#kindness and love have to start from somewhere. be the seed that sprouts it

[dustyforeskin]

"the universe is cruel and uncaring" cool story bro, go watch a documentary about the resilience of humans and animals and watch your heart grow three times its size

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch 26]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 3.6k

ao3 link

Depression is a funny little emotion.

It starts as a seed planted in your stomach by some inconsequential action that slowly grows throughout the day until it is strangling you. Tendrils sprout and creep up your sternum, creeping through your airway and constricting your lungs, making it just a little harder to breathe. Your chest feels tight and no amount of closing your eyes and counting slowly will make the feeling go away. The vines go for your heart next - weaving between the arteries and veins and squeezing until you are hyper aware of every beat it makes. 

You know you cannot let anyone know what germinates inside of you, so for hours and hours and hours do you pretend you can function properly. You ignore how heavy your heart feels or how much your throat stings. You turn off the urge to cry and scream and beg because you know there is no point to it. There is no relief. No amount of comfort will free you from the jungle forming inside of you. All you can do is wait.

Wait until you are finally alone, and the growth is finally allowed to bloom in your brain. Thorns pierce you, pumping their poison into your thoughts. Sap leaks from your eyes as stems force their way up your throat until leaves sprout from your mouth. You are consumed from the inside out until you are a hollow husk of a person.

And who would want to be around that?

Who would want you?

No one is the answer.

 It has always been no one. 

Your parents were the first to show you the truth. There was no care or comfort in your childhood - you were set aside and ignored.

You’ve never blamed them for this. As much as it hurt and as much as it messed with your self-worth, you’ve always understood they were not meant to be parents. You are sure they loved you in their own way, but the lack of affection left your soul to wilt.

College was no better. You made a few friends but quickly learned the meaning of superficial. They did not have time for your awkwardness and personal issues - this was their time to grow and blossom. So, you buried yourself in your studies and were always grateful when they were kind enough to invite you somewhere. 

When you started having romantic relationships they warped your mind even more. A few sweet words would lure you in, then you would become a caretaker and a warm body. Their needs were always top priority and yours were never to be acknowledged. You were strung along to a breaking point or told you were no longer needed, even when you were still heart eyed over them.

A few rounds of this showed you your niche in the world. 

You’re a background character. A friend of a friend’s girlfriend. A one-night stand. Minnie’s mom. 

You don’t matter in the grand scheme of things. You are meant to assist others - meant to raise your daughter to her full potential. 

You’ve long accepted this, which makes it all that much harder when Matt smiles at you like he does. 

You believe he cares for you - he is full of love - but you know there isn’t anything deeper in it. 

You are the mother of his child, a child he is head over heels for - it is natural for him to grow affectionate towards you. He finds you physically and sexually attractive and you yearn for that.

But you know you are nothing but a placeholder.

You have his attention now and you want to bask in it, but next week, next year, or maybe in two years, that attention will move onto someone who deserves it. Someone who is exciting as he is - someone who is smart and passionate. Someone who understands his life and what being Daredevil entails. Someone who cares about the injustices on the streets and does something about it.

Someone who isn’t broken. 

Someone who isn’t a shell going through the motions. 

Someone who isn’t you.

You want to cover your ears and pretend you don’t know the truth. You want to bury yourself in the three little words you thought you heard, but you know you can’t. 

You can’t do that to yourself again. You can’t handle another heartbreak. Another disappointment.

Another reminder you are Nothing. 

You can allow yourself to enjoy your time - enjoy the touches and kisses and moans - but your heart must remain locked away. 

Matt can have all of you but that. If you allow yourself to have hope it will hurt all the more when you have to let him go. 

And you’ll let him go easily when that time comes. You’ll step aside without a fight because his relationship with Minnie is more important than you will ever be, and you are not going to be the reason for a rift between them. You are not going to deny Matt time with his daughter because his destiny is with someone else. 

It will hurt, but it has never mattered if you hurt.

You just want them to be happy.

----

The progress bar on your screen is finally full and you now have the option to select ‘continue with install’. You click on the button, then warily eye your laptop as new windows pop up with technical information you do not care about. 

Work is pushing a bunch of new updates through their system, and because you are remote, you have to play IT to get your machine up to spec. They sent you an email with everything you need to do, which is to sit back and click a few prompts, but they failed to mention the process would take hours and that your laptop would be useless during that time. 

It is nearing two in the morning, and you are starting to run out of steam and patience. 

Between installs and reboots, you have cleaned pretty much everything in your apartment that you could without risking waking Minnie up. You did dishes and dusted. You cleaned out the pantry and washed the windows. You even swept the carpet to get out any lingering dog hair.

You’ve tried to sit and watch something, but it left you fidgety and you couldn’t pay attention to what was being said and you had no chance in hell of following a plot. You attempted to play around on your phone, but you became angry at yourself for not having the funds to buy things that were advertised to you. After Minnie’s birthday and your hospital bill, your bank account was getting dangerously low.

You want to turn off your brain and do your job. You don’t have to Think when combing through orders and producing invoices. 

You don’t want to Think anymore. You are so tired of Thinking. 

You slump into your chair and bury your face into your hands. You’ve got no way to calculate how much longer all this technical setup is going to take or how much longer you are going to have to stay up. The only relief you have is knowing you are being paid for this time, since the email specifically told you to be on the clock while running everything. 

You debate going over to the couch and trying to nap. You could set an alarm so you can periodically check on your computer, but you might disturb your sleeping toddler. The alert could be set to vibrate only, but would that wake you up if you really fell asleep?

Your only solution is to stay awake and try to find something to do to distract yourself. 

As you start to consider deep cleaning the linen closet, your phone lights up with a call from an unsaved number. It takes but a moment for you to recognize the sequence and your heart leaps into your throat as you answer.

“Hello?”

“You’re up late,” Matt teases as a greeting, his voice a few octaves lower than normal and sending a delightful sort of chill up your spine. “Working hard?”

“Hardly working,” you groan in response, but the mere fact he is calling has your lips turning up into a small smile. “My computer is doing updates and I’m waiting for it to finish. It’s been going for hours.”

Matt hums in sympathy and you wonder if he is just getting home. The fact he is a superhero is still very hard for your mind to wrap around. Sweet Matt, who lets his daughter put star stickers all over his face, is the same man who so routinely breaks people’s arms that local ER staff have a monthly betting pool about it - a little fact you learned from Karen. The man in videos dangling someone off a high rise or a bridge is the same man who becomes a clingy octopus when asleep. 

You understand his need to protect the city and you admire it, but fear and uncertainty gather in your belly when you think about Matt out on the rooftops. You are terrified of him getting hurt, despite the fact you trust him and his abilities. You know there is always a bigger threat out there as well as the possibility of an accident. Matt may be amazing, but he can’t fight a random act of God.

Three light knocks from behind you rip your thoughts and you turn in your chair to see Daredevil, in all his red suit glory, standing on your fire escape. He cheekily waves at you as he snaps his flip phone shut and stores it in a hidden pocket. You scramble up and over to the window, yanking it open. He waits patiently, though a bit smugly by the smirk on his lips, as you figure out how to remove the screen. He climbs through with ease and once he is inside, he starts removing his gloves and helmet.

“What are you doing here?” you ask as you close the window again. You aren’t opposed to him coming by, but this is the first time he’s done so, and you aren’t exactly sure of the protocol. Is it a social visit? Does he have some Daredevil news to share with you?

Before he replies, he shakes his head much like a wet dog would. His hair is damp with sweat and the skin that was previously covered is glistening. There is a slight tint of red to his usual paleness and you wonder if he is hot to the touch as well. You try not to squirm at the thought.

“I always check on you before ending patrol,” he finally says, like it is the most obvious thing in the world. He sets his helmet, gloves, and batons on the window-blocking table, then steps to you, reaching up to cup your cheeks when close enough. “I need to make sure my girls are okay.” 

The words come out of him so easily and you want to melt into them like you do with his touch, but your mind is quick to remind you that you’ve given him reason to have to check up on you. This isn’t him being sweet - it is him making sure you haven’t somehow managed to kill yourself. 

Before you can mentally chastise yourself and pull away, Matt is closing the distance. He brings you into a sweet and slow kiss and for a few wonderful moments, your mind goes quiet. His lips are so soft against yours and you can just barely taste the salt from the sweat that has dripped down his face. It ends far too soon, and you try to tell yourself you are not disappointed.

Your thoughts kick back into hyper drive, and as you notice how damp Matt’s hair really is you imagine he would appreciate some cold water. You gently pull away from him, turning as you do to head towards the kitchen. 

“Did anything interesting happen tonight?”

“Nothing out of the usual,” he answers as he moves to follow you. “There was a kid breaking into cars that stuck out, though. He should probably be on his school’s track team if he isn’t already - he made me work to be able to catch him. It was actually a little impressive.”

That would explain the sweat then. It is already warm out and racing through the streets in leather sounds exhausting. It makes you want to shower just hearing about it.

You find Matt’s designated cup and fill it using the pitcher in the fridge. As you pass it over to him, you question, “what did you do once you caught him?”

He doesn’t answer, instead taking the water and downing it all in just a few gulps. Since it is clear he is in need of it, you quickly refill the glass.

“I gave him a warning and let him go,” Matt says after taking another sip, “He seemed like a good kid just getting into the wrong things. I think being chased by the Devil will scare him off crime, at least for a while.”

That warms your heart a little - you like Matt’s sense of justice and how he does not have a hard stance on what is black and white. He truly wants to help the community and not rule it. 

You have to turn away as he drinks his second glass of water. You want those brief moments of mental silence back and watching his throat work only makes you want to kiss him again. You think he wouldn’t mind it if you threw yourself at him, but it isn’t the time or place, and honestly you are a bit scared of the idea that has that kind of effect on you. 

It is something to crave and ask for and get addicted to. If he can turn off your brain so easily, all you will want to do is touch him.

Ever on high alert, you see Matt roll his neck and shoulders as he goes to put his glass into the sink. The movements look a little stiff and anxiety takes hold as you hyper analyze every movement he makes, “Are you alright?”

He pauses at the question, clearly confused by it. He tilts his head back and forth in minute ways like he does when he’s searching for something before answering you. 

“Why do you ask?”

You feel yourself start to flush at the counter, feeling a little silly. If there was anything actually wrong with him, he has a competent nurse on call, but you can’t stop your worry. It courses through you like your blood and you know it will fester and nag if you have any doubt. But you are still hesitant as you vaguely motion to your own neck, “I don’t know, you were out all night. I just…I want to make sure you’re, okay?”

You know that Matt is analyzing you, listening for something you’ll never hear. His lips dip into a frown for a microsecond before lifting up into that soft, beautiful smile you are becoming so fond of. “I’m fine, darling. Just a little stiff is all. It’s hard to have good posture when crouching on a rooftop.”

You take in the words, and you can easily picture Matt on the edge of a building, sitting like a gargoyle. It does ease your own tension that he isn’t injured, but your head just keeps spinning. 

Matt came all the way into Chelsea to check on you, the least you could do is make it worth his while. Offering yourself up for sex doesn’t feel appropriate at the moment, but you have more up your sleeve than just that.

The words tumble out of you before the idea is fully formed, “Do you want a massage?”

The shock on Matt’s face is nearly priceless. His brows shoot up his forehead and his mouth parts just slightly and a small voice in the back of your head wonders if anyone has ever offered him one before. You know his upbringing was as barren as yours, but given he is a fighter, you would have guessed someone would have given him one. 

Finally, he nods, his smile starting to come back, “That sounds amazing. If it’s okay with you - I know it’s getting late.”

“I’ll be up anyways,” you tell him quickly, not wanting him to think it is any inconvenience to you. “And it sounds more enjoyable than more cleaning.”

“Okay.” His boyish grin gets even bigger, and your stomach does a funny twist. “Where do you want me?”

You direct him to sit in front of the couch, on the ground, and as he removes the top half of his armor, you go to fetch wet wipes and lotion. You do not want to be rubbing Matt’s sweat all over his back - you are going to be trying to help him relax and that is a little bit disgusting. 

As you come back to the living room, you have to remind yourself you aren’t supposed to throw yourself at him. It is not fair how good he looks shirtless - he’s well defined and muscular, but not so overly buff it is gross. It’s clear his muscles are for athletics and not to show off how cool he is. His scars only emphasize that. You have no idea how he got them all, but you very much want to lay him down and run your tongue over each and every one. 

Your view changes as Matt plops himself down in front of the couch, seemingly unaware of your various mental crises. You tell yourself to Behave before your feet start moving again. When you get to the couch, you maneuver yourself to be behind Matt and have to bat away all your thoughts again at the sight of his shoulders.  

You force yourself to focus on the task in front of you. As you grab the wet wipe to start cleaning off Matt’s back, you advise him, “Let me know if I go too hard or if anything starts to hurt, okay?”

Beneath your hands, he huffs, “Darling, I don’t think you’ll be able to hurt me. If anything, the harder, the better.”

Your face heats up a little at his words. You remember he said something similar when over you on the couch just a few nights ago. He likes things a little rough. 

Once his shoulders are mostly sweat free, you get to work. 

You start with smoothing your hands down his neck, then fanning out to the edge of his shoulders and back. You aren’t exactly an expert at this, but long ago in college, one ex liked to play video games while you rubbed his shoulders and you had done your fair share of research to make sure you were doing it right. You still remember most of the tips. 

You add some of Minnie’s scent free baby lotion to your hands, then dig your thumbs into Matt’s neck. The muscles are tight and as you begin to push and pull at them, a deep, pleased groan comes from the man under you.

“Mmm, that feels so good.”

You can’t help but smile at the praise and it only encourages you to make sure the entire experience is enjoyable. 

It is surprisingly easy for you to get completely lost in the massage. You focus in on one area and mentally picture different little arrows telling you to rub up this way or swirl your thumbs in a certain motion. Matt’s shoulders quickly become a grid for you to complete and not a laborious task of trying to bond. 

Under your unskilled fingers, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen melts. Whenever you find a knot - and there are many - he grunts and sighs and you can tell he is starting to relax. The tension in his shoulders fade and you actually get to see the moment his jaw unclenches. He opens his mouth and scrunches his nose, making the apples of his cheeks plump up. You peek at the television to catch his reflection and your heart warms at the pleased look on his face.

You wonder if it would be possible to get him to fall asleep like this and decide that is a challenge for another day. Right now, you want to pamper him. 

You slowly work your fingers back up towards his neck, then decide to take a chance based on what you know he likes. 

As you reach his hairline, you tilt your fingers forward so your nails are against his skin, then begin to slowly scritch at his scalp like he’s an overgrown cat. 

The results are instantaneous. Matt pushes his head into the touch, a low guttural moan coming up from his throat. 

It is Filthy. It goes right to your core, making you clench around nothing, and you can’t stop yourself from asking in a soft, teasing voice, “Feel good?”

He hums in an affirmative, tilting his head back far enough that he needs to lean against the couch for support. You keep your fingers where they are, as it's clear he is trying to direct you to where it feels the best - the top of his head. You scritch there, smiling as you fluff up his hair even more. 

Matt looks absolutely blissed out - his eyes are closed, his lips are parted, and you are pretty sure if you keep at this, he might just turn into Jello. 

Which is exactly what you want. 

He works so hard for everyone, running himself into the ground to bring justice to Hell’s Kitchen, and you think he needs some time to just relax. 

So, you begin to plan.

As you gently drag your nails through Matt’s hair, you let your mind begin to think up ideas for a nice family spa day while your laptop and dark thoughts sit on the dining room table, forgotten about.

---

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[cerise-on-top]

Been really into gardening, so what about Nikolai and König with a gardener s/o? Would they be interested in helping out, or have a specific favorite type of plant?

(I love love LOVE rambling about plants, they're so cool once you get to know them!! I blame my mom entirely since she has a green thumb)

(Also, do you have a fav kind of flower? I personally love hydrangeas)

Plants are really cool, though! Hydrangeas are very pretty, I think I've seen some here and there! I personally adore lisianthus, though! They're absolutely gorgeous! Now I can't help but wonder if I could grow some someday when I move out, haha!

