#i should be grateful that the tide seems to be turning but there's nothing more aggravating to me than the hypocrisy of harries and going

[huccimermaidshirts]

.

[chaosduckies]

Rising Tides (Chapter 3)

Whatttt resurrecting an old mer may fic from three months ago I totally didn’t forget about? Couldn’t be me haha-

But, this is for a very important reason…

Part 1 of 2 of my bday present for @da3dm!!! Happy early birthday 3D!!! :3 I hope you enjoy this because Idk- this was entirely driven by a single scene and I just had to somehow make it lead up to that… But I hope you enjoy it and to everyone who read :3

Word Count: 4.1k

CW: Talk about being a monster, uhhh I think that’s it (if it isn’t please let me know)

3- Nico 

It’s been three days. Three days of not being able to swim. Three days of being taken care of like some pet. Three days of not speaking a single word. 

Three days since I’ve been away from home. 

I was beyond homesick. I missed my parents, I missed my little shell collection I had along some makeshift shelves. I missed exploring the small coral reef right by my house. Why did I have to travel all the way out here in the first place? Just because I wanted to get away from town for a while? This was so much longer than a while. The worst part about it was that my tail wasn’t any closer to being all healed up. I actually think it was getting worse. 

I wasn’t able to get off the little area he had me in. The prison basically. I was scared that if I complained he would just keep me in a worse place. Like his mouth-don’t think about that now. There was also the problem that I wouldn’t be able to swim anywhere if I decided to swim off the mini platform. Maybe just glide over to somewhere, but that’s really it unless I was willing to crawl along the floor. I really want to get off of here though.

The thought stayed in the back of my mind. Honestly it would be worth it just to be outside. Since the giant mer didn’t seem to notice that I was getting tired of being in the same place doing nothing the entire time. Every time he was in the same room as me, I would hide myself in the tall seaweed or under that rock. Did I know he could very easily see me? Yes. Yes I did. Did I fear that he would and could just grab me and eat me at any moment? Only all the time. But he hasn’t. Yet. Which I was grateful for. 

Even if there was nothing to do, I still kept myself busy. I looked around the many, many rocky places, seeing if I could fit in all of the tiny caves. There was only one I couldn’t. Sometimes I’d mess with the big coral pieces and find a place comfortable to lay myself on and just fall asleep. I preferably liked the yellow brain coral since it had so many little branches for me to hang on to. What? I couldn’t swim so I had to figure out a way to entertain myself. 

At the moment, I was wrapped around some of the corals’ branches and laying down, trying to fall asleep. It was midday but I had nothing to do. I could go look for some more of those colorful rocks, but I didn’t really feel like it. At least not right now. I had a pile of them by that rock that I’ve made like a temporary home. I had wondered if I should try and make like a pathway with them, but that was stupid. 

I still had yet to learn the giant mers name. He’s never bothered to tell me, and he hasn’t bothered to ask me either. I didn’t really care though. This would all be over soon. My tail would heal itself up and then I can go back home, tell my parents what happened, and never, ever come out here again. Scratch the plan of living outside the community. Now I know why people stayed inside. 

The giant mer swam into the room, making me immediately try to scramble myself out of the coral I managed to tangle myself up in, only to find that I couldn’t get loose. I was stuck. Upside down, watching as the mer slowly turned my way, squinting. Right. I was hidden behind some of the seaweed. Was that a good thing in this case? I would think so since I didn’t really want him to see me so pathetic. 

I struggled to lift myself back up in the same position, rushing to get out before he sees me, but it was no use. If I tried to move my tail it would only sting me, leaving it burning for a couple seconds. I didn’t want to make my wound worse than it already was. I stole another glance to the mer, who was still trying to find me. I was guessing he used my tail as an indicator, but currently I was in a huge tangled up mess (Thank you me). I doubt he would see me unless he actually tried looking, which he would b doing pretty soon if I don’t get out. 

I already know how he does things. The other day, I was hidden pretty well. My tail behind my back and hidden in one of those tiny cracks in the cave walls. He was just supposed to pass by, but he took a quick glance over at where I was supposed to be, and when he couldn’t find me after searching for a while, he came really, really close and started digging through the place. The only reason he stopped was because I had finally stuck my tail out of the hole, hoping he’d stop digging around everywhere. He did, not saying a single word as he swam off. 

This was a different case though. I knew he’d find me after some searching, but I didn’t want him to laugh at how ridiculous I probably looked right now. I mean, even I thought it was crazy how I even managed to get myself in this situation. He might help after he’s had his share of laughing, and that was something I wasn’t ready for. He might hurt me, or he might just take me somewhere and finish me off. He might see me as weak and incapable of surviving on my own, so he’d just have mercy on me. Please don’t think about that right now…

Just as I had said before, if he couldn’t find me after a while, he’d check. Which was exactly what he was doing right now. I clasped a hand over my mouth when his hand hovered above, lightly pushing some seaweed away and looking closely at the tiny cracks in the wall. What do I do. What do I do. What do I- 

I let out a tiny squeak when his gaze flicked over right to me. My body instinctively started trembling as I tried my hardest to hide my face. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his large digits move away from the overgrown seaweed, which only made me assume the worst. 

“You’re stuck?” His voice was calmer than usual. I still didn’t give an answer. Even if it meant he’d just be angry at me for it later, I couldn’t answer him. I tried one more time to move my tail to get free on my own before he tried anything, but I winced and jumped when the stinging ran up my spine. Great. This was just great. 

“Stay still for a second.” He had ordered, and I listened. Not moving a single inch except for my entire body trembling as I saw those huge digits reach for me. I would have tried to swim off if I could. Sadly, my tail was not up for the task. I bit the side of my cheek as hard as I could to take my mind off the fact that he was just pinching me, not very lightly, against only two of his fingers and untangling my tail. Not very gently either. The stinging pain ran up my spine again, twice as bad, making me taste blood on the side of my cheek as I bit down even harder to hinder the pain. My arms were pinned to my sides at the moment, not making this any easier. 

As soon as he let go of me, I pushed myself up against the rocky wall, trying to calm my breathing down. Just two fingers and I can die-I shook my head, covering my face again and studying my now-free tail and how nothing that wasn’t already gone was there. 

“You’re welcome.” Was all he said before swimming off outside, leaving me alone. I grabbed a fistful of the sand below me, biting my lower lip, “Thank you…” I muttered, but he didn’t hear.  

———Callum———

I swam fast towards the ship yards, where there were tons of human ships. Some were larger than others, but otherwise they were just a little bigger than one of my hands. The two things they had in common? They were all broken, and they also happened to be homes to some sharks and large fish. The ones I usually proffered to eat. It was okay when I couldn’t find any, since they usually hide in the daytime, but they tasted so good. Since I was one of the bigger mers, I didn’t really need to eat much. Maybe once or twice a week. So, it’s not like these fish are rare or anything. 

Of course it was funny to find the tiny mer tangled up because of his tail, but I wasn’t about to laugh in front of him. I’d bet he was already scared of me finding him like that, and if I laughed that would have made things worse than they already were. He might think I’m some sadistic being. A part of me also felt sorry. It probably hurt him a lot being like that when he was… handicapped. He even tried getting himself out before I could help. Was he really that terrified of me that he’d rather hurt himself than let me offer some kind of help? 

Then again, I haven’t really been all that welcoming. 

It’s been a while since I’ve been around other mers. A couple years. The only one I’ve been around had been Archer but that was only because he kind of took me in as a pup. Otherwise, mers were usually too scared to approach me, and when they do by accident they leave just as soon as they come. It’s not like I don’t want to be around people, it’s just that it’s hard for me to make friends when no one can even stand being anywhere near you. 

I looked around for the fish, but there was no sign. Sighing, I headed back to my cave home. I was surprised the little mer hasn’t tried to escape yet. Sometimes I’d catch him collecting some of the rocks and placing them in a pile, or he’d be crawling around, barely ever moving his tail to push him forward. I didn’t know what he was doing when he was just crawling around. I do remember finding him in one of the tiny cracks in the wall, so maybe he was just messing with those? 

Did I feel bad? Yes. He couldn’t swim. At least not yet. For a human, that’s like not being able to walk. I felt so bad. Even worse because I was just keeping him in that same spot. I would offer to take him outside the cave, but I was afraid something might happen. I couldn’t live with that guilt! Not to mention he was deadly afraid of me. It’s not like I try to be scary. I’m just really… big. Probably intimidating to the little mer. I cared a little bit for the mer, partly because I could have definitely helped him out before his tail was mangled by a shark, but also because I felt incredibly bad. Again, he can’t swim for a while and that’s basically like a human losing their legs. But also because I’m pretty sure his tail will never heal. 

Why I think that? Because it’s been a while, and I’m pretty sure there should’ve been some kind of attempt at swimming, but the little mer still jolts and flinches every time they move their tail awkwardly or something brushes up against it. Which meant they might never be able to swim ever again. I would never wish that upon someone no matter how many times they’ve called me a monster or threatened me. Not being able to do the one thing you were capable of must be heartbreaking. I have no idea if the mer was getting better or not, but I guess all I could keep doing was trying to keep them alive. 

So no matter what this mer thinks of me, I would just have to hope that I was wrong and they can eventually start swimming on their own soon enough. It hurt to see them trying to swim everyday, not getting anywhere and too afraid to leave the little place they were in. I really wouldn’t care if I were being honest. Just as long as they don’t go outside without me they would be fine. I jus offered the rock as a place for him to sleep and stuff. Though, I guess he couldn’t even swim around the place, possibly only glide to one place and crawl along the sand and rocks the rest of the way. 

My eyes turned to the mer, currently hiding in the small patches of seaweed and lying on his back. Maybe I should take him outside for a while? But wouldn’t he be scared of me? I mean, based off of what happened earlier it didn’t look like he wanted to be touched. Well maybe because he’s like an inch tall compared to you. That might be it, but something kept telling me that it wasn’t just that. I guess there was no harm in trying, I mean the worst he could do was just deny my offer. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings if I were being honest, but for some reason some part of me really wanted this mer to trust me. 

I didn’t know if that was because I knew what would happen if his tail doesn’t heal up, or because I’ve just been lonely for so long. 

I slowly swam up to his little spot, watching his bright purple tail go underneath the rock he always hides himself in. Again, I wouldn’t just rip it out of the ground, its obvious he doesn’t feel safe without it. I bit the side of my cheek, letting out a sigh. 

“Hey, uh, would you like to go outside? Like, just to see something different?” I reminded myself to keep my voice quiet, watching as he curiously peaked his head out. My eyes widened, but that was quickly replaced with my usual tired look. The mer wiggled himself out of the tight hiding spot. I have no idea how he fits himself in there, but it amazes me. A part of me was shocked that he even willingly swam out. 

He laid on the soft sand, debating his answer, or maybe figuring out how to find his voice, before he finally spoke, “Y-you won’t… hurt me, right?” My normal response would have been to growl since that’s what everyone asks me when they first see me. Just because I’m big and look scary doesn’t mean I’m going to murder you in cold blood. Instead, I shook my head, slowly lowering my hand because I doubt he’d like it if I just grabbed him. No matter how much faster it would’ve been… 

The mer eyed my hand, clutching sand in their fists before crawling cautiously closer. I kept still, just watching carefully as they tried to hoist themselves up but couldn’t. Everytime they tried they winced, looking back at their tail but kept on trying. I was growing impatient, but I also felt sympathy. I mean, this is just another bit of proof that the little guy might never swim again. I sighed, moving my hand away and scaring them. Maybe I should learn their name? Since now they would have to stay longer than we had both initially thought. 

“What’s your name anyways?” I had asked, coming out a little too harsh than I meant it to be. They had moved back away a little bit, though it didn’t really make a difference to me. 

“N-Nico.” He whispered. I barely caught it before smiling in accomplishment, quickly replaced by by usual resting face, “Callum,” I watched him mutter my name under his breath and nod to himself like he was trying to remember it, “I think it’d be faster if I just… grabbed you.” A slight warning that caught Nico off guard. 

I wanted to do this quickly, but sadly I don’t think Nico was up for going fast. So instead, I reached down slowly, hearing a little squeak that almost made me laugh. My finger slipped underneath, raising him up a little and pinching him between my thumb and pointer. He squirmed a bit, trying to push himself out and looked panicked. Was I doing something wrong? Too tight? I loosened my grip, watching him slump and take long, deep breaths. Right I should probably get better at that. 

“Sorry…” I apologized, fixing him in my hand so his arms slumped over my pointer and thumb gently securing him so he wouldn’t slip out while I was swimming. Would this mean I have to swim slower? Probably. I might be a little… strange for Nico though. I mean it was for me all together. I’ve never been around such a small mer, and I was just surprised that he hasn’t screamed out of fear yet. It was obvious that he was having a hard time to bury that fear though. Of me. I winced to myself, giving the little mer time to adjust himself. 

I felt weird. To be near such a small being besides fish and the occasional sharks that pass by the area. I wasn’t at all used to this. I remember when I was a pup I was afraid of Archer since I was incredibly small to him, but I grew used to it pretty fast. If Archer didn’t have someone to help him it might’ve taken me so much more longer. And now I was a lot bigger than him and still growing. There was something wrong with me. 

The sad truth was that I didn’t have someone to help me. I was alone in this, and I have basically zero experience with people, let alone someone so small. I waited a while before Nico squirmed around to make himself comfortable, looking up at me, then immediately turning away. Again, scared. A part of me wished that he wasn’t, but I couldn’t let myself get attached. He’d eventually leave. Whether his tail was healed or not. It’s not like I can just keep him prisoner here, I just wanted to make sure that his tail would be fine enough to let him go back to wherever he lived. Probably a little community somewhere in the coral reef? I had no idea. 

“Is that good?” I looked down so I could see if he nods or not, not expecting a verbal answer, “Y-yeah.” He slumped. Kind of like he just… gave up? I didn’t know how to describe it. I was never good at these kinds of things. 

I slowly swam out, keeping the mer close to my chest and watching as he grew used to the fast currents. It’s been a while since he’s swam huh? I kept swimming out, finally reaching a secluded little spot where a few corals grew and fish swam around. A few swam away at the sight of me, but I didn’t pay attention since I’m sure I screamed “Big, hungry, predator.” I guess they were all true right now, but it’s not like I can’t go hunt for myself. There were a few fish I could go find, but I didn’t want to leave Nico by himself. 

“I didn’t know what you wanted to see. But if you have an idea I can take you there.” I offered, earning a shocked, yet ecstatic face from the smaller mer. I laid myself along a large rock, resting my head on my arms and opening up my hand for the mer to do whatever he was so excited about. I’m pretty sure they knew better to go off on their own after what happened with the sharks couple of days ago. 

Nico started pushing himself off with his tail, wincing every time he moved it but kept on going, his excitement driving him and very slowly and weakly swimming around in the water. I don’t think I should be letting him use his tail since he might make his condition worse, but I told myself that he needed this. He looked so happy. Almost like he had completely forgotten that I was there. But why would I care so much? It’s not like he’d be any different than any of the other mers that meet me. I save them, they call me a monster and run away. Sometimes plead me not to eat them. It left a disgusting taste in my mouth how they had always thought that I would eat another mer. I was one too. I frowned, a little sad but dug my head into my arms, resting my eyes. 

I didn’t know how long Nico kept himself occupied. Every once in a while I would look up and find him looking in small nooks and crannies for something. I didn’t particularly care though, as long as he didn’t feel trapped like he probably has been- I haven’t really been the best caretaker, but hey, he’s alive isn’t he? 

I knew the sun was setting, but every single time I looked up to make sure that the tiny mer was fine, he just looked all giggly and happy. Like he was before this huge mess happened. If it weren’t for that shark. I noticed a small pile of different colored shells where Nico was. So did he just like collecting shells? I mean it would explain why he was even way out here in the first place. Why didn’t he just look around the community he lived in? It seemed like a waste of time. But I guess he just wanted to attempt to find something new. 

I dug my head back into my arms, slightly groaning from not having eaten anything today, and partly because I was extremely exhausted. From what? I had no idea. Right now I wanted nothing more than to just go back to my cave and sleep. But of course I couldn’t just bring myself to grab Nico and force him back right where he was. I sighed, resting my eyes once again before my ears pricked up at a very quiet and small voice. 

Slightly turning my head, I saw the little more struggle to push himself closer to me, dragging something that was about as big as he was behind him. My eyed widened as he stopped for a split second, either scared, or just taking a break from moving such a large thing to him. Or both. I didn’t say a word as I noticed him shudder, trembling but kept moving closer to me and eventually stopping, dragging whatever he was carrying in front of him. I squinted my eyes to see what it was without getting too close since Nico seemed to have a set distance away from me. 

