Junmyeon didn't seem to care one bit. Hadn't even acknowledged the fact that Chanyeol showed up to fight with them. It was a devastating devolution that Sehun could only watch from afar. Watch as his friend became consumed by those flames of insanity imbibed in his darkened gaze.

"The funeral homes have shown an increase in crematory submissions, including those of loved ones who have just recently passed, though also in returnees who request their loved ones' remains be cremated." Junmyeon clicked to the next slide of his PowerPoint, showing a list of numbers that seemed almost gibberish to Sehun after being locked in this dark abyss of a meeting room for over an hour. "So there has been a significant drop in burials these coming days, as well as a decreased population of bodies at the cemetery itself. Necromancer will have a more difficult time accumulating an army with these precautions."

Sehun lazily glanced around the room once more. Baekhyun was asleep, leant against his hand in a way that it looked as if he were staring at the screen, with luckily his back facing Junmyeon. Jongdae was close behind, heavy bags weighing down beneath his eyes as he fought against his lids adamant on closing. Minseok and Yixing watched the screen, though Minseok had this dull haze over his eyes, as if he wasn't taking in anything. Kyungsoo stared at a wall while Jongin stared at Kyungsoo, both completely and conspicuously zoned out, though neither could care less if Junmyeon were to scold them. Either way, nobody was fully present in the room with Junmyeon.

"Though we do have to talk to the city regarding bodies past 50 years. Minseok, if you could get on that, that'd be great." Minseok nodded, though again, Sehun could see he wasn't paying attention in the slightest. "We've also been monitoring the traffic to and from Exodus, looking for any concerning consistencies, so I'll get back to this once I have finished conducting the research and have got my findings.

"And with that, you are all dismissed," the screen went black, a reprieve for Sehun's eyes as he attempted to blink away the words imprinted in his vision. Baekhyun was jostled awake by Kyungsoo shaking his chair, alerting him that it had ended as everyone had begun standing. "Please keep your devices at the ready so you know when next to reconvene, understood?"

"Yes, captain." They all muttered, an unintentional yet unavoidable drowsiness laced in each of their voices. Though if Junmyeon noticed, he didn't comment on it, instead merely heading out first and leaving the others to their own devices.

"I don't think I can handle another meeting like this for the next year." Jongdae quietly groaned, rubbing his eyes from their exhaustion.

"It's too much." Jongin agreed. "With work in our daily lives, training sessions everyday, and the unexpected battles every other week, the last thing we need are meetings to drain us even more."

"I don't know, it's not so bad." Baekhyun commented with a smile. "I don't remember the last time I had such an efficient power nap."

"I'm going to leave you sleeping next time," Kyungsoo threatened, turning to leave the room as Baekhyun whined behind him.

Sehun followed after, as drained as he could be and only wanting the warmth and comfort which came with home. Washing away the torment of the day, eating a nice home cooked meal, watching something to distract him from the events in his life, all with (y/n) right by his side.

Returning to her at the end of the day felt so incredibly mundane. The way his heart would sing to him as he opened her door, seeing her curled up in a bundle of blankets. Her eyes would all but light up as they met his own, sparkling with that familiar glint, mirthful as she would amble over to him, a blanket still draped over her shoulders. She'd hug him, wrapping him in not only her undying love, but also the warmth she'd imbibe into the sheet around them both. She would be so gentle with him, combing her fingers through his hair as he told her about his day. She listened so intently to him, comforted him through his troubles or celebrated with him during his triumphs.

And yet she was so terribly reticent in every aspect of the word.

(y/n) was outspoken, courageous, unafraid of whatever she held an opinion on, yet at the same time held a torrent of secrets. Secrets with which it seemed she revolved her life around.

Like the synchronous rotation of the moon, Sehun was only ever able to see what she showed him. What she allowed him to see.

It was painful. On multiple occasions, he could very clearly see how she struggled with keeping this guise to her. He could see the panic in her eyes when he'd question something, when he'd notice something.

Yet what else could he do?

Love was blind, and he willingly chose to fall into that narrative.

He could see the fear in her eyes when he'd begin prying into her personal affairs, though he'd pretend he didn't.

He'd watch as she skirted around topics and he'd merely follow her conversational lead.

He'd live in that blissful ignorance if it only meant he'd keep her beside him.

Walking into his apartment only served as a reminder to this, a confirmation to his self deluded acceptance of everything she was.

"Sehun!" (y/n) called out, appearing from his kitchen with an apron wrapped around her bodice.

Her eyes shone with mirth, this wholly genuine smile spread across her face as she met Sehun with a hug, greeting him after his long, strenuous day. Holding her seemed to melt away his tension, dissolve those anxieties riddled within his frenzied mind. She served as an amenity in his dark world, the living embodiment of a security blanket, if you will. All things wrong seemed to fade away as she patted his back, swaying to and fro as if in a silent waltz with him.

Deep down, he wanted to believe his heart. He wanted to believe in the sincerity he felt towards her. How could something which felt so right be wrong in any way? How could such safety, such love, such comfort, be false? His head screamed at him, alarms blaring, red flags waving. All signs pointed to her being disloyal, holding back secrets which could very well be fatal to him—or even to Exodus.

Yet his heart yearned for this danger, quelling his otherwise consuming suspicions. He allowed himself to fall victim to her ambiguity, the potential peril he may be walking himself into. As if he were condemning himself to this treacherous fate, exchanging his life, his happiness, his sanity, all for but an ounce of her love.