Nikolai and König with a Gardener!S/O

Nikolai: I do believe that he has a garden somewhere near his house only he knows about, where he grows vegetables. He loves having his own little garden, just that little bit of space that no one can take away from him with which he can do just about whatever is nice. He especially likes tomatoes, they’re nutritious, healthy and very delicious, as well as easy to cook. Nikolai is a pretty good cook, so he knows how to utilize tomatoes to their full potential. He has tried to grow flowers as well, though. He’s made some good success with sunflowers, in fact he still has some in his secret garden. So he absolutely knows how to take care of a garden, he finds it relaxing even and would love to help you out a bit, if you let him. Do let him plant some plants of his own, though, he loves watching them grow. Although he’s never been able to do so, he’d love to cultivate some melons at some point as well. Watermelons, cantaloupes, honey melons, he’d love to eat his own ones someday as well, especially with you. He thinks it’s so cool that you’re a gardener because, in another life where he wasn’t a soldier and or leader of a PMC, he, too, would be a gardener. Has always dreamed of having a garden with you and would love to plant some trees as well. Apple trees, cherry trees, maybe even some orange trees, as long as he gets some delicious fruit out of it, he’s down. Besides, what’s more domestic than working at your shared garden together? He’ll even plant some flowers as well. He can’t particularly surprise you well with them, but he can look at your surprised face when they first start sprouting. While he won’t pluck or cut them unless he needs to, he will cherish the moments he gets to spend with you and your shared plants. And if you’re the type of person to name your plants then I can assure you he remembers each and every single name.

König: He’s never really been into gardening. He had a small succulent as a kid once so he had something to take care of that would help him with feeling down, but it didn’t survive very long. He loved the little plant a little too much and gave it too much water every day. To this day he feels guilty about it. He named it “Luisa”. Ever since then he’s not very confident in his plant keeping abilities, thinking he has the worst green thumb imaginable. He would love to help you, don’t get me wrong, but he’s afraid of killing your plants and making you mad about it. No, he’d much rather watch you and encourage you with your endeavors. He’ll buy fertilizer, if needed, or some new seeds or saplings if you want some, but he won’t really do much with your plants, aside from moving them to the sunlight if you want him to. Although, it should be added that he could still learn how to take good care of a plant. With some guidance, and another small succulent that’s hard to kill, it’s not too late. Just show him the ropes, tell him what to do and he’ll do it. He might get nervous about having overdone it again from time to time, and will come up to you, the succulent tiny in his hands, asking you if his plant will make it. Reassure him and give him some good tips, he’ll appreciate it more than you’ll ever know. König feels very accomplished when the plant has survived over two months. As time goes on, he’ll grow more comfortable with plants and ask you if he could maybe help you water some more plants. He may still need to get a feeling for it all, but he’s very eager to help you. Again, this is all very domestic for him, so he quite likes it. Just watering some plants with you, harvesting some parsley, maybe picking some apples from the tree. He can get most fruits from the tree due to his height as well, which is great. König’s more into the practical side of gardening, so he prefers fruit and vegetables over flowers. His favorite plant would be a pumpkin, but only because he loves pumpkin seed oil.

[balkanradfem]

On rain-related pests in the garden

So this year has decided to have one of the most rainy springs I've seen. It's been raining for a week and a half, and the prognosis is rain for another week. It reminds me of the first year of my gardening; we also had incessant rain for almost a month, and everyone was saying it was the absolute worst year for gardening yet. Me, who has not gardened ever before, thought it was the best year ever because I had garden produce like never before in my life (because I never gardened before), and was extremely pleased with it.

So, what does constant rain mean for gardening?

It means different things for different plants. Peas, for example, absolutely love it. Wet and cold is their ideal growing conditions, they're having a great time and growing visibly bigger every single day. Peppers are also having a great time! They love being watered and being watered constantly makes sure they'll produce some good roots. I've also noticed cabbage and kale doing very well in the rain, potatoes seem pleased, and all of the squash and the beans I've planted are coming out of the ground, and I'm guessing they're growing roots and waiting for sunshine to do better. Tomatoes, however, are not pleased at all. They're prone to getting sick if their leaves get water and then dirt on them, and since they're all small and close to the ground, they're getting dirty easily. They're also struggling to draw enough nutrients from the ground in the cold, so some are turning black, and others are a little frozen in time, just waiting until it's sunny again so they can grow.

There's a common problem in the community gardens, and people's gardens in general, where this much ran can cause a flood, meaning your plants can get their roots and stalks completely covered in water, and they do not enjoy or tolerate that. Plants that are drowning end up with their roots rotted away; it can happen to seeds as well, if they're completely underwater, they'll rot before managing to sprout.

There's another, equally big problem with this much rain – the slugs are thriving. Slugs have gotten into everyone's garden, and they're eating, well, almost everything in sight. I have had a good share of my baby bean plants eaten away, and I'm seeing big pieces of my baby cabbages missing. Beans seem to be their favourite, they're focused on annihilating them instantly, but they'll also happily eat strawberries when ripe, lettuce, cabbage, peppers, green beans, and anything that is pulled out of the ground and rotting. I actually found most of the slugs in my garden feasting on some old plants and weeds I pulled out that started rotting, there's something irresistible in it to slugs, apparently. So what can you do about slugs?

There's many tricks and methods commonly used and shared, like, put a container of beer in the ground, and they'll all drown in there. They can get picked off and eaten away by a specific variety of ducks. Some people will grow plants that are specifically alluring to slugs to distract them from their other garden produce, others will just go ahead and use diatomaceous earth or some kind of poison to get them to go away. I've never tried any of that; my true and tried method is picking the slugs off, and putting them somewhere else. It takes a lot of dedication and time, but it seems to work; if you're constantly in the garden and picking slugs away, they don't manage to reproduce, so you don't have to deal with their babies next year. With this much rain though, you'll get slugs no matter what you do, they can easily slide to your garden from any patch of grass nearby. Their eggs can also last for several years underground so eradicating them is completely impossible.

If you're trying to pick off your slugs, you need to know how to find them; slugs are not out there and eating your produce all day. They come out early morning, late evening, and after the rain stops. I will usually pick early morning or late evening to visit the garden, and pick them off once a day. It's good to remember to take some gloves so you do not have to deal with the slime (though apparently it's very healthy for the skin), and it's good to have a little container to put them in, so you can easily gather a lot before taking them away.

I found it's easier to find slugs if you're out there weeding and fertilizing, then you catch glimpses of them more easily than when you specifically go and look for slugs. We humans have the advantage of seeing the world from way higher above than slugs, and we tend to move a bit faster, so walking for 2-3 minutes and releasing slugs away from the garden, can disorient them from easily finding your garden again; it's likely they'll find something else to eat closer to their destination. I've never had slugs return in any significant number, it's more likely that you'll get new slugs who are just living closer to your garden.

From the book about 'pests' I've read recently, it's described that killing them largely does not work at all, because it's the food source for the animals that determines how fast they reproduce. So I don't think annihilation is possible, if you're creating a food source, they'll take it as a hint to reproduce at a higher rate, since resources are made available for them to do so. If you're introducing a species that is a predator, you have to count on that species reproducing massively as well, as you've put them in an environment with a large food source. Dislocating the food source, making it unavailable, or dislocating the animal that is eating your produce, so they can't find it again, could potentially hint them into slowing down reproduction, as they're not seeing any food source nearby, I think that's why this method works.

Another problem that is appearing in the garden as the result of the ongoing rain are ants. Ants by themselves are not that harmful to plants, but you know what they do? They'll farm leaf-lice on your plants. They'll find a plant and let lice put their eggs there and then guard the eggs and have bunch of lice eat all of your plants and it's terrible. So ants also need to get a little displaced and find somewhere else to build their farms other than your garden! I've not figured this one yet; I know you can mix 2 anthills in order to create an ant war and have them annihilate each other, but I don't want to make that kind of historical ant drama. I'll look into other options!

[kosmiklia]

I'm trying to grow herbs from seeds...

And my thyme has finally germinated after 10 days!

I'm still waiting on my lemon balm and italian parsley seeds to sprout, but I think they're not going to make it. I live in a place with tropical weather and right before planting them I didn't do any research... turns out that those seeds need cold temperatures to sprout.

But I'm staying patient! I'm trying to be consistent with watering them 3x a day due to the dry weather in my area.

Here's what they're looking like now! 🌱

In this little ceramic pot are my sister's mixed flowers seeds. I think she may have sprinkled it unevenly that's why they're growing only on one side. 🤣 They are the first to sprout, actually. It took them only 3 days to grow out from under the soil!

The bigger pots have italian parsley seeds in them. Still nothing sprouting... but I'm going to keep watering them! I read somewhere (a few days ago) that you're supposed to soak the seeds in a wet tissue paper for 36 hours before planting. Oh well. Let's see where this leads anyway. (I'm trying not to lose hope about this 😭)

And finally...

My thyme babies! Only 3 squares have sprouts, but that's okay because it said in the packet that not all seeds will germinate. Regardless, I'm happy! It's definitely rewarding to see the little leaves open after days of waiting.

What inspired me to start planting is this book I bought 2 weeks ago called "The Art of Simple Living" by Shunmyo Masuno.

One chapter encouraged to create a balcony garden. He wrote that there is something fulfilling about maintaining a space where you can practice patience while looking forward to something. Plants are delicate beings that need extra love and care, and to have that kind of activity, he wrote, will eventually lead to mental clarity.

I think that the mental clarity part will come to me not very soon, but I'm getting there. For now, I'm going to keep taking care of my seeds and hopefully be able to have them fully grow. 💖

[toadstoolgardens]

10 Amazing Medicinal Herbs to Grow in the Garden

1. Calendula, Calendula officinalis: with cheerful golden orange flowers that are edible and medicinal, calendula is one of the most beloved herbs. The petals are edible and the entire flower is medicinal and great for the skin. External use can heal wounds, rashes, burns, and dry skin. Internally calendula flowers are used as an antifungal, an antibacterial, for stimulating the lymphatic system, for stimulating the menses, and as a digestive anti-inflammatory. Calendula also attracts pollinators and is easy to grow from seed. It does well as a container plant too!

2. Motherwort, Leonurus cardiaca: easy to grow and versatile, motherwort is a favorite for anxiety and stress. It's leaves, flowers, and stems can also be taken as a tea or tincture to lessen pain from headaches, menstrual pain, and muscle aches. It can help menstruators going through menopause, easing hot flashes and hormonal irritability. It can be used in childbirth to strengthen contractions. This herbaceous perennial will self-sow happily and can be quite weedy, plant it somewhere where it will have lots of space or where you can control its spreading easily.

3. Passionflower, Passiflora incarnata: these gorgeous flowers are native to the southeastern United States and an important nervine sedative. The stems, leaves, and flowers are used to promote sleep and alleviate pain like headaches and menstrual cramps. Passionflower is a perennial herb that loves to climb, it can be somewhat tough to sprout (stratifying and/or scarifying the seeds will help) but will spread happily through your garden and over fences and trellises once its growing. It's a short lived perennial that usually needs replanting every three years or so, so even if it's spreading quicker than you'd like it will die back after a few years.

4. Echinacea/Purple Coneflower, Echinacea purpurea: a popular garden ornamental that attracts butterflies and bees, echinacea is a gorgeous and easy to grow plant. It's quite hardy, withstanding drought and disease. The roots, seeds, and fresh flowers are all medicinal and stimulate the immune system. Echinacea has been used for centuries to treat the common cold, coughs, bronchitis, upper respiratory infections. It increases the number of white blood cells to help your body fight off all kinds of infections. It's a perennial and will return to your garden year after year, with flowers beginning to grow in its second year.

5. Tulsi/Holy Basil, Ocimum tenuiflorum syn. O. sanctum: a relative of common basil native to India, Sri Lanka, and Malaysia, holy basil or tulsi is aromatic and antimicrobial. The leaves and flowers can be made into a medicinal tea to help with colds, coughs, asthma, bronchitis, sinusitis, headaches, stress, and anxiety. It has an adaptogenic effect, giving uplifting energy and aiding mental focus. You can also use tulsi like regular basil in recipes, it's just more pungent. Tulsi is a perennial in zones 10 or warmer and an annual elsewhere, but it may even self seed in cooler climates too. Its easy to grow from seed after the danger of frost has passed. You can harvest it multiple times a year by cutting the mature plant to 8 inches tall and letting it re-grow.

6. Meadowsweet, Filipendula ulmaria: this European wetland herb has beautiful clusters of white flowers and a pleasant wintergreen flavor. It's flowers and basal leaves are used internally for inflammation, fevers, heartburn, and peptic ulcers. It makes a very tasty tea and is a wonderful tonic for arthritis and other inflammatory issues thanks to its anti-inflammatory salicylates. Meadowsweet is a hardy perennial in zones 2-8 and likes moisture. A wet meadow, streamside, or edge of a pond are perfect for meadowsweet, but it can happily grow in the regular garden with a little extra watering. It's easy to grow meadowsweet by root division, any little piece of root will grow a new plant.

7. Southern Ginseng/Jiaogulan, Gynostemma pentaphyllum: native to southeast Asia and used as a tonic for longevity and vitality, the leaves of southern ginseng can be brewed into a medicinal tea for anxiety, stress, depression, high blood pressure, and high cholesterol. This vine is easy to grow and contains some of the same ginsenosides as American and Asian ginseng. It's an herbaceous perennial vine that grows about 4 inches tall and indefinitely wide. It spreads vigorously so you may want to grow it in a container to keep it from becoming troublesome.

8. Spilanthes, Acmella oleracea: with golden globe-shaped flowers and a red center, spilanthes is an interesting herb to look at and to taste. It's a powerful sialogogue (saliva promoter) and provides a tingly numbing sensation that can relieve toothaches. It's great for your teeth and gums since it's antimicrobial, stimulating, and acts as an oral anodyne. All the above-ground parts are medicinal and can be chewed fresh in moderation or turned into a tincture. Spilanthes is super easy to grow as an annual if you sow seeds after the danger of frost has passed. You can harvest spilanthes a few times during the growing season by cutting the plants back to 6 inches and letting them regrow. Only one or two plants is all you need to make over a quart of tincture.

9. Stinging Nettle, Urtica dioica: a highly revered, highly nutritious spring green. Stinging nettle can be eaten steamed, in soups, or in stir fries and the sting disappears when the leaves are cooked. The greens and tea of nettles are packed with vitamins and minerals, especially vitamins A, C, calcium, potassium, magnesium, and iron. The leaves and seeds are used medicinally for allergies, arthritis, and as a kidney tonic. It's considered a perennial, coming back from the roots year after year and will spread prolifically by runners. The fresh shoots will emerge in early spring and you can continually harvest these tender leaves with scissors and let it regrow. Gather your nettles before they flower and always wear thick clothing or gardening gloves to protect from their sting. Stinging nettle is also a dynamic accumulator and is a great addition to your compost or fertilizing mulch.

10. Wild Bergamot, Monarda fistulosa: a beautiful, medicinal, pollinator attracting relative of bee balm, wild bergamot is an important medicine. Used to treat infections and digestive issues like gas and bloating. Wild bergamot is antimicrobial, anti-inflammatory, and diaphoretic (makes you sweat to help break a fever). The leaves and flowers are medicinal and edible and the pungent flavor makes a great medicinal tea or a tasty pesto for a snack. Wild bergamot is an herbaceous perennial with tiiiiiiny seeds that need to be planted on the soil's surface and misted. It can also be grown by dividing an already established plant since wild bergamot spreads vigorously by runners. Since it spreads you may want to plant it somewhere on its own or contain it. The stems, leaves, and blooms can all be gathered at the peak of flowering and used fresh or dried.

This list is just some ideas to get started. Consider your needs, your region, and your climate and find some herbs that match. Choosing plants native to your area is great because you'll attract local pollinators and it's safer for the ecosystem. If you live in the United States, the National Wildlife Federation has a Native Plant Finder Tool where you can search by zip code. Non-native plants can be wonderful to grow for our herbal needs, but should always be contained and managed. Happy growing!🌱

Source

[unohanadaydreams]

Polyandrous, sexy, hot relationship between fem reader and Shinji, Rose and Kensei😈😈😈🔥🔥🔥 (sorry, I had a typo in the previous ask😓🤭🙃😄)

Oh my god. Like, imagine being the filling between three captains….real hot girl shit.

Features: Smut, a lil angst, and me bending my back to make these three bang reader and each other.

this is fantasy not a how-to guide on poly relationships thanks.

largely unedited bc its thirst post tower content, and pretty much all consent is implied instead of strictly stated. i checked with all 4 of them though and they told ME it’s consensual. Except Kensei. He told me to fuck off ):

Triple Threat Team-up

(Shinji Hirako x Rose Otoribashi x Kensei Muguruma x F!Reader):

How it seeded:

The relationship started with Rose. He wooed you with his flowery words and romantic fashion, paired well with his cool demeanor. Although some of his ideas on love are dated, he’s not one you could call traditional.

As a group, the vizards have endured much and gained little unless they gave to each other. When Shinji walks in on you and Rose naked, using his shunpo to grab a CD before leaving, you find it odd. Rose does not.