“U-Um… th-thank you.” He held up the bright blue shell that was almost as big as he was up. My eyes widened in shock. Was he… giving something to me? Thanking me too? I was confused of course, no one’s ever given me anything before besides Archer, so this was definitely new. My heart fell at the gesture, noticing how they struggled to keep the bright blue shell up. I smiled, slowly bringing my hand closer and helping him hold it up. I will say he was startled, but let out a sigh of relief. He probably thought that I was going to hurt him, but that was already expected if I were being honest. But… still. It felt nice to be given a gift. Or to even hear the words “thank you.” 

I laughed, seeing a small and shy smile appear on Nico’s face before grabbing two shells that were about the size of his tiny palms. “We… we can go now. I-I know you only stayed f-f-or me.” He stuttered, seeming a little embarrassed at the fact. I lifted my body up, pinching the shell he had given me and my free hand wrapping two fingers around his tiny and minuscule frame. 

I started swimming back, making sure he couldn’t see me smile as I held the tiny shell he had given me close. Such a strange little mer… 

——————

Hope you enjoyed part 1 of your gift 3D!! :D Happy early birthday again :3

Thank you all for reading this very forgotten fic- I will try my best to keep up with it if ya’ll really want me to. But thank you all again!

[blackjackkent]

It's stupid, perhaps, but writing this stuff out makes it all feel very immediate and intense and I sort of feel like I've run a marathon coming out of this final battle, though not - I imagine - to the degree that Hector does.

We get a very long cutscene of the tide turning in the city, the mind flayers losing their potency and the locals running them over in triumph. It wasn't as epic as some of the previous cutscenes so I didn't record it, but it ends quite epically - a crowd of screaming, cheering citizens in front of a battered Sorcerous Sundries, with a line from the narrator atop it:

Narrator: Everything you did, everything you sacrificed. It was worth it for this.

True enough. Hector can hear the cheering as he and the others haul themselves, exhausted, from the water, and for a little while he just stands there and listens, letting the feeling of victory - of having saved so many - soak through him and slowly start to feel real.

Karlach keeps close at his side as they walk along the dock; she has one of his hands clasped tightly in hers as if she never plans to let it go. He is desperately grateful that, whatever lies ahead for them, that she survived this long, that he can experience this victory with her at his side.

The others, all his friends, everyone who traveled so far with him, are all waiting along the shoreline.

"We did it," Karlach mumbles, as if she still can't quite believe it herself. "We actually did it. And the city's still standing."

Devastated, yes... but standing. In the morning, they'll have to see how much has been lost. But for today... Hector allows himself to think about nothing but what will survive because of them, because of what they went through, what they did.

"My powers..." Wyll comments wonderingly. "They're draining. Just like Mizora said they would." He smiles crookedly. "A small price to pay in the grand scheme of things."

Hector grins, reaches out to slap him on the shoulder. A small price indeed - Wyll is free for the first time in years, free of both the tadpole and the pact, free to choose a new course of his own design.

"I should feel relieved, yet my blood still simmers..." Lae'zel mutters. A pause as she works through her own emotions, and then-- she smiles. Hector isn't sure he's ever seen her smile with such sincerity before.

"The parasite," she says, turning excitedly towards Hector. "It's withered, dead along with the Netherbrain! I am cleansed! I will never be a filthy ghaik!"

She pauses, and then her smile fades, her head dips reverentially as she returns her eyes to Orpheus. "Only mild offense intended, of course," she adds, with just the slightest hint of humor, but it fades instantly in favor of the more serious grimace that is her usual mien. "You did the unthinkable," she says quietly. "And I'm grateful for it."

Orpheus shrugs, turns and moves past them off the dock. "Even when my time in the Prism stretched out like an eternity," he says thoughtfully, "even when escape seemed impossible, I never lost hope. I knew that my destiny was to liberate my people. To return to them triumphant."

He turns back to face them, his tentacles twitching. "I was wrong. It seems I can only fulfill one part of my destiny. My people will be liberated, but I cannot return to them. Not like this."

He pulls a blade from his belt, offers it to Hector, his strange alien eyes showing a clear sadness.

"You helped me destroy that abomination. Now help me destroy myself. You must kill me."

Without waiting for an answer, he kneels on the dirty, blood-spattered cobblestones and turns his attention to Lae'zel, who has moved up next to Hector with a grave, grief-stricken expression. "But first, Lae'zel," he says soberly, "I need your promise."

Her eyebrows lift questioningly. Perhaps she is simply too exhausted, but there is none of that eager subservience that once marked her, when Hector saw her stand before Vlaakith. She simply waits, expectant, for the Prince's command.

"Carry my hope," he asks softly. "Carry my burden. Call my dragons, Quulos and Quuthos, and ride to the Astral Sea. Destroy Vlaakith. Release our people. Be our future and our legacy."

Lae'zel blinks, and blinks again, astonished into complete silence. After so much work, so much struggle - to survive, to be recognized, to reach the front lines of a war for her people's fate - she is being asked not only to join that war but to lead it.

More than ever in all the time he's known her, she suddenly looks like what he has known her to be all along - terribly, terribly young. And as she has in the past, as she's started to realize her respect for him and his for her, she looks towards Hector with a question in her eyes.

But he shakes his head, smiles slightly. "This is your choice to make, Lae'zel. Not mine. I entrust it to you." It would never have been his choice to make - but he is proud to stand at her side as she makes it, a decision that she has worked so hard to earn the right to.

What happens to Orpheus... in truth, Hector is feeling too much and all of it too deeply at present to spare a tremendous amount of thought for the man. But Lae'zel... he is proud of Lae'zel. And he knows that whatever battle she chooses to take on, she will be equal to it.

"Duty," she says pensively. "All my life, I've traveled in its slipstream, not once questioning its path. In its service, I came here. And now... in its service, I leave."

She turns to look towards Hector, and he is surprised to see the weight of emotion in her eyes unlike any he's seen before.

"I will carry your hope, Prince Orpheus," she agrees. "And I will carry your burden. But to that burden I must add my own. The loss of those I leave behind."

Hector looks back at her steadily. With a slow, cautious movement, giving her time to evade, he reaches out and puts a hand on her forearm, holds it there for a long moment. Words seem inadequate. I will find some, later, before you are gone, he thinks to himself. Something that articulates what you have become to me. A sister in violence.

Her lips twitch slightly, as if in understanding.

"La'ch cras'ht h'mak vlek. So be it," Orpheus murmurs. "Now, give me my freedom from this form."

Hector turns the knife in his hands hesitantly, meeting the mind flayer's piercing gold eyes. He knows why Orpheus asks, and that he would likely ask for the same thing in the other man's place. And yet... "You don't deserve to die," he says quietly.

"I will not be ghaik!" Orpheus insists fiercely. "I did what I did to save my people. The rest is up to them. Someone else must rise within the ranks to lead the revolution against Vlaakith. Give me my freedom from this form. Release my soul to the Astral Seas while I still have one to call my own."

Phrased like that... Hector can't deny it to him.

Give Orpheus the honorable death he craves.

Hector so rarely fights with a blade that it always startles him to feel how easily the flesh gives. There's a soft sucking sound as Orpheus gasps for breath, his eyes widening.

"Gith'ka tavkim krash'ht..." he whispers... and dies...

For a long time everything is still. Then Lae'zel turns abruptly and walks past Orpheus's body, out into the open square beyond.

"Quulos!" she bellows. Her voice seems to echo in the silence.

No response, for a moment. Then one of the dragons wheeling overhead comes at her call, coming to a crashing landing before her, pale fire drifting from its mouth.

Quulos. Orpheus's dragon, and now Lae'zel's. How long has she hoped to ride such a dragon one day? Did she ever picture such a case as this?

She takes a cautious step forward, raises a hand in greeting to the enormous creature; it snuffs a greeting in return, cocking its head to one side. Its eyes glint with intelligence, understanding.

She hesitates, looks back at Hector. "I can never forget you," she says, and her voice is heavy with emotion. "Your name will be etched in our slates. You will be called Mla'ghir - liberator."

He smiles slightly. "You will have no need to forget," he says quietly. "I will be here when you have need of me." A pause, and then he fumbles out the words he has learned from her over the months, all filed away in his memory as if for this moment - some ungrammatical, awkward representation of a much deeper feeling. "Chraith'kan zharn, t'lak'ma h'taka, n'gi, n'varsh." May your enemies know agony, my sister in battle, my student, my teacher.(*)

Her eyes brighten. She turns away, and without hesitation climbs onto the dragon's back.

"To the skies!" she calls.

The dragon lifts, its huge wings sending gusts of wind across them as it launches itself upwards.

They all watch, wondering, silent, as their friend disappears, and behind her, falling into line behind their new leader, go the entire githyanki force, vanishing back into the Astral Sea.

------

(*) Critical levels of artistic license; Hector doesn't get to say anything here in game, let alone cobbled together githyanki words pulled from the FR wiki. XD

[zuppizup]

Little Moments 4.0

Previous ficlet

Rayla sits on the beach, sighing contentedly. The sun is setting over the vast ocean and she is finally starting to feel normal again. For the past day or so it has felt like she is still on that damn boat, dry land pitching and rolling even as she knows it is solid.

Her stomach still doesn’t really feel up to too much and the strong, salty food preferred by Tidebounds is a bit too strong for her, but Ezran has found her some fruit which she has been happily nibbling on.

The giggle from behind her makes her laugh, realising she isn’t alone. A gaggle of Tidebound kids have been following her from a distance all day. She knows there is a whole thing between Tidebounds and Moonshadows, the importance of the moon in both their cultures giving them a sort of kinship, but she hadn’t really expected for anyone to find her particularly interesting.

Glancing over her shoulder, she catches a little boy approaching her. He screams in happy fright, turning and running back to his friends not far behind. Rolling her eyes, she laughs to herself as she turns back to the sea. The sun is low now, a bright orange disc slowly sinking below the horizon. Instinctively she can feel the moon rising behind her, steadily growing in power and prominence. It is still a few days until full moon, but she can already feel the familiar buzz that comes with a waxing moon.

She hears footsteps approach and elects to keep her eyes straight ahead, rather than ‘scare’ the kids off again. They clearly have questions and she has nothing else to do but indulge them.

“It’s still a few days before I can turn all Moonshadow-y, you know.” She grins, looking up and expecting to find one of her little followers.

Instead she finds Callum approaching her, looking confused at her apparently random comment.

“Oh… hi.” She feels herself flush and is grateful for the dim light. “I, eh, thought it was one of them.” She nods in the direction of the group of barely disguised children hiding behind a large palm tree.

Callum stops short, looking between her and the children and shuffling awkwardly. “Oh, eh, sorry. I just had some free time so I thought… I didn’t realise you were busy.”

“I’m not.” She answers quickly, not wanting him to leave. He was so kind and attentive during the boat journey here but his time has been monopolised by Tidebound mages since they made land and she’s seen less of him then even Ezran. “It just… the whole moon thing.” Her eyes flicker to the children watching them. “Tidebound kids always want to see moon magic apparently.”

Callum looks between her and the kids briefly, then walks a little closer to her and takes a seat in the sand a respectable distance away. “Moon thing?”

“Yeah,” Rayla hopes the tremble isn’t obvious in her voice. It seems so long since she’s explained anything magical to him, that all part of a simpler time. “Tidebound magic is strongest at high tide, so it’s all moon related.”

Callum furrows his brow, thinking about this for a moment. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“We should come back here at Spring tide.” She waffles on, wanting desperately to engage him in discussion. “This whole place goes crazy apparently.”

Callum laughs, eyes moving around the landscape, beautiful even in the dim twilight. “We should.” He looks back at her, eyes soft. “Maybe as a vacation once all this is over.”

Rayla smiles at him, pushing the scary and morbid thoughts from her mind in favour of envisioning a more pleasant future.

“Miss?”

Rayla jumps a little as a small voice pipes up from to her left. “Yeah?”

“Can you do some moon magic, miss?” A little Tidebound girl is looking at her, all large eyes and amazement.

Rayla sighs, not sure she could resist such a look. The other children hang back and she suspects they sent in the cutest with this request.

“Well… I can try,” She winces, shrugging her shoulders. “But I’m not much of a Moon mage.”

The little elf claps and looks over at her friends, who rush to join them.

Taking a deep breath, Rayla glances at the moon. It is low on the horizon, looking impossibly huge and she hopes the illusion is enough to help her make this spell work. Taking a deep breath, she draws a simple rune and speaks the trigger word. “Mystica Aurora”

Opening her eyes, she sees shimmering lights dancing before her. The children squeal in delight as she blows the gentle illusion closer to them. It dances on the breeze, like it has sentience, and begins to float away.

The children squeal in excitement, chasing after the illusion and pay her no more mind. She laughs, rolling her eyes before glancing over at Callum.

He’s watching the children or the illusion, she can’t tell which. His eyes suddenly move to hers and she thinks she sees him smile in the low light.

“You never mentioned you were a mage.” He speaks softly, and by the way he’s looking at her, she feels like those words have perhaps more meaning to him than they have to her.

He did confess to her that she was the first person to call him a mage… and how perfectly he felt that title fit him. How he’d felt… useless before that. Like a failure of a prince.

Were those her exact words to him? She can’t remember, the moment not nearly having the same level of importance to her at the time. All she remembered from that exchange was him yelling into the tunnels and her inexplicable urge to shush him with a finger on his lips.

She flushes at the memory, the whole thing imbued with such importance now so many years later.

“I’m not.” She states plainly. “I can just do a few dumb tricks.” She’d never had the talent for magic that she had for physical pursuits and she’d always felt embarrassed by her fumbling attempts. Even mentioning the illusion that disguised Zym had seemed silly at the time.

Callum ponders this, looking like he’s perhaps going to argue before he sighs softly. “How come you never showed me before?” He moves a little closer to her, eyes imploring.

Her heart races in her chest. This feels like an important moment but she doesn’t know what he wants to hear and she’s terrified of messing things up. She bites her lip, eyes instinctively seeking the moon for a moment before she looks back at him. She sighs, electing to simply be honest, even if it makes her sound stupid. “I dunno. Magic was your thing.”

His face softens as he looks at her and she forces herself to look away because she’s getting all those oasis happy feels and she’s definitely going to do something stupid like kiss him if he keeps gazing at her with his big green eyes.

“I like seeing you do magic.” He admits, smiling a little wider.

“Really?” She responds without thinking. Her magic is clumsy, ill-practiced. Nothing that ever impressed anyone back home.

Back when she had a home.

“Yeah.” He nods earnestly, clearly wanting her to believe him. “It’s beautiful.”

Continued: Little Moments 5.0

Also on AO3: Little Moments 4.0

[outpost51]

Crossing Over

For @flashfictionfridayofficial’s prompt: “Sink or Swim”

Consider it the fifth installment of the lighthouse keeper shorts.

Rating: Mature

CW: peril, drowning

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

I meant nothing to the sea.

Humans were supposed to be more buoyant in water.

No one filled the open ocean in on that fact.

I told them we should have headed home long before the sun set — we had time to get back then, and we still had time when I told them again, and again, and then... and then the fog rolled in. The sun dipped below the far-off rocks we thought belonged the little fishing village from which we'd left. We could just keep sailing forward, they told me. Eventually we would be home, but until then, why not kick back, enjoy the trip for once.

How enjoyable is the trip now, James, I thought, with your dad's expensive sailboat in pieces and the tide ripping us one-by-one away from the sharp rocks that turned out not to be the fucking fishing village?

I held out the longest. My boyfriend and his idiot friends probably would have attributed it to how high strung I was, but it was more likely because I was the only one who hadn't been drinking. There was only so much of a beating I could take from the waves, and undertow I could resist, and cold I could try to shiver away. None of the lighthearted surfing movies I grew up on made drowning seem quite as terrifying as it really was. It burned — my lungs, my throat, my nose, the cuts and scrapes all over my body, everywhere the water went, it brought the stinging salt with it. I wondered after a while of clinging to that rock if it would be the lack of oxygen, the physical exhaustion, or just plain bleeding out that would finally sap the last of my strength.

(Spoiler: it was all three, plus a heaping side of crushing anxiety and a deep, dark sadness that AP English and a perfect GPA and burning myself out with extracurriculars and one last semester at Harvard meant nothing to the sea. I meant nothing to the sea.)

It tore me right off that rock and swallowed me whole, tossing and turning my body like a rag doll caught in the spin cycle. Just when I thought it was through playing with its food, the tide would change directions, allow me to break the surface just long enough to choke on rain, then yanked me right back down to drag my face across the sand. I might have begged it for mercy once or twice. I thought I heard it laugh. Glad someone was having a good time.

What felt like hours, days later, the pain finally started to fade.

Something massive collided with my side. It would have knocked the wind from my lungs if they'd had any left.

Naively, I hoped it was James, miraculously still alive and risking that precious gift to make sure I got home safe.

The sea wasn't quite done beating the shit out of me, it seemed; great, heavy blows connected with my spine, my chest, cracked my ribs, bruised my cheek—

"Cough, stupid!" something hissed inside my skull.

