#it’s a twilight centered fic

[ohlookanothercartoontofallinto]

Wind WIP (I like Bar Code Language)

He hated him….okay scratch that, the sailor didn’t hate him, but he very much disliked and distrusted this man. Something about him made the sailor want to curl up and scream at him, to curse him to the ends of the earth. Only problem is he had no idea why. He had done nothing wrong, in fact he had actually saved the hero of the wind and his brothers so why….

The young sailor watched him from across the table. Sitting close to the Rancher and Champion. Happily talking to them as if he had known him forever, making them smile in a way Wind had hoped to one day achieve. It only took Jet a day. One day to make the entire group comfortable in a way the Sailor had always wanted, but could never quite do, he be lying if he didn’t say it stung. Jet…Wind scrunched his eyebrows, even his name sounded shady. The boy quickly looked down, watching his drink like it was the most interesting thing.

The chain had fallen into a new world, one, no hero recognized, so they assumed it was in between time, granted they were in the middle of the forest. Immediately the group had begun searching for any signs of life, and that’s honestly when something started rattling in Wind's bones. No one else felt it, the sailor had made sure to ask. However before anyone could provoke him to explain further, a hoard of moblins attacked. 

Then pretty boy Jet came along, with his curly strawberry blonde hair, perfect smile, and archery  skills that put half of them to shame. He said he was a hunter, but something in the pit of the sailor stomach told him that’s not all there is. Why that is, is still a mystery…. 

‘Jealousy?’ His mind trickled…Impossible what did Wind have to be jealous of? Sure he could make his brothers feel safe, and comfortable in the snap of the finger, and had the looks of a hero of legend, but jealous? Ha, that's just crazy….Right? 

"Rupee for your thoughts Sailor?" Jet asked calm and sweetly. 

When did everyone start looking at him? Wind's mind buzzed. He shrugged,"unfortunately my thoughts are a bit more pricey than just one rupee." He took a sip of his drink, not bothering to make eye contact with anyone, he already knew what faces they were making towards him. In that moment he really wished he wasn't the one known for his constant streams of dialogue. 

Apparently, the Captain decided he needed to reveal his younger brother's true nature. "Oh that's an absolute lie, you give your thoughts away for free!" 

The older heroes and Jet erupted into laughter, at Wind's expanse. The youngest simply stayed quiet, despite what his brothers might think, he didn't always give his thoughts away, what an idea if he did.

'When you treat me like a kid, I despise it! But I like it when you comfort me like I'm a kid….' 

'You all literally have spirits floating around you, you really think this will scare me?' 

'Why does wolfie hate me? Did I do something wrong? Maybe I should give up trying.'

'I don't trust Jet and I think he's dangerous and we should stay away from him.' 

All these and more were thoughts that no amount of rupees could buy, and would never give away willingly. 

"Perhaps," the voice pulled Wind out of his mind. "You really don't have anything behind those eyes. Since you're a youngling in life you haven't had enough experience yet?" Jet said in a joking manner. Thankfully his brothers were wise enough not to laugh, well accept Hyrule, only he laughed out of nervousness. 

Wind wasn't sure what the fellow heroes expected, what Jet expected. Did they think he would blow up and curse out Jet? Did Jet think he could just provoke him like that? What was the point of this? 

The Sailor glared at the Hunter, partly wondering if he looked at him long enough would he spontaneously combust? 

He did not, and Wind was forced to put on this cheesy grin. "Hmmmmmmmmm all right then," The youngest pushed back his chair abruptly. "I'm going to go take care of the bill then." He made his way to the bar counter the Inn's restaurant provided. 

 "You're gonna pay for it?" Legend called out. 

Wind didn't even bother to look back, rather simply lifting a bag up. "Hey, that's my wallet?!" The Captain cried. 

"Serves you right for throwing me into the spotlight." The sailor whispered, fully aware no one heard. 

"Evening Ma'am," he politely spoke coming towards the young barmaid. Who looked to be about fifteen years old. "Come to settle the tab for those ruffians over there," pointing his thumb towards the group. 

The young woman smiled at him, before looking towards the group and letting her expression sour. "Done something wrong have we?" The sailor pressed. 

"Oh no!" She startled, putting herself in check. "It's just…that man sitting with you the hunter…have you known him long?" She inquired, pulling out her books to make good on the amount owed. 

Wind whistled, 'interesting.' 

Jet had said this was his village and he frequented this Tavern often. The young hero watched her body language, her legs and hips were relaxed. Though her shoulders were quite tense. Face neutral and uncaring but her eyes pleaded. 

She's looking for an alliance. Wind knew the barmaid code for his Hyrule. He be willing to try it here. 

He leaned against the counter face happy and cheery smile but eyes as firm as stone. 

"Did you make sure to add the rum bread? I think we had about three baskets of it?" 

'What information do you have on him? Is he a danger to my party?' 

The young woman was taken aback, however held her position, only allowing her eyes to dance for a second. 

"Yes sir, however did you receive butter with it? Or sour cream instead?" 

'Possibly he can be two faced and quite obsessed with his hunt.' 

"Oh I also think we had a large order of venison as well." 

'What is his hunt?' 

"Yes sir, thou it was actually mixed meat." 

'Any rare beast he sees desirable.' 

"Should I tip the cook as well?" 

'Are you in any danger because of him?' 

"No sir, just me is all." 

'No, but I'm weary of him, you should be as well.' 

"What's your name?" The sailor asked returning to common speak. 

"Rosemary," the young maid giggled. 

"Nice to meet you Rosemary, you can call me sailor." He extended his hand to shake hers. 

She took it, "that's an interesting name, but it's nice to meet you. Are you planning on staying long?" 

Wind shrugged his shoulders, "not sure the man over there with the face tattoo decides when we move along." 

"Ah understood, your tab tonight will be 67 rupees. If you please?" She held out her hand. 

The sailor popped open the Captains wallet, "gladly!" He proceeded to pay for it and give her a 20 rupee tip. 

"Very generous of you, sailor!" She honestly seemed delighted. 

"It's the least I could do after such great service, also if you don't mind me asking which of the young men over there do you find appealing? I need an excuse for being over here for so long." He gave her a sneaky smile. 

She chuckled,"oh my, well" she gazed at the men sitting at the table. "The brunette with the freckles is quite the cutie if I do say so myself." She smiled looking towards Hyrule. 

Wind knew he was about to have a blast with this. "Why thank ma'am!" He began to step away. 

"Oh sailor," Rosemary's face was stern, "please be careful." 

Wind nodded, they both knew something was off. 

The sailor sat back down at the table, more laughter being caused by the hunter called Jet. 

"What took you so long, sailor?" Four whispered as the Captain snatched back his wallet. 

“Oh nothing, the young miss over there was just curious about our traveler.” He took a sip of his drink. 

Four gasped, “You don’t say!” the smith beamed at Hyrule. Catching the young teens attention. 

“Yes, told me she finds his freckled face quite cute.” That sentence caught everyone's attention. As Hyrule went bright red, looking towards Rosemary, she smiled and waved at him. Be became brighter and the teasing began. 

Wind was glad he pulled the attention away from Jet, staring at him from across the table. If Rosemary was right, this hunter was a threat, and there was no way the Sailor would allow him to continue like that.

[tachvintlogic]

I thought of this and just needed to write it out real quick.

The Chain was back in Time’s era, or as the old man liked to call it, “Time’s time.” The old man in question was with Twilight taking care of the horses and letting them have their exercise.

“Hey Pup, I want to show you something cool.”

Twilight followed his lead, knowing that “cool” invariably meant something completely bonkers and possibly reality breaking. Time walked over to his old horse.

“Now, watch closely,” said Time.

Epona trotted over to Time, and he positioned himself right in front of Epona. Right as Epona’s head collided with Time’s hitbox, Twilight heard the sound of Time pausing and unpausing every single frame. While to Time it probably sounded fine, Twilight only experienced the frame advancing so the sound effect seemed to occur every frame. It irritated his ears, but just as he moved his hands to cover them, Time stopped pausing and…nothing happened.

“Hold on, this trick is a little precise.”

Time set it up again, and now Twilight had his ears covered to muffle the sound. When Time stopped pausing, he teleported several meters away from Epona.

Twilight uncovered his ears. “How’d you do that?”

Time smiled. “If I’m about to be moved by her head hitbox, the displacement isn't applied immediately, so I can pause buffer and stack the displacement every one or two frames. Once I stop paused all the displacement I stacked is applied at once.”

“Huh,” said Twilight. He couldn’t do that with his horse.

“Something wrong?”

“You got so many cool movement options, and every ti— whenever I think I’ve seen them all you just pull out another one. All I have is just my boomerang.”

“Pup, your boomerang is cool.”

“I can’t gain infinite height with it like you can with bombs.”

“Hey,” Time gave him a pat on the shoulder. “That’s just because they were more diligent making sure your engine was nice and sound and not easily broken. A lot of tender love and care was put into it, by people with lots of experience.”

Twilight was not convinced. “Wild’s world had a lot of tender love and care put into it, and he can gain crazy height and distance with bombs.”

“That’s different. He has ragdoll physics.”

"Still…”

“It might not seem like it, but there are some benefits to not having a moveset like Wild’s.”

Twilight said nothing.

“Do you want to see if you can do the horse displacement with my Epona?”

“Yes.”

--[[Break]]—

The group was fighting a group of White monsters from Wild’s era at the edge of a cliff. Twilight was occupied by two Bokoblins each, pushing him near the cliff’s edge. In his periphery, he could see Wild dealing with his own group of monsters. He made a mental note to go help once he finished off these two and the frankly ridiculous amount of health they had.

However, just as he finished off one and knocked back the other, a Moblin took a wide swing knocked both Twilight and Wild off their feet. Wild ragdolled off the cliff’s edge while Twilight, only knocked back a predetermined amount based on his knockback animation, just barely remained on the cliff.

“Wild!” he heard Four yell.

The Moblin’s AI had originally targeted Wild, so it took a few moments for it to pick the next target on its priority list. That gave Twilight just enough time to finish standing up and roll away from the cliff and continue tearing through the Moblin and the monsters Wild was fighting. He knocked them all back with the ball and chain and rolled back to the cliff to check on Wild.

There he was, in the climber set jumping back up the cliff. “He’s fine!” Twilight yelled, and then rolled back to tear through the monsters he had knocked back.

He had gotten over half the Moblin’s heath when Wild jumped back into the fray next to Twilight.

“How come you didn’t get knocked down?!” Wild yelled.

“No ragdoll physics!”

“Lucky!” yelled Wild, electrifying all the enemies with a thunderblade. Twilight smiled to himself while he comboed into the hit-stun with the ball and chain.

The glitch in Time’s era is real: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epTwhuT7uvg&t=310s

[trumpkinhotboy]

“I’ll keep an eye on you”

Pairing: Jacob Black x Reader

Type: Not requested

Genre: A bit spooky, but mostly fluffy and comforting vibes

Warnings: Mention of blood and being chased after (but nothing too intense)

Rating: g

Word count: ~ 2K

Requests: Open! For Twilight wolfpack, Narnia and Harry Potter

A/n: Honestly, I’m really excited about this fic. I think it’s very sweet and comforting :3 My brain is bubbling with so many ideas lately so expect new pieces from me in the close future hehe. Also if you have any requests feel free to message me!!

I recommend listening to a Twilight Comfort playlist while reading this. Hope you enjoyy <33

*gif is not mine!!

Summary: After the reader survives an encounter with a vampire, they are still haunted by the memories of it. Luckily, they have a caring and protective friend who is always ready to ensure they feel safe and cared for, even in the middle of the night.

Wrong place, wrong time.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to erase the terrible images invading your brain. For a week now, they have been omnipresent, taking up all the space in your mind. They are the center and focal point of your thoughts for days on end. As you open them again, your vision adjusts to the darkness just enough for your gaze to fall on a strange form crouched in the corner of your bedroom. You could swear it’s alive. Swear it’s stalking you.

You jump out of your bed to turn your nightlamp on. Your heart feels like it might spring out of your chest of its own accord. Your breath is short, and for a moment, you think you’ll never be able to take one that will actually get air in your system.

The menacing form in the corner turned out to be a pile of dirty clothes, but you knew that. Since that day, you feel irrational and paranoid. Everything feels like a threat, and you are now constantly looking over your shoulder, paying close attention to any suspicious sound or absence of it. You’ve talked about it with Harry Clearwater when you unexpectedly met at the Reservation one day. You did not hear him coming, and he had set his heavy hand on your shoulder to get your attention. Which resulted in a glass shattering scream for you and a bad fright for the poor man. As he invited you in for a calming cup of tea, you unloaded the weight on your shoulder to him. It felt good to talk about it, knowing you could never do so with your dad and your friends. He assured you that it unfortunately was a very normal reaction from your nervous system. You had faced the world's most dangerous predator and had survived it without a single scratch. Of course it would take some time for your traumatized brain to go back to normal. You could never take credit for the fact that you even had a chance to go back to normal, and would never attempt to do so. Knowing very well that without Paul, Jared, and Embry’s arrival, you would not have lived to talk about this encounter.

When you focus and let your mind drift off, you can live the event again, as if you were back in time. The paralyzing fear, the blood in your veins feeling like icy water. There was nothing to be done against a creature like that. You remember the horror you felt as everything became silent around you. You were headed to Emily's cabin, a simple, straightforward walk through the woods. The birds suddenly stopped singing, even the soft wind had died down. The forest knew it was in the presence of something truly horrible and had seemed to hold its breath, along with every creature. The color of its eyes was like in every legend you had been told; crimson red, like fresh blood. Not one ounce of humanity in those orbs, just a bottomless pit of cruelty and hunger. The worst thing was the pull you remember feeling for a split second toward that monster. You knew it was its sole purpose, but felt embarrassed you had fallen for it. Shivers crawled down your spine as you recalled its ethereal and hypnotizing appearance. It’s like you can hear again the faint swooshing sound it made as it sprang towards you. You remember sending out a quick prayer to literally any entity who would be listening right now, but the blow never came. Next thing you knew, three giant beasts tackled it to the ground, gnarling and dismembering it in a matter of seconds.