He admits that most of the vizards have been some form of...thing at some time in the past. “You can’t be too shocked,” he says. “It’s hard to stay warm in a warehouse.” The phrasing is odd, letting you know there’s something more he means than winter temperatures.

How it took root:

Shinji is odd too. Casual, yet guarded in a way that becomes awkward should he be forced to relax. There is always a joke or gross face or biting word that keeps him at a distance.

The trick is alcohol, like it is for most people. Rose displays you, a bloom with glistening petals and fragrant scent at every private party he arranges. And eventually, Shinji stops finding reasons to flee, his fingers skimming your petal-soft skin as he kisses Rose.

The two of you lure Shinji in, kissing him softly, feeding him well, and paying him attention when he knocks on the window. Who doesn’t love a stray coaxed into domestication?

Rose speaks like he’s telling a story, his eyes most often on yours, his calloused fingers feeling their way down your body until you have to break the eye contact. You never feel like he’s playing you--using you like one does an instrument--, not at all. If anything, you feel as though he’s teaching you a dance, his steady instruction bringing you to revelation each lesson.

Shinji’s eyes are always, always moving to drink in your body as he moves with you, his mouth just as restless. He can never settle on the perfect position, always toying with having more of his body on yours versus more of your body on display. Each time is a revolving puzzle of moments that end well and make him want to test again.

Together, they are easily overwhelming, even when their focus is on each other. Rose’s proclivity for words gets Shinji’s skin flushed as much as yours. Shinji’s restless approach to sex keeps your eyes excited, the play of their bodies combining with the rise and fall of their voices to make for a thrilling, climactic show.

How it sprouted:

If anyone has taken the repositioning to the Seireitei like a bullet, it’s Kensei. He’s not one for shows of sentimentality, leaving the vizards in the human world be, half to keep from missing them and half to stay sane away from them. And the separation feels cruel, a sloppy sever somewhere inside of him that he refuses to see.

The news of Rose and Shinji sharing you wrinkles his nose at first. Really? Is it some kind of middle finger to the “Man”? Seems ostentatious, how open they are about it, like shoving their tongues down your throat in his personal quarters is acceptable. Sure, he’s cooking with his full, undivided attention on the kitchen, but Kensei still has ears. No way would he purposefully hone in on the wet sounds and mewling of you being pressed in between their bodies in the other room as his sauce breaks.

After a sound lecture, Rose and Shinji seem to get the message. Sort of. The couple nights a week that they insist are Kensei’s turn to cook, a nostalgic bit that squeezes his heart enough to agree to, still happen. But it’s just you and Kensei.

And eventually, Kensei can’t help but ask the questions he wants to know, albeit fueled by visible frustration. It’s aggressive and a bit mocking, how he asks, but you answer freely. Which doesn’t help. Just like waking up wet in the pants and sweaty night after night at the thought of picking you up and fucking you in front of Shinji and Rose to teach them a lesson on home etiquette doesn’t help.

The need and want and well of shitty fucking loneliness comes to a head when Rose and Shinji invite themselves back to dinner one night, Shinji’s hand toying with your thigh as Rose whispers something that glazes your eyes.

One of the pots over boils when Shinji palms between your legs with one hand, his other coaxing a saucer of sake past your lips. Rose is between you and Shinji, his fingers kneading your waists.

That’s it, really. The food getting fucked over by his own inattention. The way your thighs are shaking as your kimono is un-tucked. The far too comfortable looks on Shinij and Rose’s degenerate fucking faces.

He makes what he’s been dreaming about for months into a reality, your squeaking morphing into low moans as he pounds into you, picking you up and away from the other two vizards each time they reach for you. They even beg a little and Kensei ignores their panting, their playing with one another, and pretends he’s teaching them a lesson.

How it blossomed:

Alcohol, food, and sex can’t soothe every tear, but they patch up enough to keep the wheels of your relationship greased. The sober statement that you are all in a relationship with each other does hit one of you with a splitting force at times. It’s not uncommon for someone to pull away, unsure how much their needed, wanted, or meant for such a thing.

But there are always enough hands to come around them, reassuring them back.

Kensei doesn’t lose his prickly sensibilities, almost never letting more than one of you touch him at once. He favors positions where he’s able to stand or kneel above one or two people, close enough be inside someone, but far enough to get away should be too much for him. Kensei is most uncomfortable fucking Rose; the dirty words constantly dripping from Rose’s lips and his eyes so focused on Kensei’s over stimulating. Kensei usually presses a hand over his face, muffling his look and words in one swift move.

He likes everyone having their place, approaching sex with three other people like a scene he’s seen before. Kensei loves attention, too. Rarely, he’ll let that show. Dropping his need to be in charge, he’ll let all three of you treat him to the full weight of your bodies and all that comes with it, usually three hands tugging cum to spill over his stomach as all of your mouths leave dark marks over the span of his body. Usually, he wants someone to drive into or a head to force deeper on his cock.

Rose loves those times the most, where everyone is stripped bare of their baggage, just bodies reaching for one another. Like those concerts where everyone is squished together, all feeling the music separately but together. His enjoyment of having some control is less about the power and more about the flow--it’s easier to make the ending come at just the right time when there isn’t a meaty hand squishing his face into the mattress. Anything that leaves his mouth free pleases him, especially if he’s able to drape himself over or in between bodies, guiding them closer to orgasm with verbal and physical encouragement.

Shinji doesn’t care about the positions or pace or anything outside of him being involved. He’s there and that’s vulnerability in itself. Saying that, the playing that thrills him most is the kind that makes him feel like he’s spilling over from contact alone. His body pressed under yours, his cock sliding at your back as you’re fucked above him. Or someone being hugged to him as he lays on his side, both he and them being fucked closer. His mouth is always happy to be at work, the flat of his tongue flicking his piercing over hot, puffy flesh.

Over all, your sex life probably has a color coated calendar--courtesy of Kensei--and you’re often doing overtime if you’re counting orgasms as work.

[deniigi]

Please take this section from a piece about Baby Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon bonding post Bandomeer.

I’m sure that this isn’t how their master-apprentice relationship was formed but I refuse to read so this is it for me 🙃🙂

Title: platelets

Summary: After the smoke clears on Bandomeer, the Agricorps gathers 12yo Obi-Wan into their ranks and prepares to train him to become one of their own. Qui-Gon thinks they should wait a damn minute here. He’s had a change of heart.

---

Obi-Wan was no longer in the med bay. It took Qui-Gon two hours to find him and two years off his life trying to look casual under the irritated gaze of so many suspicious Agricorps members.

The foreman (forewoman) was the first to crack under Qui-Gon’s very charming smile—and she didn’t so much as crack as tell him that his attempts to be subtle disgusted her to the core.

Obi-Wan had been given over to a young lab manager. A friendly man in need of his first supervisee. He was soft at heart and, according to the foreman, very good with kids.

Qui-Gon understood implicitly and rapidly that this was his new competitor.

He asked the foreman what the knights had done to incur the corps’ ire and she told him to search his fucking feelings.

She closed the door behind him, effectively locking him into one of the Agricorps terrarium-lab bubbles.

 --

Qui didn’t like to snoop. He loved to snoop.

Nothing was more satisfying then having a poke through the lines upon lines of glasses and test pockets that covered the tables. He had a sniff around the experimental cuttings taking root in their glasses and then took cover when he heard a voice break out into a laugh.

He peered over the edge of the counter and spotted the familiar green smock-tunic of the corps. Its owner had tan skin and narrow eyes and his back stooped into an arc. Qui-Gon craned his neck and found that the arc came over the tuft-y red hair of his future apprentice (because there was no real question here, regardless of the corps’ agitation; the knights would always get first choice over the initiates).

The lab manager, however, gave no sign of trepidation. He held in front of Obi-Wan a handful of seeds that sprouted and curled under his smile. Obi-Wan watched them with wide eyes. The manager turned his gentle face down towards Obi-Wan and nudged his hands until Obi-Wan was holding the mass as it grew.

“Look, you’re a natural,” the man said.

Obi-Wan sucked in a lip and focused hard. One of the plants’ first adult leaves began to unfurl.

“Well done. Fantastic,” the manager said. “Look at you already. Great job and for that, a reward.”

“A reward?” Obi-Wan asked, handing the tangle of roots off as the manager held out his hands for them.

“A reward,” the manager agreed, plucking one of the fat stems from the bunch and holding it out to Obi-Wan, “A snack.”

Damn. This guy was good.

 --

 The foreman was smug as a dungbeetle in shit when Qui-Gon skulked out of the lab. She asked him how his proposal had gone. He scowled at her and made off back to his quarters.

Normally, he would call someone to lament the traitorous actions of these supposed-allies, but no one was going to be sympathetic right now—not even Tahl. She was going to say what everyone else was going to say which was “Man, you had how many chances to get this right?”

He smashed his face into the pillow of his bunk, then flung it off and flattened his cheek against the mattress.

There had to be some way to turn these tides back in his favor. He wasn’t losing to the Agricorps. Master Dooku would have a heart attack. Qui’s failure in this—more than Xanatos—would kill him and then he’d have to live with that guilt for the rest of his life.

UGH.

Alright, Jinn. Think.

 --

 He had a brilliant plan. It involved a lightsaber. Obi-Wan loved lightsabers. Qui-Gon had witnessed him loving them many a time.

He scrounged up some tools and squeaked past the Agricorps security for a quick bounce off to acquire a crystal. A blue one. Obi-Wan looked like a blue saber sort of kid. It took a while to find one because everyone, everywhere, was conspiring against Qui-Gon on this. Even the Force seemed to be telling him that he was too late.

But for once, he didn’t care. There were only so many times you could fuck up before you started fucking up at least in the right direction.

He got the crystal. He brought it back to the corps headquarters and went on the hunt yet again for his (his damnit) future apprentice.

  This time, Obi-Wan was in the dormitories. Qui-Gon almost gasped in horror to find him outfitted in an over-large green smock-tunic. He flapped the too-long sleeves with a goofy smile while his lab manager reached around him and tightened the belt at his waist as far as it would go.

“You’re so scrawny,” the lab manager told him. “We’ll fix that.”

Obi-Wan beamed up at him and held up his sleeve-covered hands.

“I like green,” he said.

A small piece of Qui-Gon screamed internally.

“I think you’re more of a blue, actually,” the lab manager said. “But this is what we’ve got for now. When you get bigger, we can see if there’s a blue that fits you.”

“There are so many colors,” Obi-Wan said as the manager trapped his arm and started rolling up one of the sleeves. He tried to do the same with the other on his own, which just made the manager’s job harder.

“There are,” the manager said.

“Do you get to pick?”

“You sure do.”

“How do you pick?”

The manager patted Obi-Wan’s head and turned around to hunt down something else from the spare clothing supply.

“It comes to you,” he said, muffled.

There was a long silence. Qui-Gon had just decided to step out of hiding, when Obi-Wan, looking at the rolled edges of his sleeves said,

“I think I want to leave.”

Qui-Gon’s heart stopped. The manager’s rummaging did, too. He pulled himself carefully out of the cupboard.

“Leave?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Obi-Wan said to his sleeves. “I think I want to leave.”

No.

“You’re a little young to leave, aren’t you?” the manager said awkwardly.

“Maybe,” Obi-Wan said. “But I’ll figure it out. If I can survive those people in the mines, then I can figure it out, can’t I? And then I can pick my colors out there. You get to pick, right? Maybe I’ll do blue after all.”

Fuck. No. Qui-Gon was gonna—

“Hey, why don’t we do this?” the manager said, setting aside a set of gaiters to kneel down in front of Obi-Wan. “Let’s give us a trial run, huh? Two months, max. I know we didn’t make the best first impression, but give us two months—eight weeks—and after that, if you don’t like it, we’ll make sure you’ve got somewhere to go when you’re ready to leave. Does that sound okay?”

Qui-Gon held his breath. Obi-Wan studied the knuckles of the hands holding his. He rubbed his split lips together.

“Eight weeks?” he asked.

“That’s all, no more and if you really, really can’t stand it, then even less,” the manager said.

“And you’ll help me? Even if I say I don’t want to stay?”

“Even if you don’t want to stay.”

Maybe Qui was operating on another, less child-friendly level here, but why in kark’s name you’d even give the boy the illusion of choice was beyond him. The answer was, truly, that the second Obi-Wan set foot away from the jedi, he’d be signing his own death sentence.

Xanatos wouldn’t care if he wasn’t Qui-Gon’s true apprentice. He wouldn’t ask those kinds of questions. He’d just seize the opportunity the moment Obi-Wan no longer had someone standing behind him, and when he was through, he’d bring the body to the Temple and lay it out cold and open-eyed on the front steps.

There were no other options for the child now. Qui-Gon was being kind with this process of trust-building. In reality, if he really needed to, he could contact Yoda and acquiesce to his previous wisdom and arguments for Qui-Gon to take the kid on. Yoda would then change the boy’s assignment and orders; he would return to the temple and thereafter again go through the selection process. But this time, Qui-Gon would select him without hesitation.

That wasn’t how Qui-Gon wanted to do this, but if the boy thought that he was going to leave, to step out into the cold of space, then to spare him a cruel, meaningless death, Qui-Gon would.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said quietly to the manager.

“Anytime, hon,” the manager said. “Who knows, anyways. You might even like it here.”

 --

  The trouble with the damn Agricorps was that they were phenomenal talkers. They talked to people about their problems and all these insecurities and they gave them food and drinks and told jokes and laughed and hefted their littlest supervisees up onto their shoulders and all that served to make their members loyal to each other to a fault.

In short, Obi-Wan’s lab manager was winning this battle more every day.

This was not helped at all by the fact that Qui-Gon had discovered through a surprise meeting that Obi-Wan was afraid of him.

They’d bumped into each other in the hallway as Obi-Wan came from the mess hall and Qui-Gon went to drop off some documents, and the kid scrambled away from him and flattened himself against the corridor’s wall.

Some serious meditation (and agitating Mace, great tower of sleep-deprived wisdom) had brought Qui-Gon to the conclusion that yeah, a month in forced labor, being banished to a mine, food deprivation, physical assault, and so on really did a number on a twelve-year-old’s trust in people and their associates.

Further, Mace pointed out that Qui-Gon was approximately ‘half a mile tall and covered in overgrowth.’

He did not appear to be a soothing presence to children. Mace said that if he’d deigned to join him and the other masters in chatting and cuddling the younglings in the crèche, this wouldn’t have been a problem, but alas, Qui, you stuck-up nerfherder. You reap what you sow.

Mace’s hind and foresight was, as per usual, invaluable.

Qui-Gon decided that he was going to be the nice version of himself. He was going to smile at Obi-Wan. That would do it.

 --

 It didn’t do it.

The foreman came to Qui-Gon’s quarters to gleefully tell him not to approach the corps’ young supervisees unprompted. He was giving the children hives.

He explained to her outright that he intended to take Obi-Wan on as his apprentice.

She told him good luck. Obi-Wan, she claimed, was already settling in with the others. He was making friends. And Qui-Gon wasn’t so cruel as to separate such a traumatized boy from such comfort, now was he?

But there, she was mistaken.

He definitely was that cruel.

The foreman told him to die miserable and slammed his door.

 --

 It took another two tries, but eventually, he managed to find Obi-Wan tucked away on one of his breaks from his training in the lab. He appeared to be at a loss for what to do with himself. He’d settled against a window and had splayed both hands on it as he stared out into the cracked soil of Bandomeer.

Qui-Gon watched him for a little while and then cleared his throat.

Obi-Wan jumped. His eyes came up for the briefest second and then his head went down.

��Master,” he greeted.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon replied. “You seem bored.”

Guilt colored the boy’s cheeks in a flush.

“I’m not bored, Master,” he said, fidgeting with his rolled sleeves.

“May I sit?” Qui-Gon asked, gesturing next to where Obi-Wan knelt. He nodded and arranged himself in a more dignified posture. Qui-Gon let him; he sat down next to him, grumbling and creaking and popping.

His bones weren’t what they used to be.

Once he was finally more or less comfortable, he turned to notice Obi-Wan staring at him with eyes like a cat’s.

“What? You never seen an old man sit?” he asked.

“What happened to your hair?” Obi-Wan asked.

Oh.

“It’s in a bun,” Qui-Gon explained, reaching up to release the mane. It tumbled down over his shoulders and cheered for fresh air.

Obi-Wan’s gaze became even more cat-like. Qui-Gon fought off a smirk.

“You want to touch it?” he asked.

The kid looked away abruptly.