I did, and if I thought the water sucked going in, it was much, much worse coming back out. Again, a mighty fist smashed against my back, and again, and again, until it was satisfied I'd returned all that I'd unwillingly taken from the sea. If I died and all my good deeds meant anything at all to the universe, then God was a fucking asshole.

He laughed, thunderous and cruel, and smacked my back again.

The world went dark.

It returned far too bright and stinking of brine. My ingratitude offended the earth, apparently, because a sinkhole opened up beside my hip, rolling me towards — something solid. Message received, I was so grateful for the light and the fermenting salt.

"Good t'see drownin' didn't kill your sense of humor." Thick fingers gripped my jaw and shook it like I'd put something in my mouth a dog wasn't supposed to swallow. "C'mon, we got work to do."

I grimaced, cracking one eye open wide enough to make out the face of God. Beady eyes and rows of teeth greeted me.

"Am I in Hell?" I croaked without thinking any wiser of it.

The Devil laughed again. "Maybe," he sneered. "Depends on you." He rose, but rather than callously let the mattress fling me off the other side, his massive, scarred hand closed over my arm and yanked me to my feet.

"I don't think I'm in any state to—"

"Complain? Nah. You got a name?"

No sooner had it fallen from my tongue, it was swept away on a gust of wind.

"Idiot," he chuckled. "You're a Keeper now. Have to be smarter than that if you're gonna survive out here."

At least the anger kept me on my feet as he turned away. "And what's yours, then?"

The smile he cast over his shoulder wasn't friendly. "Xoctosz," he said. "Try to take it, Keeper."

"What are you?" I called after him. He beckoned me to follow. I dug my feet in.

None of the sharks I'd seen on my recreational dives had quite so many teeth. "Death." Again, he beckoned.

I curled my toes into the gaps between the warped floorboards.

"I'm not a patient man, Keeper."

"And what if I don't want to be your keeper?"

The windows all slammed open and the stormwinds rushed in. "Water's right there. You can leave any time."

My lungs burned. I followed Death.

[b10hzrd]

The Tides of Fate- Chp 1

 It was a beautiful morning in the Kingdom of Azalea, the town was as busy as ever, the marketplace smelling like freshly baked goods and delectable food. Even so, the ever-so-elegant prince seemed unamused. It has been like this every morning since he was a child, Prince Corbin never enjoyed the laughing in the streets, the melodies that the bard would play; nothing could make him smile.

The busy crowd suddenly began to disperse into chaos, screaming, shouting, and cries could be heard across the kingdom.

“Your Highness! There seem to be pirates raiding the marketplace, His Majesty has sent me to advise you to stay in the palace until the issue is resolved!” the butler said out of breath, he seemed to have rushed to the prince's quarters. 

“Pirates?” Prince Corbin asked, lowering the poetry novel he was reading onto his lap. There had been 3 pirate attacks in the capital in the last 2 weeks, this couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Yes, but not to worry, this disturbance will be dealt with shortly Your Highness,” The butler bowed, waiting in case the prince may need something.

The prince went quiet for a moment, then nodded, “You may leave now,” the butler nodded and left. Prince Corbin continued reading, absorbing the poetry with each page he turned. The screaming from the capital had now calmed, looking out the window, the prince saw medics attending to wounded merchants and knights. 

“How can some measly pirates cause such a ruckus?”

Prince Corbin hates pirates, in his eyes, they are just destructive thieves with no sense of humanity, and now they have interrupted the only ounce of enjoyment in his life, his reading. He placed his book down and went to his closet, the prince grabbed the disguise he used to wear when he would sneak out to the commoner festivals, playing with his friend he had made, those were times when he almost felt some sort of joy, not enough to smile, but enough to feel like he had the capability of feeling happy. Throwing on the cloak from his past, Prince Corbin set off, making his way toward the gate.

“And where might you be heading off to, Your Highness?” The handmaid raised a brow; she had always been important to the prince. The king and queen had their duties to fulfill, not as parents, but as rulers of Azalea. Eventually, they assigned Ms. Angeline, a simple handmaiden, to watch over their only child.

Prince Corbin sighed in defeat, he had been caught, the stealth he once had seemed to have worn off as the years passed.

“Just to see the gardens, Ms. Angeline,” he removed his hood and faced her. The prince started to become nervous, sweat forming on his forehead.

“It’s almost nightfall, Your Highness,” when Ms. Angeline said those words, with that endearing, sympathetic expression, he knew she was on to his plan. All the times he would sneak out, she was always the one to find him, this time was no different.

“I am well aware of that.”

“Well, I suppose you should be on your way then, please do excuse me if I stood in your way, Your Highness,” She bowed.

“Thank you, Ms. Angeline,” Prince Corbin put his hood over his head and turned around, ready to continue his plan.

“Your Highness—”

The prince turned around, looking at Ms. Angeline who had a proud smile on her face.

 “I ask you to please be cautious, His Majesty may not be pleased hearing you have gone out past curfew,” she said softly.

“I will, I doubt my father will worry, but if he asks for me—”

“I am more than willing to take responsibility, Your Highness,” She walked up to the prince and placed a hand on his shoulder, “I wish for nothing but your happiness, and if this can help achieve that I am willing to face any consequences.”

“Now, you must make haste Your Highness,”

“I am forever grateful, Ms. Angeline,” with that, he ran off. 

Prince Corbin moved swiftly through the castle, each step echoing in the dimly lit corridors. When he arrived at the gate, he quickly came to realize how difficult it was going to be to execute his plan. The number of guards seemed to have increased due to the pirate attacks. With a deep breath, he walked up to the gate.

“Who goes there?!” The guard's deep voice echoed, raising his sword he faced the disguised prince. Prince Corbin was silent and continued walking.

“Answer me!! What is a filthy peasant doing inside the palace walls?”

The prince remained silent, walking slowly so as not to encourage a sudden attack. Although training with the knights was something his father forced him to do, he quite enjoyed it, all that training can be put to good use.

“You dare ignore a royal knight?! This is your final warning, answer me now, or in the name of King Griffin and the Kingdom of Azalea the royal guard will have you arrested for trespassing on palace grounds.” 

As the guard moved closer to examine the cloaked prince, other guards surrounded him. Prince Corbin grabbed a grip of the dagger that was hidden beneath his cloak, preparing for what may come of this standoff.

“Seize him!” the guard shouted, and with that, all the guards drew their swords.

Prince Corbin with a swift motion, deflected one of the guard’s swords with his dagger. His moves were swift and precise, disarming another guard with a twist of his wrist, and sending the sword clattering to the ground. Another guard rushed forward, swinging his sword towards Prince Corbin. The prince ducked and countered with a precise kick to the guard's midsection, sending him sprawling. Despite being disadvantaged, he fought with determination, evading strikes and delivering fatal blows. The courtyard echoed with sounds of clashing steel and shouting from the guards. Just then, a particularly aggressive guard lunged at him, their swords locking in a fierce struggle. At that moment, Prince Corbin's hood fell completely, revealing his face to the astonished guards.

“I-It's the prince! Lower your swords immediately!” one exclaimed, immediately lowering his weapon. The others followed suit and fell to one knee, bowing in shame.

 “Your Highness.” the initial guard stammered, stepping back. “We... we didn’t realize it was you, please, we beg for your mercy. We were just protecting the palace.”

 Breathing heavily, Prince Corbin lowered his dagger and adjusted his cloak. “Stand down,” he commanded, his voice steady. One of the senior guards stepped forward.

 “Your Highness, we have direct orders from the king. You are not to leave the palace grounds. It's for your safety.”

Prince Corbin's eyes narrowed. “I appreciate your loyalty to the king, but his orders mean nothing to me at the moment. Now, let me pass.”

“Your Highness, If the king was to know we let you pass, we would be held accountable. The king's orders are absolute.” The guards still held their position that was blocking the prince’s path. Prince Corbin sighed; he had no choice. With a sudden burst of speed, he darted towards the gate, surprising the guards. He ducked under one guard’s outstretched arm and knocked another aside. The guards, momentarily stunned by his audacity, scrambled to stop him, but he was already sprinting towards the gate.

The senior guard lunged at him, but the prince sidestepped, dodging the guard, who had now crashed into the brick wall. Grabbing onto the vines on the brick wall of the gates he started attempting to climb. The guards shouted after him, but he was already at the top of the gate, his heart pounding with fear and exhilaration. Once he jumped down, he knew there was no turning back. Trying to navigate the city was truly a humbling experience, the last time he snuck into the city was when he was 11, and things have most certainly changed. New buildings, landmarks, and paths have been built since then. It was now dark out, every little noise the city made, the wind whistling, the sound of Prince Corbin’s footsteps, it all made him feel on edge. He gripped his dagger, in case the night decided to attack.

After much wandering he made it to the docks, the smell of the salty sea entering his lungs. At this moment, the prince questioned why he came to the docks in the first place. Was it to find these pirates? That couldn’t be the reason, why would he ever care about some pathetic pirates? Was it to find…her? The reason no longer mattered, he was here now, and going back was out of the question. His plan was only to sneak out of the palace, whether he was successful on the stealthy part was questionable, but the issue is his plan only went that far. This whole operation was an act of impulse, not carefully strategized. As he approached the docks he scanned the area, searching for a place to be out of sight. In the distance, the sound of stomping and clattering steel heading his way startled him. 

“That took longer than I expected,” the prince muttered then darted towards a dark alley. 

Catching his breath, he slides his back down the wall he is leaning against, in which he collapses onto the ground. The fighting, the running, and the unsureness of this situation started to sink in. The prince was exhausted, he hugged his knees and put his head down, drifting to sleep.

[ofthecaravel]

(In this one Danny actually keeps all of his nails long- just so it’s clear)

Scenario 3:

Sam was more or less stranded at the center of a medium sized rock while Danny circled around him like a shark in the water. Sam tried to keep track of his movements but the siren was far too fast. There was no way off the rock without jumping into the water. The tide had risen significantly since climbing up, the smaller rocks he’d used to reach this one entirely covered in a blanket of water now.

Danny came to the surface to spray large amounts of the ocean water at Sam. But Sam fought back, splashing as well as he could at Danny each time he came up in an attempt to stun him. His distance from the rock was just out of reach for Sam to actually make physical contact without losing his balance, so splashing was the best he could do.

After losing track of just how many times the damn siren had doused him, clothes nearly soaked by now, there was a moment of calm. No noticeable movement below the water, no spray coming up to kiss his skin. It was quiet. But that’s what worried Sam.

Then suddenly, Sam’s face was met with a sopping *thwop* of seaweed and he tumbled back, catching himself on the grooves of the bumpy stone.

“Agh! Gross.” Sam whined, wiping what salty slime had clung to his cheeks and nose. “Okay truce, truce!” He exclaimed, waving his arms. “Jeez I think you got it in my mouth.”

It was all fun and games.

Danny swam over to see Sam face to face, resting his arms on the rock. He laughed. “Just couldn’t keep up could you.”

“Hm let’s see, a lanky human boy VS. an 11’0” siren with razor claws, who could out-swim a great white. Seems like a fare fight for the water.”

“Oh please, first” Danny exclaimed playfully “I didn’t even touch you, so my so called ‘claws’ are irrelevant; and second, if I really wanted to see you struggle against my god given athleticism, I’d race you to the pier. Sounds like someone’s just a sore loser.” He stuck his tongue out at Sam.

Sam stuck it right back and crossed his arms. “Well maybe I’d be down to race.” Oh gosh what was he doing.

“Oh right, up on the shore where I’d have to flop and army crawl my way to the finish line? I’ll pass.” Danny quipped and brought a dark taloned hand up to rest his chin on.

“No, I’ll swim.” Sam asserted “But let’s make it the abandoned fishing boat instead of the pier, less public.”

Danny’s eyes went wide. He couldn’t believe his ears. “You’re challenging me to race in the water? Did the seaweed I through give you brain damage?”

“Hey! I’m a pretty good swimmer. I’m a sailor after all, remember.” He held himself high and confident. “And if nothing else it could at least be fun. I haven’t had the pleasure of going on a swim with you yet.”

“I didn’t know you were interested.” Danny commented back. He found the whole thing quite comical. Maybe Sam had a trick up his sleeve. Or maybe he was just being dumb and prideful. “But if you’re really so confident in your abilities, then I guess I should accept the challenge.” ‘Challenge’, right.

Before Danny could process it, Sam had leaped into the water, making his way towards the half sunken and rusted boat about 20 yards ahead.

A head start only seems fare, Danny thought to himself. He stayed propped on the rock for another moment before diving in after him.

Sam has never been so grateful that he doesn’t wear shoes to the beach. They only would’ve slowed him down. Not that he’s stroking at a very impressive speed anyway. He’d made it a little ways out without seeing Danny. Then he heard a low hum. The siren was announcing his presence. If Danny wanted to he could send a shriek Sam’s way, stopping him in his tracks. But the battle was unfair enough already.

As Danny passed, he reached out with his knuckles to teasingly graze Sam’s stomach where his white blouse had ridden up in the water. He stopped a little bit ahead, turning around to stick his thumbs in his ears and wiggle his fingers, effectively taunting Sam. Then he disappeared into the water again, gliding ahead with much more ease than the sailor.

One second sam sees Danny’s bright green tail, and the next he was out of his sight. He knew it was a foolish challenge, but Danny was always the one taking his breath away and maybe, just maybe, Sam had wanted to impress him for a change. He’s realizing this was the the wrong way to go about it. None the less, he kept swimming, turning over on his back as it grew sore.

In no time, Danny reached the boat that had crashed against a large rock formation. He gave its metal surface a hard slap. “Ha, beat ya!” He called out nice and loud, but when he looked over the greenish- blue surface of the water, he couldn’t spot Sam. No paddling, no splashing, nothing.

Danny’s quick to dive back in to search for the boy. They’d admittedly swam pretty far out. Maybe it was a mistake excepting Sam’s challenge. What if something happens to him. The thought creates a soul feeling in Danny’s stomach. But a moment later he spots him, and rushes over in a panic.

Turns out he’d gotten caught in a forest of kelp after diving further down and was struggling to get back up. Danny was at his side in an instant and made haste to cut sam free with his razor sharp nails. Danny grabbed onto him and and shot them both up to the surface.

“Sam! Sam!” Danny jostled him a little. “Hey can you hear me.”

Sam spat up water and sucked air deep into his lungs, which felt like they were nearly on fire. He hadn’t gone unconscious luckily, but his head was a bit fuzzy. “Yeah” He panted “yeah I’m fine.”

“I thought you said you were a good swimmer.”

Sam rested his head on Danny’s shoulder as they bobbed in the water, Danny still holding on tight to him.

“Well I didn’t expect for the sea to try and swallow me whole.” He grumbled into Danny’s neck. One of his gills tickled Sam’s nose.