You open your eyes and shake your head to try and physically get those horrible memories outside of your skull. You lay back in bed, anxiously watching every corner of your room for some sign of danger. You left the light open, you knew there was no chance you could fall asleep without it. You tucked yourself back in bed and tried to calm your breathing. You tried every technique you knew, hoping sleep would grace you with its embrace, but nothing worked.

You look back at the clock after a while. 1:15 am. It was too late for you to get out of bed, and morning was still so far away. You had school the next day and knew that if you spent one more night without sleeping, you wouldn’t be able to explain to your teachers why you dozed off again in their class without them calling your father.

In a last effort, you tried thinking about reassuring and comforting things. Curiously enough, one kept coming back to mind. A giant wolf, its fur a multitude of shades of brown and red. Its eyes were sweet and reassuring, containing a particular warmth. You looked at your phone, hesitating, but remembered his voice: “If there’s absolutely anything, call me okay?”

And so you did.

Twenty minutes later, you got a text. You quietly walked to your window, glad to see Jacob’s familiar shape outside your house. He was standing next to a tree, representing for once a friendly and reassuring shadow in the night.

He spoke quietly. “Having trouble sleeping?”

You nodded, a bit ashamed to admit such an infantile fear. Although, deep inside, you knew there was nothing childish about being afraid of the monster you had been warned about as a child, once you had come face to face with it.

“Are you sure you want to do this? I'd totally understand if you'd rather not stay. I mean it's late and you need to sleep. I don't know what I was thinking…”

“Don't be ridiculous." he cut you off. "I’m already here. And once you’ve been asleep for a long time, I’ll go home and catch up on my beauty sleep, okay?”

You knew it wouldn’t take much convincing from him, there was no point in lying. You needed him. You needed the reassurance and sense of security he always brought you.

"If you're sure then… but Jake. You won't leave too soon uh?"

You heard his low chuckle in the distance.

“I promise.”

You slowly and quietly closed your window. The last thing you would want is for your father to wake up and see Jacob standing below your window. You looked back outside, only to see a giant russet wolf had replaced your tall friend. He was standing under the covers of the woods. Forks was a tranquil little city, but you could never be too careful. He gave you a quick nod, encouraging you to go back to bed. You sent him a little thumbs up before heading to your fort of blankets and pillows.

As stupid as it might have seemed, you did feel a thousand times better knowing that Jacob was right outside, watching over you like a guardian angel. To your surprise, sleep quickly came to you, and you fell into its black hole without any resistance.

//

You’re in a dark forest, running and running and running. You can’t breathe, your hands are bloody, everything hurts. All you can hear is an echoing, cold, cruel laugh. You trip over a root and fall. Something is rushing through the dark woods, coming at you. You get back up and run in the opposite direction, but it feels like you’re not getting any further, like you're running in place. You scream for help, calling out for Jacob, Paul, Embry, Jared, ANYONE, HELP ME. But no one answers, you’re alone, and you’re about to die a horrible death. You trip once more, your leg hurts like hell, there’s no point trying to get up again. You turn around to try and decipher who, what, is running after you. Suddenly, in the dark void of the night, all you can see is that horrifying pair of bloodthirsty eyes. You let out one last scream as it sinks its teeth into your skin. //

“Y/n, y/n, wake up! It’s okay I’m here, Y/n!”

You try to run out of bed but feel a strong pair of arms holding you back. The embrace is warm and smells familiar, but you’re not controlling your limbs anymore. Your whole body is in flight mode. Luckily, the thing (person?) holding you back is strong enough to withstand it, and even though you try as hard as you can to run away, your feet aren't even touching the ground anymore.

“Y/nn, Y/n, shhh. It’s okay, I’m here, it’s me. It’s Jacob.”

You focus on the reassuring tone of the voice and try to convince yourself you're not in the woods anymore. You can see your surroundings poorly illuminated by your little mushroom night light. You're in your room, you’re safe, you’re okay.

Your breathing is still fast and shallow. You blink a few times. Sometimes, the vision surrounding you is one of the cold woods. On other, it's the familiar vision of your room. You slowly turn to face your friend’s face. His brows are furrowed, and his traits have worry written on them in bold letters. He scans you, not quite letting go of your body. Too scared you might start screaming and running again.

“Jake?” “Yes, hi. Welcome back. You really scared me there Y/n.” “What- what are you doing in here? What happened?” Your tone is feeble, and you feel exhausted. You look around once more, afraid this might be some other kind of twisted and terrifying nightmare.

“Am I still dreaming?” You dare to ask. “No, you are awake. We’re in your room. You asked me to come to keep an eye on you, remember?”

You nod, still unsure. What if this was a dream inside a dream? What if the warm limbs of your friend suddenly turned ice cold? What if you looked at him and his eyes turned red, fangs slightly poking his lips?

He can see doubt dancing in your eyes. You don't trust him, or yourself. He holds up his palms towards you, trusting you won't bolt and run.

“See for yourself. I’m real, you can touch me.”

You reach a hesitating finger, carefully poking his own. Seems real enough, feels real. It's warm, the skin is wonderfully tanned, familiar. You’ve seen those hands at work a thousand times. You know them by heart. You poke his cheek, and he gives you a tender smile.

“Convinced?”

You nod once more, letting out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding, as your legs start to shake. That's the thing about dreams, isn’t it? Even if it’s only happening inside your head, your body reacts to it as if it were actually living it. You look at your hands, feeling reminiscent of the pain as if you did scorch them in the woods.

He interrupts your thoughts with a low and soft voice. “Come back in bed. I’ll tuck you in.”

He wraps your hands with his huge ones. They’re warm and feel incredibly good. You let him guide you back to your toasty blankets, but instead of leaving, he takes a spot next to you, shielding you from the window.

“What are you doing?” You ask with a timid voice. “I’m keeping an eye on you, dummy.” Your feet are poking from under the covers. You move to offer him a bit of coverage, but he declines. He is already hot enough as he is, although he can’t deny that his heart seemed to grow a size or two at the kind gesture.

You wait a minute before asking how he ended up in your room. You're not sure you want to know, but curiosity wins over embarrassment.

His expression darkens for a second before he starts talking. “I was just keeping guard outside when I heard a noise. You were calling for me… I didn’t even think, I just got in. You were twitching in your bed. I tried to calm you down, I didn't want it to wake up Charlie, but nothing would do. I was about to forcefully wake you, but you ran out of bed and woke up by yourself.”

“Oh.” You finally let after a few seconds of silence.

“Yup.”

Unconsciously, you're not sure, he took ahold of your hand and lightly played with your fingers. He finally lifted his gaze from your joined hands to look at you, all caring and reassuring. You slide in closer to him. All you want is to feel his comforting warmth and maybe offer him as much as you can too. You feel so bad for worrying him so much. He opens up his arms and cradles you in a bear hug. He won't say it out loud, but he's also in dire need of comfort.

You match your breathing to him, and for the first time in a little while, you’re not scared, not even a little bit. If only you could stay like this forever.

After a few minutes of silence, in which you almost fell asleep, you hear him whisper.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I should have been there. I should have protected you. I’m so sorry, you don't even know.”

“It’s not your fault Jake.” You mumble, and realize you're telling the truth. These are more than empty words. Never has it crossed your mind that this might have been his fault.

“It partially is, if I didn’t drag you into all this you might have been far away. Safe, away from monsters most people don't even know exist."

“I chose to follow you into this Jake. I would be lying if I said this wasn't one of the most horrifying experiences of my life, but it was not your fault. Please get that idea out of your head, okay? I’ll get over it. I guess I just need some time, as Harry said.”

You feel almost fully awake again. He nods, but you know you haven't convinced him. The look on his face is one of guilt, one you've come to know more and more since you learned about his secret. He mindlessly played with a feather poking out of your duvet, avoiding your gaze. Once again, you realized how mature he looked, while still being so young. Too young to carry such heavy burdens. You wanted to hammer the idea out of his thick skull, but you knew there was nothing to do about it tonight. Jacob felt responsible for what happened to you, and convincing him of the opposite would take some time.

Your eyes focused on his tanned skin, and you suddenly became hyper-aware that he was in your bed while only wearing his jeans short.

You inched away of him. “Uhm, want a shirt? I’m sorry, I didn't even think that, since you were in your wolf form, you uh… wouldn’t have one?” You let out an awkward laugh. You were used to seeing him like this, but it was different when you were both lying in bed together in a space that felt so intimate.

“That's nice of you Y/n, but I don't think I'd actually fit into one of your shirts.” He snickers as you get up. You're still wrapped in a blanket as you forage in the pile of clothes next to your bed. You get out of it with a dark cotton t-shirt in hand. It's humongous for you, but you know it will fit Jake like a glove. Probably because it is one of his own.

“There, dummy.” You hand him the t-shirt before jumping back in bed to wrap yourself properly, like a human burrito.

He looks at the piece of clothing and then at you for a good 10 seconds. “You still have this?”

He genuinely looks surprised, but his expression seems mixed with a hint of… satisfaction?

You nod, your nose and eyes being the only part of your anatomy still out of the blankets. You still remember the day he lent you that shirt when you had been caught in the rain at La Push. You never returned it to him, loving the way the gigantic piece of clothing felt on you.

He didn't add anything else before putting the shirt on. “It smells a lot like you.” He adds, a slight tremor in his voice.

“That might be because I wear it a lot to sleep.” You shamefully admit. Your words are nothing more than a whisper, but you know he didn’t have any trouble hearing them. You pull the covers even higher, trying to hide the blush creeping on your cheeks.

“Is that so?” He's smugly smirking. No doubt anymore that he is satisfied with that new piece of information, which makes you want to crawl even further under the covers.

You mutter a quick 'dumbass' before turning away from him. He chuckled before grabbing and pulling you on his broad chest like you weighted nothing more than a feather. You and Jake have always been comfortable with physical touch, but you feel like this is special. You have never done this before. Fine the circumstances were a bit peculiar, but that did not keep you from relishing in the warmth he diffused in waves. You didn't even bother to fake protest. This, is all you need, and you will not be foolish enough to ruin the moment. He wiggles even closer, and you can feel his chest come flush with your back through the layers of blankets. He rests his chin on the crown of your head before lightly stroking the side of his full cheek on your hair.

“Little human burrito.” He mutters. His voice is barely a whisper. Its husky tone makes you shiver. “I’ll watch over you, now go back to sleep.”

—

Here is part.2 🌟

[fansplaining]

Episode 218: The Money Question 3: Books???

Following previous installments on the thorny intersections of money and fanfiction, Episode 218, “The Money Question 3: Books???” tackles the recent debacle around people illegally selling bound copies of others’ fic, which has mostly centered on mega-popular Dramione works. Jumping off from Elizabeth’s WIRED article on the subject—which ties the practice to the current pull-to-publish wave as well as the Twilight fan-run presses of the early 2010s—Elizabeth and Flourish discuss the context collapse when a fic “breaches containment,” double standards in attitudes towards money and various fan practices, and, for likely the 1,000th time on this podcast, what exactly “fair use” means. 

Click through to our site to listen or read a full transcript!

[legendary-pink-dot]

Bush Pilot

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x female reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Oral sex (f receiving, and lots of it), fingering, semi-public sex, truck backseat shenanigans, seatbelts as restraints, established relationship, fetish/obsession for Frankie's hair, and a bit of masturbation (m)

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: A drive to an isolated beach to watch the sunrise, some time to kill before dawn, soft aftermarket seatbelts, and Frankie's superior night vision.

Notes: No use of "Y/N". The inspiration for this one came from a line in my fic Airport Pickup. This fic took FOREVER to finish as I've had very limited writing time lately. Hope you enjoy it. All my love to my magic sluts/cheerleaders who don't have to hear my whining about this fic anymore yay: @imalrightllama @basicoccult @exquisiteserotonin @youandmeand5bucks @arcanefox207 @sparklefarts38 @blueheat1-blog1 @redhotkitchen

You wake up to a bump in the road and an indigo sky. Not midnight dark anymore, but not quite twilight yet either. The dashboard clock reads 4:27 AM and you know it's correct because this is Frankie's truck, and everything about it has been meticulously maintained. Its owner is particular that way.

Frankie notices you stir and twines his hand into yours, resting it against your thigh, his fingers squeezing gently. "Hey, perfect timing. Almost there."

"Sorry, fell asleep. I hate mornings." You crack open the passenger window, breathing in the crisp pre-dawn air. A bracing whiff of ocean salt fills your senses as you start to rouse.

"I know. It'll be worth it, cariño, promise. The sunrises are amazing here."

Another 20 minutes on this quiet road -- nobody else out driving at this hour -- until Frankie slowly rolls the truck to a stop and parks. You get out and stretch your tired limbs.

No streetlights here, no moon, and the stars are mostly washed out at this hour, but you can hear the surf just steps away, lightly lapping at a shore that you can't see. You curse your crappy night vision, knowing that Frankie has the edge in seeing through dim lighting, with all the night flying and navigation he's done over his years in the service.

"We still have some time before the sunrise," Frankie says, giving you a hug and feeling you shiver. You sigh into his hug, and he rests his chin on the top of your head for a minute or two. "Come on, let's wait inside. I've got blankets in the back seat."

You both climb into the back seat of the truck, and he unfolds a crazy-looking 1970s-style afghan.

"Where did you get this thing? Standard military issue?"

"Don't be mean," Frankie laughs, wrapping the blanket around you both and snuggling in. "My abuela made it for me a long time ago."

"Does she know it's your truck sex blanket?"

Frankie shuffles closer, sliding a hand up your chest and around your neck to pull your face close. "I've never used it for that." He kisses a whisper against your mouth. "Yet."