“It’s okay. You can touch it,” Qui told him. “It looks better than it feels, I must say. Needs a trim—look at these ends, little one. I ought to be arrested for crimes against decency.”

Aha. Gotcha. Look at that wobble in those lips. Trying not to smile. They’d see how long that worked, now wouldn’t they?

He badgered Obi-Wan until he finally broke and reached up to brush his fingers against the hair Qui-Gon put within his reach. His attention snapped into place.

“It’s soft,” he said, amazed.

His fingers started combing without permission. Qui-Gon let it happen.

“Very useful for cold climates—have you ever felt a snow-yak, Obi-Wan?” he asked.

The boy shook his head. Of course, he hadn’t.

“Do you know what they look like?”

Another shake.

“Well, perhaps one day, you will see them,” Qui-Gon said indulgently. “When I was a boy, my master told me not to try to pet them—he told me at every step of the way, he knew me well. But you know what I did?”

There was that smile now.

“You pet them?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I sure did,” Qui-Gon told him. “And you know that they did?”

“Kicked you?”

“Me? No. I was too small a target. They charged my master—Master Dooku; you may have heard of him.”

Obi-Wan shoved his giggles into his palms.

“I want to pet one,” he said.

“Yes, you do look like the type,” Qui-Gon said. “Tell me, Obi-Wan, what are your feelings on pathetic lifeforms?”

“What’s that?”

“You tell me. What’s a pathetic lifeform to you?”

Obi-Wan settled in and thought about it as he gazed out the window’s thick glass.

“Me,” he decided.

Bless him.

“You?” Qui-Gon said incredulously. “No, no. You saved a jedi master. I said ‘pathetic.’”

“Me,” Obi-Wan insisted again.

Qui-Gon held a finger out between them.

“If you are a pathetic life form, then I am in grave danger,” he said.

The giggle this time wasn’t hidden. It make Qui-Gon’s own grin grow.

“I was thinking a lothcat,” he admitted. “Or a dragon—love a dragon. Of course, the yak—perhaps not pathetic to my master, but to others yes. They’re not smart, Obi-Wan, poor things.”

“You like animals,” Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon weighed this statement with his head.

“’Animals’ isn’t quite broad enough, but yes, they fall into the category,” he said. “I’m also a big fan of rescuing the plants that no one can keep alive.”

Obi-Wan brought up his knees and wrapped his arms around them. He settled a soft cheek onto the top of the right one.

“That’s what I’ll be doing here,” he said.

“Indeed,” Qui-Gon said.

There was a long pause. The boy sniffed softly.

“You will be happy here,” Qui-Gon told him gently. “They will take care of you.”

Another sniff. An eye scrubbed with a too-long sleeve.

“I’m sorry I’m not good enough,” Obi-Wan whispered.

Well, this was a conversation Qui-Gon hadn’t wanted to walk into. There were, from his vantage point, a few ways out of it, but at the end of each of those paths was a set of brown eyes framed by intense, wispy green brows.

“You are good enough,” Qui-Gon said. “I am just a foolish master. You deserve someone better than me, Obi-Wan.”

“There is no one else,” Obi-Wan said.

“There will be,” Qui-Gon said.

“No, there won’t. I’m out of time. All that’s left for me is...this,” Obi-Wan said, gesturing to the landscape beyond the window.

Qui-Gon studied it; the cracks in the soil, the piles of broken stones.

“It is a little bleak,” he admitted.

“What is it like for non-jedi people?” Obi-Wan asked. “Do they go to school? How do they find somewhere to sleep?”

“You will not be a non-jedi person,” Qui-Gon said.

There was a long pause.

“What?”

Qui-Gon sucked in a breath and let his shoulders fall.

“Unless you really want to be one,” he added. “Apologies, I spoke without thinking.”

Those blue eyes were the same color as the crystal in Qui-Gon’s pocket. He put his hand inside of it and pulled the carefully wrapped parcel out so that Obi-Wan could see it. He rolled it slowly until only the crystal sat in his palm.

“There is greatness in you, Obi-Wan,” he said. “And I am not a good enough Master, but you are more than a deserving padawan.”

The eyes flicked from the crystal to Qui-Gon’s face once, then twice.

“Do you mean it?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Are you okay with having a silly master?” Qui-Gon asked. “I will not sugar-coat it—one of my students has already fallen. I am the type of person who Master Windu has been dreaming of the unfortunate demise for since we were children.”

“Why?” Obi-Wan asked with eyes only for the crystal.

“Excellent question. I am told that my brain is fundamentally ill-suited for human interaction,” Qui-Gon said with a smile.

Obi-Wan huffed.

“Does Master Windu really dislike you so much?” he asked.

“He speaks to me in such ways only out of love. My other friends say that I am dedicated intensely to the flight of fancy.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Obi-Wan said.

“You know, funny thing,” Qui-Gon told him, reaching over to take his hand and press the crystal into it, “Neither do I.”

[jae-daddy]

Duff (6)

jaebum au series

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight masterlist

pairing: im jaebum x reader  genre: angst, smut, cheating, CEO! i guess too now “ plot: you are the duff and guys use you to get close to your best friend, Heather, and turns out Jaebum is no exception. but as time goes on the tension between you and your best friend’s unofficial boyfriend grows a/n: im sorry for posting after so long. i got busy with new year celebrations and then started struggling with a creative blog. not edited. hope y’all enjoy it! <3

“So, how is it working for the hot new Director?” Naina asked, watching you take a bite of the fries on your plate. You narrowed your eyes at her anticipating face, waiting for any drop of new information.

You frowned at her instead, “Naina, you ask me this every time we meet.”

Naina only pouted in reply, before picking up a fry from your plate and popping it into her mouth. Before you could complain, she lifted up a quarter of her wrap and dropped it on your plate, “I only ask because you never know when situations can change. One day your secretary and boss, and the next day, you both are hooking up on his sexy desk.”

“Did you just call his desk sexy?”

“Come on,” Naina blew gaping at you as if you were the one insane. “Have you seen that majestic dark wood slick piece of beauty?”

“Oh my god, the Director’s desk right?” Pam settled next to Naina. Naina gave you a told you so look, and you just rolled your eyes at their antics. You didn’t say anything as the other two ladies drifted into a conversation about how sexy furniture could be.

You would have normally joined them, and told them about the three thousand dollar coffee table at Heather’s apartment. But you couldn’t participate in their conversation. Not when your mind was elsewhere; somewhere so much more interesting and sexier than furniture.

What Naina had said had planted another seed in your garden of fantasies about Jaebum and you.

This time you imagined yourself spread on his dark wood desk. Your bodies holding on to each other, desperately trying to get closer as he fucked into you.

You swallowed, as you popped a fry into your mouth, making you choke. You coughed a few times to avail before your hands reached out to your friends who turned towards you with wide eyes.

God, this was so embarrassing. You were going to die from choking on a piece of fry at the company cafeteria.

“Y/n!” Naina and Pam panicked, jumping in their seats. They held your hand staring at you horrified and lost. You had such idiot friends, you were truly about to meet the devil any second now.

Suddenly, you were pulled up from your seat and arms wrapped around your waist. You felt the person behind you press into your stomach from behind, making you heave. The smell of rose and vanilla enveloped you as you felt softness behind you.

“One more time,” a smooth voice grunted into your ear. You nodded, frantically, before the person pressed once more. The piece stuck in your throat flew out. You fell forward, your arms catching the table in front of you. Arms covered in a grey jacket held you steady as you caught your breath.

You heard claps, and you were so embarrassed.

“Are you okay?” You turned around and your breath got caught in your throat from the beauty in front of you. Her almond-shaped eyes crinkled as she gazed at you with concern.

Her pouty pink lips drew into a straight line before her fingers gently brushed the hair from your face. Your heart skipped a beat at the touch, before you nodded, holding in your breath, “I’m okay. Thank you.”

The goddess in front of you smiled, her short hair brushing her shoulders slightly, “Chew your food properly, doll.”

She shot you a wink and walked away with ease and confidence. You remained standing there, your hand over your pounding heart.

“Wow,” Naina gasped from behind you. You slipped into your seat, seeing their face mirror your awe, “I think I'm in love.”

“Me too,” Pam and you replied.

//

You walked into the office after two quick knocks for the sake of formality, and to piss of Jaebum.

Jaebum hated it whenever you did something that an employee was supposed to do, especially when no one else was around.

Jaebum’s office was supposed to be empty with just him sitting on the couch, he worked from.

So imagine your surprise when you walked into his office to find Jaebum and the gorgeous woman from the cafeteria tangled into one another.

You noticed how she was slightly perched on the dark wood of the sexy desk your friends had gushed about. You noticed how Jaebum’s hands spread on her back, and how her head dipped into his neck.

“Oh,” was all that left you. You didn’t know if you should walk back out or stand there until they noticed your presence.

Jaebum noticed you immediately and untangled himself from the woman instantly. You bit your cheek to hold in the urge to roll your eyes. He was going to pretend that you didn’t just walk into a moment in case you went back and reported to Heather.

Typical.

All men are trash.

And you knew Jaebum was just like everyone else already. You knew that the moment he decided to jump the boat from you and Heather literally five minutes after meeting you. He was no different to every other sleazy shit head to walk this earth.

The caught look on Jaebum’s face told you couldn’t hide the distaste from your face as your eyes settled on him.

“Hey, it’s you!” Her smooth voice chuckled, “You work for JB?”

“Everyone here does,” you gave her a curt smile back.

She could have saved you from hell but that didn’t excuse whatever her and Jaebum were up to before you walked in.

Your eyes drew back to Jaebum. The top button of his shirt open, his hair a mess and cheeks flushed. Biting your tongue, you tore your gaze away from him and the mess he echoed.

“She’s my assistant, y/n,” Jaebum finally croaked out. His eyes watching you.

You looked at the iPad in your hand instead of the pair in front of you, “You have a meeting with Mr Mark Tuan in twenty minutes, and dinner with Jackson Wang at eight.”

“No mister for Jackson?” the lady rose an eyebrow at you.

You gave her a polite smile, “No.”

She held your gaze for a moment longer, before turning to Jaebum. She let out a sigh as she hugged him once more. Jaebum hugged her back hesitantly this time, aware of your dark eyes watching them.

He patted her back twice and she moved away.

“It was nice seeing you after so long, JB,” she smiled at him. Jaebum smiled back at her this time, nodding in agreement. She patted his shoulder before picking up her bag from the chair next to the desk. “Oh, before I forget, guess who is back in town and wants to get into business with you?”

Jaebum frowned, and you watched the pair, almost sulking from your corner.

Her smile brightened with secrecy that made you listen intently, “Park Jinyoung.”

Your heart stopped.

“Hey y/n!” You blinked back to reality to find Jaebum in front of you. His eyes staring into yours as he rose his brows in question, “You alright?”

The grimace formed on your lips before you could hold it back. You didn’t even know what you were feeling but it wasn’t pleasant.

You felt it towards Jaebum and how he was hugging that girl. Not because of your feelings, but because he was with Heather.

Not that you had feelings for him or anything.

God, this was so confusing. On top of that, he was back in town.

You felt your frown deepen into a scowl as you glared at Jaebum.

You hissed at him, making him jump back slightly, “Get ready for the meeting. I’ve sent you the report for the meeting already.”

He opened his mouth to something, but you cut him off, “With notes, sir.”

You turned and began walking out of his office.

“Y/n,” Jaebum called out, but you ignored him.

//

Your foot kept tapping against the carpeted floor as you watched the numbers increase on the screen. You hadn't been able to keep still since the moment you heard the news.

Im Jaebum was no help either. All you wanted was to be left alone but he kept on trying to talk to you or kept on sending you to get coffee.

He didn’t take a single sip of those five iced americanos he ordered. All the cups piled on the floor next to the couch he sat on watching you with those dark eyes.

As soon as the clock hit seven-thirty, you called for Jaebum’s driver and rushed out of the office. You didn’t head home, you didn’t even consider going home for a second. Your feet without hesitation led you to Heather’s apartment.

You entered the code, your birthday, and entered the chilly room blasting with the AC high.

“Heather, I need wine and a good movie for crying. You won’t believe what I just- oh MY GOD- AHHHHHHH!” A bloodcurdling scream escaped you, as you fell onto the wall behind you.

When your scream settled as you took in the figure standing in the pink robe belonging to your best friend, you straightened, confused.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You sneered.

“Wow, such a kind greeting for me,” Bambam rolled his eyes, before continuing to sip the glass of orange juice in his hand. You stared at him, your mind puzzled and trying to figure out what the fuck was going on.

“So what’s the tea?” Bambam smacked his lips before licking the droplets of juice remaining on them. He slammed the glass on the white marble, grinning at you. “Why do you need wine and a sad movie? Time of the month?”

“Why- What- How- Pink robe?” You stammered over your words pointing at him. Bambam stood there as if there was nothing weird about this situation. As if standing in nothing but another girl’s pink robe in a stranger’s kitchen was a normal occurrence for him. Your eyes narrowed at him, “Where’s Heather?”

“Y/n!” Heather appeared through her bedroom door. You took in her wet hair and silk robe, your eyes going to Bambam’s also wet hair. You frowned in confusion, and a fire blazed inside of you as an evil thought sprouted somewhere in the back of your mind.

Did they... Are they cheating on Jaebum?

Jaebum’s face from that night at the club invaded your mind. The smile on his face, the look in his eyes as he watched Heather with such softness, “It’s good she gets to live her life how she wants to.”

God. God.

What do you do?

You glared at Heather. Your eyes burned with betrayal from your friend and the anger that spread through your veins as you thought of Jaebum. You couldn’t bear to even imagine the sight of him heartbroken, defeated and cheated. You would rather the world end than see him like that.

“No, y/n!” Heather huffed taking a step towards you. The droplets from her long ember hair darkening the pink silk wrapped around her body. She took a step towards you and you almost took one back. But your feet remained still, as you saw the panic in her eyes, the desperation, “Let me explain.”

“So, what you’re telling me is that he is homeless?” You grunted at a dressed Heather sitting in front of you.

Bambam sat somewhere behind you, snorting, “I’m not homeless. Just low on cash and have no place to go.”

“That is literally homeless,” you turned towards him, giving him a smile.

“Basically,” Heather nodded, ignoring Bambam’s protest in the background. “I’m letting him stay here for a few weeks until his apartment problem is sorted out. I’m living at home anyways, but I came here today because I spilt coffee all over myself.”

“Oh,” you nodded. You weren’t completely convinced. She could’ve gone home, it was just ten minutes away. And why was both of their hair wet from the shower, when there is only one shower in the apartment. Maybe she might have kicked him out of the shower pulling ownership rank.

You had to believe her. There was no other explanation. The alternative was too cruel, and you would rather believe this than consider the dangerous alternative.

And how could you possibly not believe her? You knew Heather would do this in a heartbeat for anyone, she would do so much more then let others stay in her house. She had done the same for you once upon a time, she had done so much more.

She was even willing to buy you a house and you had to talk her out of it.

Yeah, there was no way anything was going on between Heather and Bambam. Whatever she said was the complete and absolute truth, there was no other alternative explanation needed or present.

Heather would never hurt someone else purposefully, she was pure and kind. She was not you.

“How come you’re here?” Heather asked, changing the subject.

“It’s nothing,” you shook your head.

“She's lying,” Bambam butted in. “She came in asking for wine and a movie that will make her cry. Something happened, or she’s on her period.”

Heather turned to you with a grave look, “What’s wrong, babe?”

You glared at Bambam, before turning to Heather. You let out a sigh as you picked your fingernails nervously. Heather instantly took your hands in hers making you meet her concerned green eyes, “What’s wrong?”

You frowned. Your lower lip trembling, “It’s -”

Ding Dong.

You and Heather turned towards the door, and then at Bambam. He let out an exhausted sigh, before he getting up, groaning.

“What am I meant to do? Send them away or- Oh, it's JB,” and without hesitation, he let the dark-haired male in.

Your frown deepened as you glared at the doorway he appeared through. His eyes landed on you right away and stayed on you. You held his gaze, your face darkening into a glare.

His rosy lips parted, his dark eyes filled with desperateness and despair as he held your gaze. It was as if all he saw in the room was you; as if the rest of the people, all disappeared.

It terrified you. It terrified you how this single moment made your heart flip and race. He terrified you.

“Oh good, you’re here Jaebum,” Heather spoke from behind you, and finally, Jaebum looked away from you. But it didn’t stay there, his dark eyes fell back on you, watching you intently.

Was he scared you would tell Heather what you saw in the office?

You scoffed at him, shaking your head as you looked away from him.