Danny slowly let go of his grip on Sam and moved to float on his stomach. “Here, hold onto my waist. I’ll get us back to shore.”

~~~~~

When they got back, Sam slid off of Danny and took a spot up on the sand. Danny followed behind. He crawled to Sam and sat up to wrap his arms around him. Sam leaned into him and shut his eyes.They let the tide lap at their feet and tail.

“I’m sorry.” Sam told him weakly. In his head he was telling himself that he ruined it. They were having such a nice time and he just had to push things too far.

“Hey no. Don’t do that.” Danny delicately placed a hand on the opposite side of Sam’s face, careful not to graze him with his nails.

Sam didn’t say anything at first, just focused on the feeling of Danny holding him. Then “Next time I’ll just challenge you to a game of chess.”

Danny chuckled. “Hey it’s getting kinda late and you’re soaking wet. You should really get inside before you catch a cold.”

But Sam only wanted to savor Danny’s touch. He was still a little rattled from nearly drowning.

“Can we just stay here for a moment.” Said Sam. And Danny just held him there. He’d stay in that embrace for as long as Sam wanted.

——————————————

Danny won first place and Sam’s heart :P

Lmao these stories really weren’t supposed to be as long they ended up. I was gonna do like bullet points and just give a breakdown but I got totally sucked in. I’m realizing that if I wanted to I could totally connect all three.

I. Love. Them. Dude, you should turn this into a story!!! Like a proper fic!!! I'm sure the people will agree with me that this narrative is sooo fun and engaging

[houseofhurricane]

Will the accidental pregnancy spinet be used as a premise to your Elucien fic? I really adore the snippet, I think that they were so in character and just the whole situation seems fitting.

So, funny story, yes, I am very slowly working on turning that snippet into an Elucien fic. I currently have about 11,000 words written but I've been working on other things in between (mostly a giant Dramione fic that has taken over my life, more on that in a bit). I know not everyone loves accidental pregnancy as a trope—and I think it's hard to write well—but I weirdly love it and do want to come back to it, I just have come up with way too much plot and this thing is going to end up being at least 50k words if I do it the way I want to.

However. I have already released part of this fic as a standalone, which is like we dream impossible dreams. This is, shall we say, the inciting incident for the whole accidental pregnancy storyline, also known as straight-up Starfall smut. It's meant to be most of the first chapter of the larger fic.

And, because honestly who knows when I will release the rest—hopefully before 2024 because I like to come back to this fic as stress relief—here's another scene, where Elain tells Nesta she's pregnant and then visits a healer. It needs edits for sure but it has the vibe:

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she says, and the words are the gentlest command Elain has ever heard leave her sister’s lips.

“Lucien and I—” she struggles for the right words, heat on her cheeks, the back of her neck, and then it bursts from her, “I took him to my bed at Starfall, and now I’m pregnant.”

To her credit, Nesta only squeezes Elain’s hand.

“How do you feel?” she asks. “There are potions, if you’d rather not be pregnant. I would get them for you, or find you a healer if you preferred.”

“I’m aware.” Elain tries to focus on how grateful she is that Nesta would help her, to dismiss her annoyance that her sister would think she was so unaware. After all, she hasn’t told Nesta about that corner of the garden, of the small, or of the well-fenced plot where she grows the key ingredients for poisons. And perhaps this secrecy is why they all think so little of her, think she could not be anything more than ornamental. She shakes her head to clear it, clenching her fingers in the towel. “And I am… there are many things to consider, but even if I’m overwhelmed, I’m happy. I want this.”

“We would help you, of course. You’re not chained to Lucien. Unless something has changed between you, and you want to be.” Nesta offers her the glass of water again, and Elain drinks, grateful that the liquid settles easily inside her.

“I don’t know. I haven’t told him.”

“What did he do?” Nesta’s arms are crossed over her chest, her eyes going silver at the edges.

“Nothing. He said it was my choice, if I wanted more than what we had at Starfall.”

“And what do you want, Elain?” The slightest hint of annoyance in her voice should not surprise her as it does. Lucien has become an ally of this court. Still, Nesta used to hate him.

“There is too much between us.” She waves her hand forward, trying to indicate distance, the magnitude of what she sees. “The mating bond, all this future between us, what I feel when I see him… And what would he be like, when he found out his mate was pregnant? You know how Rhys was.”

“Lucien is nothing like Rhys,” Nesta says, and Elain watches her sister smother the anger in her eyes. But Elain can’t forget those weeks after Feyre learned that her child would kill her, and her mate had made them all keep the knowledge from her. The haunted look on Feyre’s face, when she thought no one was looking. 

Nesta had been the only one with anger fierce enough to offer that barbed truth. Which is why Elain sought her first.

“I want to see a healer,” she says. “Not Madja.”

“There are healers in the library,” Nesta says, understanding instantly. “They won’t ask unnecessary questions and they’ll keep your secrets.”

I hope that tides you over for a bit! One day, there will be an entire fic... I just have no idea when that day will be. But I'm glad you're excited about it, because I love this fic too. 🧡

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Y'all, this fic is gonna be... heavy

I've been gaslit? About multiple, terrible things? And I know just how it sends the brain and heart spinning.

So naturally, I have to do it to these characters.

This is the most self-indulgent thing I have ever written, and it feels like purging ghosts.

Having said all that, have a horrible snippet of gaslighting - the King in Yellow using an old, awful trick: having deeply hurt Jon, is working to make it seem like Jon's fault, and pretending to be kind.

Yeah, I've been through that.

It made me angry to write it, so now you all have to suffer, as well.

(Or don’t read it! For real, feel free to skip.)

TW: victim-blaming, psychological fuckery

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

Like yesterday, the King leaves him alone while he gets his bearings - though Jon knows he’s being watched. 

Unlike yesterday, he has something better than a 1960s fantasy belly-dancer outfit to wear. It’s the same yellow, but it is like nothing so much as some Greek philosopher’s toga.

It will drape over his shoulders, showing his neck, the top of his chest, his arms; but it falls below that almost to his feet, granting coverage, and moves with every step in a genuinely beautiful, flowing way.

It’s a magnificent thing. Light, almost delicate, but opaque.

Though he still thinks the yellow is awful, Jon has to admit that with his hair and beard, this really makes him look like… something.

Prophet is what comes to mind.

Jon sighs. “Brilliantly done,” he mutters. “Giving me garbage first to make me grateful for anything.”

Well. It worked. He’s absurdly happy to be covered up, however bizarrely.

Jon sighs again. Apparently, understanding the techniques being worked on him doesn’t grant immunity to them.

He wipes his eyes again. Inevitability feels… very bad.

He checks the drawers again, just to see, and finds one other thing left for him: 

A pair of socks.

“Oh, very funny,” he mutters, disgruntled because it is sort of funny.

And he’s out, wearing philosopher robes and fuzzy socks, back into the curving hallway, back onto that impossible, misty path, and walking back toward the throne room.

Hastur is waiting for him.

The King stands before that open wall, looking out over the choppy gray sea - today topped with white froth, iron-dark under the dual suns.

The sound is beautiful. That hushed whisper, forward and back, the perfect, rhythmic susurrus of tide on rocky shore.

Jon decides he will not speak first today.  So he waits, arms crossed.

“It occurs to me, Jon, that I was unintentionally cruel to you yesterday,” says the King.

That earns a scoff more magnificent than any Jon has done in a while.

Hastur acknowledges it with a wave of several tentacles. “I told you a generally unknown truth about myself - but I did not elaborate, and left you to wonder. I know you, Jon. An unanswered question is torture. And, as I promised, I will not torture you any more.”

“Stop saying that,” says Jon.

Hastur turns to face him as if mildly surprised, possibly concerned, and it is ridiculous that a being cloaked and wearing a mask should be so expressive. “Jon… I only hurt you because I thought you wanted me to hurt you.”

“Wh-what?” Jon takes a step back.

“You expected it to such a level that you were anticipating it,” says the King, absolutely serious. “You demanded it of me. Rejected all other options before they had been discussed. I tried to give you what you wanted, but it seems I misunderstood.”

Gaslighting, Jon thinks, panicked, because maybe it is and maybe it isn’t, and maybe he does want a return to the pain - not because he likes pain but because it’s easier to reject, easier to stand up to, easier to throw away wholesale.

Had he done that? Had he communicated that? Was it somehow on him that - 

No, he stops himself, and swallows hard, trying not to feel like this could be true.

Hastur has mercy by changing the subject. “Would you like to know why I know about love, Jon?”

Fuck.

Of course Jon does.

Of course he yearns for it, literally salivates.

Of course he has to keep from demanding it, using his regrown powers to force it out of this god.

Jon takes a moment to be very afraid of himself.

“Come.” And as so many times before, Hastur offers his huge, dark hand.

It’s slow-acting poison.

Jon suddenly becomes very afraid of something new: what if Hastur really isn’t going back to the torture?

What if it’s this, instead, being reasonable and kind, feeding the Eye, giving him exactly what he needs, and even what he asks for?

Jon has resisted fear, terror, torment. He has fought off cruelty and terrible things.

He doesn’t know what to do with kindness, however falsely meant.

He swallows hard. I’m fucked, he thinks, because five minutes of conversation have already sent him into a tailspin.

“Take my hand, Jon,” says Hastur, gently. “It will be an easier journey if you do.”

“Journey to where?”

“My lost city.”

You’ve got to be kidding, because… really? A lost city? How could that possibly appeal to him more? “What if I say no?” Jon demands.

“Then your question goes unanswered.”

He has to know. It’s the one thing that makes sense inside, like iron filings all lining up under a magnet. “You swear you’ll answer that question. What you know about love. Why.”

“I swear.”

He has to know. “If you lie to me in this, Hastur…”

“I am well aware you already have no reason to trust me,” says the god. “Consider this the beginning of my attempts to rectify that.”

Damn this creature.

The King waits, hand out.

Jon no longer knows if it would be taking more poison in or not. His radar is broken. Unreliable. 

The only thing he knows is he won’t call the Entities - and that he needs to know this.

Gingerly, he reaches, and closes his hand around one of the King’s ridiculously large fingers.

[vilyanenyavilya]

Next fic poll results: Two fic had votes, here are more details for the curious! I might still finish/post one of the other shorter ones first. We’ll see how long Lost In Time takes me to write. It’s a complicated time travel fix-it.

Lost In Time. Loki/Tony. Rating: Mature. Est WC: 80k

Tags: Canon Divergence Endgame, slow burn, expect years, infidelity, but because time travel, time travel, the Norns are messing around for reasons, fix it of sorts, pining, grief, Tony bisexual awakening, past mind control, genderfluid Loki, mpreg, themes of fatherhood and parenthood, friends to lovers, lovers to friends, sad with a happy ending, bittersweet ending

An accident during The Time Heist sends Tony Stark tumbling through time and space.

Tony emerges on a different planet, over a century before where he should be, with no way home. He works to get back to his family the Avengers. While he’s at it, he’ll fix this new timeline too…but more and more time passes and he’s still stranded and he has to make a new life under a new name.

Loki was studying the magical arts on Alfheim with his mother’s sister, when a mortal shows up and turns everything upside down. He comes with ill tidings of the future and a determination to change it, and Loki can’t help himself but believe and help him. This mortal is a fascinating puzzle, and Loki itches to put it together. It has -nothing- to do with how drawn he is to the mortal himself.

Neither one knows just how or why their stories are entwined by the Norns.

-

“Who are you?”

The person jumped and suddenly metal flowed over his body and he was fully encased in a suit of red and gold armor. He turned around. “Name’s Tony.”

“That doesn’t explain who you are.” Loki studied the man. He seemed afraid of him, encasing himself in a literal suit of armor was a big clue.

“Just passing through. You can go back to whatever it was you were doing.”

“No one simply passes through here. It’s hidden from sight and magics. I’ll ask again, who are you?”

“Seriously no one you need to know about, Reindeer Games.”

“You look and speak like you know me, you’re afraid of me, yet I’ve never met you. Answer me.”

“It’s none of your business, green eyes. I’m not staying here long. I’m just waiting on Granny Weatherwax to come back, she’s helping me with something. So shoo.” He waved his metal encased hand.

Loki laughed openly. “You just shooed me? Me? And you seem to know me? You’re strange.” Loki liked puzzles. He was going to put this Tony one together.

His laugh startled Tony visibly, he jumped. “You laugh? In a good way?”

“I am the God of Mischief. I like to laugh.”

“What the hell happened to you then?”

“Whatever are you talking about?”

XXX

The Sorcerer Who Stole My Heart. Loki/Steve. Rating: Teen. Est WC: 20k

Tags: Canon Divergence Infinity War, falling in love, Steve bisexual awakening, missed opportunities, wedding dates, domestic fluff, use of magic, dating, moving in, adopting a bunch of dogs, happy ending

Companion/sequel to The Sorcerer Next Door. It would start during and continue past the first fic. Where’d the waffle maker come from? Who does Loki have his eye on? What happens at Wanda and Vision’s wedding? How does Loki date a human? How does a human date an alien who lives next door to Tony Stark? All would be revealed.

After the Battle of Wakanda they barely won in the end thanks to a trickster Norse God, Steve is a little rudderless. The war they’d been in for years is over and his focus went with it. Then Tony calls him and asks him to visit the lakehouse with some fan mail for a recovering-from-undoing-the-Snap Loki. Steve is grateful for something new to do and it takes several trips. He didn’t expect to see new sides to Loki and for it to open a door he had kept closed.

-

“Are you alright, Rogers?”

“Yeah. Call me Steve.”

“Okay Steven.”

“No one calls me Steven.”

“I rather like it for you.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yes, Loki, why?”

“It rolls off the tongue much more poetically.”

-

[rainbowcolored7]

After a couple of months of feeling uninspired about my KP Royal AU by muse whispered in my ear Fantasy Royal AU and the rest is quite honestly history 'cause now it's all I can think about, even over my new ArmPol fic that's in the works...

Porsche is of the Phoenix clan and Kinn is of the Dragon clan etc. etc. It's gonna be a monster, and will probably be a while before I start actually posting it, but here's a snippet to tide y'all over for a bit.

----

An earth-shattering thud vibrated through the walls, up the soles of their feet, rattling their bones. Porsche stumbled, losing his balance, and fell against the tunnel wall, trapping Chay to his chest. The walls shook all around them, debris bouncing off their bodies, the palace creaking, echoes of screams surrounding them on all sides. Chay sobbed loudly into his chest and his nails broke the skin where he held onto Porsche’s arm. Porsche barely felt it.

When the shaking subsided, Porsche pulled Chay forward with renewed vigor.

“We have to go faster, come on Chay.”

“I don’t want to leave.” Chay cried, digging his heels into the hard dirt.

Porsche spun on him, leveling their gazes. “We have to. If we stay, we will die. Please don’t fight me Chay, we must go.”

“B-But Mom and Dad,” Chay stuttered, face red-splotched and wet.

Porsche took a deep breath, but nothing he could say would make Chay feel better. Nothing he could ever say would change the situation they were in.

“We have to go, Chay.”

Chay sniffed and rubbed at his face, smearing snot and tears over his reddened skin. He nodded and, finally, allowed Porsche to lead them towards the exit of the tunnel. It wasn’t much longer before they reached the doorway that would lead them to the fields and beyond that the mountains. Porsche turned the handle and slowly opened it a crack, peeking out to make sure their path was free and clear of any threats.

He could barely see the fields beyond the whirling smoke and falling ash. The sound of rushing water hitting stone and fire was close, dripping and hissing, but he couldn’t see anyone who may block them from running. He pulled the fire back inside himself, rubbing his fingers together and clenching his fist; it would be no use to them now, only serving to give them away as they ran. Quickly, he turned to Chay, pulling the blanket back over his head.

“Don’t let go of me, no matter what. I’m going to open this door all the way and we are going to run, do you understand?” Porsche said, moving Chay’s iron grip from his arm to his hand where he squeezed so tightly the slender bones ground together.

“Y-Yeah.”

“Okay. On the count of three,” Porsche began, taking a deep steadying breath.

Gradually, Kinn crawled out from the hiding spot, shoving the foliage away from him, glancing around and feeling grateful they’d managed to shake his pursuers. He wiped the sweat from his brow, pushing his fringe from his eyes, and took a steadying breath. His eyes fell on the man before him, and he was finally able to properly take him in. The sunlight streaming through the thick canopy dappled his golden skin, dancing across him like playful fire. His dark hair fell messily in a halo around his forehead, his strong jaw tilted up along with this gaze as he listened to sounds surrounding them. He was beautiful, and Kinn had to swallow thickly and look down at his feet when a gust of wind moved the leaves to shine brightly over him.

“Thank you.” He muttered.

“Why were those people after you?” The mystery man boldly asked.

Kinn flicked his eyes up, pinning his gaze on the side of the man’s head as he continued to survey the area around him. He seemed superfluously on edge, more than any regular forest-going citizen should be. Kinn filed that away for later and stepped forward to stand beside him.

“Why do you care?” He asked.

The man finally turned to face him, squaring his strong shoulders, pinning Kinn with a suspicious and calculating gaze. “Because I just helped you escape them, and you don’t look like the type that lives around here. So, you probably need more help. I’m trying to ascertain what I’m getting myself into.”

“It’s complicated.” Kinn offered, trying to come up with a quick lie.

It would be smart not to go around telling strangers who he truly was; he might end up in the hands of a worse enemy than the one he’d just narrowly escaped from. This man may not harm him, but Kinn wasn’t entirely sure what territory he had stumbled into, and there were still disciples of the Phoenix clan who opposed the current ruling.

“I slept with a couple of their husbands.” Kinn blurted out too quickly, internally berating himself for not coming up with a better lie.

The man scoffed, giving Kinn a once-over, then sighed. “Fine, don’t tell me.”

“Well, are you going to help me or do I have to run back the way I came and hope those bastards don’t find me again?” Kinn pressed, anxiety fluttering in his chest.

“You sure are demanding for someone who doesn’t seem to have a lot of choices available.”

Kinn frowned. “Standing here arguing isn’t doing either of us any good. What if they come back this way? Are you going to shove me back under that damn rock?”

“If it’ll get you to stop talking.” The man spat.

Kinn glared at the man and then looked around him. If he just went back the way he came, maybe he could find his way to the Phoenix clan’s castle and get home from there. The sun was still high enough in the sky, he could probably make it to nearly the edge of the forest by nightfall. Maybe.