As you make out, slow and sweet, Frankie presses you further into the corner of the seat until you feel something dig into your side. It's the shoulder seatbelt and as you push it out of the way, you're surprised at how soft and silky it feels, like some luxury fabric instead of an industrial strip of webbing, and you stroke it with your hand.

"Aftermarket belts," Frankie says, watching you with a pleased expression. "The stock ones were too scratchy and uncomfortable."

"Too scratchy? That sounds like a made-up problem."

Frankie smirks. "I like my passengers to be comfortable." He slides a hand slowly down your body, his knuckles gently tracing your curves, his palm coming to rest over your center, already heated from the make-out session. "Would you like me to make you more comfortable?"

"Mmmm, yes please," you purr, kissing him more forcefully this time, nipping his lips and searching for his tongue with yours. You find it, tangle with it, suck it into your mouth, so focused on the kiss that you don't even notice he's holding your forearm and has gently wrapped the webbing of the shoulder belt around it twice.

He pauses, breaking the kiss and allowing you a second to check what he's doing. "Is this okay?"

"Very okay," you breathe against his mouth, unsure exactly what he'll do to you once you're restrained but eager to find out. He'd discovered early on in your relationship that restraints were something you liked, and he loved to indulge you. "Keep going."

--click--

Frankie smiles as he slots the latch into the seatbelt buckle and locks it into place.

The webbing is soft against your skin, and a little loose when you give it an experimental tug. "Tighter," you rasp, excitement growing fast. He adjusts the tension with the built-in clip until it's perfect for you.

You snake your free hand into his hair, already desperate to touch what you can and desperate to get your mouth on his again. He allows you to tug on his curls as you kiss, but only for a moment. His hand grabs your free forearm, forcefully this time, and pins it to the back of the seat.

"None of that," he tuts gently, wrapping the other side's shoulder belt around it. "We came here to see the sunrise, remember? Don't have much time."

--click--

"But Frankie..." you whine, testing the pull of the seatbelts and finding no slack. "I wanna feel you."

What was the line between obsession and fetish? It was something you often wondered about. His hair, his medium-brown hair that loosely curled and held shimmering flecks of silver, drove you absolutely mad. Every time you met up the very first thing you did was bury your fingers in it, the tips of the curls spiky on your palms, feeding some sort of physiochemical need you couldn't name and didn't really care to. Not being able to sate that need in this moment made you physically ache.

The seatbelt was wrapped around your forearm with the intention to let you slip out of it easily enough if you had to. But did you want to? Cravings are strong, but the deliciousness of prolonging the ache even stronger, and at this moment you don't know which you want more. The anticipation never felt so good.

Frankie senses your turmoil. He sits back and makes eye contact in the growing light, and runs a hand slowly through his hair. He even plumps the curls at his nape and fluffs one long curl that's fallen over his forehead, smiling innocently. You know he can see your fingers twitching. Bastard.

"Something wrong, cariño?" he smirks, and you can't hold back a whimper as you feel yourself clench around absolutely nothing.

"Francisco, you're a fucking menace."

"I know, I know," he soothes. "And you love it, don't you?" He leans forward and shakes his hair right into your face, but before you can swear at him some more, his curls are gently stroking your collarbone that's naked and exposed by your low-cut sundress. You whimper again, this time a pathetically needy sound, and he takes pity on you and caresses his hair over your bound forearms and hands, the ache in your fingers abating from finally, finally reaching some kind of goal.

"There you go, that's it," croons Frankie, kissing your skin swelling out between the webbing, moving down your arm and up to your shoulder. "Just a taste for you. More later. I want mine now."

In a single movement he hikes up the hem of your sundress with one hand and lifts your hip, and slides the other hand down the back of your underwear to pull them down your legs and off. Gripping a bare ankle in each hand, he spreads your legs as wide as he knows is comfortable for you. You feel split open, exposed and excited, and he's barely touched you yet.

The light is so dim that his eyes are in shadow for you, but you know they're wide and dark as his gaze takes you in, his face so close to your center you can feel his breath on your inner thighs.

"Can you see enough to work down there?"

"Of course," says Frankie, sounding almost insulted as he gently shifts your hips to pull you closer to his mouth. "I'm used to flying before sunrise. You know, I can land almost anywhere, in any terrain, because..."

You groan, knowing what's coming. "No, please... no aviation jokes..."

"...I'm a certified bush pilot." He snickers into your thigh, kissing it hard to try to mask his laughter.

"Bush pilot, really? That better not be a complaint about my wild foliage or something."

One of the things he had made clear early in your relationship, in his quiet and unassuming way, was that your grooming habits and preferences were none of his damn business. A refreshing attitude after years of dating men who had lots of unsolicited and unwanted opinions about your pubic hair and how they wanted you to maintain it. As if it existed just for them. Fuck that. Frankie never tried to change you -- he simply adapted to whatever was. One of the reasons why you adored him.

"Oh no, cariño," Frankie's voice drops deep in that way you know he's genuinely serious. "I fucking love your bush." He lowers his face to your mound and gently tugs a few hairs between his teeth. You hiss at the prickly feeling, sharp but not painful, slipping into a loud cry as he dives his tongue deep into your entrance to eagerly prove his point.

You'd never been with someone who loved pussy eating as much as him. Maybe it mirrored your obsession-sorta-fetish for his hair. Impeccable sexual compatibility, you and Frankie.

It's different each time, and this extra-early morning he explores every fold with his tongue, his lips, his teeth, scratching the surfaces and then delving deeper. He doesn't even need to look up at you to know that your eyes are shut despite the dark and that you're lost in feeling.

Every change in your breathing, the tenor and pitch of your sighs and moans, the little wiggle of your hips when his tongue flicks here instead of there. Those are the cues he looks for and the only ones he needs, and he quickly takes you as high as you can go and stays with you all the way back down.

Frankie is relentless, barely giving you time to recover before latching back onto your clit, nudging you past your overstimulation, somehow knowing just how much extra you can take. He always knows.

You barely catch your breath before he's absolutely devouring you again, lightly capturing your folds between his teeth and exploring each one as if he's kissing your mouth for the first time, moving his head to approach your center from every possible angle from his confined position and adjusting his hold on your thighs to match.

He gently slides a thick finger inside you. The stretch is a lot, it always is with him, and he lets you adjust to it before adding a second finger, and presses them as far up as they'll go, his callused fingertips teasing the edge of your most sensitive spot.

Your hips start to move of their own accord but his free hand holds you down as he keeps his fingers inside you right where they are, demanding you concentrate on feeling the pressure and stretch instead of seeking motion.

From above he almost chews on your clit, which you never considered to be a thing you'd like but you are suddenly now forever feral for, and you wiggle your hips as much as you can, desperate to get him exactly where you need him most, giving only one fleeting thought to anyone else parked at the end of this road who might be hearing your loud moans right now.

With his tongue and his fingers he holds you in that sweet limbo state, your conscious mind wanting it to go on forever but your body craving release. You can't choose which one you want more, until you see the first rays of the sun peek out over the horizon and it distracts your mind just enough for your body to fall over the crest again, louder and more intense this time, gushing and squeezing and fluttering around his fingers until he slowly pulls them out.

You were so blissed out that you never noticed Frankie had been pressing and rubbing his crotch against the floor, the seat, whatever he could find while he was eating you out. The back seat of the truck is quickly filling with light and you watch him unzip his jeans just enough to pull out his cock, hard and leaking.

If you weren't so zoned out, if he just gave you a few minutes to recover, you'd be happy to help him, but he's too impatient and fucks his fist with sloppy motions. It's a hypnotic sight, the pinkish tip peeking out between his thick fingers and then disappearing for a second in a desperate rhythm, and you slide your hands free from the seatbelts just in time to grab his hair and give the curls a hard pull, seconds before he comes in hot spurts across your thighs and swollen cunt, choking out a cry that again made you glad he had brought you to this beach so early in the day.

Thankfully, he didn't get any on the blanket. You shake it out and wrap it around both of you as he snuggles up beside you on the seat.

"Good?"

"Good. Very good."

"Yeah."

Your breaths gradually slow as you watch the fireball in the sky inch higher, your hand mindlessly finding his hair and repeatedly twisting a curl around your finger.

The truck cab finally fills with full daylight, showing you an inviting and isolated strip of beach, and no other vehicles. Frankie was right -- it was worth getting up early for this sunrise. And it was amazing.

"Frankie?"

"Mmmmm?"

"Tell me more about what it takes to be a bush pilot."

[wanderingcas]

since ao3 is down and we're all suffering here's chapter 1 of my destiel lighthouse keepers fic (not the prologue. that's a secret)

title: where there is darkness pairing: dean/cas summary, written badly, because i did this in 2 minutes: Cas is trying to escape his past by taking a job as a lighthouse keeper. Little does he know the love of his life is waiting for him there. Historical au. Gay sex later. Just read it.

Chapter 1

 1949. Autumn.

The bus drops Castiel off on the outskirts of Kittery, just over the bridge connecting Maine and New Hampshire’s borders over the water. He watches the bus as it hisses, lifting its aching joints and meandering down the windy highway 101. 

Castiel decides to stand for a long moment, staring out into the empty field.

Behind him is Kittery Foreside, the center of town: beyond it, the harbor, with the lighthouse just a speck in the distance. It’s a clear afternoon, not quite twilight, so he was able to track the dot through the window as they crossed the bridge. 

But now, he’d rather stare at the field and the deep blue of the sky as the sun sets. 

In his left hand is the official letter detailing his new job. In his right, a leather suitcase containing everything he now owns (three outfits, one wool sweater, a toothbrush—and a stack of letters, stained in the left corners where he dropped them accidentally into a puddle). 

He watches a seagull’s trajectory as it lands on the fence post, scratching at a wing with its beak.

A lighthouse keeper—arguably an insane job to take, considering he has no experience. But the sailing portion on his resume (from a handful of times he sailed at his family’s lake house as a boy) seemed to set him apart from the rest of the applicants. And the job was going to put him exactly where he wanted to be: away from society. Away from people.

Taking a sharp breath, he turns on his heel, and follows the road to the town center, street lights illuminating the pavement in the twilight. 

There’s only one hotel that took his reservation at such short notice; as he fills out the registration form, the bellhop eyes his lack of luggage suspiciously. 

Swallowing a nervous lump in his throat, Castiel takes the key from the woman at the front desk. “Do you have any recommendations for somewhere to eat this time of night?”

“Only thing open on a Wednesday night is the Roadhouse, sir,” the woman says as she files his paperwork behind the desk. She shoots him a smile. “It’s good food, though. Place is almost as old as the town itself. I recommend the lobster rolls, personally.”

“Thank you, uh…”

“Bela,” she replies. 

“Bela,” Castiel repeats. “Can you tell me which direction to go?”

Pulling out a map, Bela splays it on the counter, uncapping a pen. 

The Roadhouse is clear on the other side of town, across yet another bridge. The amount of islands that the area is divided into baffles Castiel. It’s well past dark when he arrives, pushing the door into the warm embrace of the diner. 

A rush of nostalgia hits him as he realizes it’s similar to the one in Boston that he frequented, just a couple of blocks from the parish—their similarities extend even to the paraphernalia on the wall. Whoever owns this diner seems to have an obsession with John Wayne, just like the ones in Boston. 

“Be one sec!” a waitress calls as she flies past him, a tray of drinks balanced on her shoulder. “Just pick an empty one!” 

Dutifully, Castiel slides into a chair by the window, setting his cold hands on the table. He glances around at the buzzing diner; there are more people than he expected, considering that the town seemed to already close its eyelids as the sun went down. A family with two whining toddlers are crammed into a booth in the corner, another taking up multiple tables shoved together, kids running around and chasing each other as their parents snap at them to sit down and eat. Other tables are filled with men in fishermen’s overalls and boots, a group of women poking at their plates of food, babies in their arms. 

One baby, held by a woman in a plaid dress, coos and holds out his hands towards the plate. The woman smiles down at the baby, kissing the top of his blonde head.

Castiel’s heart constricts and he looks away before the familiar tears can prick at his eyes.

“Whaddaya havin’?” 

Castiel whips up his head at the same waitress from before, blinking. “Oh. I don’t have—”

“Ah, damn it, I didn’t give you a menu did I?” she says with a roll of her eyes, pulling out a plastic one from underneath her arm and setting it on the table. “Sorry, the dinner rush is crazy on Wednesdays. You wouldn’t think it, my brother had the big idea to make Wednesday the day we offer crab at market price, so everyone’s goin’ nuts.” 

Castiel stares down at the menu, feeling a little shell-shocked, and realizing he hasn’t had a proper conversation with someone for weeks—especially not someone so energetic. “Should I not order the crab, then?” he asks, solemnly. 

“Not order the—?” She lets out something closer to a snort than a laugh, smacking his arm. “Oh, you’re yanking my chain, huh? No, order the crab if you want, damage is already done. I’ll just give you a minute, okay? Oh, and name’s Jo, if you need to yell at me across the room.”

Before Castiel can reply, she’s already walking away at a quick pace, ponytail swinging. 

He orders the lobster roll when she finally comes back around to his table twenty minutes later; when he explains it was on Bela’s recommendation, Jo scoffs, “And you trust her?” She waves a hand at his raised eyebrows. “Whatever, she’s right, actually. Lobster was fresh caught this morning, too. Any fries with that roll to keep it company?”

Castiel nods, handing the menu back to her. “And an iced tea.” 

She takes the menu, narrowing her eyes. “Say… if Bela gave you the recommendation, does that mean you’re staying at the inn?” 

Castiel sucks in a breath. The lines he rehearsed are already slamming into his head like a film playing too quickly. “Yes. I just got into town.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, welcome! What brings you to Kittery?”

“A job.”

When Castiel doesn’t elaborate, Jo leans in, smile conspiratorial. “And what job would that be?”

Castiel considers lying. But he already has enough lies to keep track of. “Second assistant keeper at Whaleback Lighthouse.” 

Jo’s eyebrows shoot up her brow, and she says, emphatically, “Oh. The stag light, out on the harbor? Really?”

“I don’t seem the type?” Castiel jokes weakly. 