As she carted him into the kitchen, presenting her dinner she had worked tirelessly on to perfect for him, beaming up at him expectantly whilst waiting for his validation, he couldn't find it in himself to regret his decision. He couldn't find it in himself to tear himself away from her.

He showered her in his love, soaking in her every giggle as he praised her valiant culinary efforts.

He listened as she regaled him with the tale of her dinner, savoring her every word much like every bite of his food. The undeniable effort she put into her every exploit left his heart swelled with adoration, never having been loved in such a way.

Every sense of doubt seemed to dissolve as the two washed up afterwards, clearing the kitchen before migrating to the comfort of her apartment.

"Thank you." Sehun spoke softly, voice barely above a whisper as the two laid in the dark of her bedroom. The moon shone a light blue glow within the room, shadows casting across her face, outlining the visage of her being. His fingers stroked down the side of her face running along the planes of her facade, feeling the rise of her cheeks as she smiled at him.

"For what?"

For loving him the way she did. For keeping him in her life when she could have so much better—when she deserves so much better. For bringing him such joy, such vibrancy, in his once dull life. For ruining his heart so that no other could ever fill the barren cavity the way she did.

For giving him a life he never could have dreamt about, though now could never live without.

"For dinner." He responded. (y/n) snorted, shoulders shaking with silent laughter at Sehun's gruff, succinct answer.

"You've made dinner every night while I've shadowed you. I was just showing what your apprentice has learned." Now it was Sehun's turn to laugh, a fond chuckle as he shuffled closer to her.

At this point, his vision had adjusted to the dim room, and he could faintly make out the details which made up her face. Her eyes shimmered in the deep dusk, sparkling back at him like light upon the ocean. Her lips were curled into a gentle grin, as if its default when around him. The sight itself brought a smile to his face, his lips twitching at the corners as he soaked in her everything.

A comfortable silence settled over the two, merely looking at one another, basking in their shared warmth. Sehun felt so close to her, as if their souls themselves were as intertwined as their limbs beneath the blankets. As if he couldn't possibly get any closer to her, yet still yearned to fill that supposedly nonexistent space. To absolutely infiltrate any and all barriers between them until they were one.

And that thought seemed to linger with him even as his eyes slid shut, (y/n) tucked alongside him while he drifted off into sleep. That though he feels so connected to her, so integrated with her being, those pockets of empty space he wanted so desperately to eliminate would forever remain there. As long as she's got her guard up, Sehun can never truly be as close to her as he wanted.

Sehun's eyes shot open, his body immediately going stiff as he surveyed his surroundings. His eyes darted to and fro about the room. The windows were still shut, as was the door. The moon still gazed upon the lovers, once sleeping peacefully, though now one of the two was wide awake and alert. Everything seemed to be in place, though he knew something was off. He could feel it.

The shift in the air, somehow disturbed, somehow unfamiliar to him. It wasn't from the bedroom.

He shifted his attention back to the door, softening his breathing so he could hear. Hear the rats which had crept into their serenity.

Sehun unraveled himself from (y/n), carefully as to not stir her awake, though keeping his eyes trained on the bedroom's entry. His steps were light, using his wind to soften each and every move of his, to not make his presence known to the assailants lurking outside. Once he was at the door, he could hear them so much more clearly.

Their hushed whispers, their strides throughout her apartment, the rustling of her items as they scavenged her belongings. He could even hear the wind outside, the window which they used to sneak in wide open.

They were reckless, practically idiotic. Amateur home invaders if anything. So Sehun hadn't felt any form of fear as he opened the door, quietly stepping out and down the hall, into the main area of the apartment where he came face to face with the two figures.

One was in her kitchen, rifling through her cupboards. The other was at her bookshelf, pushing aside her delicate trinkets haphazardly. Neither were destructive in their ways, nor seeming to have hostile intentions. They didn't even look like they were here for valuable items.

They were looking, searching for some thing or another.

The dark figure by the bookshelf turned away from his objective, seemingly coming up empty and about to search elsewhere, until he froze in his spot, staring at Sehun who all but glared back at him. Though that initial shock seemed to dissipate, the silhouette's body loosening of its tension and instead quirking his head to the side.

"Se–" Sehun's hand shot up, silencing the man's voice by seizing the air of his lungs. The figure at first stilled, though soon the panic settled in as he began clawing at his throat, suffocating in the middle of the room.

"Did you say some–" The other emerged from the kitchen only to meet the same fate, Sehun raising his other hand and ceasing his airways as well.

And slowly, almost tauntingly, Sehun began dragging them closer to him, with nothing but the toes of their shoes skimming the floor. He grasped the necks of both of them, glowering down at them as he easily towered over the two. Still having control of their lungs, he pressed his fingers into their throats, setting them into an even bigger panic as they began squirming in his deathly grip.

All humanity in Sehun practically disappeared as he watched their struggle gradually weaken, falling deeper and deeper into unconsciousness. That is until he felt taps along his wrist. Rapid in their sequence, though nevertheless weak, as if merely trying to get his attention. But that sequence, two in quick succession, garnered Sehun's attention. Like the perpetrator was… tapping out? As if they were sparring?

Sehun released them, softening their falls so as to not make noise. To keep (y/n) asleep as the two began gasping for air. Sehun wanted to shut them up at that very moment, each heave causing him to flinch from the intensity, though he understood, as they were practically on death's doorstep seconds prior.

Nevertheless, Sehun grasped both of them by their collars, dragging them pitilessly across the floor and away from the bedroom.