“Forget it, I’ll find my own way.” Kinn said, beginning to walk back.

The man made a frustrated grumbling sound and grabbed his arm, tugging him back. “Don’t you know how to take a joke?”

Kinn shook his arm out of the man’s grasp. “Do you know how to tell one?”

Unexpectedly, the man smiled at him, all warmth, amusement, and exasperation. “Has anyone ever told you you’re insufferable?”

Kinn couldn’t help but smile back, as if the man’s smile were truly contagious. “Maybe a few times.”

The man’s smile widened, the corners of his eyes crinkling and turning up at the edges, and Kinn tried not to focus too hard on the warm feeling spreading through his chest in response.

“Come on, you can hide out at my place, and we’ll figure out how to get you home after some food, yeah?”

As if on cue, Kinn’s stomach growled, and he felt an embarrassed flush rise up his throat to settle in his cheeks. “Okay, yeah. That sounds good.”

@maleficent-cannoli @elmindredaniq @aprilblossomgirl @kinnporschefans @runnavvays

[ncitygirls]

yours - jaemin x f reader

fluff, smut, bffs2lovers, 3k

before joining you to your cousin’s wedding, jaemin had made a big deal about not being properly invited. as always, mark kept true to his habit of innocently causing trouble when it suited him. ‘i’m like family! where’s my invite!’ but it was hard to fault mark, because of course jaemin had been invited. somehow, his parents neglected to inform him that your cousin had rightfully assumed jaemin would know he was included in the na family’s invite. you said nothing though. especially when jaemin had briefly explained the reason for his displeasure. ‘we deserve our own invite, y/n. one for us together.’ which made no sense at all, because you’re just friends. you’re not together. however you had no idea you were alone in thinking that.

you see, jaemin was more acquainted with your family than some of your own relatives. he was invited to christmases, weddings, birthdays. basically any and all occasions your family saw fit to celebrate, jaemin was in attendance. yet surprisingly, even after having grown up alongside you and mark, a few of your more distant cousins were more than happy to express their displeasure with his more forward placed seat. because, like you keep reminding everybody: jaemin is just your best friend. but apparently, best friends didn’t reserve the rights to things you gave to jaemin. not in your extended family’s eyes. not that yours and mark’s family cared.

yet in the end, like most things regarding you, jaemin knew his attendance tonight had been a mistake. but not because of the petty feud his presence birthed in the lee lineage. oh no. it’s because, unlike most nights jaemin spends in your company - with your hair strewn about, mascara permanently smudged, and a lazy grin etched on - tonight, you were his least favourite kind of y/n. the one where he can’t help but follow you with his eyes, watch the placement of your feet, enjoy the shrill tone of your cackle. throughout the night, jaemin had found himself warmed by the way you drag your balled up fist over your made up eye, how you sing along to songs you don’t know the words to, how you wobble in your heels before you cling to him.

jaemin makes the mistake of enjoying you a bit too much. how you scowl as your relatives chat shit a bit too loud for you liking, how you make a scene of conspicuously covering his ears, unaware of how unbothered he is. how you try so hard to make him happy, in the smallest and largest of ways. so he drags you into a dance when you move to walk over, ready to rip your own blood a new one. “i’m gonna kill ‘em.”

“no,” he states simply, one of his hands slipping from your hand to your waist. “dance with me.”

“who do they think they are!” your voice adopts an unsettling shrillness that he can’t help but chuckle at. it even throws his head back. “why are you so happy? you should be mad!”

“because i don’t care,” he shrugs, tightening his hold on you slightly. “i’m here- you’re here. why would i not be happy?”

“you’re such a fucking leo.”

he still doesn’t know what that means, but he laughs anyway, happy that your deduction seemed to satisfy you. you eventually calm down, a peace settling over you as he spins you lazily around the dance floor. there’s some early 2000s track playing, one definitely unfitting for the way he’s swaying you. but you pay it no mind, speaking softly as he presses his cheek to the crown of your head.

“when do you wanna head up?” up, meaning the hotel room your relatives are also wound up about. it was intended for the bridal party and far travelled guests, neither of which they are. and neither of which you are. but you were your cousin’s favourite. and so was he. so naturally, you two had one reserved. even your parents had opted to stay at a cottage a couple roads over. “i think the boys are all gone already.”

he notes the guilt tainting your tone, knowing how drained jaemin grew from both physical and social interactions of any kind. so you knew well what his answer would be. “when you’re ready.”

“okay,” slipping out of his hold, you drag him over to the newly married couple. you exchange brief goodnights and grateful tidings before he excuses himself to find the jacket of his tuxedo. the search doesn’t take long, his eyes landing on the black coat a few seconds after parting. he does give himself a breather though, his knees cracking as the seat holding his jacket readily carries his weight. he doesn’t dare shut his eyes, knowing full well he’ll fall victim to his fatigue. so instead, he let’s them follow the one thing that always occupies his mind, that can keep him up all night. he finds you far quicker than he did his coat, the pink satin of your dress falling half way down your calf as you skipped over to bid some other guests farewell. he sighs happily, glad you never force him into such tedious pleasantries. you learnt a long time ago that while impossibly affectionate, jaemin’s social clock ticked a few hours faster than any one else’s. so by your timing, it had probably expired a little after the vows. it took a little bit of getting used to, but it also meant for quicker farewells and a speedier exit.

it’s only now jaemin realises this was a mistake. because before he ever gets his breather, less from you, but all the feelings that come from being with you, you’re at his side. he’s learned how not to cease up at your touch anymore. instead, linking his fingers with yours when they rest gently on his shoulder. when he peeks up at you, his eyes blinded less by the party lighting and more by your tired smile, he knows not to sigh, forcing down his body’s natural response to your attention. but when you tug at his hands, bringing him to stand, whispering a-

“let’s go home, yeah?”

he knows this isn’t a mistake. this is torture.

it’s how you pour him a tall, ice cold glass of domesticity with every meal. your hand wrapped in his as you lead him through the hotel. you slip out of your heels somewhere between the lobby and the elevator, grinning up at him as he takes them from you. jaemin even curses himself, his body responding to your needs unthinkingly. he tries to calm his beating heart by counting the floors, his eyes following the analog dial as you lean against his shoulder, fiddling with his cuffs.

“do you want them off?” you ask softly, barely a touch louder than the elevator music. he nods, though your gel nails are already picking at the gold, removing them with ease. “gimme the other one.” he inhales deeply, cursing whoever gave you to him. well, not really. you weren’t really his. but god did you act like it.

your hands slip into his pocket for the room key before slipping back into his hand. he just follows you out, caught in a happy daze as you take him ‘home’. you struggle a bit with the key card, trying it every which way before he leans into you, wrapping his arm around you as he reaches for the card. “the arrow’s pointing this way,” his thumb nail presses on the black arrow indicating the direction you have to push it. he doesn’t see you roll your eyes, but he guesses you do. so he presses his lips to your temple in apology. “you’ll get it next time.”

“piss off,” you laugh, pushing the door open when it clicks. he throws the heels and jacket on a chair by the door before collapsing onto the adjacent couch, his body ready to succumb to his dire need for rest. he can just about hear you rustling through the bags in the bathroom, your feet padding around on the linoleum. when it muffles slightly, he figures out immediately what you’ve returned for when you stop between his thighs. “thank you,” you sigh, his fingers already pinching at the zip on your dress. it sits low at the base of your spine, the back of the dress leaving you completely exposed. he’d taken to placing his hand there all night, his fingers gliding up and down the skin whenever he got the chance. when it’s down, his eyes linger on your hips, the top of your panties peeking out before you slap his knee.

“what?”

“the necklace,” your back is still turned, hair blocking his view. “please?” you add, hand smoothing over the skin of his knee.

“come here,” he pulls you down to sit between his thighs, his legs parting to make space for you. you land with a huff, quickly realising you haven’t sat down all night. jaemin realises this too, your neck craning a bit further to the side than necessary as he tucks your hair over your shoulder. “you okay?”

“mhm,” you hum, squeezing his thigh. “just a bit sleepy.”

“a bit?” he laughs, a little breathless as he gathers the chain he got you one christmas. “i think you’ve earned a good sleep.” he surmises, hands squeezing your shoulders gently. “but you know you were a guest today, right? not the planner?”

“yeah?” turning onto your knees, you glare down at him. “someone had to sort my uncle out, he was steaming!”

“yes, true,” he laughs. “just make sure you’re not doing that at my wedding.”

you feign surprise at that, “i’m invited to your wedding?”

“of course,” his hands squeeze yours earnestly before he whispers, “can’t have my wedding without the bride, can i-”

“fuck off!” his cackles chase you out the room. while you wash up, he makes quick work of his tux, throwing his slacks over the back of the couch, his thumbs slowly unhooking each of his buttons. a true man of leisure, he’s in all but his socks and draws when you return. “all done!” you sing, throwing the dress down as you reappear in an oversized t-shirt. he recognises it almost immediately from uni. it’s his soccer team’s jersey. it has his number on the back.

“finally,” he whines, pushing you aside as he makes his way inside, quickly locking the door to avoid your attacks. he goes to reach for his wash bag just to find the reason he did already waiting unpacked. in a small cup on the side is his toothbrush, resting sweetly beside yours. he ignores the hygienic implications of this and skips right to the romantic. because, while jaemin thinks and often dreams of placing your first name with his last, and while he spends most of his free time with you, and while he would take any number of bullets for you, he still can’t for the life of him figure you out. even after he bombards you with affection, praise, teasing, flirting, kisses. you’re still just you. making him just him.

and that’s fine, if that’s what you want. but he’s not sure he truly knows what it is you want. and this gets him thinking about the little things. how his hand is seldom empty in your presence. how you never think of him second, always first. how you want to be with him always. moments like now, when he returns to find you hanging his tux on its hanger, encasing it in its protective sleeve. his arms slip around your waist, pulling you flush against him. and you melt instantly, resting in his embrace. “thanks,” he mumbles, lips pressing gently to your shoulder.

“‘is okay,” you hum, hanging it over the back of the door before resting your hands over his. see, hands never empty when you’re near. he sways you back and forth, his heart beating gently into your back as you lean into him. “did you have fun?” you ask, squeezing at his forearms, “i know we probably stayed later than you’d like-”

“it was great.” see, always putting him first. “did you want to stay longer?”

“not without you.” see, how you want to be with him always. he wonders how you don’t see it. how you don’t see you’re killing him. “come on,” you mumble, shutting off the light as you blindly drag him to bed. jaemin has an annoying habit of following you in, his body shuffling in after yours, rather than separating and meeting in the middle. it doesn’t allow you much room, by the time you reach your side, he’s encased you in his arms, legs, even his head, his chin slotting itself in the crook of your neck. “nana?”

“hm?”

“i’m sorry about today,” the apology doesn’t shock him, but rather your disappointment. “you’re more like family to mark and i than they ever were. tonight was just proof of that.”

“it’s okay,” he squeezes you a touch harder, trying to decipher whether your words harm or soothe the growing hole in his heart. “i can’t say i don’t see where they’re coming from.”

“what d’you mean?”

“i dunno,” he starts, thinking as his lips press to the back of your neck. “i guess i’d be confused by us too,” he mutters against your skin.

“how so?” you press, turning in his hold, gazing up at him. his eyes are more than used to the dark now as he gazes back down at you. you’re tucked right up to him, the covers strewn over your lower halves. he rests his temple on his palm, elbow pressed into the mattress as you fiddle with his fingers. “what’s confusing?”

he shrugs as best he can, watching his hand in yours. “i dunno,” he repeats, grinning when you huff. “i just- i think it’s hard for people to get that i’m your friend,” he tries, “just your friend.”

“what else would you be?” what else? what else?!

“i dunno,” he repeats for the third time, though he knows exactly what you’d be. but you don’t need to know that. not when you seemed so happy, so satisfied with how things are already. and that’s what’s most important to him. your happiness. and jaemin couldn’t exactly say he wasn’t happy with how things are either, he just knows there could be more to you both, more to this. more to him than being your best friend. but maybe it’s for another night. like he tells himself every time you push a topic you’re not remotely ready to breach. “let’s forget it-”

“no,” he flinches, just preparing to settle down for sleep. “am i missing something? if i am, just tell me.”

“i-” he drops his forehead to yours then. he’s so close, your eyes have to cross just for you to see him. it’s only when he rises you see a change in him. a nervous jaemin isn’t one you’re use to. it’s one that you would rather never see, it truly worries you. especially as he agrees, a small “okay,” leaving him before he kisses the tip of your nose, his lips barely puckered as they meet the skin. he grins as he does, his teeth gleaming in the moonlit room, his eyes open just wide enough to see you. his lips drop to your cheek, warming as your skin does. he hovers there as your hand tightens on his arm, clinging to him. he daren’t move, afraid the slightest jolt will wake him, drag him right out of this sleepless dream. when your grip loosens, he drops his head until he’s right by your mouth, his lips daringly puckering before he presses them to the corner of your lips. he stills as yours do too, your soft lips, now embalmed in his memory, pressing there ever so gently before he rises once more. he waits a second, watching the smallest of shivers rack through you before he dips again, lips falling to your neck. he smiles against your skin, overjoyed as you subtly crane your neck. his teeth drag over your skin as he journeys down the column of your neck, your hands gripping onto him a touch harder when he stops.

his fingers glide along the skin of your side, thumb pressing into the dip of your waist. he stops short of your chest, locked mid motion as he watches you breathe. there is no haste in his movements. no need to rush anything. no need to hurry. all there is, is a beat. a steady one in his chest. one that holds him here, one where he can’t move, can’t bring himself to test the waters you’ve just dared he enter. not even as the pads of your fingers glide along the warm skin of his neck, nails dragging through his nape, silently daring him to move. he pants over your chest, a lazy grin pulling at his mouth as you ask him again-

“what else would you be, jaem?”

he moves unthinkingly. as his dampened lips meet the hardened nub through your t-shirt, sucking on you through the aged material. his rolls his teeth gently, his fingers at your side finding your neglected nipple as you whine out for him. he feels himself slipping into delirium, caught somewhere between a dream and reality, unsure where exactly he’d rather be. he decides it doesn’t matter, not when you’re there. here. with him. letting him touch you in ways he never really thought possible. ways jaemin only ever imagined, only ever let himself surrender to in the dead of night. in the solitude of his own shameful company. he never thought of this. not really.

he had hoped, maybe even prayed, but never truly believed he’d have you whimpering for him. your fingers falling in the gaps between his own, pressing his open palm harder against your thinly veiled heat, your hips rolling against it. jaemin never thought he’d hear your whines, the sound cutting through him like knives, like ice shooting through his veins. he never thought you’d want him. not like this.

“jaem,” he’s with you in seconds, his spit slick lips an inch above yours. he watches patiently as you grind up against his hand, feeling his fingers prod at your desperate heat.

“you wanna know what else i could be?”

you nod. “please.”

“i could be yours.”

[friendlyneighborhoodcapricorn]

gwaine proposal drabble?? because I will die otherwise

Ooh absolutely!!

You were grateful for the shade the trees provided as you trudged down the path. Gwaine, on the other hand, seemed to think that the shade of the trees was not nearly enough.

“This is inhuman,” he grumbled. “Must be a punishment from the gods.”

He’d been complaining non-stop since you left the inn in at the foot of the White Mountains five hours ago. You were willing to bet the air up in the mountains was far cooler than down here, but you were headed for the borders of Camelot and that meant making your way through the valley. At least you were still in the forest. You expected to be out in the plains tomorrow, and hoped the weather would be a little cooler than it was today.

“Clearly the heat isn’t wearing on you that much, since you haven’t shut up once since we left the village,” you pointed out.

“Perhaps not, but I’d still kill to find a river or a stream.”

You had to admit that the idea of cold, fresh water sounded good. “There’s more than one spring in the White Mountains,” you said. “They probably lead into this forest.”

“The only problem is: how are we going to find them?” Then he grimaced, as if he knew what you were about to say. “(Y/N), don’t you-“

You grinned. “Keep walking.”

You didn’t find a stream, but after another hour of walking, the wind picked up, carrying the salt scent of the sea with it.

“Tide must be coming in,” Gwaine said distractedly. He pointed to a large oak tree down the road. “How about we rest there for a bit?”

You were used to walking long distances all day, but even your legs felt like they were on fire. On top of that, it hadn’t rained in weeks: the road was dry, and every step sent dust flying up and into your lungs. And, after all, it wasn’t as if either of you were in a rush.

You nodded at Gwaine. “Sure. Last to get there pays the drinks next time!”

You didn’t give him time to protest, taking off before you’d even finished your sentence. You heard his indignant voice call out behind you, and you laughed as you flew down the path. The trees and bushes were reduced to a green haze and the rush of air was blessedly cool against your face.

Gwaine was fast, but he clearly hadn’t been expecting to race you, so you reached the massive oak first and turned to watch as he slowed to a jog, nothing left to prove or win.

“I win!” you declared as he came within earshot, throwing your arms in the air.

“That hardly seems fair.”

You stuck out your tongue. “Should’ve run faster.”

Gwaine grinned. “Perhaps I should have.”

He unceremoniously dropped down between the roots of the tree, leaning his back against the trunk. You sat down beside him.

It was quiet, save for the breeze rustling the leaves overhead, sending spots of sunlight dancing over the path and the ferns lining it. It streaked Gwaine’s hair with gold, and you out to run your fingers through it, watching as the movement scattered the light again.

He turned to look at you and you held his gaze, neither of you breaking the silence of the woods.

“Marry me,” he said, his voice hoarse and barely more than a whisper.

If it hadn’t been so quiet, you would’ve convinced yourself you had heard it wrong. Instead, you dropped your hand as your heart started pounding. “What?”

Gwaine smiled, straightening up. “You heard me. Marry me, (Y/N).”