“Take Bambam out for a bit,” you heard your best friend’s sweet voice tell her boyfriend.

“I’m not a dog!” Bambam protested. Heather laughed behind you, but Jaebum and you didn’t as much as attempt to smile. Your eyes glittering with fire remained on him before you smirked at him.

You noticed his jaw tightened.

He was so pathetic.

You couldn’t believe you were worried about Heather cheating on him when he was almost dry humping another girl in his office. Well, you didn't see the humping, all you saw was the embrace, but you never know.

You can never know with guys like Im Jaebum, with their bad-news piercing and bad fuck-boy ways.

“Come on, let’s go,” Bambam began dragging Jaebum away, making him look away from you. “Clearly the ladies want us out.”

The door clicked behind them, and you felt your throat dry up.

Heather felt the tension too. She gently placed her fingers under your chin making you meet her gaze, “Now tell me, why do you need a sob night?”

“Heather,” you breathed. Your heart felt as if it would escape out of your chest. Your palms clasped sweatily, as you fisted them in your lap.

Two thoughts bounced around in your head, debating which one do you tell her.

Do you tell her about Im Jaebum who might have cheated on her if she hadn't walked in? Without any proof, without any certainty?

Or do you tell her what you wanted to, what had been bothering you since the afternoon?

“Heather,” her name left you shaky and weak, you gulped, your throat dry, “he’s back, and I might be seeing him around.”

Heather looked at you confused, and you continued, “He wants to get into business with Jaebum, and I'll have to be there.”

“Who, y/n?”

“Park Jinyoung,” you held in your breath.

Rage blazed through her emerald eyes matching the fire of her ember curls. She shot up from her seat, her fists clenched on her sides, “Fuck off if that asshole thinks he can come anywhere near you.”

You snorted, “He isn’t trying to come near me, Heather. He’s trying to do business with Jaebum.”

“I’ll talk to Jaebum to-”

“No.”

“No?”

You shook your head, “No, I can do this.”

Heather looked at you for a long moment.

You leaned into her, letting her engulf you into her arms, “Just let me be sad tonight and get ready for tomorrow.”

“My baby is all grown up,” She kissed your forehead, pulling you closer to her, “I’m so proud of you, but I’m always here for you.”

You nodded, you knew that.

The door of the apartment opened and you slightly turned to find Bambam walk in with four bottles of wine, “Are you guys ready to cry?”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help but giggle as he popped one open and offered it to you.

“Fuck yeah!” Heather cheered. You all turned to her, surprised. Heather didn’t talk crude, but tonight she didn't care to act proper. She just rolled her eyes, “Tonight, we are improper human beings.”

Bambam turned to Jaebum who stood a few feet away, “You in?”

His dark eyes travelled to you once again. After a long moment, he nodded, finally, tearing his gaze away from you and to Bambam.

“Good, go get the glasses,” Bambam ordered him laughing. He turned to the front and pulled out the remote, “Notebook, Titanic --”

“One Day,” you say.

They all gasp and stare at you. You just shrug and take a sip of the wine.

“You really chose heartbreak today, huh?” Bambam snickered, pulling up Netflix. “One Day it is. Jaebum get the tissues ready.”

[delldarling]

the city is hoarding hearts | arroven

male dragon x gender/body neutral reader 9015 words lemon | mention of drinking alcohol, face riding, size difference, fairly submissive monster, penetrative sex, poetry, touch starved note: behold! my modern epic fantasy universe! this world first appeared back in August for my Patreon Story of the Month, and though I haven’t revisited Arroven again just yet, I did return to this universe for December’s Story of the Month as well. 👀

Magic, despite people's claim to the contrary, is beyond rare these days. No one really claims that it isn’t real, that it didn’t once run rampant with it’s existence. After all, it’s impossible to deny when people have things like the architecture of the North to reference. The towers built into their seaside cliffs, spiraling up like the serpents of old reaching for the sun? Without magic, without gravity spells, and an everlasting charm on those spells, thick enough to double as a coat of paint, the towers would have fallen into the sea by now, dashed against the dark stones jutting out from the deep green waters. Many people, though especially the elves, think that the towers will endure long after the cliffs have crumbled into the water. Floating relics, you’ve heard more than a few people murmur, wonder in their voices, wouldn’t that be something?

Even more common now, there are people the world over that claim they have a spark of magic left still, that they can feel the rhythms of the magical tide flooding back over the world.

She Wakes is written on street corners and thick posters, spray painted on the underside of the colossal Echo Bridge. No matter how often they have workers doing their best to clean the graffiti up, the giant letters are back in place a few days later.

Despite how much you’d like to believe them, as everyone dreams of the rumors, of magic returning, you’ve never put too much stock into the whispered words. Why would you? No matter how often you’ve spent watching wispy clouds streak by your window, no matter how often you’ve taken a moment to reflect on the thought, to nurse a seed of hope… Nothing has ever come of it.

It’s why you keep trying to ignore that heavy ache in the arch of your feet, or the way you keep noticing advertisements for Arroven.

History books and the elderly all say that this is how it starts when magic finally blooms in someone’s blood. There’s an itch. An ache. A constant irritant that starts in your extremities and wriggles into your veins, and then coincidences will start to pile up. Small things, like noticing whenever the clock strikes 11:11 on whatever clock you pass. Or maybe it’s having the luck to switch the radio station to your favorite song without fail, or—

“Stop it,” you mutter to yourself when you spot it. You breath puffs out into the chilly air, adding to the fog lingering in the streets. You kneel, brushing aside some of the fallen damask leaves, their velvety backs clinging to your touch even as you do your best to shake them off. Just barely hidden under their litter is a postcard. Without even glancing at it, you know what you’ll find on the back, but you’re drawn to pick it up anyway, turning it over. It depicts a sprawling city with green undertones, the word Arroven written in a sloping, beautiful script along the bottom of the image. The edges are creased, almost lovingly, and there’s a small puncture hole at the top left corner, as if someone had it pinned to a corkboard for no short amount of time. 

Until this moment, you haven’t picked up any of the advertisements for Arroven. The stories all say that you can ignore it, that the magic will go away and fade from you like an ebbing tide if you only will it hard enough, but… You don’t know that you really want it to leave. Those seeds have hope might not have fully sprouted, but their roots have run deep, snaking through your veins. You swallow past the dryness in your throat and turn the postcard over, wonder if you’re going to get an address, or if there are words of encouragement intended for the last owner.

The postcard is faintly yellowed at the edges, but it’s otherwise blank.

You wilt, disappointed, but you don’t throw it back down onto the stones. If you check the railway listings, you’re more than certain that you’ll find a one way trip to Arroven suddenly dirt cheap. The pathway that will lead you there is probably paved with strangely good fortune, more invisible hooks ready to find a secure hold in your heart. You might as well find out if there’s anything to these claims of magic. You have far too much hope shored up in your bones and pumping through your chest not to at least try. 

-

A month later, and you’re starting to believe that whatever magic that led you this far has all but fled. Of course, you’re more than content with where it’s left you, a word rattling around in the back of your brain and clamoring to spill from your lips: home. Arroven feels like home.

It’s not just the city though. It’s your place. It’s the stones that pave the streets and the people that fill them. It’s the smell of bakeries and the faint hint of exhaust. It’s the clean smell of paper and ink from the stationary shop you’d stumbled into on your first night in Arroven, and the proprietor’s barely-there smile. You’d made fast friends with her almost instantly, like it was fate.

Mora, despite her solemn stature, and the vast amount of spiraling tattoos disappearing under the neck of her cleanly pressed shirts, is beyond kind. She possesses a startling, sparkling wit that leaves a smile lingering on your lips whenever you think of her snappy little comments. She’d given you a job in her shop a few days after you’d first arrived, perking up as soon as you’d come back into her shop. She needed a cashier, so she could have more time to develop her own inks, and then a few days after that you literally stumbled onto a showing of a furnished apartment. It had fit all of your needs, and your shoes had sunk into the plush carpet of the bedroom, like a quiet voice in the place asking you to stay.

The ache in your feet had eased, that strange little irritant in the back of your mind fading with every passing day. You haven’t put too much thought into magic since then, as there hasn’t been a reason when you have a new job to keep you busy, and a city to explore on your days off. You love it here, the sea green patina on the copper statues, the swirling architecture that extends to every building in the city, no matter how large or small. Besides, you know if you go looking into magic again, at the message boards or if you go hunting down books, it’s likely that they’ll all say much the same thing: She Wakes, and her gift will blossom in you, but not Forever. She moves us like pawns, adjusting us Just So, no matter how small the slot She needs filled. 

You’ve read it all before, have heard debates shouted in the streets or argued about in the back corner of classrooms. Magic moves through people as it wills, and no amount of pleading will keep it in you unless you’re a mage, and even then, that takes years of study. If the magic that led you here only existed long enough for you to make your home? Then you’ll have to be satisfied with that.

And you are, until that ache in your feet starts up again.

Late one evening, as you’re locking the back door of Rumoura’s, it floods through you fast enough to steal your breath. There’s no voice, no heavy hand on your shoulder, just a fierce pain that wells, threatening to bring tears to your eyes, until you turn to the right. You blink, surprise at the sudden and complete lack of pain, and take a ragged breath as you pocket the key to the door. When you feel steady enough, when your lungs no longer ache, you turn to the right and start walking.It takes you about ten minutes to realize you’re headed towards the main park, the one with ancient ruins of a half finished serpent tower peppered throughout its boundaries. You’ve walked through once, one golden afternoon with Mora, and you’ve been meaning to come back sometime on your lunch break. The past few days have been busy though, with a flood of students coming back to Arroven, stocking up on both casual and serious supplies from Mora’s shop.

Besides, there’s always been time to explore at your leisure now that you’re living here. 

Two towering trees make a grand arch over the park entrance, and the slow swirl of damask leaves spiraling down from the branches make you laugh.

“Coincidence,” you murmur, a small smile curling your lips, and you walk into the park. The paths are well lit, even this late in the evening. This part of the city doesn’t boast about it’s lack of crime, but most people feel it. There always seems to be groups of people roaming: Elven tourists, hooking arms and laughing over cups of tea and coffee, Orcish artists and musicians, setting up on benches or street corners, busking for the simple sake of sharing their art with others. You wander through the park, expecting to simply take in the sights among the meandering attendees, but.. You haven’t seen anyone for the past few minutes. Your footsteps start to slow, wondering if you missed a sign somewhere and you have the nagging feeling that you just need to find someone.

Cautiously, you keep moving, the sudden bout of nervousness easing when you see someone up ahead. They’re sitting at the foot of one of the rather large blocks of toppled variscite, a dark hoodie hiding their face. Their shoulders are broad, and their clothes are a little more ragged than you see on people around here, but it gives off more of a well lived look than a dangerous one. They’re tapping the toes of their boots together, the tread of them worn smooth, and a low, masculine hum reaches your ears the closer you get. He stops as soon as you’re within speaking range though, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on his knees. There’s a street lamp not too far behind him, and with the hood and the angle of the light, it casts most of his face in shadow. All you can spy is a pair of long, thorn-like ear gauges, curling out from the depths of his hood. They’re bigger around than a thimble and sharp looking from this far away. 

“Nice evening, hm?” You say in greeting, hoping that if he doesn’t want to speak, he’ll just bob his head and let you move along. You haven’t run into any trouble in Arroven yet, but even with that strange ache, you don’t know that you can see your good luck lasting forever.

“A lovely one,” he mumbles and he leans back, hands grabbing at his knees and squeezing like he’s the nervous one.

That thought makes you stop, your eyes focusing a bit more intensely on what you can see of his skin. At first glance, his knuckles are bruised and paint splattered, nails split and a little too long, skin rough in texture. You blink, realizing that his knuckles aren’t bruised, his skin just mirrors the strange patterns of the variscite he’s sitting on, ink black and sea green, and the rough texture to his skin has pointy, scalloped edges.

The noise he makes isn’t a sigh, not quite, but he turns his face away, as if he expects you to ignore him, or run, and his hood edges back, just a sliver. The arch of his nose is straight as an arrow, and his nostrils are thin things, slashing upwards. His face has so many angles that it’s hard to tear your gaze away. You wish you could see his eyes, but he has them closed, like he’s still bracing himself for a blow.

“Are you.. Are you alright?” You ask, because it seems like the thing to say, with how tense he is, with how he’s waiting.

His eyes flash open, reflective in the depths of his hood. His mouth curls into a frown when he turns to look at you again. His eyes are still the eerie glam of a reflected light. “You’re not frightened?”

“Are you?” You ask, ignoring the thundering of your own heart. You’ve seen Trolls before, and even a few half-elves or half-orcs of varying descent, with skin that just barely reminds you of his, but.. You’re willing to bet he isn’t any of those. 

“A bit?” He says, unsure, and the edge of a violet tongue flicks out to wet his lower lip. “It’s been a few centuries since any of you have made yourself so at home here that you stumbled across me.” He hunches his shoulders, looking away from you for the breadth of a second, before he can’t help himself. His eyes flick back to you, rove over you from head to toe, almost greedily. “You felt a call then, an itch?”

“An ache,” you correct, staring at him with wide eyes. Centuries? The long lived races don’t often mention the time they have over others. It’s rude at the best of times, and most of them are terrible sticklers for manners. 

“At home here, you said?” You ask, knowing that something about him seems terribly familiar. 

Your question makes him pause, brow lifting before he finally pushes himself to his feet. He unfolds, all long, heavy limbs, but doesn’t move from his spot on the variscite. “M-.. Arroven. You do think of the city as home?” He breathes in, hesitantly lifting his chin. “Not to be rude,” he says, a little awkwardly, “but you smell like Arroven.”

All at once, the old poem flickers back into your mind, the one about hearts and desires and winter. The oldest folktales of the first cities, those built around the serpent towers, all seemed to carry the poem with them. It was both a warning and a blessing to those that wished to stay. You’d have to hunt down the entirety of it, but the ending couplet?  

The city promises, you’ll be most adored So can you, will you, join the hoard?

You bite down fiercely on the desire to blurt out dragon, but he must sense it, might even see the aborted twist of your lips. 

“..you’ve figured it out, then?” He asks, and when his shoulders droop, you spy the barest edge of a wing, tucked in close to his back. “If being in my immediate vicinity is a problem, I quite understand, but please stay in the city. You-” He blows out a breath, large hands fussing about with his hoodie pocket. Everything about him reads awkward, almost shy. “You’re safe here, I promise.” He breathes in again, like he can’t resist, eyes falling closed when his violet tongue appears, there and gone before you can blink. “You belong,” he murmurs and tangles his fingers in the material of his hoodie, like he would reach out if he didn’t stop himself.

Inexplicably, you wonder if Mora knows about the city patron. If you should waltz into the shop tomorrow and announce: I’ve officially been welcomed to the hoard.  ...Sort of. Before you lose your nerve, before you can bite your tongue, you ask. “An official welcome involves more drinks though, doesn’t it?”

-Arroven, the dragon, the founder of the city, is sitting across the table from you, slouching in a barstool that has a difficult time encompassing his enormous body. Despite his height, and the way his hood shadows his face in a frankly ominous way, no one is paying him any attention. One of the bartender’s had slid a drink list your way as soon as you’d claimed the seats, but she hadn’t even glanced at Arroven. In fact, you think her eyes might have skipped right over his seat. It’s a little disconcerting, seeing as he’d claimed that Wink was one of the best bars around, but if they ignore him, if they can’t see him?

“What’ll it be?” A different bartender asks, a tall elf, with his hair plaited back in a complicated braid. He has pleasant features, though he looks a little flustered, a lock or two of dark hair escaping his braid. You think he might be on the newer end when he fumbles a bit with the card you slide his way, olive skin flushing when his fingers nearly touch yours.  

“Uh, the special,” you finally decide, expecting him to turn to Arroven so he can order as well. Your jaw drops when he whirls, not even bothering. “Ar- hey, wait!” 

The elf turns back, smiling vaguely, looking even more tense now that he can’t leave straight off, but he doesn’t seem to see Arroven when you gesture towards him. His gaze zips right through the neckline of Arroven's hoodie, straight on through to the next customer. 

Perturbed, you lean in close to Arroven, heart skipping a beat due to his proximity. He smells faintly of musty books, and stone, cooling in the early evening after baking in the sunshine of a warm day. "Didn’t you want something?” You force yourself to ask, unwilling to let the elf leave without at least checking with him first. He doesn’t have to get anything, but you’d hoped he would, if only so you can spend a while longer in his company. Maybe the flirtatious tone you’d struck had made him uncomfortable?