"Sehun, it's us," one huffed out, coughing as the collar Sehun held dug into his esophagus.

This time, he froze. His eyes widened for a moment, hearing his name come out of their mouth. His mind went blank as this unnerving feeling crept up his spine, unsure of what to make of the situation.

He shook off his surprise, tossing the men onto the living room couch, allowing them a brief break to catch their breaths.

"Who's us?" Sehun asked, his voice laced with venom. He kept his arms at his side, his fingers itching to get rid of the scum before him already.

"Jongdae…" The other wheezed. "... And Baekhyun."

Sehun's eye twitched, his jaw clenched with broiling rage as he leant forward, grasping the masks and yanking them off their faces. Jongdae hissed, as Sehun had managed to snag some hair, while Baekhyun whined at having his neck jostled from the movement.

"What the hell do you two think you're doing here?" Sehun growled.

"We should be asking you—" Baekhyun insisted, voice raising until Sehun took control of his lungs again, silencing the boy. Jongdae shoved at Sehun's leg.

"Dude, stop that."

"Then stop yelling. And answer my questions." He released Baekhyun, crossing his arms over his chest to show his disarmament. "What are you doing in my girlfriend's apartment?"

Baekhyun stared up at Sehun in disbelief, his brows stitched together as he processed the words just spoken. Jongdae was in a similar state, his jaw hanging loosely at the news. Both were so visibly startled by the information that Sehun's resolve somewhat cracked, now as equally confused as them.

"This is your girlfriend's apartment?" Jongdae glanced around, as if looking for the person in question.

"Yes. So now follow up question. What are you doing breaking into just anyone's apartment?"

The two looked at one another, though Sehun wasn't having any of it. He didn't want them to try and make up some cover up in the moment. He raised his arms, about to use his powers again until Baekhyun spoke up.

"Okay, look, we were sent on a secret mission by Junmyeon."

Sehun grimaced at this, brows furrowed in confusion.

Secret mission from Junmyeon?

"Why would Junmyeon…" He trailed off, his thoughts too frenzied to make any sense of this. Why would Junmyeon break into someone's home? Why would he send the others to do that? Why (y/n)?

"This is our main suspect's apartment, Sehun." Jongdae whispered, as if seeing all of the uncertainty in his eyes. All of the hesitation that had him spiraling into this route of overthinking.

"I… I don't…" Sehun dropped his hands from where they hovered in the air, his eyes meeting the plush rug beneath him. "Why… What does (y/n)... have to do with any of this?"

"We really don't know." Baekhyun went to stand up, cautious at first, though upon seeing Sehun still silently contemplating to himself, he continued forth, carefully wrapping an arm around his younger. Sehun could feel Baekhyun's wariness with approaching him, as he nearly did kill him, though still appreciated the support given, allowing Baekhyun to gently pat his back. "We were just told to look for anything suspicious."

"Junmyeon received the traffic reports." Sehun turned his attention to the other of the two, rubbing his neck still from Sehun's assault. "She's left the city before every battle. It's been going on for months."

Sehun's thoughts came back to him. Memories of (y/n) being so defensive, so secretive, in everything she did. Only ever telling him bare minimum details, or just merely avoiding conversion entirely. But he never pushed. He didn't want to pressure her. He didn't want her to feel obligated to tell him anything she was uncomfortable with. He never pried.

He just waited. He waited for her to eventually open up to him. To eventually trust him enough to finally let him hear those thoughts which plagued her mind on a near daily basis. To share her burdens, help her carry that weight she seemed to always hold.

Maybe she never had any intention of doing any such thing. Maybe she had always meant to keep a distance between the two. To keep her private affairs from him, as if he were any different to them. As if only ever showing him one side of her, never the other.

That anxiety within him crept to the forefront of his mind, worries now poking at his head. Regrets, that he should've pushed some. He should've asked more questions. He should've been more curious. He shouldn't have accepted her pitiful excuses.

Though the one thought that remained. The one consistency he couldn't refute in his mind.

He didn't regret meeting her. He didn't regret getting close to her. He didn't regret baring his soul to her while she hid hers away.

He was so terribly in love with her. He knew he did this to himself. He's the one who chose blissful ignorance.

The space between them felt as if it were widening, her secrets prying her away from him, and no matter how desperately he seemed to grasp at her, she only grew further. Like everything he worked for, the time he spent patiently waiting for her barricades to crumble, was all for naught, as she simply rebuilt with an even stronger fortification. This barren space which left him feeling almost empty.

Jongdae gasped, eyes zeroed in on the hallway across from them. His fear drew the others' attention, causing them to all look in that general direction with equal shock.

Standing there was (y/n), eyes gazing at the bunch of boys staring back at her. Sehun was moments away from breaking off into nonsensical explanation, but caught himself beforehand, raising his hand and pressing his finger to his lips to keep the boys silent.

"She's sleepwalking." The dull glaze of her eyes, the uncharacteristic monotonous facade across her face, how completely unresponsive she was to the situation. Sehun was familiar with it. "She does this occasionally. It's fine. Just stay quiet."

As if her vision were based on movement, they all stood there like statues, watching as she slowly turned away from the fiasco and over to her coffee table—the only thing separating her from them.

She crouched on the ground, blindly reaching underneath before pulling out a leather bound notebook. The cover was worn and aged, as if having gone through years of use. The sight somewhat perplexed Sehun, as he had never seen such a thing before.

Reaching under again, she retrieved a pen. A simple ballpoint pen you'd find at any convenience store.