“I- what?”

It seemed to be the only thing you were capable of saying.

“I know it’s not exactly a traditional proposal, and the chances of us actually finding someone who can officiate a wedding are slim to none, but… Will you marry me?”

There was only one thing you could say to that.

[lubdubsworld]

Blackberry Winters.

Part 1

Namjoon Werewolf Au !

Alpha werewolf!

Heavy angst.! Pregnancy, unrequited love, hate to love, prejudice, mental health issues.

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

There is a tide in the affairs of men, which , taken at the flood leads on to fortune. Opportunities had to be seized and made use of and you had to be bold and confident in order to lead your people to fortune.

Namjoon, as the head alpha of the Kim clan, knew this better than anyone else. Which was why he was here, in a meeting with alphas from the three neighbouring clans lining his boundary lines, hoping to get permission to access the seven or so aquifers that lay to the east of the packhouse.

The rains had been kind to them, the reservoirs were full but he wanted to make sure they had a backup plan just in case things went south in some way. His father had taught him that. Being prepared for the worst was second nature to him now. The land around the aquifers was rich and fertile and Jungkook had already let him plant tangerines and apples in the area for the little ones. The harvest was generally shared between the two clans and Namjoon was grateful for the easy camaraderie that the alpha of the land offered him.

The land belonged to alpha Jeon , a dear friend by all means and he knew that Jungkook would grant him permission as he always did . But still it was never a certainty. The council members had the final say and many of them held a grudge when he refused to marry Jungkook's sister last spring. That had been a no brainer for him. Junghee was beautiful but also like a sister to him, besides being incredibly intelligent. He didn't need a wife like that. And that was why he had picked, Jiah.

Sighing, Namjoon glanced back at the campsite where the women were gathered, sitting in small groups and laughing around a blazing fire while a few alphas hung about roasting meat and passing out moats of wine around . His eyes fell on his wife, timid and shy , sitting away from the rest and regret churned. He had been impulsive. She was ill suited to be his wife , and the last three months had been a bitter wake up call. Namjoon was well read, eloquent and bold. His wife was barely illiterate, with a stutter and shifty eyes that never met anyone's gaze head on.

He had chosen her because she had seemed docile and pliant and while she was definitely that, she was also ....at the risk of sounding rude and unkind, very very boring.

A simpleton. She seemed to know nothing about anything, content to disappear into the shadows, to hide and hang back and practically become one with the upholstery when he asked her to sit next to him.

It had been three months and they had barely spoken beyond a dozen words. It was awkward and stilted and just plain uncomfortable, sleeping with her. Sex was supposed to fun and passionate and filled with excitement and desire but with her , it was a chore he couldn't wait to cross off his list.

Leaning back against one of the poles holding up the makeshift tent, he watched her as she scooted away from one of the older omegas in the Jeon clan, the lady looking startled at the reaction. He shook his head in despair. He hadn't even wanted to bring her along but his mother had insisted. Something about her being young and innocent, too shy to stay behind with strangers for two whole weeks while he traveled to the Jeon's .

How was he supposed to explain that they were strangers as well ? That despite the label of mates, despite the fact that he had been the one to choose her, he felt nothing for her? Not even the idle curiosity one felt for strangers?

It was partly her demeanour, but mostly her appearance. She wasn't well groomed and it always made him frown. He had hoped that she would at least keep herself presentable, maybe hire the weavers to make her a few new tunics .

Something colorful and patterned like the ones the other omegas wore during festivities. The Kim clan had a lucrative fabric trade with the Min pack , and Yoongi and Hoseok always kept the most luxurious and vibrant silks and fabrics for him.

Jiah had shown a brief and fleeting interest in the luxurious threads, when his mother had brought her along to the tailor to get her wedding trousseau done....but the moment the young beta had asked her questions about her likes and dislikes, she had recoiled and went back into her shell. Namjoon had watched the whole scene, annoyance growing with every passing second. He wanted her to be pliant but also independent. Low maintenance . But apparently he would have to hold her hand through everything.

And that's when he'd begun to actively distance himself from his wife. He didn't have the time nor inclination to help her navigate her new life. He was busy, what with autumn coming to an end and the first chills of winter already beginning to permeate the air. The betas and alphas in the pack were already occupied with hunting enough meat to last them the winter, the women busy with curing the meat with spices and salt.....

He should have left her behind with them.

" A coin for your thoughts, Alpha Kim?"

Kim Jisoo came to stand by him, her scent of floral dust and vanilla cloyingly sweet on his senses. She had helped him with many a rut and he had always nurtured a sweet spot for the omega who was well versed in many languages. She was also one of the courtesans they had brought along for the evening entertainment. Jisoo slipped her hands through his arm and he smiled, letting her brush close to his torso.

His gaze went to his wife, who was staring at him, eyes blank and lips parted softly. She looked a little upset.

Which was understandable but still annoying. They weren't in love or anything and he wasn't cheating on her. Jisoo was a friend. He was allowed to have those. Jiah had no right to look at him with suspicion or with entitlement. He didn't owe her all her time. He wondered if she would react if he were to confront her now. As it is , he let himself stare right at her, half wishing that she would talk back to him.

But the moment their eyes met, Jiah looked away, entire body shifting as though in embarassment. He frowned , but lightly patted the soft fingers curled on his arm. He turned to Jisoo with a smile, taking in the pretty elfin features. The perfectly curled hair , threaded with gold and jeweler pins fell in soft ropes around her face, her lips tinted red and her cheeks brushed rose. She looked enchanting and unreal and he felt his blood stir in arousal, the need to feel her under him suddenly overwhelming.

He glanced back at Jiah and she looked a little green , her face ashen. His eyes narrowed when she shifted and looked around in a mild panic. Oh God, what was it now?

Irritable, he gently pulled away from the beautiful omega next to him.

" Excuse me, dear. I need to check on my wife." He said apologetically and she frowned staring at where he was looking.

"What's wrong?" Jisoo asked sharply but he ignored her, already moving to his mate.

Which was just as well, because the moment he reached her, her eyes rolled back and she toppled right into his arms.

She had fainted .

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

" I'm sorry we had to cut this short but I hope your mate feels better soon, hyung." Jungkook's voice was laced with genuine concern and Namjoon nodded, hugging the younger alpha tight.

Junghee looked just as sympathetic, next to him.

" She'll be fine . I tried to get her to stay but she's been panicking a lot and refuses to let any of the healers here examine her. I think she'll be more comfortable with your pack healer. " She said gently.

Namjoon nodded, glancing back at Jiah who sat side-saddle on one of the smaller ponies, her eyes wide and face still ashen. He had tried to tell her it would be okay , but she had insisted on going home. The stark terror on her face had unsettled him deeply. He didn't know why she was so scared of the Jeon healer? Could it be because he was a man? Whatever the reason she hadn't let him examine her and because he couldn't ask her to just forget about the whole thing ( he was still head alpha , he still had to set an example as a caring mate. ) Namjoon had been forced to arrange for their return back home.

He had left Seokjin and Taehyung behind to carry the talks on his behalf, and Jisoo stood a few dozen feet away looking annoyed as he gave her

an apologetic smile.

The journey back to the Main village would be a couple of days and he had packed enough food for the both of them.

As he turned back to mount his stallion, he caught a glimpse of her face as she stared at him.

She looked lost , apologetic and clearly upset.

And he wondered if he would have to spend the rest of his life reading her face, trying to figure her out.

He has no interest in either.

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

The journey became incredibly tiring, especially when the skies opened up on them. Rain Lashed the ground , intent on soaking the earth and Namjoon watched her shiver, trembling as they all huddled beneath the shade of some trees, blankets wrapped tight around her thin torso. Why was she so thin? Why did she look at food like it was poisoned?

They were only a mile from home but had to stop, the deluge was far too strong for the animals to see ahead of them.

Namjoon himself sat next to an omega from the clan. He recognised her as one of the maids his mother had given to Jiah.

" Is your mistress doing well?" He asked gruffly and the omega startled, bowing twice in respect before answering.

"I...she ... She doesn't say much, alpha." The girl blushed under his gaze, looking away nervously and he frowned, glancing back at Jiah.

So it wasn't just him, then. She didn't trust anyone. He stared at her till she felt the heat of his gaze and looked up, eyes wide like a startled bird, like one of the starlings that nested in the wooden beams of his hut. She looked surprised, then terrified, eyes darting away at once and he tried not to growl in sheer frustration.

He wondered if it was because of his face.

Namjoon had no large feelings about his looks but he knew he was far from beautiful. ( A/N : A whole lie , I know but please bear with me for the story :*) it was one of the reasons he had wanted a plain looking bride. But perhaps his own chosen mate had , had dreams of marrying a very handsome man? Perhaps she had been infatuated with someone like that , from the clan?

It wasn't a far fetched idea. But still, she had been free to refuse his proposal. When he had first met the clan's watchkeeper, old man Gong in the humble hut on the outer borders of the pack land, he had made it clear that it wasn't some kind of order. She was free to refuse.

But she hadn't.

She had merely bowed and agreed and promptly appeared with a satchel full of her things and followed him back to his own home.

So why did she continue to act like she was here against her will?

It irked him no end.

As the skies cleared, they began their trek again and Namjoon pushed thoughts of her out of his mind. He had to plan for the winter, make sure there was enough food and also make sure they had enough herbs and liniments and oils in the apothecary. Mind drifting off to the countless things he was responsible for, Namjoon forgot all about his awkward mate and the reason they were going back home in the first place.

Which is why, when they reached home and he took his bath, cleaning himself up and finally settling down to some delicious food from the kitchens , his mother's words made him drop the chopsticks in shock.

" She is with child."

Namjoon stared at his mother in complete shock.

Fuck.

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

Authors Note : I had this idea and just had to write it. Hope you guys enjoyed it.

[windblooms]

childe scenario – after the golden house

you, an ex-fatui executive, decide against your better judgment and tend to the wounds of the near-dead 11th harbinger following his duel at the golden house.  spoilers for the 1.1 archon quest.

gender-neutral reader.  enemies to lovers  soft spot syndrome.  sfw, but contains mentions of blood/injury.  also childe briefly in foul legacy armor.  canon-divergence.  2669 words (nice).  

with the fatui’s nails so deep into the city, staying in liyue probably wasn’t your brightest idea in retrospect.  

you blame your sentimentality of liyue on the exact same thing that caused you to leave the fatui in the first place: wanting to live without fear.  while the fatui treated you well enough, as you were considerably efficient in your ranks, being part of a partially underground, partially illegal business wasn’t exactly the most liberating practice either.  it didn’t take long for you to realize that, behind their scheming and pretenses of fair economics, the fatui would have their underlings wound so incredibly tight around their fingers that their violent tasks would rapidly become suffocating. 

that is, once you were in the fatui, getting out would be akin to scaling qingyun peak with one arm tied behind your back.

the only reason you were able to?  because you ran.  you were desperate for a new life, sure, but also you weren’t below realizing when something was out of the question.  it took a few months to shake them off your trail, having to move constantly between fontaine and mondstadt, but you finally settled in liyue.

it was a quiet, peaceful city.  the governing body was fair enough with its jurisdictions, and after a year of hiding, you were able to enjoy the lantern rite festival without fear.

that is, until the northland bank sat its obnoxious ass down the street.

archons, really, once you found a place you thought was safe enough, you’d have to start moving again.  initially, you reasoned that it had been over a year, and that the fatui surely wouldn’t go hunting for a runaway executive.  hell, you weren’t even that high on the ladder.  however, a few run-ins with scaramouche and pulcinella had left you paranoid enough that, if they spotted you, they would surely put an end to your traitorism. 

honestly, you should’ve ratted them out to the knights of favonius while you were in mondstadt.  make a quick bargain, have jean toss a few coins your way, and you would be set.  it would’ve definitely been worth the trouble, now with the knowledge that the fatui were your neighbors.  

now, there’s no time to dwell on what you could’ve done.  it’s either run again, or hold your ground right under the fatui’s nose.  you might, sort of, maybe, probably do not have the funds to move for the third time in a row, but maybe counting couldn’t hurt –

no, yeah, it hurts, you grimace as you slide the coin bag back in your bedside drawer.  outside, it’s dark, and the sky seems a bit more disturbed than usual.  it isn’t usually overcast in liyue, and the blue lightning does nothing to quell your unease.  the streets are also empty, but lights illuminate each building.

from your window, a quick glance towards the northland bank reveals to you that it is uncharacteristically dark.  no lanterns, no lights.  you frown, troubled that the individuals you were so alert to monitoring, had a lifeless stronghold.  not typical of them at all. 

so, you decide while your long-time enemies are plotting (or whatever they’re doing that prompts them to close an entire bank for), now might be the best time to potentially make a run for it, light coin bag be damned.

hastily, you rid your apartment of personal belongings by unceremoniously shoving them into your bag.  if it’s one thing you were grateful for in this world, it’s archon magic.  you don’t fuss over the science behind it, but whatever made your bag feel like a bottomless pit was an actual life-saver.  packing is extremely efficient with it, and in less than fifteen minutes, you’re ready to go.

all that’s left is to write a thank-you note to the liyuen couple who let you stay while their son was out exorcising.  at the time, they assured you that you would be no trouble for you to take up a guest room, but nonetheless you tried to pay them with whatever you had left over after commissions.

you grab a writing utensil, still feeling a bit rude to leave on such short notice, and swear to yourself that you’ll visit in the future.  for good measure (after sullenly looking into your coin bag), you leave an acceptable(-ish) amount of mora on your former bed.

all right.  now, time to leave, with your foot out the door and wind scratching at your face, as if the odd overhead weather wasn’t already an omen.

you’re barely past liyue harbor, headed towards the luhua pools, when a comet shoots above you past mount tianheng.  no, not a comet, you realize as it dips from the sky, headed for landfall around a kilometer away.  a comet of water?

if a dead northland bank wasn’t the nail in the coffin, this surely is.  you’ve been around enough in the fatui to know that whatever fell from the sky has to be the work of a vision user, or some more powerful being.  turning towards where you estimate to be the crash site, you weigh your options.  you’re already outside of the city, and the fatui are probably preoccupied.  you can manage a detour for now and inspect the hydro-apparition.  regardless, you deem that the farther away you are from the water you are, the safer you might be from what’s about to happen – you look back towards liyue harbor, and nearly shudder at the rising tide and choppy waves. 

after about fifteen minutes of walking in the rain, you find yourself between the slope of the dunyu ruins and mount tianheng.  it’s vacant, save for the weathered ruins, and a sizable crater meters wide.  cautiously, you approach the edge, summoning your sword with one hand and conjuring your vision in the other.  you’re not going to let curiosity kill the cat, especially not if this turns out to be a prank by the archons.

in the center of the mess is, well, another mess.  you blink a few times, wary, as you discern that an individual lies in the rubble.  they’re actually conscious, you soon find out, as they righten themselves from the fetal position into a kneel, supporting their body weight with their arms.  their body is covered head-to-foot in dark, purple armor, and a red mask with a broken, center orb gleams faintly in the night.

it is only when you the individual looks up at you, straight at your head, do you realize that you should not be here this was a bad idea –

and then they collapse.

“shit,” you murmur to yourself, vision still pulsing in your palm, which has become increasingly sweaty.  you step back from the edge as an orb of water surrounds the armored-being, encasing him like a cocoon, before dissipating to reveal a much more vulnerable, tired man underneath.  his hair is matted to his face from the rain, yet a much smaller mask rests on his eyes; his clothes are somewhat torn (you suspect that whatever had happened, his armor absorbed most of the damage), and you can very faintly see his chest heave. 

but, ah, speaking of his clothes,

they were the colors of the fatui.

“no, no, bad idea,” you tell yourself over and over again, sword put away yet vision still bouncing in your hands.  you walk away from the crater briefly, before walking towards it again, peaking down to check on the fallen man, and then scamper back.  the whole idea was to run away, not go straight to them, as if you had managed to doom yourself after all.  

pacing back and forth, you contemplate for another minute.  he’s clearly injured, with how he’s laying on the ground and not moving, so the nice, not-so-hardened part of you wants to help him.  if he was a regular civilian, surely you’d already be down there and trying to take him back to liyue and patch him up, but he’s with the enemy.  no way someone who can transform into armor is just an underling, so he’s probably someone exceptionally powerful –

“i see you,” a voice comes from the crater, and your vision nearly explodes in your hands from your nerves.  summoning your sword quicker than you ever have in your life, you steel yourself towards the bottom of the crater.

except, he’s not holding a weapon to your face, or threatening to skewer you into a million pieces.  except, he’s not scowling at you, or demanding you assist him at once before he blows something up.

instead, he’s on his knees.  looking up at you with the desperation of a man completely robbed, crippled from something he can’t speak of yet wants to scream about.  his eyes, now free from the mask, pierce into you with a vividness that could rival the richest hues of luhua, and archons damn it do you melt. 

you melt, and realize you should run away.  you melt, all while cursing yourself, that this man might not be so kind as to spare you in the future, when he’s back at his full health.  you melt, thinking that, well, you haven’t seen him before, so maybe he doesn’t know who you are either.  you melt, even as you extinguish your vision and put away your sword, and slide to the bottom of the crater to lug his limp body back to the top, to the shelter of the ruins, and rummage through your bag for medicine.