Jo doesn’t even try to hide the way her eyes scrape up and down his suit and trench coat, more tax accountant than sailor. “No, actually. Not at all.” 

“I’m trying a career change.”

“Uh-huh.” 

“I have sailing experience.”

Jo purses her lips. “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

It was beginning to feel like he was interviewing for the job all over again. Castiel crosses his arms on the table and stares her down as intimidatingly as he can: the same stare he gave the children when they forgot lines of their catechisms. “Is that all?”

“Hey,” Jo says, hands raised, “just making conversation. I’ll go put in your order.” 

Castiel watches as she makes her way to the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder at him as she goes. There’s a small window where the orders are passed between the kitchen and whoever is at the counter: Castiel can see Jo talking to another man through it as they glance intermittently at Castiel. 

He scrubs a hand over his face and curses under his breath. Lying would have been the better option.

The news spreads like wildfire: from Jo to the cook to other patrons in the diner to an older woman at the till. They all stare at him with curious glances, sizing him up. When Jo delivers his lobster roll, Castiel can barely eat it, his stomach is so twisted up in knots.

Someone is going to ask questions; investigate. Or, worse, someone is going to recognize him from the papers. His suitcase is still at the hotel; he could run back to his room, grab it, get out of town. He could just ditch the suitcase altogether if it weren’t for the damn letters. He curses himself again for not putting them in his pocket. He begins to fish out his wallet, fingers shaking as he pulls out a few bills because he can’t just add dine and dash to his list of offenses, but the walls are also closing in and everyone’s looking at him and—

A man appears beside the table. Castiel stares up at him, eyes wide, hands hidden under the table.

He’s wearing waterproof overalls and gumboots, like the rest of the fishermen types at the adjacent table. He scratches his beard and narrows his eyes as he sizes up Castiel. 

Castiel wonders if he could take him in a fight. Based on Castiel’s lack of fitness and the size of this man’s arm, his guess is a resounding no.

“You the new keeper at Whaleback, huh?” he asks. 

Castiel wills his voice not to shake. “Yes.”

The man stares at him for another long moment, frowning, scratching at the dark beard peppering his jawline. Finally, he sits down at the chair across from Castiel, leaning toward him. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Castiel asks, frowning. 

The man shakes his head. “Just… watch yourself out there. Okay? Place isn’t exactly… normal.”

Something akin to cold water rushes down Castiel’s spine, extinguishing the fire of anxiety freezing his limbs—people aren’t wary of him. They’re wary of his new place of occupation. He almost laughs with relief. 

“I can manage,” he says, placing the bills back into his wallet. “Thank you.”

“No, see, there’s—” The man blows out a gust of air. “The Principal Keeper, you see. He ain’t right in the head.” 

“I’m sorry, who even are you?” Castiel snaps.

“Cole!” 

Both Castiel and the man turn their heads in time to see the older woman from the register approach and cuff Cole over the back of the head. “Spreading rumors again, huh? Got nothin’ better to do?” 

Cole crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair with a scowl. “Not rumors if they’re true, Ellen,” he mumbles.

“Then the next thing you can gab about is how I kicked your ass across this diner and out onto the street,” Ellen snaps, smacking at his shoulder. “Go on, get up and join your buddies, you good-for-nothin’.” 

With a roll of his eyes, Cole rises, then points his finger at Castiel. “I mean it, okay, guy? Just watch yourself around that psycho.”

“That’s enough out of you,” Ellen growls, shoving his back as he goes. She hooks a thumb over to the table of fishermen. “Ignore those superstitious idiots. They latch onto a Jonah in town and don’t stop talking about it.”

“A Jonah?” Castiel asks.

“That’s what they call anyone who’s bad luck enough to stop them from getting a catch.” Ellen shrugs a shoulder. “But they’ve had the best fishing around here in decades since Dean Winchester rolled back into town from the war, so it’s just prejudice.” She nods down at Castiel’s plate. “Lobster roll no good?”

Castiel blinks down at it; he’d forgotten the food in front of him. “Just haven’t had the chance to try it yet.”

Smile sympathetic, Ellen nods over to the counter. “If you want, we can move you over there. Then the eyes of the town will be on your back. Easier to ignore.”

Despite himself, Castiel’s lips quirk up into a grin. “I like that idea.”

With a wink, Ellen scoops up his plate for him, holding it aloft as she weaves through the tables. “Sorry about them,” she says over her shoulder to Castiel as he follows. “You’re not exactly the first keeper this year to come into town for the job, so they’re just a little excitable.”

Castiel slides onto the stool at the counter, frowning. “I thought the job just opened up last month?”

“Oh, it did.” Ellen rounds the corner to the other side of the counter, depositing Castiel’s plate. She quirks her lips, thinking for a moment. “You’re the fourth, I think.”

Castiel gapes. “Fourth?”

“This year, at least.”

“I…” Castiel works his jaw to find the words. “Did they—are they…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, too absorbed in the image of his body splayed out onto the rocks as an ending to this story.

“Oh—no,” Ellen scoffs, waving a hand. “They didn’t die. It’s a dangerous job, but people don’t die… often. No, these men quit after a few months. One didn’t even last a week.” 

Because she keeps glancing at his plate, Castiel picks up the lobster roll and takes a bite. Perfectly salted lobster and toasted bun explodes flavor in his mouth. He makes a mental note to thank Bela profusely for the recommendation. 

He realizes, two bites into his food, that he forgot to pray.

He frowns, wiping his face with a napkin, inwardly chastising himself. That kind of thing doesn’t matter anymore.

Jo skips up to stand beside Ellen, placing her empty tray down on the counter. “What are we talking about?”

“Don’t listen to her about it, either,” Ellen tells Castiel firmly, taking the tray. “Jo’s got fanciful notions about the sea.”

“Oh, we talking about Whaleback?” Jo’s eyes glint mischievously as she leans forward to say to Castiel in a lowered voice, “It’s haunted, you know. That’s why all those keepers quit. Only the Winchesters stay there ‘cause they got used to the ghosts by now.”

“I see,” Castiel says slowly. 

“But, hey, kudos to you for trying it out,” another voice says, patting him on the shoulder. Castiel balks at the man who’s suddenly appeared next to him, a hand offered in greeting. “I’m Ash, Jo’s brother, Ellen’s reluctant son. Nice to meet ya.”

Castiel rubs his temples and sighs. “This is beginning to feel like a circus.”

“Let me give you the skinny,” Ash says, pushing back his hair that’s somehow short in the front and long in the back—something Castiel can barely get his mind around. “Lighthouse used to be totally normal, right? Besides the normal rumors that lighthouses just always have. Daddy John Winchester and little brother Sam Winchester looked after it while older brother Dean Winchester was off fighting the Nazis—he came back and that’s when things started getting weird.” 

Weary from traveling and the overall conversation, Castiel decides to tuck into his lobster roll, hoping that if he doesn’t reply, they’ll all go away. 

“Tell him what happened with his uh, uh—what do you call it?” Jo asks, snapping her fingers.

“Oh, yeah! Dean’s agoraphobia,” Ash says. “Shifts at the lighthouse are usually 25 days on, 4 days off, right? Well, Dean stopped going to shore more and more, until he just stopped leaving the lighthouse altogether. Don’t think that kid’s been out since—what? ’47?”

“Of course he has,” Jo says with a roll of her eyes. “He stopped coming to the mainland when his dad died last year, remember?”

Castiel lifts his head at that one. “He died?”

“Yeah,” Ash says, shaking his head. “John Winchester—he was the Principal Keeper for, what, twenty years at least. Fell over the railing on a clear day. Since then, people keep sayin’ they see weird things—like a woman in a white dress walking up and down the landing, lights flickering on and off during a power outage… Weird things like that. But people are jumpy after the war, they need something to talk about. Get their minds distracted.”

Castiel sipped at his water, mulling over the information. “Who was on shift with Mr. Winchester when he fell?”

Jo grimaces, exchanging a look with Ash. “Dean was in the kitchen when it happened. Saw his dad falling past the window.” 

“He’s Principal Keeper now,” Ash adds. “So you’ll be serving under him. Sam Winchester is the first assistant. And Adam, their half brother, still in high school—he helps out from time to time, picks up shifts if Sam needs it. But now, with you here…” Ash lets out a chuckle. “Well, as long as you last, anyway.”

Castiel takes another long gulp of water, wishing it was beer so he could calm his jangling nerves. “The Coast Guard didn’t tell me I was walking into a situation.” 

Ellen, who stayed on the sideline of their conversation, comes back to lean against the counter. “Officially? You’re not.” She points her finger at Castiel. “Loyalty runs deep in this town. No matter how weird Dean gets, he still fought for this country and he’s done a lot of good for the town since. So any sideways look or word against him, and people will sooner run you out of here than take your side. Got it?”

Castiel sets down his iced tea. He nods. “I got it.”

“Good.” Ellen leans back, arms crossed. “That all being said—if you last after a shift, be sure to visit here while you’re on shore, okay?” 

“Yeah,” Ash chimes in, “we’re placing bets. So last at least two shifts so I can stay low, okay?”

“Or at least three,” Jo adds. She nudges his elbow on the counter with her own. “Don’t worry, champ, I got faith in ya.” 

Incredulous, Castiel scoffs into his water. “Yeah. Right.”

The bell to the diner door rings, heralding a group of sweaty children in baseball uniforms and their parents. The sudden flood of people distracts Ash and Jo long enough for Castiel to finish his lobster roll in peace. When he’s done, he places a ten dollar bill, enough to cover the meal and then some, beside his plate as he shrugs on his coat, winding around the crowd clamoring for a seat to sit.

He hunches his shoulders against the damp shock of cold, blowing warm air into his hands. Living in Boston was cold, but not like this: here, the very air feels hostile, stealing your breath to toss into the harbor’s winds. Castiel paces down the main street, past the dark windows of a flower shop, antique store, and a movie palace. At the end of the road, nudged up a slight hill, is a drug store—and a payphone tucked in beside it. 

It’s a bad idea. He knows it’s a bad idea. But then he thinks of the letters in his suitcase, and the answer is made for him. 

Picking the phone off its cradle, he dials for the operator and asks to make a collect call to Boston, fighting the tremor in his voice. 

The line trills once. Twice. Castiel’s palms spring sweat despite the cold. On the fourth ring, the receiver is picked up. 

“Hello?” 

Hearing his sister’s voice releases the vise that’s constricting his chest. “Anna,” he chokes out.

There’s a long silence on the other end. Then: “You have to be kidding me.” 

“I know I shouldn’t be calling—”

“I told you not to. I’m hanging up.”

“Just—” Castiel clutches the phone tight to his ear, his body a taut string. He can hear forks clinking in the background on Anna’s end. They’re probably having dinner. “How is she?” he asks, unable to hold the words back. “Her and—”

“They’re fine,” Anna says with a sharp sigh. “Listen, someone could be listening in. It was stupid to call. Don’t do it again.” She pauses. “You get in okay?”

“Yes.” Castiel closes his eyes against the sudden tears that spring into his eyes. “I start the job tomorrow.”

“Good.” Anna’s voice is gentler as she adds, “They’re fine, little brother. Just—don’t call again. Okay?”

“Okay.” Castiel can hear a familiar laugh over the line. He quickly slams the phone back into the cradle; an instinctual reaction. 

Panic, fear, sorrow—it all mounts in his chest as he stumbles away from the payphone, blindly down the road. His feet find their path away from the downtown, toward a cluster of trees and green overlooking the harbor. 

The lighthouse is on now, its lens bright and twirling across the water like a ballerina suspended on a string. Castiel follows the movement as he breathes unsteadily, desperate to catch his racing heart.

Eventually, as it always does, his pulse slows. The fear, the panic—it all leaves his body like water trickling off a ledge. Regret and shame remains, pooling sourly in his gut. 

The water below is dark, murky. It would be so easy to get lost in, with one step in the wrong direction. 

He stares at the lighthouse for a moment longer. Then, with a straight back, he turns away and walks back toward the town.

****

As with most things in his life, Dean has a love-hate (but mostly hate) relationship with this lighthouse. 

It’s easy to take care of on sunny days and clear nights, but it’s grueling during a storm or fog. Sun shines through the window in the midday, providing warmth, but it’s ever-loving cold the rest of the time. 

It provides him with shelter from the outside world. 

But it traps him in, like a caged animal. 

Love, hate—day in and day out. And right now, standing against the railing of the balcony with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips and the wind whipping at his back, it’s hate.

The light’s ready for the dusk that’s beginning to settle on the harbor. Dean’s cleaned the lens and brewed the meths. He turned on the tap, set a match to the mantle. The routine is so familiar, he could do it in his sleep. The light rotates behind him, illuminating his back briefly before turning its watchful eye to the rest of the harbor. 

Bright, dark. Bright, dark. Around and around like a carousel. 

Him and this lighthouse go way back, like a bad relationship that he can’t quit. When John moved him and Sam to Kittery and started work on this light, Bobby would bring Sam and Dean to visit during the fortnightly supply runs. Every visit was like a further punch to the gut to remind him of what he’d lost. It wasn’t like the light they’d all lived at when Dean’s mom was alive, with a cozy house that always smelled like freshly baked bread. This was a cold, sterile environment that smelled like three guys living in close quarters. And John—

He could barely look Dean and Sam in the eye when they visited. 

After a few months at Whaleback, John seemed to relax into the work and his smile came more easily, but Dean would smell the whiskey on his breath.  

After a while, Bobby stopped taking Sam and Dean at all.

The lighthouse took John and swallowed him whole. During his brief few days of shore leave, he’d just sit with a bottle at the table. Dean came to dread it, since it meant that the money he’d squirreled away in the coffee can on top of the cupboard would inevitably be pilfered for booze money.

Dean doesn’t know why he’s thinking about all of this, or about John. Maybe it’s because of where he’s currently standing. 

Muttering a curse, Dean pulls the zippo out of his pocket and lights the cigarette.