The boys remained where they were, Baekhyun and Jongdae afraid of alerting her of their presence while Sehun merely stood in utter confusion.

Then, she opened the book, slowly and meticulously flipping through each page. Baekhyun slapped his hand over his mouth to silence the gasp which came to him, Jongdae leaning forward on the couch to get a better look at the dark images scratched across every sheet. The moonlight which once seemed ethereal almost now casted this ominous glow across (y/n) and her notebook.

Her notebook filled with drawings of their battles.

Each page she flipped to was another graphic depiction of a battle. From the very start of their careers, as if forcing them on a harrowing walk through memory lane, a journey that none of the three wanted to go through, yet couldn't help but keep their eyes on the book.

The images were detailed, as if looking at monochrome stills of each fight. Each page was curved and warped, bearing the consequences of her relentless scribbling. Yet one consistency they couldn't help but acknowledge was the fact that each page seemed to become darker and darker, more ink splattered onto the pages as their battles grew in intensity.

She then got to the next blank page, and without a moment more to spare, began drawing. It was in an almost violent manner, the tip of the pen practically stabbing into the parchment beneath her. Every movement was jarring yet precise, able to create those vivid images they had witnessed just seconds prior. If there was any doubt before on who the artist of this suspiciously demented notebook was, she managed to clear it all away, confirming she was the hand which created them.

As time slowly passed, with only their breaths and the sounds of her pen scratching against the paper filling the air, Sehun felt his heart sink more and more into the pit of his stomach. He felt like a prisoner, cemented where he was, forced to watch as his beloved (y/n) created this horrific scene before his eyes. Something of nightmares. Nightmares which he fears may come true.

Finally, she stopped.

She dropped her pen unceremoniously onto the page before suddenly going limp, falling backwards towards the hard floor, that is until Sehun softened her fall, causing her to lay upon the rug beneath her, fast asleep and unharmed.

He rushed over to (y/n), gently gathering her body into his arms, cradling her against him as terror began to gnaw away at his sanity. His eyes were shaky as he watched Baekhyun tentatively grab the book, his expression matching Sehun's, and even Jongdae's, who still remained rooted on the couch.

"This isn't good." Baekhyun muttered, his brows curved in fear as he analyzed the page. He dropped it back onto the coffee table, though Sehun looked away. He didn't want to see it again. He didn't want to be reminded of it.

A landscape of corpses, dead and undead, littered across the entirety of the city. An entire mob of zombies, so densely packed against one another that the floor beneath was hidden from sight. And above this army of the dead, their commander in chief: Necromancer. Hovering overhead, barely distinguishable from his soldiers scattered below. His eyes were sunken, darkness enshrouding every feature of his face. His bones seemed to protrude from malnourishment, a sharpness to his facade akin to that of a skull. And he resided above all of the dead, leading them into bedlam.

"We need to take this to Junmyeon and–"

"No." Sehun interrupted Baekhyun, his voice weak and broken, yet still loud enough in the silence of the night to be heard by his two cohorts, who stared back at him bewildered. "Please."

"Sehun, you need to understand she's a danger to society." Jongdae leaned forward, grabbing the notebook and holding it out to him, though he recoiled from it, repulsed by its presence. "For all we know, she could be the one behind it all, the mastermind Junmyeon's been searching for."

Sehun remained quiet, attempting to blink away the tears in his vision, yet his efforts only seemed to accelerate their descent, the drops cascading down his face and collecting at his chin. He looked down at the sleeping body beneath him, her expression lax and peaceful, almost angelic. An ironic circumstance considering how sinister her art from before was.

"She's all I have." His voice was barely above a whisper, fighting against the lump in his throat which seized at his words. His hand rose to her face, thumb softly stroking her cheek. He knew they were right. He knew she was dangerous. He knew she couldn't be trusted. Yet once again, his heart seemed to work against his better judgement. Even with such incriminating evidence before him, he still seemed to refuse abandoning her, refused straying from her side. He pulled her closer to him, softly sniffling as that ridiculous heart of his gently beat for (y/n) alone. "Please. Don't take her from me."

Another silence settled over the group, Sehun merely clinging to (y/n) as if his life depended on it, Baekhyun and Jongdae off to the side deliberating on what to do.

"Alright." Baekhyun began. Sehun glanced over to his elder, watching as he softly closed the book. "We'll keep it secret for now."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Jongdae stood up with a sigh. "This break in wasn't fair. Junmyeon is getting out of hand. I also wouldn't have been able to find that had she not pulled it out."

"But Sehun," Baekhyun began, crouching down to eye level with the boy. "Find out the truth." He pointed to the sleeping body in Sehun's arms. "Talk to her. Prove us wrong." He stood up once more, watching as Jongdae closed the notebook, tucking it back under the coffee table. "I'm giving you until the end of the week. If you don't give us her alibi, I'm coming back and submitting her notebook as evidence." They began walking back towards the window, tugging their masks on once as they went. Baekhyun climbed out onto the fire escape first, though before Jongdae could follow, he glanced back at Sehun.

"You have all of my trust, Sehun. You're my brother, you know that? So prove our suspicions wrong." And with that, the two heroes disappeared into the night, leaving Sehun alone with who he once believed to be his soulmate, though now was as disconnected as they could ever be.

The cool breeze of the open window brushed against his face, as if his element were attempting to comfort him, though to no avail. He solemnly stared down at (y/n), tears still sliding down his face in a relentless barrage.