For a moment Arroven hunches further into his sweatshirt, and you think your fears might hold weight. You are a little close, and you still don’t know each other terribly well yet. You straighten, hoping you don’t look as embarrassed as you feel and Arroven heaves out a sigh. He finally tugs back his hood, though the elf behind the bar doesn’t even blink. “Just a.. a Beetle Wing," he mutters, large, sharp teeth catching the light. The elf nods, though his gaze is still on you when Arroven speaks, and turns away to go make the drinks. 

Without the darkness of night, without his hood shadowing his face, you see that his eyes aren’t permanently reflective. In the dim lights of the bar, they’re a lovely shade of blue-green that matches well with his skin. What you thought were ear gauges were actually his horns, thick and curving, and trailing after the clean arch of his jaw. His ears are heavy with plugs though, and they clink against his horns when he turns, noticing that you’re staring. The scent of hot stone grows stronger when you smile at him, and then he huffs, looking away and running a hand through his already tousled, short dark hair. You catch sight of scales on his scalp and then blink. It’s not hair on his head, it’s feathers. His eyebrows are much the same, in miniature. Fine, thin feathers, as ink dark as the scalloped edges of his scales. 

“So,” you tease, hoping your questions won’t come off as prying. “Can the rest of the people in here see you at all? You said that it’d been a while since anyone had felt at home enough here to stumble across you, but.. I don’t know exactly if that means Magicis is at work, or something else.”

Arroven breathes in, glancing up at the filigreed round sign hanging over the bar. There’s a single neon eye in the middle, opening and closing on loop under the word WINK. Even with the noise of people talking, and the music coming steadily from the small corner of a dance floor, you can still hear the faint buzz and click of the neon switching over. “Not many,” he finally confesses. “If the proprietor were here, she would see me, but she’s been here for a.. For a while.” She’s one of the long lived races then. Arroven turns, taking a quick look over the other patrons, tense, as if he expects one of them to approach. “The couple near the dance floor there,” he finally says, pointing out two women leaning into each other, stealing sips of each other’s drinks. “The orcish fellow on his phone. They can see me, though I doubt they’ll realize who I am. Just living here doesn’t make someone part of the hoard, though it’s always a step in the right direction.” For a second, he looks like he might let the subject drop, but then he cringes, glancing at your eyes before he looks away. “I don’t- I don’t steal from the people living here, whether they’re part of my hoard or not, even if they don’t realize I’m around. Even if they can’t see me.”

That’s reassuring, though you hadn’t planned on diving into that topic.

“What then,” you ask, leaning your chin in the palm of your hand, and your elbow on the bar, “makes someone part of your hoard?” 

Arroven’s rough looking scales don’t shine, but the neon light over the both of you shifts again from blue, to pink, and back. It was already hard for you to take your eyes off of him, knowing who he is, attracted to the nervous quirk of his lips, but now? The magic that you’ve only ever felt the after effects of, the strange aches and coincidences, it feels like more in this moment. More than a soft nudge in the correct direction. Arroven is sitting at your side, winking neon sign a spotlight over both your heads.

Hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, Arroven lifts his hand, reaching out, and taps once, softly, against your sternum. “It sounds esoteric, but the only explanation I have is that all of you feels like you should be here. From the way you smell, to the echoes of your voice or your footsteps along the pavement...” Arroven swallows, and then inhales, letting his hand fall away from your chest as his eyes close. He doesn’t pull his hand back completely though, just lets his hand hover over your thigh. “It’s always the desires of the heart that bring my hoard home,” he murmurs and starts to sway towards you.

There’s a soft clink on the bar, your drinks being set carefully in front of you and Arroven. When you look, the bartender still hasn’t noticed the city patron, the dragon, but the drink is still clearly set aside for him. Your card is placed very quickly next to your glass, the elf flashing you a much more jovial smile than earlier. 

“Your drink has been taken care of,” he explains, but doesn’t stay behind to point out who might have bought them. When you look, Arroven is sitting straight up in his seat, and his guilty expression is answer enough.

“I was supposed to be welcoming you to the city,” he murmurs, turning in his stool so he can take hold of his glass. The liquid inside is iridescent, shifting from what looks like violet, to a strange umber. You’re willing to bet that it’s more blue and green, but the neon light isn’t doing it too many favors. Arroven lifts his cup, patiently waiting for you to do the same and then quietly toasts your arrival. The clink of the glasses rings in your ears with the clarity of a bell, echoes lasting far longer than the noise itself.

“Goodness,” you say, coughing when you finish your swallow. Your drink is a little stronger than you thought it would be, heat already spiralling down into your chest and filling your belly. “So, uh, the city blessings seem to be true, I take it?” You don’t look at him as you speak, afraid he’ll cringe away from the mention of them.

“Blessings?” Arroven asks, and then you have to search up the poem. He sounds like he doesn't know, but they're supposed to be as old as the cities. Or near as.

“Sometimes they vary, from city to city. But most of the time they have almost the same structure. The same meaning,” you explain, pulling up the poem on your phone. “Hoarding hearts, keeping people safe in winter. The, uh-” You turn it his way, but he doesn’t take the phone from you, just reads the words out of the palm of your hand, brows raised by the time he gets to the end.

“‘Sinking talons into your thighs?’” Arroven’s slit pupils grow wide, nearly drowning his iris in darkness. He straightens, taking another hasty gulp of his drink. He laughs when he’s finished, nerves finally beginning to ease. “That’s how they’re translating it these days?” He asks, but you notice his eyes lingering on your hands, drifting down to your knees and the way you’re sitting. 

You pass a good portion of the evening, teetering back and forth with conversation about the city now, and how it was when Arroven had first settled. For all that he’s wearing modern clothes and walking on two feet, you can see him in a larger, more draconic figure, delving into the variscite mines and overseeing the people that had decided to settle under his watch.  

He’s just as enthralled with your stories though, hanging onto your every word, even though he’s still clearly a little anxious. He abandons his hunched and wary demeanor as soon as you start talking about the magic though. All the little aches and nudges and postcards that had led a clear path to his city. To him.

You insist on buying the next round when he makes to wave down the bartender, who is still completely oblivious to his presence, but Arroven stops you with a hand on your wrist. 

"Another time," he says, just loud enough for you to hear. "A welcome isn't a single round, is it?" He asks, a tentative smile revealing a small glimpse of those sharp teeth.

You could argue. You have the feeling that he would let it go if you pushed, but the smile sways you. It's the first time he's spoken without lowering his eyes mid sentence. You accept the drink, and try not to stare when his smile grows, shy and small and all the more endearing for it.

You both pretend not to notice each other grinning after that.

It’s just past 1 AM by the time the both of you leave the bar, only slightly unsteady after a few drinks and a few plates of bar food. Warmth floods you when Arroven’s hand finds your elbow, just barely keeping you from stumbling off the edge of the sidewalk and into the street. All it takes is a single stroke of his thumb over your arm for you to throw aside any worries you might have about flirting. 

He's reciprocated, in quiet ways, for the last hour or so. He’s leaned into you whenever you lowered your voice, had let his eyes linger on your hands and thighs after you brought up the poem.. The worst thing he can do is say no.

“Come to my place?” You blurt and Arroven stutters, hand spasming in his grip on your arm. For a heart wrenching moment, you think he might turn you down, but he finally bobs his head, gauges clicking against his horns with the motion. “...You said you’d been out of the loop with the people living here,” you start, mouth dry, wondering if he knows what you’re trying to ask, but still a little too sober to spell it out. “I’m asking, I’m not just asking you to come visit. I-” 

Arroven stops your worried speech with a slightly awkward smile. “I know what you’re getting at,” he finally says with a gentle huff of a laugh, hand sliding down your arm until he can twine his fingers about yours. His breath hitches, and for a moment you think he might stop, might pull away. “I- I would love to,” he says quietly, and squeezes until his fingernails gently prick the back of your hand.

Wordless with triumph, you flash another smile his way, heart pounding as you keep hold of his hand, ventral scales dry, but slick against your palm.

“The walk back to my place is a bit of a long one from here,” you confess, glancing at the handful of cabs loitering along the street. “Seeing as you got the drinks, I can—” You nearly trip over your own feet when Arroven tugs you back, keeping you from approaching any of the cabs. 

“I don’t.. Fit very well,” he says, apologetically. “If you would rather take one, I can, but if you aren’t opposed..” Arroven’s wings, still tucked in flat along his back, quirk and stretch, spreading wide enough that he nearly clips another leaving bar patron in the face. They don’t move, don’t see him, but they blink, as if a gust of wind just hit them, and shield their eyes until they’re well past you and Arroven.

His statement leaves you staring, jaw beginning to grow slack. “Are you saying you can fly us back to my place?” Your eyes trace his wings again, the fragile veins spider webbing across the membranes. It’s not that you thought they were ornamental, but it’s one thing to see them, and another to know you’ll get to witness their use first hand. 

Arroven’s shoulders start to hunch, but his eyes flick down to your hand, fingers still curled around his. He smiles instead. “Yes?” 

You glance at the cabs, and then back to Arroven’s tall figure and broad shoulders. As much as you’d like being pressed up against him, trapped in the backseat of an uncomfortable cab isn’t quite what you’d pictured, and he’s already nervous enough. That settles things. You nod, just the once and lift your chin to meet his eyes. “Flying it is then! We can’t have you getting stuck in one of those, can we?”

While Arroven walks you through how he’s going to pick you up, how he’s going to hold onto you, some of the people on the sidewalk start to watch you. You’re nodding readily at what they assume to be empty air. You spare a second to wonder if they’ll see you vanish, or if they’ll be able to see the equivalent of a magical wind carrying you away. That would cause quite a stir, wouldn't it? You forget to ask Arroven about it though when he holds out his arm, waiting patiently for you to step closer, fingers gentle in their continued grip on your hand. 

He’s still giving you the chance to turn away. 

You take a breath, thinking back to the nerves you’d felt, packing up a bag and deciding to visit somewhere based on coincidences and the hearsay of magic. You think of Mora, and the apartment that feels more like home to you than nearly anything else ever has. The way everything fits here, every piece of the city you've set foot in branded on your brain, clearer than any map. You step close, eagerly letting Arroven curl his arm around your back and then lift you up in a bridal carry. His forearms and biceps tense, bracing you as he prepares, and then the snap of his wings flaring open makes your heart jump before he leaps. His wings catch a sudden breeze swooping into the street, allowing it to lift the both of you well clear of the ground before he starts to flap. The slight dip in elevation as he finds his rhythm makes you clutch a little tighter, but Arroven doesn’t complain. In fact, when you glance at him, he seems to be holding back a smug little smile.  

It’s cold when he finally crests over the top of the nearest buildings. Between the chill, and the fast growing height between you and the ground, you have no issues absolutely clinging to Arroven’s neck. You don't feel like you're going to fall, but it's still safer than sitting meekly in his arms, isn't it? You try to twist your head about to see everything below you, but another rush of cold wind makes you squint. It takes a moment before you realize Arroven isn't moving though, he's simply keeping the both of you suspended in midair.

“Your address?” Arroven asks as soon as you start to frown, his voice rumbling against your ear.

“Ah.” You give it to him, laughing when you meet his still-shy gaze. “I suppose that’s a little important.”

While the walk would have left you both a little tired, the flight is a fairly short one. You have just enough time to relish all the places you’re pressed in close, to enjoy what little warmth you’ve managed to keep with the wind seeping through your clothes, when Arroven lands in front of your quiet building. There are no witnesses but the dim streetlights, the sound of his flapping wings muffled by the mist beginning to roll through the city. Arroven lowers you almost reluctantly, fingers slow to uncurl so you can step down onto the pavement. He takes a step back as soon as you do, like he needs the space between you to think.

“Still up for coming inside?” You ask, giving him the same chance he’d given you earlier. You jerk a thumb at the locked door, searching for your keys with your other hand. 

Arroven’s head jerks forward almost too fast, the dark feathers on his skull prickling upwards. His wings snap closed, tight against his back again as soon as you unlock your door. It’s only mildly nerve wracking, having him follow you up to your place, and you think it might be because of how nervous he’s acting. He flinches away from the wall when he barely brushes it, almost tripping over his own boots as he goes up the stairs. He’s been shy from the get-go, but this-

“Arroven,” you murmur, turning to look up at him, hand pausing on your door handle. “Is something wrong?”

He breathes out, turning his head so the plugs in his earlobes clack against his horns, blue-green eyes roving over the hall. “No,” he says slowly, forcing himself to stop hunching into his hoodie, to take his wringing hangs out of the front pocket. “I’ve just, it’s just that I keep-” He stays where he is, brow furrowing for all of five seconds before he’s huffing and stepping into your space. When Arroven leans down, his pupils are needle thin, that sunshine warm smell suffusing the air. He was summoning up courage, you realize, just in time to let your eyes fall closed as he cradles your jaw with both hands. They dwarf your human face, his fingertips easily reaching all the way to the back of your neck, but his touch may well be the softest thing you’ve ever known. His kiss is more the brush of his mouth over the shape of yours, a slip of a taste when his tongue follows the curve of your lower lip. He hums, softly, but when you kiss him back? When your tongue touches his and you try to stand on your tip-toes to deepen things, when you stumble a step closer—Arroven’s groan is gratifying. Achingly slowly, he draws his hands down the side of your neck, leaving you free to control the pace of the kiss. His thumbs trace your collarbone, slow, deep circles that make you wish you weren’t standing out here, fully clothed and too warm.

You pull away, licking your lips and glancing down the hall. There’s no one there, despite your pulse loud in your ears and your breath heaving, surely loud enough to wake even those in the very depths of sleep. Arroven’s breath hitches, and for a moment he sways, ready to chase you for another kiss. “Wait, wait,” you say softly, trying not to smile too wide when his eyes flicker open, dark pupils growing larger. He starts to straighten, embarrassment lifting his shoulders. “Maybe we should get in my house first?” You rush to say, not wanting to potentially scar one of your neighbors, but not wanting him to rush away either.

His mouth opens on reflex, and then closes, slipping into a gentle smile. “Yes,” he says, and then you have to swallow, watching his eyes slide down to your hands and then further down to your knees.  

You get your door open before he touches you again, but you’re only a few steps inside when Arroven reaches for you. He strokes the back of his knuckles down your forearm, fingertips only barely grazing your hips. “I’ve missed this,” he whispers, one of his fingers catching two of yours. “Touching,” he explains, the edge of his thumbnail stroking over your wrist and the base of your thumb and back. “Being close to, well…” He breathes in when you step into him, and grows as still as a statue when you balance against him, reaching around his middle to swing the front door shut. This close, Arroven still smells of sunshine, but there’s a sweeter, crisper undertone that makes you want to close your eyes to savor it, to breathe it in. He’s nearly vibrating with you pressed close though, hands hovering somewhere over the middle of your back, trying to keep himself still. He’s waiting for you to give him the go ahead, still caught up in his nerves... Or maybe just manners?

You grin, gently pushing yourself back a step before you smooth out your expression. “Part of your hoard?” You wonder aloud, but then you can’t keep yourself straight faced any longer, wanting him to recognize the words for the gentle teasing they are. You smile. “How about you touch me then?”

Arroven huffs, pleased, and then you quickly discover how needy he can be. He kisses you all the way down the hall, his wings nearly catching on picture frames, hands trembling in their stroking over your back. He keeps pausing at the top of your hips, like he wants to let his hands drift lower, but focuses on his mouth instead, mouth and teeth moving from your lips, to your jaw and down to your neck. You don’t think he’s willing to risk going further though, knowing that it would likely end up with both of you unbalanced and on the floor instead of the bed. 

“Distracted?” You ask, reaching blindly around your doorframe, searching for the lightswitch as Arroven’s tongue flickers over the pulse on the left side of your neck. Your own breathing stutters for a moment, heat building in your veins. “You keep-”

Arroven’s breath puffs over the damp patch he’s left on your skin as he lifts his head, violet tongue sliding along the sharp points of his teeth. “Hardly,” Arroven interrupts, and his wings tense when you hook your fingers into the neck of his hoodie, drawing him further into the room. Your fingers find the lightswitch, the soft ring of the bulb lighting strangely loud in the room. “You’re all I can see. All I can focus on. ..am I missing something? Cues?” He asks, voice gone lower when you give his hoodie a fierce tug. He follows, all too willingly, fingers flexing around your hips. 

“Hardly,” you say back, teasing as you back up towards the bed. You pull when you lean back, expecting him to let you fall, to fall with you, but his wings flare again. He catches himself on the blankets, hands to either side of your body, the blue-green of his eyes swallowed by his pupils as he takes the sight of you in. “Still good?” You ask after a moment, because he’s staring, because he hasn’t moved a muscle. 