“Got you.”

Dean turns as his brother comes onto the walkway, collar popped and hands deep into his coat pockets. His cheeks are already pinched red from the cold. 

Dean adopts an easy posture, arms settling on the railing as he leans back with a grin. It hides the bitter taste of nostalgia still on his tongue. “I said I wanted to quit, not that I was going to quit.”

Sam rolls his eyes, then joins Dean at the railing. “Light all set?”

“Yup. Everything’s good. Go get some shut-eye.” 

“I thought it was my shift tonight.”

Dean shrugs a shoulder. “Not tired. I can take the whole night.”

“You took the whole shift last night, too,” Sam says with a frown. “What about that chamomile tea Bobby brought last week? Did you try that?”

“Not drinkin’ a flower. I’ll sleep the old-fashioned way.”

“Clearly that’s not working.”

“I’ll take the shift tonight.” Dean levels his brother with a stare. “Okay?”

Lips twisted into a frown, wind sweeping at his hair, Sam suddenly looks like a younger snot-nosed version that had that same miserable look when Dean tried to tell him that Dad volunteered himself for a double shift that month. Before the Coast Guard took over during the war, things were more relaxed—less regulated. John was able to take all the double, triple shifts as he pleased, drinking himself stupid with all the bootlegged liquor in the cellar. 

It always upset Sam, when their dad didn’t come home. He was a sensitive kid. 

Just like all those years ago, Dean’s heart is punched out with a desire to make that frown leave Sam’s face.

“You wanna sneak back with Bobby tomorrow when he comes for the supply run? Go see Eileen? I can cover things here.”

Sam rolls his eyes with a scoffed laugh. “That’s a pretty terrible first impression to make on the new keeper Bobby’s bringing in.”

Fuck. Dean had forgotten about that. “That’s tomorrow?” he asks with a wince. 

“Yes, and we need him to last more than a week, unlike the last guy. Otherwise the Coast Guard is not going to let us have a say in who comes or stays anymore.”

“Last guy was a pansy,” Dean grumbles around his cigarette. 

“You punched him in the face, Dean.” 

Dean glares out at the thin line of the distant shore and doesn’t reply.

“Since you’re a vet, they’re taking it easy on us,” Sam continues, “but Bobby was talking to someone up in a higher rank the other day and—I think this is our last chance.” He clears his throat. “Your last chance.”

“The hell you mean?” Dean asks, drawing up to a straight back. “They’re gonna sack me?”

“Move you, I think. To a solo light on the shore.”

Dean throws up a hand. “Well, fine. Let them. What’s the problem?”

There’s that miserable look again. Sam won’t raise his head as the unspoken words hang between them. Dean stays silent, challenging Sam to say it. 

“You know what the problem is, Dean,” Sam quietly says. 

Yeah. Dean knows. He knows that without Sam, Dean at a solo light would probably end with him hanging from the rafters. 

Blowing out a drag of smoke into the wind, Dean hunches back over the railing. “I’ll try,” he concedes. “But if he’s a dumbass—”

“Then I’ll train him,” Sam interjects. “You don’t even have to be in the same room as him. We’ll put him on the early morning shifts, make him sleep in the afternoons.”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Make him stay in the service room listening to the radio.”

A grin forming on Sam’s face, he adds, “Tell him that shore leave is ten days instead of four so he stays off the lighthouse for longer.” 

“Yeah, the Coast Guard won’t notice that.”

“Whatever it takes for you to cohabitate with this guy, I say we do it,” Sam says with a shrug. “Get creative.” 

Dean makes a move to flick the stub of his cigarette away; Sam grabs his arm to stop him. “I just cleaned the gallery, Dean.” With a scowl, Dean tosses it into the ocean instead.

Sam runs a hand through his messy hair and sighs, the disapproval evident in his frown. “Need anything before I go down to the bunks?”

“Nah. Get some sleep, Sammy.” Dean gives his brother a smack on the chest in dismissal. “I’ll wake you for the morning shift.”

“Okay, but actually wake me this time. Don’t let me sleep in until nine.”

Dean taps out another cigarette from the carton he fishes out of his pocket. “No promises.” 

“And let me actually make breakfast tomorrow, too!” Sam calls before he disappears through the door.

“I would if your eggs weren’t shit!” Dean barks back. His words are snatched up by the wind. He turns back toward the ocean, clicking the lighter as he holds it up to the cigarette butt. “Seriously, who raised you?”

Blowing out another puff of smoke, the cigarette still caught between his teeth, Dean eyes the shoreline. Their new keeper is probably staying at Bela’s place, if it’s still even running. The inn nearly went under last year after her parents declared bankruptcy. He ran with her a few times in high school before he cut town—she was sharp around the edges. Misunderstood. Just like him. 

He remembers the new guy’s resume. It had stood out to him among the rest, mainly because he seemed the least qualified. Didn’t make sense at all why the Coast Guard chose him as the new rookie, when five men before him—way more experienced, to boot—didn’t last.

No family, no money. Maybe that’s why they took him. That’s better, for these stag lights—bunch of single men with no families means there’s a better chance of them staying. It’s why the Coast Guard is itching to get a new keeper for the light, what with them eyeing recently married Sam, and Eileen, who’s in the family way.

It would make more sense for Sam to leave, get a position at a light with a house. Where he could see his family every night. 

What Sam and Dean used to have, before Mary died.

Dean runs a hand down his face, letting out a curse. Whatever the word is for wishing for a time that he can’t get back to, ever—that’s what tonight is. Memories he didn’t ask for turning around and around in his head like a wheel. That’s what the sea does when you look out into it: shimmers back at you, showing you what you want to see. And sometimes what you don’t. 

The door behind him creaks open again. With a grumble, Dean lets out a breath of smoke, a reprimand on his tongue for Sam to get the hell to bed. 

A bang echoes through the air. 

Dean drops his cigarette in surprise, whipping around to face the door. It yawns open, mercilessly blowing in the wind, banging against the side. Dean strides over to it and pulls it firmly closed before it breaks one of the windows. 

The lens, green and opaque, flashes across his eyes; he squints as the light rotates away. Turning back to the railing, spots dotting his vision, he sees a shadow. 

One taller than him, broader; stumbling toward the railing with a groan. 

Dean closes his eyes, briefly; chest constricting. A trick of the light. It happens.

“It’s haunted!” one of the failed keepers had shouted as he stuffed his clothes into a carpetbag, stumbling down the stairs. “This place is fucking haunted!” 

But that keeper had got it wrong—it wasn’t the lighthouse doing the haunting.

It was the person inside of it.

[artbean]

blue hour

by @thefreakandthehair (througheden on ao3)

The sky morphs from twilight into night, cerulean and white giving way to navy blue and glowing pinpricks of light, and Eddie takes a drag. In the midst of it all, the moon takes center stage, replacing the sun as it sets behind the horizon. As a kid, before things went wrong enough for him to realize things were wrong, his mom was always tugging him outside on nights like this.

Come look at the moon, Eddie, she’d say, voice soft with a hint of the Kentucky twang she never quite lost. It’s so pretty tonight.

third piece for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang! had a lot of fun with it, and think the fic really conveys the melancholy of the art—this one has two different fics, check the other one out here!

[sophiamarieispinkbunny-chan]

SXF Novelization Fave Parts and some Analysis because I love Analyzing (Overthinking) Mission 1

I finally got my Spy x Family Family Portrait Novel and immediately finished reading it in one day, so without further ado, here are my fave parts, lines, dialogues from the first mission which is centered around Anya and Damian and this chapter just gives me diabetes 😭 (I've been shipping Damianya, yes but all this time it was like an innocent ship and it's not like making me feel butterflies since of course they're just children, but here in the novel, I actually got butterflies in my stomach, they're just so cute and precious here ❤️)

MISSION 1- THE EDEN ACADEMY NATURE CAMPING

-Yor thinking she needs to teach Anya a lot of survival things about camping because she's worried if she can handle the woods (Yor is such a great mom, worrying for Anya's safety always and I think this just shows her experience regarding the wilderness revealing that her hometown might've been near the woods and she did experiencing hunting for food when she was young)

-Loid hoping that the trip could bring Anya and Damian closer (Be careful what you wish you for Loid 😂)

"Wonderful! That's my girl. You can do it, Anya," Loid said.

I just love it when Loid calls Anya his girl, for she will always and forever be his little girl.

-Loid and Yor sort of having a gentle argument on who should get Bond's milk 😂

Loid: I'll get you some milk Bond

Yor: No, let me do that for you.

Loid: No, I can do it, just sit there and relax

Yor: You're the one who should relax

They ended up getting the milk together. These two idiots. 😭❤️

They remind of that, you hang up first, no you hang up first couple exchanges when they're on the phone. These two are so good in this married couple thing without even trying.

And then stabbed me in angst in the next paragraph.

Ever since escaping from the facility, Anya had bounce between orphanages and foster homes. But now she'd finally found someplace worth treasuring, and if she could bring about world peace, then they'd all be able to keep happily living here together.

She clearly doesn't know about Twilight's plan to leave them after achieving his mission. I wonder how she would react to that. I've written a fanfic about it so if you can check it out if you're interested😊. Sorry for the shameless fic plug.

But I hope that after the success of Strix, Loid would stay with them. Could he really leave them? Can he really do that? He can't even let Anya go during the first week they've been together and he has the choice to just ditch her, choose another child and it was the practical and safe thing for a spy for him to do when Edgar knew about his location. But he saved her and took her in despite his reservations about endangering her and all. Now could he let this little girl go after all this time?

-Anya reading Damian's mind and seeing his thoughts about him drowning when he, Emile and Ewen went camping with Mr. Green, made fun of him and even acted out his lines when he thought that he was really drowning in that shallow lake (She loves trolling Damian that she forgot that doing that could give her off as a telepath😂)

"Lovey-dovey couples are nice, but there's something extra special about bickering, will-they-won't-they romances."

I gotta agree with Becky on this one. Bickering makes any romance stories a thousand times more investing and entertaining to read. That's why academic rivals to lovers is an s-tier trope for me.

-Becky partnering Anya with Damian to fetch some water. Becky is also a fan of forced proximity trope, I see.

-Anya's telepathy elicited a sensation on Damian and it said that it wasn't the first time. I really bet that Damian would be the first to know about Anya's mind ability.

-Anya being confused about her left and right hand 😂 (I mean kids her age really do get confused about that, I don't blame her)

-Damian being gentle in his way of speaking whenever he sees Anya distressed or in tears. I'll never get tired of Damian being soft to Anya, he's really a sweet kid.

"Hey, keep it together!" commanded Damian as Anya started to sob again. He grabbed her arm and squeezed it tightly, pulling her close to speak in her ear (because the rain is loud). "I saw a small cave a ways back. Let's head there."

I don't know why but this scene, because of the way it was written, gave me butterflies.

-Anya calling for her Papa to save her when she was so scared. Loid said that Yor was the one that makes Anya feels safe, but she wasn't the only one whom Anya considers to be her safe place. He was also his baby's safe place and she trusts that Papa will always be there to save her.

-My favorite moment: Damian holding her hand and comforting her so she won't be scared, even though he, himself, is terrified too. Ugh, if that wasn't love, I don't what is. And when Anya gripped his hand back to comfort him too, he stopped shaking and Anya thought that his hand was warm. Awww, so preciouss❤️😭

-Anya letting herself to get the blame and willing to be punished but Damian not letting Anya to get the blame for them being lost in the forest. These two are like mini Yor and Loid haha, just young, energetic and extroverted versions of the two 🤣

-Anya being ashamed to face her Papa, because she thought her Operation to get close to Damian failed (since after that incident Damian went back to his mean self again but of course she didn't know Damian's crush on her just get massively deeper after that) but Loid wasn't even worried about that at all, nor did her ask her about Damian when she came home. When he had noticed she was sad, he immediately asked if she didn't have fun at their camping event. And when Anya said that she did, he smiled and said that he was glad that she did, because it's his daughter's happiness that's important to him (Because if she's happy then it would be good for my mission, I can imagine Loid telling this to himself when he just genuinely wanted her to be happy and enjoy her time at school since he never had the chance to do that as a kid)

-Yor and Loid preparing food together for Anya's return. Loid telling Anya that the food was safe to consume when she saw her face that is prepared to face death because he helped Yor to prepare. It was peak father-daughter moment 😂 But he let Yor cooked her specialty dish Southern Stew all by herself since she's the one who can make it the best ❤️

I wonder if Anya told him about her and Damian getting lost in the forest and Damian held her hand to comfort her. I wanna see Loid's reaction to that 😂

So that's it for Mission 1. Up next would be the chapter that got me laughing the most, Mission 2, Yuri babysitting Anya

[arvandus]

Broken Dreams and Whispered Things

Dabi x GN!Reader

Warnings: SFW, hurt/comfort, centers around Dabi's birthday

WC: 1228

AUTHOR'S NOTE: WHILE THIS FIC IS SFW, MY BLOG AND OVERALL CONTENT IS NOT. AS SUCH, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI AND DO NOT FOLLOW ME OR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.

-

You noticed that Dabi always became withdrawn in January. At first, you assumed it was the residual funk of the holiday season, a time meant for family.  Everyone in the League became rather glum around that time of year, whether they liked to admit it or not.

But for Dabi, it was different. In the beginning, you let it go. Your relationship with him was new, young... if it could even be called a relationship at all.  It was more like a silent agreement between two lonely people where each day was wrought with unpredictability and danger.

But that was before.  Now, time had passed, and you knew him better.  You knew that his dark cloud grew heavier in the middle of the month, and that there was always one day where he would leave the hideout completely, and not return until the next day.  He never said he was leaving, never said where he was going; but you could tell it was a solitude that he demanded, and so you respected it.

That day was today, now.  January 18th.  You weren’t entirely sure of its significance, although you had your suspicions.  Either way, you knew that inquiring about it was entirely off limits.

In the beginning, you had ignored it because it was what he wanted.  After this day passes, you knew his mood would improve, and he’d be back to his usual snarky self.