He had never felt so much space between them.

After carrying the two of them back to bed, Sehun couldn't sleep. He merely laid there, watching as the sun began to bleed into the atmosphere, seeping into the room through the windows, blanketing them in a gentle warmth which on any other day would have ensured Sehun slept in, yet hadn't affected him in the slightest now.

Watching (y/n) sleep was harrowing, as he hadn't known who he was holding.

Was he holding his other half? The girl who captured his heart and soul, ensnared his affections with her silly quirks and tenderness? The one who had taught him what living life truly meant? Who infused his being with this infectious joy that had brightened his world from its dreary former shell? That turbulent ocean which he seemed to get lost in whenever she graced him with her presence?

Or was he instead holding a villain. The one he had sworn to capture at all costs. The mass murderer who has killed so many without batting an eye, has tormented EXO until their minds ran only on trauma and paranoia, united all of their other villains to conspire against the city and wrought havoc upon the citizens.

It all seemed to weigh down upon him, this dread that clenched at his heart and churned the contents of his stomach. Left him wary, cautious of (y/n) and her intentions. Left him doubting the one he loved so dearly. It was a damning fate, to lose such trust for someone. His heart and mind were conflicted, as dissonant as he was with (y/n) presently.

Yet as she opened her eyes, her lashes softly fluttering up at him with this blithe grin to her, Sehun felt his internal clash quell, that tension which seemed imbibed in every fiber of his being dissolving away, becoming nothing more than mush in her arms as she pressed kisses to whatever skin she could reach. His collarbones, his neck, his jaw, his ears, his cheeks, his nose, before finally pressing a small peck to his lips.

"Good morning." She muttered into his shoulder, burrowing herself like she had the night before. Her voice seemed to relieve his anxieties, a cure to his late night maladies. It had felt like an eternity since he last heard her, last looked into her eyes. What a long, torturous night.

"Good morning." He responded, hugging her to him. She was so warm, so loving. Her touch was delicate, as if afraid she'd hurt him, holding him as if he were a precious doll. It felt nice to be so cared for, yet he couldn't help but laugh at how gentle she was being with him.

She pulled away from his chest, the drowsiness having faded away from her vision, and she could now get a good look at Sehun, as well as the dark bags beneath his tired eyes.

"Baby, what's wrong!" (y/n) sat up immediately, hovering over Sehun as her thumbs stroked the signs of exhaustion weighing down upon his face. "What happened? Did you not sleep well?"

He met her gaze sleepily, his mind fuzzy with the conflicting thoughts within his head. He wanted so desperately to ask her. Ask her about the book. About why she leaves before every battle. About why she won't talk to him. About her connection to all of this. He wanted to shake the answers out, grab her by the shoulders and demand she be honest with him for once.

But the way she held him, carding her fingers through his dark locks, instilling that exhaustion that had seemed to escape him the entire night back into his person, lulling him to sleep with her gentle concern—he couldn't find it in himself to come forward. He couldn't put his foot down. He couldn't deny his heart that affection it yearned for, the way she cradled him against her so tenderly. He couldn't help but to sink further in her embrace, to savor what he could, to thrive in the moment for as long as life would allow him to.

He had fallen asleep. A dreamless sleep which felt so quick, yet judging from (y/n)'s repositioning, her back now pressed against the wall with Sehun lying between her legs, his head resting on her stomach, he assumed he was out for a while. Yet she didn't mind, merely greeting him once more with this adoring giggle, leaning down to shower him in kisses once more.

He was so happy. She made him so happy. What kind of cruel fate is this? Why would life want to torture him every second of every day? Just as he had begun enjoying the world around him, no longer swamped by the darkness of his anxieties and the fears of his everyday. As if he were not allowed to be content.

The morning was slow and lazy, the two reluctantly dragging themselves out of bed, abandoning everything to retreat to her kitchen for food. As Sehun cooked, (y/n) sat off to the side, watching him with her head in her hands.

"How did you sleep?" He found himself asking, keeping his voice steady so as to not alarm her. She hummed in thought.

"I had another nightmare." (y/n) responded. He paused in his cooking, recalling the other times she's woken up in the morning with nightmares. He recalled every sleepwalking moment of hers, how she'd disappear from the room for a few minutes before coming back as casually as ever. And he never noticed anything awry. Yet now, everything felt so obvious. As if he's finally putting together the puzzle of her life that she's offered him. So many pieces were still missing though. "But I always feel much better whenever I wake up with you by my side!"

He smiled, that familiar bubbly warmth in his chest resurfacing as he peeked at her. She seemed happy, just sitting there on her own, twiddling her thumbs peacefully.

"You get nightmares a lot."

"More often than I'd like, yeah." She sighed.

He remained quiet, plating their food and presenting it to her. Their conversation seemed to end as they ate breakfast silently, that comfortable silence that always seemed to follow the two once more making itself known. Yet Sehun continued.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go on a date this weekend? More specifically, tomorrow?"

She froze, though only momentarily as she returned to her natural state, chewing her food as she seemed to deliberate his words.

"I actually can't, I'm so sorry." She pouted after swallowing. "I have to babysit my nephew this weekend. I'm actually supposed to be leaving today."

"Oh, this is news to me." Sehun's eyes studied her as she snickered absentmindedly, what would seem to just be a natural response to the situation, though seemed to be one rooted in nervousness now with the context of everything known to him.

"Yeah, I can't believe I forgot to tell you, I'm sorry. My mind is elsewhere."

"When did you find out? That you were to babysit?"