he hasn’t said anything for the past ten minutes, and you’re thankful that there’s finally someone from the fatui who can keep their mouth shut, even if this is half-beaten to death.  “you’re not dying on me,” you insist, as if your words could will him back to full consciousness.  “not when i’m risking my life for someone like you.”

as you work on bandaging his arm, out of the corner of your eye you swear you see his mouth twitch.  is he trying to speak?  no, you want some silence for a bit longer, but pause as you notice a gash on his torso.

“this is medically consensual, okay?”  you wait two seconds to see if he objects, before unbuttoning the lower part of his coat and applying pressure on the wound.  the blood has soaked through his clothes, and just as eagerly, seeps into the cloth you’re shoving against it.  the man stirs as you continue to clean his wounds, and when his eyes open, you’re too preoccupied with your short supply of towels to notice.

when you’re aware of a gaze on you, however, you turn towards him with a hardened face.  you already know what you’re going to say.  even if he doesn’t know who you are, you’re going to make it clear that, for your own satisfaction, you won’t help him back to liyue and he’ll have to make the walk himself.

“you were out there,” you say simply, motioning towards the crater with a nod of your head.  “i’ll patch you up, but you’ll have to get further help yourself.”

the man with eyes of the deep regards you, but you busy yourself by applying gauze.  he’s propped up against a pillar, and you’re crouching at his side.  when you’re about finished, only then do you meet his eyes.

he beats you to whatever you’re about to say.  “i didn’t think,” he starts, and you’re already frowning, “that you’d come back.”

ah, referencing when you practically left him in the crater.  his words are vague enough when he says that you ‘came back’ that you aren’t too tense, and you indulge him in a bit of silence before responding.  “not like i’m used to rescuing people who fall from the sky.”

despite his injuries, the man manages a laugh.  he seems almost flustered at your statement, although you can’t understand why.  underneath his soaked bangs, his eyebrows rise, and he seems almost . . . nervous?  you can’t possibly fathom as to why, but dismiss your curiosity.  the more small talk he coerces you into, the longer you’ll spend with him.

you finish sealing the gauze, tossing the roll back into your bag before commanding it to disappear.  blood has soaked into the ground at his sides, also you’re sure that it’ll was away with time.  you’re about to stand up, satisfied with your good-samaritan duties for the day, when he stops you by locking his fingers around your wrist.

he’s in the middle of saying something, but you refuse to let him, drawing your sword and pointing it directly at his throat, his mouth agape as he releases his hold on you.  you consider each other, and when you’re certain you have the upper hand, you draw your line.

you spit the words like venom.  “do not touch me, fatui.  i’ve done what i can for you, and you won’t be getting anything else from me.”

your blade doesn’t lower from his form, and as you stand above him, you regard his hands, as if he might summon his own weapons in an instant.  if he’s smart (which you think he is yet simultaneously pray he isn’t), he’s probably plotting how to get out of your sword’s reach.  you’re not going to let him, after you’ve been so self-sacrificing, putting your life on the line for someone affiliated with the organization that suffocated the life out of you.

a tilt of the head, yet silence from his mouth.  he seems surprised that, while you allowed him to laugh mere moments earlier, you’re now pointing your weapon at him, although something in the ease of his facial features tells you that he’s not concerned in the slightest.

“i wanted to say thank you,” he breathes finally, and you look as if he’d just punched you in the gut.  “being in your position probably isn’t easy, and i’m the last one you wanted to see, but you still . . . ”

fuck, no, not this.  you don’t know if he’s a prophet, if he knows who you really are, or the ‘i’m on the run’ stamp on your forehead is that obvious, but you aren’t going to fall for the fatui’s words.  your fists clench, and you once more prepare to denounce his organization,

and you’re disarmed in an instant, sword thrown to the side and fingers restricted by his larger grasp.  archons, you couldn’t even see him move, what a deceptive bastard, feigning injury –

“stop,” he hushes, and despite your fury you register it as a plea, not a command.  the man repeats himself, before continuing,  “we won’t haunt you any more; i’ll make sure of it.”

five seconds, then ten.  you had determined that his grip was too strong to break free of, and are left in no position to move unless he releases you.  he holds your gaze without a hint of malice, even though you try your hardest to find any in his eyes.  

when he does let go of you, fingers skimming past your flesh, you run faster than you ever have before.

you run, past the ruins, past the harbor, and until you can’t see liyue behind you any more.  you run, unable to see a palace fall from the sky and crash into the ocean, and until you’re surrounded by mountains and there’s not a ginkgo tree in sight.  you run, unsure if his words are true, but certain that he knows who you are.

you won’t trust him.  as you lay on the ground, wheezing to catch the air that’s left your lungs, you once again swear to yourself that you can’t trust the words of the fatui.  

as the northland bank lights ignite themselves in welcome of its master, childe presses a hand to his bandaged torso.  a spark of your vision lingers between his fingers, and he observes it before it disappears.

he’s already hurt enough people.  he heads to the second floor, and erases your name from the fatui files. 

[cryptiql]

smoke signals

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, mentions of anxiety and abuse, but otherwise okay. please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 6.5k

a/n: this is my first ever mha fic and the fact that i decided to do dabi first shows i have some massive balls but i'm giving it a try! if he seems ooc at all or i get some facts wrong, please lmk and i'll fix them. (heavily inspired by smoke signals by phoebe bridgers—would recommend listening to it or any of her other songs while reading)

dabi found the meaning of life in a simple strum of chords; a melody twisted by melancholy tunes that resonated deep within the gates of his mind. they haunt him—either by breaking his conscious from a much needed rest to bring him tossing and turning in the damp air of the loft, or making sure that he stayed wide awake during the late hours of the night and well into the creeping day. the lyrics are so surreal that he has to sit down and contemplate their meaning like an english teacher would to the color red, but they're painted saccharine and drip with honey flowing from the mouth that sings them and he hates it. he hates that he's wasted moments better spent wrecking havoc just to understand that stupid little ditty that clings to his heart like a leech. but this song did not come from his own craft—no.

dabi had known the putrid stench of sweat and vermillion blood when the flames licked at his skin, breaching the coarse flesh of his palms to rain hellfire upon all those who dared oppress him. he could weave lies with knots that would take years to unravel, and set whole cities ablaze with a mere finger. clawing oneself from a well built to drown them in their trauma does tend to leave scars on ones hands, and dabi's body was practically a canvas for mutilation, so he could consider himself an expert on the matter. he could attempt to make such a song by strapping in with his many hours of free time and diligent persona, but his hands were not made for music; neither delicate, sonorous tunes or dark, grating strains. they were made for war.

so if anyone had asks, "no" is his answer. "i don't play." and yes, it is while he's drumming a rhythmic beat that he claims this to be true, but the last thing he thinks about is donning a set of drums during his free time. he's far too distracted by the image of your taper fingers curled around the neck of your guitar to consider anything else.

the gentle but keen plucking of chords startles him from yet another ridiculously long-winded spiel by shigaraki, and dabi swallows a strangled groan behind his grinding teeth. it's in his head, now, and so far the only thing that has succeeded in reaping it from his memory—if only for a few minutes—is the blood stained battlefield that he's found himself fighting on far too many times this month alone.

what's he complaining about, though? it's not as though he minds getting down in the dirt. in fact, he's ecstatic to dig his claws into any gruesome ordeal so long as it benefits him in some way, so why is he so invested in this little to and fro game of twenty questions with the likes of you; someone as significant in the world as a paperclip without paper to hold? why come back, despite there being nothing in it for him besides a series of migraines?

not from you, a voice answers from inside. you're an absolute pleasure.

dabi nearly snarls at the confirmation that his own mind is turning against him, and as he does this, a plume of smoke erupts from his lips, billowing and curving to create intricate patters before dissipating into the atmosphere. a second time. a third. a fourth drag from the cigarette has completely obscured his face from anyone's view, and he relishes in the instant of privacy it gives him. however, it has also blocked him from seeing everyone else in the room, and while he normally would have considered that a blessing, it appears tomura has had enough of it.

you get headaches because you smoke too much, comes a second voice; yours, scolding in a way he'd only expect from a worried mother. dabi only has a split second to register it before shigaraki's head pokes through the fumes, red eyes alight with rage and lips pulled back into a snarl.

"would you quit doing that inside? it's fogging up my brain and i can't think straight." he grates.

"strange—i assumed there wasn't a brain in there to fog up in the first place." tomura's nostrils flare and dabi's pride spikes.

"besides, you came in here and looked directly at me as i was smoking—why didn't you ask me to stop then?"

"i was telling you with my eyes, idiot. you should know when it's time to either take it outside or put the damn thing out. there are ashtrays for a reason, and not everyone here wants to inhale that shit." he interrupts their intense staring contest only to wave his hand to clear the smog. now he can see the rest of the league clearly (oh joy, he thinks) and gives an indignant grunt when spotting toga at the bar table, covering her mouth and nose as a pitiful aim to block her lungs from the smoke. twice, who had unfortunately used up the last pack of his own cigarettes that morning, leans forward to take a whiff, exhaling soon after with satisfaction.

kurogiri stands at his usual spot behind the bar, seemingly unaffected as he idly scrubs away at grime infested glasses, while sako lounges at the opposite end of the room. his mask is on, leaving dabi to wonder if it's been like that all day, or if he just recently put it on to better fend off the fumes. he doesn't really care, whatever the case.

after a beat of silence, dabi wets his lips to respond, a lopsided smirk growing on his features.

"oh, i'm sorry your frail body hasn't adapted to a bit of vapor in the air. and with that flakey skin of yours, it's no wonder you're extra sensitive—"

shigaraki's hands come flying through the next waft to slam against the tabletop where dabi's feet lie, causing it to wobble and creak in protest. the ravenette doesn't even flinch as the harsh, raspy words are spat in his face.

"if you're not going to pay attention, then leave. actually, i'd prefer you do that either way."

and dabi would have happily disregarded his request if not for the faint ringing in his ears, rising higher and higher before receding back into his skull like the tide. a scowl morphs its way onto his once vacant expression as he puts pressure on his temple, rubbing softly where his eyebrows knit together. just for today, he'll indulge his so-called boss's whims. the piercing screech that emits from below when he pushes his chair back does nothing to help with the ever-growing headache, but it hardly matters now that he's headed out the exit. he's able to catch the last fragments of shigaraki's raving before the door closes, leaving him to stand amid the tumult of the city in all of its glory.

the alleyway is dark with looming shadows, but people are still milling about, so dabi considers himself lucky for already being dressed in his disguise. he flips his hood up, pulls the surgical mask over his nose and quickly slides on his sunglasses for good measure before slipping out into the traffic, sometimes going with the flow and then weaving past those moving too slow for his liking.

right now, his patience is a mere thread; hair thin and on the edge of snapping whenever someone bumps his shoulder. their negligence is infuriating, and he's tempted to roast them into a charred, mangled mess then and there—the consequences of blowing his cover be damned—but by some miracle, he manages to refrain from doing so. it takes about five minutes for his temper to shorten to the length of a matchstick, and he knows that one more shove will be what strikes it. dabi pauses for a moment to crane his neck, allowing the sea of people to flow around him like a stream to a rock as he searches for an alternative route. it appears as though he'll have to take his chances with the crowd until he hears the repetitive ringing of a bell and a man's voice calling for passengers to board. public transport was risky, what with him being a menace to society, but he can't possibly be the single most shady dressing person on the train, right?

he wouldn't bother answering his own question when daylight was burning, so dabi pushes himself from the swarm and leaps for the streetcar just as it begins pulling away from the stop. there's a shuddering jolt before the passengers settle in for their departure, and as his palms squeeze the metal railing in response, he notices the peeling red paint clinging to the car's exterior and finds himself staring at it for a ludicrous amount of time, not thinking about anything in particular.

the rickety trolley is semi-packed with civilians, none of whom regard his presence with anything more than a noncommittal glance. good—that makes his job ten times easier. to his chagrin, it runs over more than a few opposing train tracks or crudely paved bumps in the road, and this causes the whole cart to jostle before stilling completely, the process repeating itself over and over.

the knowledge that his trip to the outskirts of town is a short one is the only thing that calms his nerves.

when dabi finally arrives at his destination, the sun is gradually descending from its peak in the sky, and the clouds are more like wispy tufts than the luscious, cotton candy lumps they were just hours earlier. overhead, the baby blue hues turn to shades of opal; a forewarning of rain. the feelings of irritation and malice from earlier are still bound to him like chains that threaten to snap him in half when drawn too tight. the crippling weight causes his feet to drag along the gravel path at a sluggish pace, his own hot breaths fanning against his face from behind the mask. if anyone actually lived out here and they were to see him, their first impression would be that a living corpse had just waltzed onto their property. it was just his luck, then, that you were the only person out here, and by extent, the only one not deterred by his appearance.

even so, dabi's mind kicks into gear. was this a good idea? he doesn't even know why he came here—he just needed a place to blow off steam and his body had already made the choice on its own. this isn't any different from all the other times, though, and he can't ignore the fact when it sits in the pit of his stomach like an anchor. you're always the first person he goes to at times like these (dabi subconsciously rules out the man working at the local 7/11 who sells his liquor cheap, though he's still appreciative of the bottle to numb his thoughts). that tells him more than he wants to know.

your house is quaint, like those old country cottages he sometimes sees pictures of, and squats on a large, grassy mound of earth surrounded by heaps of rocks and sand from the neighboring beach. it merges with a towering lighthouse, and dabi notes that there must not be any sailors due to make port yet, otherwise the light would be on. the second thing he takes in are the flowerbeds sitting under your two front windows, and how they look withered and close to death.

"i wanted to add some color, but i can't keep plants alive for shit." you had said, huffing in amusement to yourself as you tended to the weeping alliums. "succulents are the only exception."

a small pot of them sits on the windowsill, but they seem to have gotten to big for it; the rubbery leaves spilling over the cracked rim. he hardly registers how much of a stalker he must look like until he stands on your welcome mat, peering through the dirty glass panes to find you nowhere in sight. the lights aren't on, so he can only see the outlines of furniture when bands of light stream in to reveal them.

sitting back on the balls of his feet, dabi curses under his breath. it's not like he was expecting anything. how was he supposed to know whether or not you were home when you had no way of telling him?

"jesus, patch!" a shout startles him from his brooding, but he doesn't let it show as he looks towards to ocean. you're hauling yourself over a large rock to wave him over, wearing a familiar grin. so that's why he couldn't see you. dabi makes careful work of leaping over jagged stones and threatening to bake any nosy seagulls as he makes his way to where you sit, with your favored instrument slung over your shoulder. the ghost of a smile graces his lips when he recalls how you would have scolded him for being mean to the birds, but that was before last week.

"pesky fucking bastards—they keep shitting on my music sheets!" another seagull waddles into your vicinity, only to squawk in distress as you shoo it away with your foot. "i wonder if this is natures way of telling me to quit while i'm behind. . ."

after breaching the treacherous terrain and nearly scraping himself in the process, dabi squats on the stone beside yours, looking up at you with hooded eyes. you meet his gaze with nothing short of merriment and a shake of your head.

"if someone had seen you, you would have been arrested on the spot for being a peeping tom." you chuckle, combing a hand through your hair with a smirk. "what? you lookin' you catch me in the nude or something?"

dabi scowls, choosing to ignore the question rather than give into the bait. as if i would be satisfied by looking at anyone but you in that state. he swats the air as if it would drive the notion from his mind like a bothersome fly.

"in the middle of fuck-ass nowhere? i'd never get caught."

"aw, don't be like that. if you really wanted a peek you could've just asked." the mocking tone in your voice spurs him to smack your thigh, which earns a hearty laugh in reply.

"ooh, don't treat me so roughly, or i might begin to like it!"

dabi has had more than enough experience with your flirtatious tendencies, and he feels he should have gotten used to it by now, but his heart still clenches every damn time. the worse part? he can't say that he minds. you don't give him a chance to respond, but dabi hasn't a clue what he would have said, so he lets you continue, watching intently as you rifle through your bag to fish out a guitar pick. shifting into a crisscross position, you perch the guitar on your lap and begin tuning the strings, idly talking about how uneventful the past days have been. dabi pretends not to have heard that it was because he wasn't there to visit, and instead gives his attention to the lighthouse in hopes that you won't see the faintest of reds dusting his ears.

five minutes pass before you actually start playing, and even then, it's only a few experimental notes here and there that help you build towards the perfected melody.

it's too sweet for his taste; dabi swears that's why his stomach turns so ferociously and prompts him to lean against the boulder to his right for some sort of stability. he won't even humor the idea that it's because of the way your lips twitch into a near half-smile before melding back into a concentrated frown the moment you strike a wrong cord. an embarrassed flush captures your cheeks as you study the music sheets, briefly pressing down on them when a sudden breeze flutters the pages. the pencil that was once tucked behind your ear now sticks out from one corner of your mouth, a flash of pink and orange melding together when you go to absentmindedly gnaw on the wood.