But now, this time, his self-imposed isolation left a twist in your gut that you couldn’t shake.  It wasn’t that you demanded him to open up to you, or that you felt cut out from his heart.  You were perfectly okay being alone by yourself during this time, and you never questioned whether he’d return to you.

But it was about the obvious pain that followed him like a cloud, haunted by ghosts that he refused to put names to.

He was gone now, and the hours ticked by as the afternoon gave way to twilight.  Twilight gave way to night.  It was a cloudy, dark and bitter cold.  Snow coated the world in silence, as if to keep Dabi’s secrets buried.

You couldn’t sleep. It was more than that, though... you wouldn’t sleep.  This time, no matter how late he returned, you felt the need to be there to greet him. You couldn’t explain why exactly, but you knew, that this time, it was what he would need.

He finally returned in the dark early hours of morning.  Midnight had come and long since gone, and you stayed up, although by this point you were laying in bed, bundled with the covers drawn tight and your arms wrapped around his pillow as you comforted yourself with the scent of him.

He didn’t know you were awake at first... you’d set your phone down, the screen going black as soon as you’d heard the doorknob twist.  Your heart had pounded nervously, unsure if your decision was a right one, and you waited, your mind ruminating.

He came in silently, setting down his belongings on the nightstand carefully as if he didn’t want to disturb.  You felt the mattress dip as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“You’re still awake,” he commented.

You opened your eyes and stared at him in the darkness.  “How did you know?”

“Your breathing is different.”

You sat up, your cover blown.  You positioned yourself behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist, your chin on his shoulder.

“I’m glad your back,” you said.

He smelled smokey, his skin hotter than usual. You knew he’d used his quirk. His hand came up and covered yours, strong fingers with calloused tips wrapped around your soft skin.

Dabi didn’t say anything at first, your words taking time to filter through his defenses.  It was different from how he usually responded... denying your comments of affection, brushing them off with barbed, self-deprecating jokes.  But this time, the sarcasm didn’t come, the fight gone from his tired body.

He didn’t pull away, didn’t speak, and so neither did you. This time, you waited, an open space for him decide his next move.

Time seemed to slow as you hugged him and he let you.

Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet.

“It was my birthday.”

Your arms tightened around him in acknowledgement. You planted a kiss to his broad shoulder. “I had a feeling.  Happy birthday.”

“It’s over now.”

“The sun’s not up yet, so it still counts.”

Dabi gave a dry laugh but didn’t protest.

It took you three heartbeats to ask your question.

“Where do you go?”

“Nowhere.” His response was automatic and you knew he was lying.  You wondered how many times he’d practiced answering that question by himself, waiting for the day you’d ask it.  You fell silent, acknowledging his resistance, allowing it to fill the space until his muscles relaxed again.

When Dabi did speak again, he spoke the truth.

“I went to see my family.”

You inhaled in surprise, and he corrected.

“From a distance.”

You rested your cheek against his shoulder blade; he never did like eye contact when he talked about anything serious, especially about himself.  And this was far more than he’d ever given you before.

“What did you see?” you asked softly.

“They visited my grave; lit the incense at my alter at the house.”

He swallowed, and you knew that was the most you would get.  The details of what he saw, of how his family mourned him, would be locked away, kept private only for himself.

Silence fell again, minutes passing.

Finally, Dabi took a deep breath and let it out on shaky lungs.  “It’s ironic, ain’t it?”

“What is?” you asked.

“That they love me more now that I’m gone.”

His words cut you deep and you forced back the tears that stung your eyes. If he knew they were there then he’d pull away, the vulnerable intimacy of the moment coming to an abrupt halt.  Anger boiled within your veins, but you forced that down too. After all, Dabi had enough anger in him to last three lifetimes; you didn’t need to add to it.

“Death is like that, I suppose...” you whispered.  “It makes people reflect on what they took for granted.”

“It’s bullshit.”

Your arms tightened around him in agreement.

Silence again.

Finally, once you had sensed his anger mellowed, you loosened your arms and adjusted your position until you were sitting next to him, your body facing his as he stayed rooted to the edge of the bed. You took his cheek in your hand and turned his face towards you.  His eyes stared back, grey in the dark. His lashes damp, and if the light were on, you knew his eyes would look bloodshot.

“What do you want, Dabi? What do you need?”

Dabi stared at you for a long moment, his hand absently coming up to cover yours.

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, broken like ice cracking beneath the weight of his sadness.

“I want you to call me Touya.” His jaw tensed, the muscle twitching beneath your palm.  “And I need you to stay.”

Your chest tightened and you leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips.  His hand tightened over yours, his lips reciprocating.

You pulled away just enough to look into his eyes.

“Always,” you promised.

[cutthroatcarnival]

Revered Deity, Unknown Hero (1/10)

This is a special one! Thank you @bokettochild for allowing me to write a fic using your God of War!Warriors idea! It was super fun to write. :)

Read chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Find it on AO3 here!

Divine and Draconic Differences

The skies were clear and the weather was pleasant as the heroes congregated outside of Wild and Flora’s Hateno home. It was peaceful, a nice and welcomed reprieve from the era before.

Wind, a still growing teenager, was overflowing with energy, tugging around an equally as eager Hyrule, to explore everything possible. He had his spyglass out, sweeping across the vast land of the Wild Era. Every so often, he’d hand his spyglass over to the traveler to allow him a go.

His telescope was focused on a chasm far out, watching the remaining wisps of gloom fade into the air. Mesmerized by the red-purple, he didn’t fully register the white-blue on the edge until it had blocked his view.

“Wild! What the fuck is that?!” Keeping his focus on the serpentine creature in the sky, he heard Wild approach his side with the familiar sound of him activating his slate’s scope mode.

“That’s Naydra, one of the dragons.”

That… didn’t look like a dragon. Dropping his spyglass from his eye, Wind fixed Wild with a stare. The scarred hero stared back.

“Don’t look at me like that. There’s three dragons, they’re all servants of the springs. Naydra happens to be the servant of the Spring of Wisdom, which is,” he grabbed Wind’s shoulder and spun him around, pointing to a mountain peak covered in snow, “right on that peak over there.” Wind moved his gaze to the mountain peak, following Wild’s finger. He could see the vague shape of pillars.

“Huh… so you have dragons too? They look different from mine.” Wind began walking back to the rest of the group, who had been listening in on the conversation, no matter how hard they tried hiding it. Wild took a few seconds to decipher the information, and ran to catch up with the sailor.

“What do you mean “you too”? I didn’t know anyone else had dragons!” Wind shrugged.

“Like I said, mine are different, like Valoo. He was a sky spirit I met during my first adventure. And the only one that didn’t try to kill me.” He plopped down next to Warriors, who offered the young hero one of the apples he had.

“Still! Does anyone else have dragons?” All hands went up except for the smithy, who looked utterly confused as he mouthed dragons over and over, eyes swirling different colors.

“In my defense, all of my dragons wanted to kill me.” Hyrule exclaimed, being seconded by Time, Twilight, Warriors, and Legend.

The five heroes delved into further conversation about their draconic enemies. Wind wiggled into the group, chattering about the gleeoks he fought. Wild chimed in about having to fight gleeoks as well, explaining about the King Gleeoks residing in hard-to-reach locations.

“The dragons I know serve Hylia.” A few grimaced at the mention of the goddess, but the dislike was outweighed by the curiosity of Sky’s dragons.

“The three of them were assigned to watch over different provinces of the Surface. They also protected the sacred flames, and held parts of the Song of the Hero.”

Wild was immediately upon Sky, spitting out questions with very little breaths between, all centered on what they looked like, if they had any powers, and anything of the sort.

“Of course they have powers, they guard and protect the Triforce. Even the gods wouldn’t be able to reach it with them guarding the key to it.

Gods and Goddesses were a touchy subject. Some were openly hostile towards them, others in the middle, and some revered them. Yet, the topic always raised an interesting thought; just how many are there?

“Do you think there’s more than just Hylia?” Came Four’s voice, eyes shining a curious violet.

“There’s the light spirits in my era,” Twilight rested his chin in his palm, “Ordona, Lanayru, Eldin, and Faron. They protect the regions they share names with.”

“Oh, and the Golden Goddesses! They’re the ones that submerged Hyrule!” Wind piped up, leaning against Warriors, who grimaced as the sailor’s sharp elbow dug into his thigh.

A soft hum emitted from Time, who had been running his fingers along his markings, a pensive look across his face. Wild bounded off of Sky, and settled next to Twilight.

“I know of one! Legends talk about a Fierce Deity… they say that if one dons his armor and mask they gain godlike power.”

Time gave a sharp inhale, and his fingers dropped from his face.

Others shook their heads, either not having any other gods, goddesses, or deities in their time, or having the same ones as someone else.

“Not anymore.”

Eight heads turned towards Sky, who had found a stick and was whittling absentmindedly, a stormy look across his face. They all shared a few glances- curiosity, and a little bit of fear.

‘Not anymore’?

“Oh! There is another- the Deity of War.” Hyrule broke the silence, fingers tying blades of grass into circles while his gaze rested on the other heroes.

“Isn’t that the same as the Fierce Deity?” Twilight cocked his head.

Legend scoffed.

“Many think that, but”, he stood up and turned so he was facing all eight heroes, “they are different. He’s the Deity of War, exactly as his name implies; a powerhouse on the battlefield, calculated and quick. The Fierce Deity doesn’t focus on war, he focuses on ferocity, on power, on courage. It’s in their names, it really is that simple.”

The veteran launched further into an explanation about the two, pointing out the similarities and differences, both surface level and deeper. Pointed ears all upright, revealing without words how invested they were in this newly learned-about deity.

Wild shot up out of his seat and ran to the house, slamming the door open, sounds of rustling and clanging could be heard, and the heroes remaining shared concerned glances. The current era’s hero came racing back out- not bothering to shut the door- with a book in his grasp.

“Legends Throughout the Ages” read the title of the book in intricate gold. The book itself seemed to be in good condition, missing the normal wear and tear they had seen on other things in the champion’s era.

“I know about him! Flora was talking about some books she had found in the castle,” he thumbed through the pages, “and she thought I would like this one… Aha!” Wild smoothed the book to lay flat on pages marked with blue fabric scraps.

On the pages were long paragraphs of stories and legends of the deity, exploring where he originated from and what eras his legends came from. Taking up a sizable portion of the right page was an image.

“Hey, he kind of looks like Warriors!”

Wind grabbed the book from Wild and pranced back over to the captain, who only raised an eyebrow at him, his now finished apple set off to the side. The sailor raised the book next to Warriors and basked in the ‘oohs’ when they realized that their youngest was right.

The picture and the captain looked nearly identical; only differentiated by the gold and blue markings on the deity’s face, blank eyes, and the color of the armor- a vibrant gold- and the tunic- a pale cream.

Snatching the book, Warriors scanned over the page, lingering on the photo a little longer.

“I don’t see it.”

That caused an uproar, as Wind and Wild both pounced on the captain, claiming that he was wrong and everyone could very well see it, while Hyrule just looked at the captain like he had grown a second head. The others groaned quietly.

There goes the relaxing day they were hoping for.

[therealvinelle]

I love the Agatha Christie question!

Who are your HP/Twilight faves in the Christie universe? (Who’s the opportunist who knows too much and dies for it? Who’s the conman killer who courts the girl to avoid suspicion? Who’s just trying to take a holiday and gets caught-up in a murder? Who are the dynamic mystery-solving duo who realize they are in love by the end of the novel? etc.).

I mean, that is kind of what The Man Who Would Be King (and secret fic) (both cowritten with @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin) have already become. We have our murder victim, Alphard, a very rich man with a colorful family, and possibly his sister, we have our unlikely detectives in Voldemort, Lily Potter, and Alphard himself. It may not be the center of the story but it's a large part of it.

In other words my answer for Harry Potter would somehow spoil all my present and future fics so I won't.

As for the Twilight version...

I vote we do it wealthy dysfunctional family style, it's most natural.

A patriarch is poisoned

Carlisle Cullen, a very wealthy man with powerful enemies, nonetheless dear to those around him and blessed with more friends than most, is found dead in his office one morning. Cause of death? Murder.

The police, caught on the detail that Dr. Cullen was a vampire and vampires are real, what the fuck is this on the doctor's autopsy table and is he going to wake up again and drink all our blood?, are little use in the investigation. Scotland Yard is soon brought in, and using Chief Swan's connections with the family they get a better picture of Dr. Cullen's life.

His family wasn't looking to inherit him anytime soon, as he was immortal. None of them were having money troubles however, all were independently wealthy.

He had made enemies of a thousand-year-old clan of powerful vampires, who on hearing that his murder is being investigated like this get very upset. Supposedly the victim lived with them in his youth (and inspector Craddock cries when he learns the timeline for this murder goes back to the 1600s. Are they going to have to bring historians in on this murder??), he might have known something

Oh what's that? The victim had a whole network of friends across the globe, who are all killers, and he knew everyone's secrets? ... do we have the budget to investigate this?

The victim was also living next to a tribe of magical shapeshifting wolves evolved specifically to kill his kind. They liked him best and had a line in their treaty that "he dies last". Not sure what to do with this information

Rosalie Hale missing person case from 1933 solved: Carlisle Cullen adopted her. Was she recognised, did someone piece it together, and was Carlisle killed in retribution?

The victim lived a fake life of fake papers. Could be important, except it's the most normal thing about this case.

The police wonder how this man didn't get murdered sooner, and are stretched so thin the investigation is going slowly.

So, Renesmee gets to be our plucky detective du jour, as she decides to see if she can help. Surely there is no harm in her poking around, and she's well liked around the vampire world so there might be answers she can get that human police can't, partly because policemen keep getting eaten.

She slowly narrows it down to the horrible realization that it was someone in the family, and she learns terrible things.