"Just this morning." Her response came so quickly that it startled the both of them, Sehun blinking in surprise as she returned to her food.

"While I was sleeping?"

"Yeah." He paused for a moment, just observing (y/n) as she ate. His heart ached at the prospect of how easily it came to her to lie to him. Even as he's confronting her at that moment, she still found herself refusing to tell the truth.

"Your phone is still on its charging port, (y/n)."

Her face blanked at this, eyes slowly raising to meet his own, filled with pain and betrayal. At first, she seemed stoic, as if still attempting to process the situation, to salvage whatever remained of her cover, yet recognition soon passed over her expression. Realization that Sehun knows. He knows she's lying. He knows every word that comes out of her mouth can't be trusted.

They remained in that silent stare off, (y/n)'s mind racing with what was to come next while Sehun just sat and waited. Waited to see what lies she'll tell next. He was already mentally preparing his comeback, laying out the cards in his deck as she still deliberated on her next move. Yet instead, she caught Sehun by surprise.

"I'm not cheating on you."

A beat of silence passed, before Sehun snorted, laughter sputtering out of his mouth as he leant forward onto the table.

"Sehun, I'm serious!" She whined, leaning over and tapping his arm, attempting to recapture his attention, though failing as he continued to laugh in disbelief.

"Sweetheart, I know you're not cheating on me." He finally sighed out, wiping the tears that had spring in his eyes. "I'm sorry, you caught me by surprise with that."

"I didn't know where this was headed. I didn't want you to worry about that." She stared down at her plate, frown setting in place, refusing to meet Sehun's eyes across from her.

"(y/n), I am worried, but not about you cheating on me." His head tilted to the side, hoping he'd be able to catch her eye from where she evaded him, though failed as she curled into herself even moreso. "What's going on, love? What can't you tell me?"

She bit at her bottom lip, her fingers nervously tugging at a stray strand dangling from her shorts. Sehun could only see the top of her head from where she hid away from him, evading his disappointed gaze. Disappointed that once more, she's avoiding him. Keeping things from him.

As much as he was losing trust in her, it felt as if she hadn't any in him.

And it hurt.

"I'm sorry." Her voice penetrated the tense atmosphere. This soft, shattered voice, cracking with each syllable, as if she could barely let it out in the first place. Yet through her saddened display, Sehun could hear something in her. A subtle note that seemed to trigger this awareness in him.

Fear.

Soon, it began to make sense. The constant evading, the incessant lying, the relentless hiding. She wasn't evading him. She wasn't hiding from him. At this point, he was beginning to accept that she wasn't even lying to him. He wasn't the one she feared. He wasn't the one triggering this response in her.

She was running away from something else.

"It's okay, baby." He found himself responding to her, almost absentmindedly from how natural it seemed to come to him. This resolve in his heart that somehow trumped the worries revolving in his head.

He stood from his chair, the legs scraping against the floor beneath it, causing her to flinch in timidity until she felt his warm hand atop her knee. Peeking over from where she tucked herself away, she could see Sehun now crouched beside her, gazing up at her with this undeniably adoring stare.

And in the midst of all of this chaos broiling between the two, this strife which seemed as if its sole purpose was to divide them, she could see this shimmer in his eyes.

This sparkle, familiar, yet at the same time so bizarrely unexpected given the circumstances.

Trust.

His arms slid up her thighs, hands now resting comfortably upon her lower back, though his eyes remained steadily on hers. As if having pulled the wool from his own eyes, everything seemed so terribly obvious now.

That fear which left her paralyzed in the moment, her gaze flickering across Sehun's face, trying to detect any sense of falsehood residing in him, yet coming up empty. Their foundation was initially unstable, as he was filled with doubts and speculation, though now remained as sturdy as ever.

"I trust you." She blinked confusedly, expression morphing into one flustered beyond belief as Sehun began smiling up at her. "I trust that you can handle things on your own. Though when things get hard for you, I trust that you'll come to me? That you'll tell me whenever you're ready. Because I'll always be here for you." Tears began brimming in her eyes as he tugged her closer to him. "No matter what, you can rely on me."

Perhaps he was a fool. Perhaps he was just a gullible buffoon who had fallen victim to the clever ploy of a sinister villain. A dunce who went weak at the mere flutter of some eyelashes, the quirk of a demure grin, the gentle kiss of a girl who had Sehun all but wrapped around her finger. He had to have been, as he retrieved that duffle bag once more from its familiar location stuffed in her hallway closet.

Once more at battle with reason and his feelings, all he could do was walk (y/n) down to her car, hand in hand as they stood in the elevator. Her head rested on his shoulder, her thumb softly stroking his skin. It was quiet between them, as if neither of the two knew exactly what to say. Perhaps the silence was what they needed. This comfortable, reassuring silence.

Language has never been, nor ever will be, a proper medium in conveying true emotion. The words they spoke only ever scraped the surface of their inner psyche. A tragedy in and of itself, that the only channel of communication they're able to use is practically redundant. This means of sharing thoughts, sharing feelings, sharing your life with another can be so diluted. As if "I love you" could ever truly depict what one feels in their heart.

And so Sehun embraced this silence. Warm in its nature, forgiving to those who can never wield the weapon of language to its full extent. He didn't know what he could say to (y/n). With so many thoughts swirling in his mind, words seemed to just fizzle into a messily strewn together discombobulation of nonsense. Yet the silence seemed to convey exactly what they wanted to say to one another.