“Tell me,” Arroven blurts, arms tensing as his fingers twist into the blankets. “Tell me what to do,” he pleads, gaze catching on every sliver of bared skin he can find. “I’m.. finding it a little difficult to think. All I want to do is make you happy, make you want to-” He stops, feathered brows drawing together as he considers his words.

You arch an eyebrow, your hands stilling just shy of his chest. The way he’d hesitated, his flighty touches? they all make a bit more sense now. He’d asked you to stay in the city, had mentioned your belonging here. If you wanted to leave, if you insisted on stopping, Arroven wouldn’t keep you. But he wants you to stay here.

  “Little to no thinking,” you muse, unable to keep from smiling as he hangs onto your every word. “Undress me,” you finally decide, and his nostrils flare before he sets to work. He’s terribly careful, every brush of his scaled knuckles whisper-soft and cool against your skin, but his breathing is ragged by the time he’s finished and your heart has sped in response. You’re tempted to make him undress himself too. In fact, he would probably do just as you asked, but you’re too impatient to get your hands back on him. “Hoodie off,” you declare, half amazed that he’s obeying your whims, “and lay down on the bed.”

Arroven listens immediately, tucking his wings in close before he’s pulling off the hoodie, careful around the curl of his horns and the arch of his wings. He isn’t wearing a shirt, but with his wings, you understand why. Most of those with wings don’t favor mass produced clothes or modern fashion. He’s on the bed before you can finish pushing yourself back up, jeans low on his hips, pale belly and chest all the brighter compared to the black and teal pattern of his scales. His legs spread reflexively when you stand, jeans growing taut when you reach for him. Your hands are steady, even if your pulse isn’t, but Arroven doesn’t seem to care. He looks blissed out from this much touch alone, jaw gone slack, eyelids heavy as you unbutton and unzip his jeans. He exhales when you pull at his jeans, eyes zeroed in on your face.

He’s thicker than he is long, and as pale as his abdomen, save for a violet tinge that makes you think of his tongue. Nestled as he is in the ‘v’ of his unzipped jeans, it’s all you can do to keep yourself from stroking him straight away, or even leaning down to-

“Maybe I can think,” Arroven says hoarsely. He lifts one of his hands, gentleman-like, offering it to you palm up. “Let me?” He asks, though you’re not entirely sure what he wants you to let him do.

Mannerly, you can’t help but think, lips twitching as you place your hand in his. The older races are, generally. It’s something to fall back on if they’re nervous or unsure. Not that most of them would ever admit to it.

“Are you thinking I should leave your boots on?” You get one knee on the bed before you pause, glancing back at his legs still hanging over the edge.

Arroven hums, but his grip on your fingers tightens for a second, not wanting to let go. “I’ll worry about those later,” he says, and then inhales sharply when you straddle his lap, cock pulsing as you settle against him. If he wants to let his jeans tangle around his boots, you’re not going to complain. It’s a bit of a thrill, knowing that he’s too impatient to fuss with them.

“Boots on, then. Now, what am I supposed to let you do?” You lean forward, drawing an aimless, spiraling pattern from his abdomen up to his ribcage. He’s much warmer now, with you astride his thighs and his wings trapped beneath him on the bed. It looks uncomfortable, but he hasn’t mentioned them once.

Hesitant, Arroven’s hold on you loosens, and then his hand drops to your thigh, eyebrows furrowing when he finally speaks. “Sit on my face?”

The brevity of it, the tone of uncertainty, makes your mouth twitch. “Jumping right in there, aren’t we? And here I thought you were kind of shy.”

“I am!” Arroven blurts and then covers his face with one hand, laughing quietly at himself. “I am,” he says, a bit more composed when he lets his hand fall away. “Though shyness has hardly ever been a factor in my favor. What is it humans say? Better to rip off the bandage?”

You crawl halfway up his body, smiling wider when he forgets to breathe. “Had to get the anxiety out of the way?” You brush a kiss over his chin, eyes catching on the curl of his horns. He’s moved so carefully that you’ve yet to feel the sharp points of them catching your skin, but if you sit on his face… You ignore Arroven’s disappointed sigh as you turn away to stroke the pad of your thumb over his right horn, wondering whether he has any feeling in them. They’re as ink dark as some of his scales and twisted in a lovely spiral that perfectly circles his pointed, gauged ears. Arroven isn’t reacting like he has sensation in them, though he reacts to every other little touch of you against his scales. “You’re going to have to help me balance,” you confess, sitting back against his middle. “Because even though they aren’t terribly sharp, I rather think I’ll be risking my thighs. Don’t you?”

Arroven stares, blinking, and then he looks horrified, which makes you wonder how long it’s been since he’s been close to a human, if ever. 

“I’m not against this,” you add, grinning, “just to be clear.”

For a moment, all he says in response is a strangled sounding “Ah,” before he blinks again, glancing up at the ceiling. “I can... I will help. I’ll be careful. More than careful.”

It takes a few moments, and some adjustment, before you’re finally able to settle over his face. Your heart starts to pound a little faster when Arroven opens his mouth, those dagger-like teeth flashing in the dim light. His hands are strong though, curling around your thigh and bracing your hip. He’s too tall for you to do more than help balance against his chest, though you can see that he’s still wonderfully hard, and his cock is starting to leak. You’d love nothing more than to take him in hand, to taste him, but then Arroven nips your inner thigh, and you stop paying attention to his cock and start focusing on sensation. Your fingers curl at the first hot swipe of his tongue, pressing a little hard into the ventral scales over his chest, and the next slow lick has your eyes falling closed. 

It’s not easy to stay steady, to keep your arms and legs from quivering the longer he licks and slurps. Arroven sucks small kisses over your thighs and the left cheek of your ass, his teeth only ever the barest pressure on your skin. His horns graze you, but he’s true to his word in keeping you balanced. The texture of them against your skin is just something more to feel, to enjoy as he tilts his head this way and that. Pleasure builds, faster by far than the magic that built in your veins, that left you aching with the need to come to the city. If that ache had been anything close to what you’re feeling now, warm, and slick, with the heady pressure of Arroven’s fingers on your skin, you would have picked up on the breadcrumb trail a lot sooner.

“You’re go- going to push me over the edge,” you warn with a gasp, legs starting to tremble. He moves you in response, starts to rock your hips so all he has to do is stick out his tongue, but your hands are shaking now too, cluing him into your urgency. Arroven shakes his head from side to side, a little wild, the plugs in his earlobes clattering against his horns with every shift. You bite down on your lower lip, orgasm rolling swiftly over you and nearly choke on the curse that wants to leave your mouth. He keeps you there, aching and weak, until you pat awkwardly at his chest, releasing you reluctantly with one last obscene noise of satisfaction. 

You sit next to him, still a little unsteady and grin down at his pleased, messy face. “Now, unless you have any other lovely thoughts to share - your turn?”  

His rough sounding “Please,” has your libido jumping back into overdrive, but it’s safety that has you slipping off the bed to dig out a bottle of lube from your things. He’s half pushed himself back up when you come back to the bed, resting on his elbows, fingers twisted gently into the blankets. His wings are partially stretched out now too, one of them reaching all the way to the end of your bed. 

“Are your wings alright?” You ask, wondering if you should throw away the idea of climbing back into his lap, lube already pooling in the palm of your hand.  

Arroven smiles again though, waving away your worry. “Tense,” he offers, as explanation. “I was more focused on you, but they’re good. I promise.” His cock bobs as you approach, and then he lays back down, irises vanishing into the ether of his pupils. 

“If you promise, I suppose I’ll let it go.” You close the lube, only a bit ungracefully, and toss it to the side, climbing back onto the bed and straddling his thighs.

  Your first wet squeeze of his cock has him whimpering, your hand barely fitting around him at his thinnest point. When you stroke, he bucks nearly unseating you until he claps his hands onto your thighs, muttering a hasty apology. Despite being tempted to laugh, you narrow your eyes, squeezing him just a little harder. “You don’t have to be still, but move a little slower for now, hm?”

“Of course,” he rushes to say, and then his jaw goes slack when you press him against you. “Oh,” he breathes, nails pricking your skin as you hold him in place. You rub yourself against his cock, up and back down, a slow undulation that makes you tense, still sensitive from your earlier orgasm. 

And then you straighten, pressing the head of his cock into you. The first slow stretch of him inside you echoes the steady ache of magic, has your breath rushing from your lungs in a gasp. “Fuck,” you breathe and then glance at Arroven’s face. His head is tilted back, mouth open to reveal all of those sharp teeth, and his eyes are closed tight. You think he might be keeping himself from looking at you, might be trying to stem the urge to buck again, to move at all. You tilt your hips and press yourself down though, wiggling, and then Arroven is cursing. You don’t recognize the language, but you understand the sentiment behind it, the pleading tone that softens the edges of the words. It’s hard to concentrate, to keep yourself from getting distracted when all you want to do is sink down every inch of him and then just lay on his chest, trying to catch your breath. “Too much?” You manage to ask, but all Arroven does is shake his head and then carefully ease his grip on your thighs, stroking down to your knees and back up. Your legs, among other things, are definitely going to ache after this.

You ride Arroven until he’s a shaking, breathless mess, until he can’t help but tense his thighs every time he bottoms out, and you can barely stay up. You reach up, fingers just barely brushing his chin to make him pay attention. “Fuck me,” you command and his wings stretch to either side with force. You nearly scream when he starts fucking into you with purpose, and as lovely as your neighbors have been, you have the feeling they’re going to complain at some point. Every thrust has you tightening up on reflex, still shaky from your earlier orgasm, and it’s all you can do to keep yourself upright. A few moments later and Arroven arches as he comes inside you, clutching tightly to you until he’s finished, breath deep and rasping. You don’t wait. Carefully you flop down next to him, smiling tiredly against the blankets. You’re not sure your legs will carry you for the next hour or so, but it’s hardly something to complain about. 

“Do you give all newcomers to the hoard such a.. Vigorous welcome?” You ask, laughing, your voice rough, not really expecting him to answer. Even though he’s clearly a little more comfortable, even though he’s been clinging to your skin and he looks wrecked by all the activity. Arroven nearly chokes.

“No,” he says immediately. “Moments like this,” he murmurs, reaching out for you, ventral scales on his palm smooth over the apple of your cheek, “moments like this are few and far between.” There’s a low rumble of noise from him when you roll close to brush another kiss over his lips, eyes fluttering closed. It’s all you can do not to laugh again, not to quote the poem at him or interrupt the soft moment. It still sits in the back of your mind though, sweet and lilting.

the city is hoarding hearts

it draws them in, with coin, with art

reflects their dreams on mirrored glass

sings siren songs to catch them fast

the lights?

they gleam, they glitter, bright

it steals a piece, with every sight

roots get worn

they split, they splinter

'but i'll keep you warm, in the depth of winter'

the city whispers, it cajoles, it cries

it'll sink it's talons into your thighs

it tears, it scrapes, it batters the unwary

but oh, the love it gifts, to those who tarry

the city promises, you'll be most adored

so can you, will you, join the hoard?

[cowboycostume]

Also, re: Cas growing a human soul

Okay, so realistically, there is no precedent for angels with souls, right? Nephilim are a whole different bag because they are an intentional hybrid. But angels? Angels don't have souls. Angels follow orders, they have no feelings, none of the messy interconnected bullshit that get humanity (and the Winchesters) in so much trouble. But Cas. Cas has feelings. Cas resists the programming that keeps the other angels in line. Why? Because love gave Cas the starter recipe for a human soul.

Cas loves Dean from the moment Dean chooses the lives of a town over the breaking of a seal. He doesn't know it yet, the same way apple seeds don't know they'll become fruit bearing trees, but he does. Somewhere along the line (in my head this is in the midst of s5, but you do you, reader) Cas realizes this, and he tries to act on it in the best way he knows how, by being useful, by protecting, by sacrificing everything he has. (Sound familiar?) And he's all alone in there, room for one in the Jimmy Novak Hotel. Don't get me wrong, it's still the metaphysical equivalent of trying to fit a car in an Easter egg, but there is so much more space than there was when he and Jimmy were sharing. There's a space that's prime and ready for a soul.

So those seeds grow. the first few shoots are undernourished and diseased, quick to wither in the light of Heaven. Here, we get Godstiel, here we get you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord, or I shall destroy you. Cas, feeling love for the first time, really feeling it, only knows how to relate it to the love he was taught to feel for God. Love that is awe-inspiring and terrifying and irresistible. Love that possesses, but doesn't hold.

The next batch that poke through are nurtured, by a meek woman named Daphne, for months. Emmanuel is soft spoken and kind because he learned to be. He is helping because he can, and he is asking no recompense. Daphne, for all that she was straight up insane for it, probably did love Cas in her own way. In that everyday way that you love someone. The I'll-be-here-tomorrow kind of love that is easy to feel because it is a background hum in your life. And those next sprouts are a goodly little lot. Not robust, they've grown half in the shade. There is no blight on them and they are fertilized by the experience of taking on Sam's madness. This is crucial to the process, to adding the tragedy of humanity to the mix.

The saplings grow in Purgatory. They are undernourished, but not under nurtured (he hears the prayers, he hears them every night, promises that Dean is coming, that Dean is going to find him, to save him, that he is not forgotten). They bear fruit. They make it possible for Cas to resist the wills of Heaven and throw off the shackles of the narrative.

It's crucial that this is when Cas becomes human. There is no longer the suffocating presence of grace. They grow, they spread, they are nourished by the acts of human kindness that Cas is shown, nourished by the simple act of being. (Happiness is in the being, remember, and Cas is being human, to the fullest extent he is capable of). And then Dean comes back. Dean, who has always been a shining beacon in Cas' life, is back for this short visit. And it ignites something in Cas. The desire to do more. To help fix what he feels responsible for, what his brethren are holding him as responsible for. Atonement is a human thing, because angels don't remember if they have something worth atoning for, if they can even feel guilt at all (which it doesn't seem like they are inclined to).

Cas does get his grace back, but he is now so markedly different from the other angels, and don't you think they can see it? The tree of humanity that has grown in him, that is growing in him? He gives up an army, gives up his power because he can't bear to lose Dean, to lose love, to lose the tether to the humanity that started this change in him.

Then along comes Jack. Parenthood is something that angels don't experience either. True familial love is as fresh a source as any out there, and in learning to be a father, Cas' soul is the most nourished it has ever been. It grows, but at a cost. Cas' grace is dwindling, the space it used to occupy being more and more encroached upon.

Love starts the process and accepting it solidifies it, but to have it? for it to be affirmed? That might just finalize it. Might just be enough to cheat the deal. Love would be what set Cas free, not only of the narrative, but of the axe hanging over his head.

[teamred]

blooming day

summary: just a boy standing in front of a girl’s front door, asking her to be his girlfriend. or, how peter parker fell in love with you through the stages of a blooming flower.  pairing: peter parker x reader warnings: fluff word count: 1.2k words notes: tried to do @stuckonspidey​‘s writing challenge, this is for day 5 - no dialogue. honestly, super hard for me because i love dialogue, but it was fun!

gif created by me, please credit if used

Peter paces in front of your door, hand ruffling through his hair. 

He’s trying to remember to breathe, but he worries that you won’t want anything to do with him, especially after last night. He stares at the bunch of flowers in his hand, wonders if he made the right choice in choosing them or if he should’ve even brought any in the first place. 

But he can do this. He has to at least try.

Just a knock, a hello, a how are you, and a small question. How hard can it be? 

The seed was planted in math class. You were a transfer student and sat at the table to the right of him, so Ned was often in the way when he peered over to steal a glance at you. A friendship may have blossomed between you and your tablemate, but a silent love sprouted nearby at another table with every laugh and smile you emitted. 

The roots began to develop and spread as Ned and MJ invited you to sit with them during lunch. You were still new to the school and friends were scarce, but you unintentionally often sat near where they were in the cafeteria. They introduced themselves to you and when you reached Peter, you pointed out how you and him, along with Ned, all had math class together. Heart pounding and turning a shade of pink, he bashfully acknowledged the fact, especially as it was well-known to him. 

The budding occurred a month later one Friday evening when Peter was late to MJ’s birthday party. So late, you and Ned were just about to head out for the night after you mostly finished helping clean MJ’s place up. He uttered endless apologies, but Peter’s two best friends were strangely okay with him being late, especially the birthday girl. 