Jasper Hale wasn't Jasper Hale at all! He was a friend of Jasper's in the newborn army who wanted a new life, and who in the wake of Jasper's suden and unexpected death assumed his identity. He had Peter bite his entire face so he'd be scarred like Jasper had been, and vouch for this blond vampire most definitely being Jasper Hale. Peter later had to die because he Knew Too Much, and so did Charlotte, regrettably. Fake Jasper did however not kill Carlisle.

Edward seems a prime suspect, he is an angry and resentful young man who acts out. Everyone thinks he did it, and that Bella should certainly marry Jacob, the safer option. Much upheaval is had, however, once Renesmee is able to clear Edward's name and he meaningfully links arms with Bella. They sail off into the sunset with their inheritance.

Rosalie is a beautiful, cold, intimidating woman, the femme fatale sort who's surely conniving. It's a bit of a mystery why she married that poor fool Emmett, but it's clear to all she doesn't love him. No clear motive from her, other than the money she would inherit, but she's just so suspicious. Her alibi is ambiguous, she claims she was with Esme and Emmett but what if Esme and Emmett are lying to protect their daughter and wife? Superintendent Battle wonders about that.

Renesmee is at a loss.

And then she realizes that it's not Rosalie who acts like she doesn't love Emmett, it's Emmett who acts like he doesn't love her! And Esme's grieving widow act is just that, it's an act!

Renesmee realizes that Emmett and Esme are lovers, and killed Carlisle together. Esme committed it while Emmett tricked Rosalie into giving her an alibi. Renesmee realizes this once she has a "But Rosalie couldn't have seen Esme from that angle!" moment.

The plan was too pin Rosalie for the murder, see her hanged, and then in due time the mourning widowers would marry, happily entitled to all the money they couldn't have touched if they'd divorced. Also Rosalie was Catholic so she wouldn't have agreed to a divorce.

The two lovers are confronted, and Esme pulls out a tiny pearl-studded gun from her shoe, says "We tried, my love. I regret nothing" before shooting first Emmett, then herself.

[kittyball23]

Hot Tubbing (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: After babysitting his 13 nieces and nephews, Branch unwinds in one of Vacay Island’s jacuzzi-like hot springs… and is soon joined by Poppy

A/N: November 17th is finally here!! Welcome to the first story of my new oneshot collection "Grown-Up Stuff," (also found on AO3, Fanfiction.net, and Wattpad under the same name in addition to being posted here on Tumblr) which will mostly be centered around Broppy, but may feature some Cliva and other couples in the future :)

FYI this fic has been Rated M, as it will have adult themes present, though nothing explicitly written. You do not have to read if these topics are something you are not comfortable with. If you do decide to go forth, all I can say is enjoy! 💕

__________________________________________

"Ahhh…"

Now that felt good. While the water had stung a bit upon entering, it didn't take very long at all for it to work its magic and ease the soreness in Branch’s muscles. Pretty soon, he was leaning back, his arms on either side of him and a sigh of satisfaction escaping his lips. His brother Bruce wasn't kidding. The hot springs really were a great place to unwind, especially after being tossed and wrestled by kids who were far taller than Trolls. Most of the time, this type of experience befell Bruce, but, given that he and Brandy had taken the night off to have some alone time, babysitting duty had fallen upon Branch.

For the first half of the night at least.

He rotated positions with John Dory for the second half, and could now take a moment to relax properly. And on Vacay Island, everything was top-notch in that department. The potent warmth was soon working to bring a sense of sleepiness to him, and he allowed his eyes to shut. Aimless thoughts wandered throughout his mind: of Pop Village, of his brothers, but, mostly of Poppy. He could feel a smile forming on his lips even in his twilight state. Poppy... She looked good in his head, whether it was a memory or whether it was just fantasies of what their future together could bring. One of those, admittedly, was marriage and a family. Maybe not a family as big as Bruce's, but still, a few Troll kiddos wouldn't be so bad. Not bad at all. And neither would the way to go about making that happen... Branch felt as though the water got even hotter when he thought of that.

The Troll didn't think he was too far gone in his exhaustion, but somewhere he figured he must've fallen asleep to the hum of the bubbling water and wind in the foliage, because it was a soft, feminine voice that he registered next.

"You look pretty relaxed."

Branch stirred, blinking drowsy eyes up at the newcomer.

"Huh, wha?" he mumbled, rubbing an eye and registering that it was Poppy who'd spoken. She peered down amusedly at him, her lips sipping at the straw of a fruity drink and her legs slightly submerged into the water from her spot at the edge of the pool. But if the sheer presence of his beloved wasn't enough to stir him awake, then it sure was the attire she had on. The swimsuit was a powder-yellow two-piece, hugging her body snugly and extenuating her slim figure in ways that made his mind race with desire.

He sat straight up, flustered. "Oh! H-hey, Poppy," he stammered, trying to sound casual. Branch cleared his throat, and managed to speak a little more controlled the second time around. "So, um, what are you doing here? I thought you and Viva were hitting the waves."

Poppy nodded. "Yeah, we did for a little bit. But then we called it early. Veevs had other plans… with your brother."

Branch cooked his head. "Clay?"

"Yeah," Poppy confirmed with a smirk. "She wanted to spend some time with him… and I wanted to spend some time with you." She glanced down at him with a half-lidded gaze, giving a flirtatious little growl.

Branch’s eyes bugged.

"So whaddya say, Branch? Got room for one more?"

"Well, I, um, I mean… you can, um, i-if you wanna…"

Poppy smiled. "Great!"

Setting her drink down, she scooted herself over the edge of the pool and plopped inside. The water sloshed a bit, and she hissed at the temperature that befell her skin.

"Ooo, you all right?" Branch asked, concern lacing his voice.

"Oh, yeah, I'm good!" Poppy assured. "Feels really, really nice."

"Yeah," Branch agreed, smirking. "It sure does…" He surprised himself with the husky quality his voice had taken, and realized that it didn't go over Poppy’s head, either. There was a look on her face that could only be described as pleased bewilderment, and he could see a blush forming on her cheeks.

Affected so, she bore into his blue eyes with her deep fuchsia and batted her lashes. "Why don't you come a little closer," she purred, adding her own little suggestive twinge to her words.

Now it was Branch’s turn to blush. A tingle went down his spine - and in other places he wouldn't dare tell her about - but he liked it. And while he wanted to obey, he didn't see the harm in dragging out the tease, even if it was by a minute or two.

"Ehh, I don't know," he said, as though he were indecisive.

Poppy pretended to pout, sticking her bottom lip out. "Aww, come on, I won't bite!" But then she paused, giggled, and added, "Much."

Branch raised an eyebrow. "Much?" he questioned. "What do you mean by that?"

"Get over here and find out," she urged, rolling her eyes playfully.

Branch shrugged. "Fine."

Slowly, purposefully slow, he moved towards her, taking his time inching himself towards her space.

Poppy tapped her fingers impatiently against the edge of the pool. "Can you move any slower?" she whined.

"Can you be any cuter?" he quipped back, finally in enough proximity to be able to wrap an arm around her. Poppy’s arms slinked around his neck, firmly holding him to her as he brought a damp hand up to her cheek, cupping it gently. He waited a heartbeat, letting the sensual tension escalate between them, before allowing himself to lean forward and close the gap.

Poppy sighed deeply as their lips met, melting into the kiss, and Branch felt a surge of affection run through his veins. He tilted his head almost instantly, deepening the connection right away, and she moaned quietly in approval. She was extra sweet, he noted, her taste a hint of pineapple from the fruity concoction she'd been sipping, as well as her usual, strawberry flavor that seemed to permeate every part of her being. It made him feel warm and fuzzy all throughout, making it far too easy to lose himself in the experience. He made a noise of appreciation at the feeling as he pulled away just long enough to gasp in another breath and dive back in, twice as eager this time.

Turned out he wasn’t the only one eager. As he’d learned, Poppy had been the one in their relationship to test the metaphorical waters. First with the peck to the cheek he’d received on the day of the Trolls Kingdom Holiday Gift Swap, and then with the first real kiss they’d shared at Mount Rageous, after he’d successfully opened up to her about his feelings. And now, she was testing herself again.

He hadn’t known what she was up to, until she actually did it. He gasped when he felt a nip, Poppy’s teeth having caught his bottom lip upon one of their breaks for air and tugging lightly for a second before she released. The sensation sent an unexpected bolt of excitement coursing through him, the feeling stronger when he noted Poppy's dark, dilated pupils gazing hungrily at him, her breath coming quicker now. Flirty growls, or no flirty growls, Branch knew one thing - his girlfriend was turned on.

And so was he.

Their next kiss that followed was deeper, and more passionate as a result. Poppy nipped once again, at the corner of his mouth this time, and allowed her next few smooches to trail across his jawline, making a path down the crook of his neck. Branch hummed, his thoughts battling each other. One part of him enjoyed the attention profusely, while the other had him wishing his lips could claim hers again. Both evaporated, however, when he felt her reach a sensitive spot just below his earlobe and take another little nibble. He wouldn't know how to describe the sound that came out of him in response. It might have been a whimper, or it might have been a groan, but either way, it caused Poppy to giggle, the vibration of her laugh tickling Branch's skin.

It wasn't hard to admit that she had a guilty pleasure in prompting reactions out of Branch. Which is why her next idea was getting her excited.

She leaned back, ensuring that her fuchsia gaze was unwaveringly locked to his blue as her hands wandered down, below the water, reaching the hem of his swimming trunks.

Blushing heavily and bracing himself for the onslaught of sensory stimulation that was sure to come, Branch knew he wasn't going to be truly prepared for what was coming next…

… Though, not in the intimate way that he anticipated.

So focused on expecting the next feeling to be under the confines of his swim attire, Branch nearly jumped when an enormous, unforeseen SPPLLAAASH! erupted from the pool in a wave of jacuzzi water that drenched him and Poppy completely!

Poppy shrieked in surprise, ripping herself away from Branch, while her boyfriend sputtered, eyes wide.

"What the - who - ??"

“WOO! Ten outta ten on that cannonball, ay, bro?”

“Oh, nooo,” Branch groaned, already knowing that voice before he even finished rubbing the water out of his eyes completely. “John Dory, you’re not supposed to jump into a jacuzzi! And aren’t you supposed to be watching the kids?!”

His eldest brother adjusted his goggles and blew a raspberry. “Yo, chill, dude, Floyd’s got it covered. He offered to step in and help!”

Branch facepalmed. Oh, Floyd. He knew his favorite brother was big-hearted and always looking out for the rest of their crew… but taking over John Dory’s babysitting duty when not even five minutes had passed by was a little absurd! Branch could probably guess that JD hammed up his struggle just to get out of it.

John Dory then noticed Poppy. “Hey, Poppy Seed! How’s it shakin’ since the last time I saw ya?”

Poppy giggled, meeting him halfway for a fistbump, and shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, you know. Guess you could say I’ve been ‘shaking things up’ with Branch.” She gave her boyfriend a sly look, to which he became bashful, remembering what she had been about to do.

“Oh,” John Dory said, then putting it together and realizing what he’d done. “OHHH, shoot, did I interrupt something here?”

Branch’s deadpanned look told him what he needed to know.

He tittered with embarrassment. “Hehe, my bad! I could totally scoot if ya want. I’m sure there’s gotta be some other jacuzzi here on the isle!”

“No, it’s okay, we were just heading out,” Poppy said, lifting herself over the edge of the pool and reaching for the towel she'd brought with her. “But we’ll see you later, okay?”

JD looked disappointed to see them go, but understood. “It’s all right. Catch y’all later!”

As Branch and Poppy walked off hand in hand, the Pop Queen giggled. Branch glanced at her with curiosity.

“Probably should’ve told him there’d be no guarantee we’d see him later,” she said suggestively.

Branch raised an eyebrow, the heat returning to his cheeks. “Poppy… what do you have in mind?”

She glanced at him mischievously. “Wanna go look for another hot spring? I’m sure John Dory’s right, there’s gotta be more than one on the island. That way we can finish what we started…” She peers down at her place of interest for just a flit of a moment, but even then it causes Branch to blush, stammering his reply.

“S-sure!”

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 24: Neglect

The prompt is kinda funny cause a lot of this fic centers around being cared for but anyway here it is

Read on ao3

Warnings: injuries galore, blood, a little vomiting, removing arrows and a broken bone

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Sky doesn’t even have time to feel overwhelmed.

The moment the last monster is cut down, he’s running back towards the others, none of them in fighting shape anymore. It had been Sky alone who’d defeated the last several infected monsters, and the screams of the others as they’d fallen still rings in his ears.

He drops to Hyrule’s side first, the traveler clutching a hand to the side of Warriors’ neck. Blood streams through his fingers as his hands glow blue, but he seems heedless of the blood dripping off his own forehead and arm, and his face is pinched in concentration, even as he shakes.

Legend is next to him, holding Warriors steady, but one of his arms is held tightly to his chest, and his face is pale in the light from Hyrule’s magic.

Sky looks between the three of them, wondering where he should even begin, but then Hyrule exhales, and lifts his bloody hands.

“H-He’ll, he’ll live,” he croaks, hands shaking uncontrollably. Sky has just enough time to catch him as he collapses backwards, unconscious.

“I got him,” Legend says as he reaches over, but Sky shakes his head, scanning Warriors’ neck and face. He’s unconscious, but Hyrule was right that he’ll live, the slice that had slipped past the captain’s defenses and sent him plunging to the ground in a spray of blood now almost fully healed. He has other smaller injuries, but they’re less pressing right now.

“Drink this,” Sky says, handing a potion to Legend after rifling in his pouch. For once they’re actually well-stocked in healing supplies, and Sky thanks Hylia for it.

“Give it to Four, he’s almost passed out over there,” Legend says in a mutter, and Sky glares.

“We have plenty of potions and your arm is a disaster, drink it,” he says firmly, then gently sets Hyrule on the ground next to Warriors before getting to his feet. Hyrule’s injuries will have to wait until he’s awake, or they can find a fairy. “Besides, Four needs care before he drinks one.”