Her steady breaths, now calmed after the initial panic in her apartment. The tender hold she had on his arm as she waited for the elevator doors to chime upon arrival to their destination on the first floor. The weight on her bag, slung over his other shoulder, was light. A subtle reminder that she only packed the necessities for her brief journey.

A reminder that she'll come back to him.

The internal conflict waged on, even as he waved her off, leaving him once more abandoned in the midst of their parking lot. He watched as her vehicle faded into the horizon, his heart seeming to ache the more distant she grew.

She was innocent. He knew this. Deep inside, he knew. Yet that silent doubt still persisted in its futile efforts, poking at his resolve almost teasingly as he retreated back to his own apartment. He could do nothing about it, though. Just ignore it as best he could.

A looming presence hung behind him, as if this overwhelmingly penetrative state upon him, watching him as he begrudgingly unlocked his door. Within her apartment, behind that wooden barrier keeping him away, lay that forsaken notebook with its worn binding and aged pages. That final image, the most recent of its contents, haunted him in the back of his mind, plagued whatever inner peace he had within him, left him anxious and wary of what was to come.

He hoped it would be nothing. He hoped time would prove their speculations on (y/n) wrong. Yet he knew. He knew his pleas fell upon deaf ears. He knew the inevitable was coming.

prev — next

[farginen]

it's wild to me when fanon depicts riza as angry or resentful towards roy specifically. of course she feels angry and resentful but not at him, that makes no sense. if she felt betrayed by him specifically she wouldn't have gone on to follow him and be his main co-conspirator, she wouldn't believe in him and his cause.

all the opposite, it's because she understands that all the hurt and anger that came from the war and the sense of betrayal from seeing what was done with her father's research is and should be directed towards the government and not roy specifically. that would be missing the wood for the trees.

it would also be very hypocritical of her. his good intentions and naivety were taken advantage of as much as hers. and that's kind of the point, that's why they understand each other on such a fundamental level to the point where they grow co-dependent on each other.

a 20 year old fandom should know better than thinking female characters are better or "more feminist" if they become one dimensional caricatures. like, no sorry but riza doesn't hate feminine things, she doesn't secretly wants to be a man (specially when this hc is used to make ro/yai "better" because people still genuinely think women are gross), she doesn't hate every man in her life specially not the one she's in a life long relationship with. i promise y'all women are just regular human beings.

and all thinly veiled misogynistic bad takes disguised as progressive aside, it's just a piss poor interpretation of her character and her motivations. we see her in canon say more than once that she is going to follow roy into hell and into the grave, she understands him and supports him to the very end. why the ever loving fuck would she do that if she thought he was solely responsible for the harm and damage that flame alchemy caused?

the whole thing about these two characters is that they understand while they have a level of personal responsibility for what they did the bigger flaw and what needs to be changed is the actual governmental system. in fact, their main character arc is going from putting way too much responsibility on themselves to understanding that they never truly had an option to begin with as they learn about the homunculi's plans.

i don't know. there's no punchline to this post. i'm just a little tired of reading bad takes but also coming to terms with the fact internet people at large are completely incapable of grasping nuance.

[pennywaltzy]

April & Poetry

So this is an old BtVS that's Spike/Slayer!OFC. I thought, considering the title and the OFC's name, it was appropriate to post it in April. Enjoy!

April & Poetry - He loved April, and she loved him, forsaken demon that he was.

READ @ AO3

"She was lovely. So very lovely." Spike stood in front of the gathered people. "And I loved her very much. You have no idea how much I had loved her. You never even guessed. April...in every way, she was beautiful. And vibrant. And I've always wondered what she saw in a forsaken demon like me." He shook his head. "I never figured out why she loved me, why she stayed. Why she went to hell and back to save me."

Buffy looked at him. "Why are you telling us this?" she asked quietly.

"Because...just because."

---

It was April. And in Southern California, April said it was so warm. Not like I'd ever know. She loved spring, loved summer, relished the thought of being outside, in the sun. And how I wished I could see her! I hadn't wanted to fall in love again, not after Dru. Not when I still hurt. But April...

I'd gone to San Diego State one evening, just to stroll around. And I heard the voice of an angel reciting poetry. It was a poem by Sara Teasdale, and I've always remembered it. It was called "I Shall Not Care." How did it go? Oh, yes.

When I am dead and over me bright April Shakes out her rain-drenched hair, Though you shall lean above me broken-hearted, I shall not care.

I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful When rain bends down the bough; And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted Than you are now.

I've always thought that poem was a strange one, but eerily descriptive. And April stood there, the moonlight flowing over her, softly illuminating her face, which at the moment was bunched up in frustration.

"What's wrong, love?" I had said, startling her.

Papers went flying, and she scowled. We went down to pick them up and ended up hitting our heads. It was one of the classic scenes in all those romantic movies. After we hunted down the papers and stopped rubbing our heads, the scowl had disappeared. She had the most beautiful eyes, a pale blue. Almost like the ocean, only lighter. She was nothing like Dru. Nothing at all. She was a freshman there, about to give a dramatic interpretation of that and some other poems, like Dickinson's "The Grass" and Poe's "El Dorado."

Her main piece, though was from Anne Sexton. I'd had the pleasure of meeting her once. She was a very interesting woman. Have you ever heard "Her Kind?" No? Well, April taught it to me.

I have gone out, a possessed witch, haunting the black air, braver at night; dreaming evil, I have done my hitch over the plain houses, light by light; lonely thing, twelve fingered, out of mind.