many more minutes fly by, and you've long since abandoned the new tune just to pick up an old one. dabi's back straightens at the first set of strings you pluck, and he recognizes them as the same ones that have been playing on repeat in his head since the day you met.

dabi's heart hammers in tune with every footfall that slaps against the pavement, tearing through the small pools of water that grow with every second. it hasn't stopped raining since the chase began, and there isn't an inch of him that hasn't been soaked through. still, something good must come from this little dilemma—the burning sensation that clings to his arms has almost settled down. the silhouettes of trees merge with inky blackness when he blinks, and he reaches with trembling hands to wipe the droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes.

a yellow square of what assumes to be light shines in the distance, contrasting wildly adverse to the darkness that sweeps him up from under his feet and pushes him forward. the sound of police sirens has been reduced to a mere memory in the time that was running, but he isn't about to risk going back to the league's base in fear of a stakeout waiting to get the jump on them. besides, why stop there when the possibility of shelter awaits him?

the bottoms of dabi's shoes are slick with mud, and blades of grass have snuck their way under the cuffs of his jeans to scratch at his skin. the sensations paired with the numbing cold are beyond uncomfortable, but he won't have to worry about that once he gets inside—that being if the person inside doesn't put up a fight.

he'd expect them to be mad if they did anything except that, no matter how welcoming the house looked. dabi's instincts tell him that someone out this far from the city doesn't a have a lot of connections, and thus killing them wouldn't cause an uprising if it were needed, but the minute he grips the doorknob, a thought occurs. if they have a quirk, its power could level my own or even surpass it. . . he grits his teeth. but like hell i'm going to let them win.

the hesitation vanishes in an instant as dabi turns the knob and thrusts himself inside, wielding a blue flame in his dominant hand to further illuminate the room. the wind is so fierce that it pulls the door shut for him, and the villain finds himself staring down the unperturbed figure of another man, perhaps around his age, hunched over a stove and glaring at a steaming kettle. they lock gazes, and almost immediately, the kettle gives a high pitched whistle. you look away first, lifting the pot and turning the burner off whilst opening the cupboard overhead to pull out two mugs, both of which adorn ugly christmas-themed patterns that dabi wishes he could forget ever seeing.

his glare hardens when you move to the table in the far corner and begin pouring what he assumes to be tea, taking one cup into your own grasp and leaving the other at his own disposal. your one mistake is grabbing your phone from the counter, but when dabi's flame enlarges, you hold your arms up in defense. then, before he can even formulate a proper threat, you toss the phone to him. he catches it easily and observes the dark screen, masking his astonishment with a more sinister expression.

the only other move you make is to drape yourself across a cushion on the window seat with an acoustic guitar in hand. you look more relaxed by the second despite being cornered by a dangerous criminal, and dabi has to refrain from voicing his shock when you address him with an almost bored tone.

"if the tea isn't to your taste, there's more in the cabinet. shower is down the hall to your left, and there's a spare bedroom upstairs to the right. do whatever the hell you want, just don't burn the place down or touch my freddie mercury records."

dabi is stuck to the spot for one of three reasons, he determines. one, your attitude has surprised him into a stupor that not even hiw own will can break. two, his refusal to believe that you're handling this situation in a calm manner is really just his defense mechanism kicking in, and he won't move until proven that you won't do anything when his back is turned. and three, you're quirk is similar to that of madusa's and you've successfully turned him into a fleshy mannequin.

"if you're worried about me calling the cops, what you're holding is the only working phone here. the power is out due to the storm, so my landline is dead, and the nearest form of help is a crippled old widow five miles west. i'm not going to risk running when i'm up against someone with a quirk."

dabi considers everything said, but never once allows his fire to dim. he took the surrounding area into account while making his escape, and he can see the landline is in fact out of service, so the male's assurances checked out. hell, the light source that guided him here was nothing but an old-timey oil lamp. the fact that you're quirkless does him a great amount of good as well.

with cautious steps, dabi makes a beeline for the bathroom, but he stops halfway to stare at you again. you respond by quirking a brow and kicking your feet up, something akin to mischief in your guise.

"i can take the shower with you since you're so afraid i'll make a break for it." you drawl, and dabi snarls, a fowl cuss bubbling in his throat as heat crawls its way up his neck.

"why, with a blush like that you might not need any drying off~."

dabi decides that he's had enough and storms down the hall, already peeling off his dripping clothes and and silently promising that he'll burn the guy to a crisp if he so much as tries to catch a peek. he can hear you calling out in hilarity even as he slinks into the shower and attempts to drown you out with the static-filled haze that captures his senses.

"the name's, y/n, by the way!"

try as he might, dabi had never been able to keep from coming back. now the reason why has been revealed to him on a silver platter, and he won't even spare it a glance.

your soft singing snaps him from his reminiscing as he stretches his legs, stifling a groan when something pops as not to disturb you. while digging through his pockets for a cigarette, he stops momentarily for fear of forgetting how to breathe when he lays his sights on you. you're in your own little world; everything else—him included— seems to have disappeared as you play from the heart. you need no standing ovation, no adoring fans or fantastic lightshows. you've said it once, that fame and glory mean nothing to you, and that you have all you could ever want or need right here, nestled in the beachside view of what you call home.

"and i have you." a cool breeze ruffles your dirt stained overalls as you reach up to wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. the sun beats down on you, never shining half as bright as your smile, and the shore kisses the boulders with waxing and waning waves of aquamarine; frothy, foamy masses washing up with it to carry lone strands of seaweed. "otherwise i'd go mad without your company."

okay, that was lie. the truth is right there, practically spitting in his face how much of an idiot he is for trying to deny it, and dabi is glaring right back at it. he feels like an impatient kid on christmas eve, sneaking glimpses of gifts under the tree and feeling like he's committed a felony after getting caught. and you do catch him.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" there it is—that stupid nickname. it's always been laced with mirth when you call him as such, but now it's replaced by genuine curiosity. and is that a hit of concern he hears? you study him with pursed lips and stony features that gradually morphs into that of concern when the silence stretches on. dabi forces himself to sneer at you, and something stirs inside his chest when you don't flinch.

he hates it. he hates you.

dabi nods to the sky, a guarded noise building in the back of his throat as he tugs on his earlobe.

"s'gonna rain." your jaw visibly clenches, but you humor his evasive habits just like you always have, looking to the clouds, which have darkened considerably in the last hour or so. it's around this time that the weather patterns become more unpredictable, but you've noticed the distinct lack of rainfall in spite of the gathering storm brewing overhead. you could sit out here for a while longer without much activity in the sky, and it would take more than a little shower to drive you inside, especially when you finally had the chance to enjoy some quality time with dabi. you notice the way his shoulders droop and the tension from his facial muscles all but disappears when he sits amidst the smell of fresh salt water and unpolluted air—the weight of his past slowly but surely ebbing away. you'd like to hope you have some part in that. oh god, do you ever hope.

you plead to whatever omnipresent being above that he's not just here to hit a blunt without getting reprimanded for it, or that he's making these daily visits out of pity.

"nah. it's been like this for a little while—looks like a storm will hit, but then it passes before it even begins." you sling the guitar back over your shoulder and gather up your music sheets, eyeing dabi from your perch. you're challenging him now, and normally you would never dare force him to speak if he didn't want to, but something about his aura is off. you can sense it in his words; the very air he breathes; and it compels you to hold him close, if only he would let you.

"so, you gonna tell me why you're avoiding the ques—" a deep rumble interrupts you, and dabi lets out a sigh of relief that you're thankfully too distracted to hear. a single drop of water hits your nose, followed by another, and another, and—

"you were saying?"

"oh shut it." you don't get to finish speaking, for a crack of lightning strikes the far end of the beach, scattering sand in every direction. you just barely manage to scoop up your belongings before sliding from the rock, but your footing betrays you and send you stumbling to the ground. dabi is there to catch you, wasting no more time in hauling you to your feet and rushing you as carefully as possible through the jagged maze. he can't refrain from smiling when you splutter a string of profanities pass poorly hidden laughter, an unmistakable "FUCK ME!" spilling into the cold evening when you accidentally stub your toe on a particularly sharp stone. it's pouring within seconds, and no sooner do you reach the doorstep do you both realize how sopping wet you are.

the last thing you think of is your chattering teeth, however, when you see dabi's spiky tufts of hair dripping with residue and his electric blue eyes gazing into yours. what you do think is that for the first time in your painfully ordinary life; your twenty three years of mediocrity and progressive isolation from the world around you; you have found the single person who understands your struggles and has chosen—for some unfathomable reason—not to abandon you. you wish you could say your parents were the same, but you also have scars from a distant childhood that brought you to this place.

this old lighthouse is your home, yes, but dabi is your sanctuary. he might as well be a god by how often you worship him from afar, wondering if ever you'd be so lucky; so eternally blessed; as to call him yours.

you don't register that he's opened the door to let you both inside until a cozy warmth envelopes you. no, wait, that's dabi's fire. it should terrify you that the same man who threatened you with those flames is now at arms length, but you trust him not to hurt you in any way, and so you lean into the gentle licking of heat on your skin, humming in content as your shivering comes to a halt.

dabi's fear of burning you diminishes when you flash him a grateful smile, a whisper of thanks echoing across the walls and pummeling his heart without resistance. he averts his eyes with a curt nod, a feeling like molasses weighing down his tongue and drowning the words he wants to say.

"you're welcome." is all he can muster.

half an hour later, your guitar is drying by the hearth and the two of you are huddled on the window seat, nursing cups of coffee and watching the storm in a comfortable silence. you haven't blinked in a while, meaning you've wandered off the tracks of consciousness as suspected, and pretty soon, you start singing quietly to yourself; the deep crooning used as background noise to your aimless meditation. dabi nudges your calf with his foot and is rewarded with a brief quirk of your lips and a nudge back. he doesn't have the patience nor the brain power to decipher how long this goes on for, but it doesn't matter.

this is fine. the image of red hair and a tall, intimidating figure invades his train of thought, and dabi curls inwards on himself. this is fine.

but it's not.

trembling, he places his mug on the table before retracting back into his seat, clasping his hands together. he tries visualizing the ties of his life coming together to form a rope. the fingers on his left—memories from his past—linking together with those from his right—memories made with you. his palms connect, bringing instant relief with the knowledge that he's here now, practically nestled between your legs, out of harms way. you're both fine.

dabi takes the swelling anxiety and pretends to crush it within his fist; clenching and unclenching it until his peace of mind returns.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" you ask again, still in somewhat of a trance. this time, dabi answers.

"why do you call me that?"

you're caught of guard, half expecting him to ask why you haven't turned him in to the authorities. you've seen him without his disguise, you know his name, and for the past eight months you've been socializing with him like normal human beings do. that's more than both of you could have said in the past. of all the burning questions, he chose that one? "i've heard 'patchwork' and 'staples' and just about everything in between. why shorten it to patch?"

you gape at him, opening your mouth, then closing it, and so on. the pitter patter of rain against the window has ascended into relentless pelting. it sounds like gunfire to dabi; assaulting his ears in floods; but to you, it's nothing more than a waterfall hindering your view of the ocean. the deep breath you take seems to put more suspense in the atmosphere than needed, and it makes dabi's heartrate quicken for an entirely different reason, yet he makes no sign of stopping you.

"because my first thought whenever i see you is how much you remind me of a doll." oh. what?

you can tell by dabi's reaction that that wasn't what he was expecting, so you gesture for him to wait. he isn't sure he likes the forlorn expression you're wearing.

"typically, when kids first get a doll, they treat it like glass and make sure to tend to it with love. other times, doll owners are reckless and tear them apart just to stitch them back together like nothing happened. you use that camouflaged to blend in with the public, and i'm lucky enough to see what's under it. . .but sometimes i wish you'd keep the mask on so i don't have to see you upset."

upset? a fizzing sound erupts from his palms that he struggles to put out. he's not upset.

"don't try to hide it. you're always scowling when you think i'm not looking, or when you forget i'm even here, and i know it's because someone broke you without the intent of fixing you up."

once more, red clouds dabi's vision, and he moves to stand up.

"you had to clean up after their mistakes because no one else would, but instead of reusing the bits and pieces of your old self, you burned them. you destroyed any and all evidence of who you used to be and now you're patching yourself together with parts that aren't your own, because you don't want to hold onto what happened. though, something tells me you still haven't let go, otherwise you wouldn't be so angry."

"you don't know that!" he snaps, but he knows it's not true.

your hand closes around his wrist, and dabi recoils with such strength that it yanks you from your seat. dabi doesn't want you to let go, no matter how much he thrashes in place, because the sensation of your skin on his grounds him. somehow you know this, and you give a comforting squeeze to his pulse.

"but that's not all i see. because dolls are beautiful, and it's the ones who still love them after they're broken that they need the most. no one's told you they think you're beautiful, have they?"

dabi shakes his head, refusing to meet your gaze even when you cup his cheek with your free hand tilt it towards you. every touch is filled with hesitancy; feather light and more intimate than anything dabi has ever witnessed, let alone experienced personally. with the way you hold him like he's water in your hands, your eyes overflowing with a love he hasn't known in forever, dabi knows he won't find another feeling like it. you're not the embodiment of good—at least not by society's strict standards—but at least you can sit there and say you've committed a crime. you've never bloodied your hands by hurting others, much less gotten a thrill from doing so, and that's why he pulls away. he has to, because dabi is a harbinger of war, and if he holds you any closer it will only be to kill you.

he says something; a snarl mixed with a broken plea that he prays will make you stop; and you do. his silent victory doesn't last for long, though, because then you're using both hands to cradle his face and fuck, the pads of your thumbs grazing his scars feel like heaven. "won't you let me be the first?" how could he say no? how, when the taste of honey and whiskey is so addictive that he's already drooling into the kiss and willing to beg for more; when your mouth slots perfectly with his and dabi begins to wonder if he's stumbled right into the scene of a cliché wattpad story. the idea causes him to huff out a growl, and although neither of you can talk, he can imagine how strongly you must want to poke fun at him for the action. he can feel you smirking—the smug little bastard you are—and dabi ponders how long it will take to reduce that attitude of yours until you're submitting to him.

not yet. he chastises himself, completely unaware that you're currently thinking the same thing. dabi kneads the flesh of your hips through your jeans while you comb your fingers through his hair, gasping sharply between bruising, wet kisses and keening when he leans down to nurse your lips with soft pecks afterword. you're still trying to process the fact that you've coerced this devious criminal into making out with you in the pale glow of your seaside residence, but for the moment, you need not concern yourself with the details. you've forgotten all about dabi's ego and how this whole situation is no doubt feeding its flames. his grip on your waist is making you too delirious to care.

"fuck." dabi's breath is staggering when you finally pull back, an aura of clarity and desire hanging between the two of you.

"y-yeah. . .that was. . ." you can't produce a word, or even a paragraph to describe it. you know you're going to hit yourself later for admitting such a banal phrase in the midst of what could be classified as your very first kiss, but that is neither here nor there, and you would rather suffer an agonizing death than let dabi find out that he stole your first. you're too preoccupied envisioning all the other firsts to come, so you don't notice the way he stares at you like some precious jewel, but his fingertips brushing your bottom lip succeed in snapping you out of it.

"hm?"

dabi goes quiet, contemplating what to say as the thunder moves abroad and the rain comes to an end, leaving the house in a numbing state of tranquility.

"why not call me doll, then? it'd be easier."

you chuckle in response, playing with the hairs at the base of dabi's neck and making sure not to miss the way he melts into the affection. "i thought that'd be moving too fast." and dabi; still drugged from your kiss and what he can only hope is love; rasps out a genuine laugh, cupping your jaw with a tenderness that makes your knees weak.

"you offered to take a shower with me the night we met, and you think a nickname is moving too fast?"

you stick your tongue out at him, and dabi resists the urge to grab it, even if it's just a bluff.

"would you have let me call you that anyways?" you ask, something hopeful ridden in your tone. dabi feigns consideration as he looks to the ceiling, snickering when you smack his chest. eventually, he murmurs what you audibly hear as "brat" before resting his forehead on yours, an impish glint in his gaze.

"no."

you turn your chin up at him, giggling when he nips at the skin. dabi knows just as well that your attempts at escaping him are halfhearted, so he encircles his arms around your waist tighter, delighting in the flush that paints your cheeks.

"then i think i'll settle for my love, or darling, if that's alright with you."

dabi can't fend off the blush for his life, but he's not afraid if you acknowledge it. he can get you back easily, and he plans to. "fine by me, doll."