Sky doesn’t wait to see if Legend obeys or not, rather slides himself over to the smithy himself. Four is curled over himself, his leggings ripped and legs scraped, and shakily trying to remove the arrows stuck in his upper arm.

“Here,” Sky says gently, placing a hand on Four’s back. “Let me.”

The smithy looks at him, his face drawn with pain, and nods weakly. Sky gives him a smile that hides the unpleasant feeling in his stomach, and quickly gets to work, the familiar motions of pushing the arrows through or snapping them in half born from bitter experience.

Four clutches at Sky’s arm the whole time, the Skyloftian patiently letting him hold on so tightly he’s sure the smithy leaves bruises. He murmurs comfort as Four bites back cries of pain, holding a hand firmly over the holes he leaves, and finally he pulls the last arrowhead out.

Four breathes in a shaky breath as Sky wraps up his arm, then gives his hand a grateful squeeze.

“Go help the others, I can handle myself,” Four says a little shakily, and Sky hesitates, then nods as Four starts to fish in his pouch. He trusts Four not to cut corners.

Sky gets up and looks around, and runs over to Twilight’s side just in time to help him turn over and throw up into the grass.

Sky swallows and looks away, but he doesn’t let go until Twilight is done, panting for breath, sweat and blood on his forehead. He lets out a quiet whimper, and Sky gently brushes the hair back from his face, trying to get a good look at his eyes.

Twilight blinks at him, looking the very definition of concussed.

“Sky..? Wh... wh’ happened?” Twilight slurs, and Sky sighs, patting him on the shoulder as he studies the blood pouring down the side of his face. There’s a lump under his hair, and several nasty gashes all along his temple.

“You got hit, buddy, right in the head with a spiked club,” Sky reports, and Twilight blinks at him like he’s having trouble focusing.

“...R’lly?”

“Really,” Sky replies. Twilight had been one of the first to go down, and the noise the club had made as it had hit his skull wasn’t one Sky would easily forget. He squeezes Twilight’s shoulder as he props him up, and tries to coax him into drinking the potion he has.

“Not thirsty,” Twilight huffs, turning his head away, and Sky patiently turns his head back.

“It’s a potion, Rancher. You got hit really hard, you need this if you’re going to be healed,” Sky says, and Twilight squints at him suspiciously.

“‘M not a potion rancher...” Twilight mutters, but he finally drinks the potion, Sky careful to give it to him slowly. Twilight doesn’t seem to change much once it’s in his system, but he seems a little less dizzy, and Sky studies him to make sure that the blood is actually slowing from his head.

Once he’s sure it has, he wraps a quick bandage around his head to stop any more blood from escaping, then moves over to Wild.

Wild is sitting up against a tree, his eyes closed as he takes in quick, shallow breaths. His tunic has several bloody gashes torn into it, and he’s clutching at his leg, Sky quickly looking away when he notices the angle his knee is pointing.

Legend is sitting next to him, talking quietly, and when Sky comes up, Legend makes eye contact with him.

“We’ve got to get his leg back in the right spot before we can give him a potion,” the veteran says a little quietly, and Wild’s breath stutters. “And I... can’t with my arm.”

Sky swallows, the sick feeling in his stomach returning. He’d been lucky so far not to have dealt with anything too horrible, the arrows in Four’s upper arm the worst. But shifting a broken leg back to the correct position...

He breathes out and nods, shoving away the lurch in his stomach. Somebody has to do it.

“Just tell me what to do.”

Legend does his best to explain as Sky bandages the gashes on Wild’s chest, and once he’s finished, he feels like he’s steeled himself enough to deal with it.

“Ready Wild?” Sky asks gently, and Wild gives him a faint nod.

Legend grabs his hand with his good arm, and Sky moves Wild’s leg before he can think about it.

The champion screams, and Sky nearly throws up as bones shift under his hands, noises he never wants to hear again coming from under his hands. Legend does his best to help hold Wild steady, but there’s only so much he can do, his face nearly gone white. Sky ends up nearly sitting on Wild as he thrashes and cries out, but he finally gets his leg and knee back in the right direction.

Wild sags, tears on his face, and Sky runs a hand through his hair.

“There you go buddy, you’re alright,” Sky says in a soothing voice, and Wild doesn’t resist when he and Legend put a potion bottle to his lips.

Sky forces himself to watch his leg right itself, the bit of blood and odd shape slowly smoothing out. The gashes on his middle seem to still be there, the potion having mostly gone to his leg, but the color has returned to Wild’s face.

“Thanks,” Wild says in a trembling voice, and Sky smiles a little weakly before going to the only heroes he hadn’t given any attention to yet.

Time is holding Wind to his chest, what of the sailor’s tunic Sky can see looking burnt in several spots. Time himself has claw marks dangerously close to his good eye, and looks like he’s not breathing the easiest, but the older hero is already wrapping bandages carefully around most of Wind’s left arm, the sailor shaking a little as he works.

Time at least seems reasonably functional, considering the states of some of the others.

Sky hasn’t seen exactly what had happened to either of them, but he’d seen fire, and heard a scream that was way too young. Time had shouted, and there had been enemies running around, but Sky had been busy trying not to be killed himself at the time.

“Here,” Sky says as he hands Time a potion, and the older hero shakes his head.

“Wind already had one.”

“This is for you,” Sky says sternly, and Time ignores him, shushing Wind when the sailor lets out a pained whine. “Old man, those scratches need healing, and I’m pretty sure they aren’t the only thing you’re dealing with.”

“His breathing is a little funny,” Wind whispers, squeezing his eyes shut as Time fixes the bandages. “He got hit in th-the ribs.”

Sky puts a hand on his hip, ignoring the sore feeling he gets for his trouble, but Time ignores him as he continues to help Wind.

“Come on, we have enough potions for you to have one,” Sky says firmly, and Time finally looks at him, blood on his face like a mockery of the tattoos on his opposite cheek.

“Please Time,” Wind says quietly.

The older hero looks at the sailor, then silently takes the potion, his face more worn than usual.

And so it continues.

Having given everyone initial treatment, the job still isn’t done, and Sky runs back and forth between the heroes for most of the afternoon and evening, replacing bandages, settling people into more comfortable positions, and scrounging up some dinner as well.

Even the more functional ones of the group are worn out from their injuries and the fighting, and though Sky aches to rest, he keeps going, heedless of his body begging for him to stop.

When Twilight throws up the potion he was given, Sky patiently gives him another, and when it turns out Legend has a nasty gash on his leg he thought he could walk off, Sky is there and helps him clean and bandage it. Warriors wakes up with a choked gasp much later, and Sky calms him down, offering him some dinner, and Four falls asleep on top of Sky’s sailcloth, his face still pale from blood loss.

It’s the early hours of the morning before everyone is sleeping, at least somewhat peacefully (though Hyrule is still sacked out from magic loss). Sky does his rounds yet again, and realizes suddenly that there isn’t anything else for him to do.

The adrenaline and stubbornness that have so far kept him afloat began to drain away, and Sky quickly sits down, exhaustion weighing on him, pain shooting up from his—

Wait, what?

Sky turns his head around to look at his hip, and sees a tear in the fabric of his tunic, mostly-dried blood soaking most of his lower tunic and upper part of his pant leg.

Sky blinks.

He’d forgotten he’d even been injured, right at the tail end of the battle. He remembered the dark knight swinging at him, and the pain that had torn up his side, but he’d ignored it in favor of finishing the fight and helping the others until eventually it had slipped his mind altogether.

Though that would explain why he’d begun to feel rather dizzy as the evening had worn on.

Sky carefully lifts his bloody tunic out of the way, breath stuttering when it sticks a little. The wound underneath is unpleasant to look at, reasonably deep with half-dried blood stuck all over it. Peeling his tunic away made it begin to bleed again, though sluggishly, and Sky can only stare at it for a minute, the sudden urge to cry sweeping over him.

He’s exhausted, from the battle earlier, and from running around all afternoon and evening caring for the others. He hadn’t been planning to sleep (somebody had to keep watch), but he’d still thought he would get some rest, and now there’s a gash in his side that’s bleeding all over the place.

Maybe it’ll just... be fine for the night, he thinks with a sinking feeling. It’s nearly morning anyway, and there’s no—

He leans over to take off his boots, and gasps, stars glittering at the edges of his vision.

Four shifts where he’s curled up next to him, and before Sky can get a hold of himself, the smithy is sitting up and blinking at him. He stares at him for a moment as be wakes up, then his eyes catch on his side, and they widen.

“Sky! You’re hurt!” he gasps, and Sky shushes him, looking at their lighter sleepers.

Nobody stirs, and he looks back at Four.

“Smithy, I wasn’t—”

“You can’t neglect yourself just because the rest of us are hurt!” Four says more quietly, but his voice is still equally dismayed. Sky shakes his head, feeling that same urge to cry come back even stronger.

“I didn’t realize it was that bad, I... I forgot about it,” he says in a small voice, and Four looks at him, his eyes looking almost red in the firelight.

Then he puts his good hand on Sky’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“Sky, you’ve done enough for today,” he says softly. “Let me help you.”

“But...”

“You deserve care as much as the rest of us,” Four says firmly. “You don’t have to do everything yourself, Sky. You did a good job healing us up, and come tomorrow most of us will be in working order.”

He gives Sky a little smile, and lightly knocks his head against his.

“Helping you after everything you did today is the least I can do. And I know the others would agree.”

Sky can only nod in response, his throat tight as he turns away. Four gives his shoulder another squeeze, and gets to work on his side, grabbing a damp cloth to clean it with, and wrapping it up once it’s cared for.

And after he’s finished, he scootches himself over next to Sky, leaning on his shoulder, and pulling the sailcloth over the both.

Neither of them say anything further, and if Sky sniffles once or twice as he finally lets himself relax, Four doesn’t acknowledge it aside from a gentle squeeze.

[somer-writes]

hey Somer!! I was wondering if you had any Lu fanfic recommendations? I read so quickly I’ve caught up on all the stories I’m following 🥲

i have A LOT so heres some from people I'm not biased towards XD:

Warriors' Disasster Saga by Arggie - a very funny and well written crack fic

Heart Made of Glass and Mind of Stone by FirefliesNightcore - an extremely good converged timeline au which is time centric

Heart on Your Armour by C_C_Cherry and Jade_Green - Twi angst :)

Stubborn by Skyward_Arpeggio - a very good sickfic with lots of comfort

Stand Not at My Grave by Glau - good Twi angst and some really good relationship stuff

LU in Healthcare by Skye_the_Lofty_Nutcase - modern au healthcare setting and wildly cozy

People I AM biased towards:

Blood Drops on Roses (and associated works) by @hotcheetohatredwastaken - calling this a wild meets the chain fic doesn't do it justice. centers a lot on twi and wild's relationship

twilight talks by @rosehipandroots - a series of twi angst fics :D

Visions of a Calling by @wanderlustmagician - a modern au fic with a lot of fun canon nods

Authenticity by @arecaceae175 - a really genuine fic wherein wild is autistic

Here Now by @needfantasticstories - a really sweet fluff fic

ofc i have bookmarks on my prof to look through too but these are ones that i read/reread a lot <3

also im sorry if i missed anyone/anything XD i read a lot of fic lmao

[crazylittlejester]

considering your love of warriors, do you have any fic recs?

There are SO many amazing fics out there, and this is gonna sound INSANE coming from me but most of the fics I read are about Twilight 😭

There was this one fic series I read and loved and I can’t find it, but it was about Legend and Warriors and they kinda became buddies who had each other’s backs? All I remember was something about chess and Legend called Warriors Bluebell (and if anyone can find this fic for me i will owe you my LIFE i think about it AT LEAST once a every two weeks and I think I read it months ago) Edit: Two super awesome people found it, it’s called Broken Together by Flamingidiot on ao3

and then i gotta recommend one of my top 3 favorite fics EVER of all time and that would be Level One by LightBluScrubs on ao3. (IT IS COMPLETE!!)

It was written by someone who works in a trauma center and it’s an au about all of them working in a hospital and they all have their different roles to play to get Wild up and running again after a motorcycle accident. Twilight is the main character i think? But it focuses on all of them really, and you do get different povs. and I’m gonna be 100% honest: I wasn’t the biggest fan of modern au’s UNTIL I READ THIS FIC. (and, yknow, now I have au’s i myself am writing- don’t come at me, i’ve learned the error in my ways, i absolutely love au’s now they’re absolutely fantastic and amazing, i’ve learned i’ve repented)

is it intense at times? absolutely, and it’s a lot of medical stuff, but good lord above i reread it several times a months and i’ll probably go reread it after i hit the post button- the character relationships in that fic are so GOOD. AND ALL THEIR ROLES???? PERFECT. that kinda stuff ain’t for everyone but i love that fic so much and it’s absolutely everything to me, i love it DEARLY the ending made me tear up in the BEST way, it’s fantastic

[bellaxisworld]

snippet time <3

ty for tagging me my loves @malchai @sixlane @ninety-two-bees @a-lilypad @fromagony @ecstarry @c0mbatchameleon (at some point in the past few days) <3

cw: references to blood, because they are vampires!

Regulus needs him more fiercely than anything, his desire for James far outweighs the lust for blood coursing through him. His very being screams and wants and thrashes for blood, but the inherent need for James is his driving force. The years he spent running around tearing cities to ash were the ones spent without James. James is his compass, his very gravity and directional pull. James is his center—the only reason he fought so greatly to stay alive. He’d been reckless and stupid for centuries before sticking with James, practically begging for some sort of relief from a lonely life filled with violence and agony. James is his breaking dawn, something fresh offering freedom, with open palms, pulling Regulus in and readily giving him a sense of safety that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. 

no tags!! but share a snippet and tag me if you want :)

disclaimer; anything i share is subject to future editing before i publish the fic <3

my loves i fear im in a writing slump so if i keeping sharing snippets from the same fic over and over... just let me <3 anyway here is another snippet from my twilight inspired baseball murder fic phew... enjoy! next time i'll share more murder.