A woman like that is not a woman, quite. I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods, filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves, closets, silks, inumerable goods; fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves: whining, rearranging the disaligned. A woman like that is misunderstood. I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your car, driver, waved my nude arms at villages going by, learning the last bright routes, survivor where your flames still bite my thigh and my ribs crack where your wheels wind. A woman like that is not ashamed to die. I have been her kind.

And it was that moment she pulled a stake out. I should have realized she was a Slayer.

I held her off. Fighting Buffy so often, I'd gotten good at it. It was easy. I went for her weak spots, which were quite noticeable to me. And I got her on the ground, with me on top of her, her own stake aimed at her heart. I couldn't kill her. And we both knew it. So I kissed her instead. After getting over the initial shock, she reciprocated. Her mouth felt so warm. I can still feel that warmth. I need that warmth, now. We stayed on the ground, kissing passionately, all through her class. She failed the project, but she believed she got something better.

So, Buffy, you no longer hold the distinction of being the only Slayer in love with a vampire.

You're just the only surviving one.

---

A year went by.

I betrayed my kind, helped her fight. And at night, we'd return to her apartment. It was beautiful, in a gothic sense. I loved her bedroom. It was a room with lots of wrought iron candle holders, candles, fresh roses every other day, courtesy of me. And a mahogany vanity. She never let me touch the vanity, not even as I helped her pack to move to London.

We were moving to London, her and I. Together. I had never been so happy. And when we arrived, it was wonderful. Evenings spent slaying vampires, killing my own kind and keeping my lover safe. Mornings spent stroking her hair as we lay in bed, me listening to the slow beat of her heart and the even breathing. Afternoons spent being like two normal humans in love, excepting when she had to go to meet her Watcher. It went on like that for a long time. Three years. Three wonderfully blissful years.

It was in January when things started going wrong. The vampires were getting stronger, and she was losing more fights. Not that they would kill her...I would step in. And she started sleeping more, having less energy. I got concerned, and together, we went to the doctor.

I waited outside while she was examined. But I was holding her hand when the doctor frowned. Holding her hand when he told her she had cancer. Holding her hand when he said it was incurable. Holding her hand when he said she had less than six months to live. Holding her as she wept when he said he was sorry. He suggested she try chemo and radiation...it might prolong her life span. But she said no, she didn't want that. And as we left, she said she didn't want to be turned either.

It was the first time, in almost four years, that we'd ever fought. I mean really fought. I walked away from it with more bruises from her than from anything I'd ever fought before. And I looked in a few minutes later, to see her sobbing in a heap.

My poor April.

I couldn't bear to watch it. I picked her up, and carried her into our room, lit the candles, and held her, singing softly until her sobbing stopped and she was at peace.

---

She was fading fast. We had found out in the first week of January. By Valentine's Day, she was getting so weak she could barely stand. And when she could, the pain coursed through her, and I could tell. I could feel it as well. Only two weeks later, she had regained some of her strength. Never before had I believed in miracles. But to this day, I believe she was blessed with that month or so. We even started planning for the future again. Only a few days ahead, you understand. Not like weeks, or months, or years. But we planned a party, for her birthday. Her 21st birthday, just her and I. A milestone in her life. One I'm glad she got to see.

When she'd been taken off active slaying duties, her friends stopped coming by, as did her Watcher. That, more than anything else, infuriated me. I was her only company.

I was the only one who truly loved her.

The night before her birthday, we were talking. We had the best conversation as we laid next to each other, our lust sated but our love for each other shining through. And the topics raged from how we were feeling to what I should make her to eat. But I loved those little conversations. I miss them a lot.

That night, I told her about Dru. About the madness, the manipulation, things I'd never told her before. I'd been afraid she wouldn't understand. And now, I was afraid she would die. Her strength had started to leave again. I just wanted her to live long enough to hit the milestone, and have one more special memory. She was suffering. It was so very obvious. But that night, she told me I was what kept her going. I was what kept her alive. I had never known that.

We slept early, so we could be awake early in the morning. And when I shook her gently, her eyes opened, and she smiled at me, a small, delighted smile. I made her stay in bed. She was too weak to fight anyway. I brought her her presents, and she opened them so carefully. And I made sure I had pictures. I wanted to see the happiness, wanted to have physical proof that it existed.

Here they are, You're welcome to look through them. She was beautiful, wasn't she? Even when she was that sick, she was still so very beautiful. And she loved the presents. They were simple, just like her. A book of poetry, her favorite chocolates, and a ring. The ring surprised her the most. It was just a simple silver band, with thin gold crossing patterns on the top. She slipped it on her finger. It was a perfect fit. We were a perfect fit.

She died that evening. I knew when it happened. She kissed me lightly, then drifted back to sleep. I felt he grow cold, heard her heart stop and her breathing lessen until it was gone. And then, I sobbed. I didn't go on a rampage, I didn't destroy anything. I kept everything intact. I always want to be reminded of her. Always.

And on her grave is her favorite poem. She scribbled a note, before she died, saying she wanted the poem inscribed on her tombstone.

It was April when you came The first time to me, And my first look in your eyes Was like my first look at the sea. We have been together Four Aprils now Watching for the green On the swaying willow bough;

Yet whenever I turn To your gray eyes over me, It is as though I looked For the first time at the sea.

She died four years to the day we met. She's buried in San Diego, where the sun can shine down on her most of the year. I still live in London, in our home. I can't bear to leave it yet, to leave her.

I just can't.