The four of you continued to clean up, now in pairs, and the two of you talked endlessly about each other’s day. It felt like forever since you talked to Peter, especially since he was so busy with the Stark Internship and extracurriculars. Unfortunately, at some point, MJ had to kick everyone out. You all may have said your good-byes, however, the two of you continued to stay up and FaceTime. Night became morning, and you both fell asleep while the sun started to rise the next day with your phones still in hand. And the next day. And the next day after.    

Prior to the final stage, some time after MJ’s party, a school dance was coming up. Like everywhere you constantly went, the four of you went as friends. For Peter, the dance was cut short. At this point, you realized why MJ and Ned were desensitized when he was often tardy or had to leave early.

Despite him leaving early, he had the chance to have you for a moment during a slow dance, since Ned decided to pair with MJ. Both of your hands were lax on his shoulders, and his were gingerly hovering your waist. Like clockwork, you two were making conversation, even on the dance floor, but somewhere between pauses, you became lost in each other’s eyes. 

Each party’s heartbeats grew louder and louder, overtaking the soft music and the noises of everyone else in the gym. A tingling reached both of your cheeks. You both may have looked away, but you decided to step closer towards him; the great space between you was painful and you just wanted to be near him for once. 

You were never ever this close to Peter. Your scent washed over him and he had to restrain himself from pulling you in further. 

Would it be weird if you leaned your forehead against his? Something in you desired to, but you drowned it out and decided to lean your cheek against his instead. Pretending the proximity of your bodies was nothing, you progressed in your conversation from before. 

The boy in the suit and tie held you safely as he closed his eyes, listening to your whispered conversation and endless thoughts. Since he was closer now, he casually breathed in your scent a little deeper than previously. You’d be lying if you didn’t admit you weren’t submerging yourself in the faint hints of Peter’s scent either. 

And suddenly, the dance went back to fast-paced music. You two stopped moving side to side, and pulled away just a bit, but still stayed close to each other, about an inch from the other’s face. You swore you felt Peter’s breath against your face and began to feel a little conscious that he could feel yours too. 

Then, as if on cue, the moment truly ended as Peter’s phone vibrated. A small half-smile formed as you watched him turn away from you, as always, to glance at a text to signify his exit. 

Normally, you didn’t care if he had to go early, or if he arrived late, because it was the fact that he was there that counted. This time was different though. His mouth was moving and apologies drifted throughout the air; always the same old tune. 

As he was about to turn away from you, your fingers grasped onto the ends of his. It was the first time words couldn’t come out of your mouth in front of Peter Parker, but your eyes begged him to stay, even for just a little bit longer. 

Nor could he say a word to you. He was shocked that you held his hand and stared at your hand grasping onto his, before looking back at you. God, he had so much to say to you, more than you could ever know, but now wasn’t the time to say it, or else both of you would be in the school for a lifetime. 

Impetuously, he kissed the top of your hand, then stepped closer to you. His hand raised and held your head carefully as he pulled you in to kiss you on your forehead. 

Peter ran off. You touched the spot where he kissed. It was a little damp and a warmth lingered against your touch.  

Prior to leaving the gym, he held the door half open and looked at you one last time. 

You, who was giving a small grin and waving good-bye, even though he had no choice but to leave you and his best friends on the dance floor. You, who seemed to understand him when he had to mysteriously run off or be overly late to events. You, who still talked to him practically every day and always brought colour to his life, especially when things were blue. 

Finally, you officially bloomed inside of Peter’s heart. 

The crowd of flowers encompass him and fight for his attention. He Googled the meanings of every flower before coming into the shop. 

Sunflowers are pure, but tulips are for declaring love, so they must be the most appropriate. He personally loves the pink and red hues of the amaryllises, but what if you prefer lilies? Carnations are so simple, but delphiniums symbolize heavenliness, and you had an angelic glow wherever you went. How could he forget the classic red roses? 

Staring at the rows and rows of plants with a pair of squinting eyes, he almost fell back when the older lady who owns the store asked if she could help him. 

He expresses his dilemma and she follows along, nodding kindly, as she had an easy solution for him the second he stepped into the store. 

The boy in the jacket blows a big sigh and nods to himself fervently. He can do this. He can do this. He’s a superhero for crying out loud. 

He rocks on the balls of his feet when his fist taps gently against your door. 

A warm smile welcomes him, excited to see him since last night at the dance. 

Air’s caught in his lungs and even though he sees you practically every day, and maybe something changed last night, but he cannot believe what a breathtaking sight you are. 

And your smile widens. You notice the small multicoloured arrangement of flowers in his hands, almost as if he chose one of every kind from a store. 

Peter closes his eyes for a second, inhales deeply. Then, he opens them, blinks a little more than usual, and bites the inside of his cheek, before he speaks. 

[escapereality2002]

Straighten Things Out...with A Twist (SakyoIzu One-shot)

Marry me

He knew it was a prank, one that he once saw from the smartphone of a younger MANKAI member. He also said that he didn’t understand why one would prank people with questions like that, on a chatroom for that matter. But he never thought that he would be on the receiving end of this prank.

Especially when Tachibana Izumi was on the giving end of it.

He knew it was a prank, but...but he couldn’t help to indulge himself with what ifs.

What if Izumi has a hidden intention behind this?

What if it’s actually real, under the layer of childish prank?

Ever since he finally joined MANKAI Company, just as his younger self desired, he began his path to grow and bloom on stage. Yet, it seemed that another thing began to grow as well. A feeling, once so innocent but complicated as it grew. Like a seed buried deep, settling its roots, and then began to sprout. It grew with each chat, discussion, and argument. Actions in an attempt to show their care for each other are like sun rays and fertilizers. Smiles, frowns, and accidental touches were like a drizzle, refreshing every time he noticed it.

So when she sent him this chat he…

He couldn’t help but hope, though a realistic thought shadowed that hope just a second later.

“I’m overthinking this…” Sakyo sighed, thumbs still hovering the digital keyboard of his smartphone. “What answer should I…”

Well.

Two could play this game.

He typed his answer in no time, since the answer IS short anyway.

Sure.

His heart leapt when he saw a grey chat bubble with three dots popped up just seconds after he sent his answer.

Didn’t that count as proof that she waited for his answer by staying online?

Wait, really?!

He held a snort, fingers typing another answer. Her reaction triggered a cheeky thought for his answer.

Bet you weren’t expecting that.

~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~

“Oooh, why am I doing this in the first place?!”

On the other side of that chatroom...was a flustered director at large. She was in her room, on the second floor and away from room 106 where he resides. 

The finance manager and unofficial father figure in MANKAI, who is also the recipient of her prank.

Sakyo Furuichi. 

The very man who made her feel different yet...pleasant. 

Her feelings toward the man changed over the course of time. At first, she won’t deny that she was scared of him. Sharp eyes, taller stature, his occupation as a member of yakuza, and the amount of money that the company owed him had deter her at first. Such an impression that if Izumi didn’t notice his small gesture (like a 10 pages review, checking on why the theater lights are still on, or watching Spring and Summer debut shows), she would always see him as a man whom the company had debt for.

Those gestures actually showed how he’s passionate about acting and deeply cared for this specific theater company. It’s like it was Sakyo who is indebted to Mankai Company instead of the other way around. Though, Izumi didn’t want his passion to remain dormant, remain on the sidelines rather on the stage where he could bloom to his fullest potential.

That was what she did. Like a gardener, she took the chrysanthemum from a pot and planted it in a garden. Just where it belongs, where it blooms beautifully along with other flowers in a garden.

Little did she know that something else was blooming in her heart too.

‘Would you laugh if I told you that pipsqueak was my first love?’

‘You’re something else to me.’

Now, the next question would be: Is it still there? Or is it nothing but a memory?

By doing that prank, she knew that she hoped that it’s not the former. Now that she felt that different yet pleasant feeling...she began to notice that some things that he did could pass on as his care for MANKAI Company. But some others, more specific and subtle gestures, may not be a part of his caring to the theater company.

It may be a part of his personal, more intimate feeling. May, being the emphasised word.

At least, she hoped so.

“Sigh…”

She shared these woes with her small circle of friends from university and after whole gush and teasing, they encouraged Izumi to straighten things out. The truth will set you free, as one song recites.

After a few minutes leaving him hanging with that cheeky answer of his, Izumi patted her cheeks. “Right...no backing out now, Izumi! You DID want to use this opportunity to set it straight! ...unfortunately.”

She took her smartphone and marched out of her room to reach that one place where she knew he’s present.

 ~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~*****~

After sending his reply, Sakyo managed to refocus on the novel he was reading. He immersed himself in the ocean of words, yet some knocks pull him back to the surface. 

Irritated, he’s about to make a snarky remark but Izumi’s voice halts it.

“Sakyo, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Fresh memory of their earlier chat rushing down like waves. He took a deep breath to control the bubbling warm emotion inside him and exhaled, “Yes, what is it?”

The door slowly opened and Izumi stepped in. Her eyes were glued to the ground even after she closed the door.

“What is it, Director?” To say Sakyo didn’t have an inkling about what she wanted to talk about would be a lie, but he wanted to prolong this for a while. 

‘She DID start it...might as well make the most of it.’, he thought.

“Uh...um,” She gulped, “what, what do you mean by that reply, Sakyo-san?”

He reviewed his options for reply. He could prolong it by asking her to point out the specific topic she wanted to discuss and maybe see her squirm and blush. Or he could answer it. That option bears another set of options too. He could answer it nonchalantly, saying that he played along her prank. That could result in breaking the tension over this silly chat and chuckle will be exchanged.

Or her eyes could glaze and downcast, even when her lips curved upwards. 

‘If she believes it’s a prank then she won’t be here to get confirmation now, isn’t she?’

He sighed.

‘No more hiding, so it seems.’

“It may start off as a prank...but I mean exactly what I said.”

Now that he doesn’t need her to read between the lines, he has to do his part to diminish those lines and reveal the true meaning. With resolve, he stared at Izumi and...

“I love you, Izumi.”

Once the words were said, the rest were breathed out. Sakyo tried to keep his emotion in check but it seeped through every word he said, along with rushing blood on his cheeks. Sakyo dropped his gaze to his lap, knowing that Izumi still fixed her eyes on him.

“And if you’d allow me, I’d marry you. Not now, of course. I still have those years I’ve lost to catch on and I know you’re still focused on the theater. There’s also…”

Izumi stayed still as each word flew softly out of his mouth and hung in the air. She marveled at how easy he looked when he poured all his feelings in words. 

‘It’s like he already had it recited every day...maybe even every night.’, she thought, face getting warmer and warmer with every word.

Sakyo closed his eyes and gulped a few deep breaths to ease his rapidly beating heart. He’s still unable to meet Izumi’s gaze and opt to bore his gaze on the floor near her feet.

‘Feels like I’m doing some kind of portrait...with a romantic theme.’ He thought, fingers drumming on his lap. He won’t deny that there's relief after pouring his feelings out, but of course her possible reaction looms hauntingly even more. 

If only he was brave enough to look at her when he said all those words, he would have the front row seat of her reddening face and glossy eyes. It touched her, really, on how much he cares about his family, acting, this company, and...her.

Hearing no response from her, Sakyo sighed in resignation, “You don’t...you don’t have to answer it now. I just...your prank and you asking for confirmation have nudged me to say all of that. I’m comfortable on where we are so-”

Izumi cut him off after finding her courage to answer, “No I...I am honored that y-you think a lot of this matter, Sakyo-san. Frankly speaking, it made my own explanation pales in comparison…”

“Heh, I don’t really expect you to weave words like I did anyway...” Sakyo chuckled.

“Hey!” Izumi puffed out her cheeks before letting out a chuckle too.

Her positive response melted a bit of tension around them, enough for Sakyo to raise his head and looked her in the eye. Redness may not dissipate from his cheeks, but seeing hers were in similar condition was reassuring for him, even just a bit. 

“So then, let’s hear what you have to say.”

She joined her hands and dropped her gaze, “To be honest, I...did use this prank to somehow test the waters. Now that I thought of it, it was pretty stupid thing to do. Of course, it was intended for laughs but um...in our case…”

“...it was used with a hint of seriousness?” He picked up where she trailed off.

She gulped a breath, “...yeah. Heh, childish isn’t it?”

‘Yeah, and adorable too.’ He disliked it when his mind automatically supplied him with that response.

“That’s why I’m here. I want to straighten things out about this. Now that you already said your part, I’ll say mine.”

‘Here it comes.’

‘Brace yourself.’

“At first, you’re an important person for MANKAI Company even when I was scared of you. No, you always have an important role to make this theater what they are now. I am very grateful for what you have done to this theater...”

She took another gulp of breath, “I cherished you as a companion at work and as a friend, Sakyo-san. But somewhere along the way I...realize that I wished for more.”

Giddiness bubbled inside her as hope bloomed inside him.

“I love you too, Sakyo-san. And it made me the happiest when you said that you love me.”

If this is Muku’s shoujo manga, then this scene would have flower petals and sparkles flying around them. Maybe they would run into each other’s embraces, smiling and laughing and then they’d-

But this is not a shoujo manga now, isn’t it?

Though, they did smile in relief with blush on their cheeks.

‘Ah, your smile is so cute...you should do it more often, Sakyo-san.’

‘That smile, that damn smile. I can’t believe I’m the one who made her smile like that.’

After that, shyness slipped back to her and she lowered her gaze, “So uh...I know marriage is not going to be soon but…do you want to try?”

“Dating, you mean?” Sakyo replied, pushing the glasses perched on his nose. “Well...if you want it too.”

“I won’t suggest it if I don’t want to, you know.” she retorted, “Then, please take care of me.”

“Likewise, please take care of me.”

“Now that all is said and done, can I come in?”

They jumped at a new, monotone voice they didn’t expect rang from outside the door. Had they’re too focused on straightening things out that they didn’t realize that somebody is outside?

Just beyond the slightly ajar door?

“Aw, Azamin! They’re about to do something more! Maybe they’d do something that Mukkun would swoon at!”

“Sakyo-nii, you’re so cool! I want to be like that too!”

“Shithead Sakyo, you better not doing something indecent when I- ”

Ready to prove Azami wrong, he took three long strides and yanked the door to reveal the three eavesdroppers. 

“You three! Don't you know ANYTHING about privacy?!”

“Waaaaah! Let’s skedaddle, Taicchan!” ~FIN~ A/N: Aaaaah, what a nice feeling to finally finished a fic, even if it’s a one-shot. The idea pops up when I saw this text react and I just have to write it down hahaha. I struggled quite a bit for the confession scene, since I only got confessed once lol so I learn a thing or two from this sweet SakyoIzu fic. Go check em out! I LOVE AZAMI AND KAZUNARI TOO, MY BOYS MUAH MUAH

[softsketching]

That Spring Noon

For Ashlyn. 

Word Count: 2505 words

By the time that white blankets of snow melted to unearth the vibrant, green blades of grass underneath, your own heart had thawed. You sighed happily. Thanks to Suga's unrelenting kindness, the wounds from your first love's rejection slowly healed over. A seemingly humiliating experience had only deepened your friendship with Suga; you were beyond thankful for his camaraderie. But at some point, the feelings of gratitude he'd sowed in your heart sprouted into something that transcended the boundaries of friendship. With the amount of time you two spent together during that winter, you'd be a fool to deny the familiar yet paradoxically foreign feeling bubbling to the surface.

Stop it. He's just a friend. You shook your head, dispelling your thoughts. And he likes someone else anyway.

It'd taken you almost ten minutes to decide where to spread your yellow picnic blanket. You wanted to find the perfect spot to lay it down–somewhere underneath a tree with a significant radius of shade and surrounded by small spots of bright, white flowers. Luckily, the only people at the park today were a few little children and their parents, so finding an ideal location proved little challenge. After laying down both the blanket and your picnic basket, you checked the watch on your wrist. 11:40. Suga would probably arrive in five or so minutes, knowing him and his tendency to overdo everything. You smoothed down your white dress, then moved to pat your frizzy hair down with your fingers. A soft breeze picked up and ruffled at your skirts. Checking your watch again, you tugged at the hem of your clothing, waiting on Suga to arrive.

"Sorry I'm late," came the voice you most wanted to hear. "I think I went a little too far with prepping the side dishes." Bingo!

You tore your eyes away from the fabric of your dress and turned to face Suga. Today, he wore a light pink, long cardigan. You could see the outline of his sculpted body through his white undershirt, a fact that brought spots of heat to your face. When your eyes moved further down, you realized he was wearing the black jeans that you gave him as a Christmas present.

"How much did you prepare?" Your eyes quickly snapped back to his face as you feigned a laugh.

Suga gave a sheepish smile before plopping down across from you. "Just...this and that."

That day, the two of you joked around until both your sides split from laughter.

"You look like a hair stylist!" You cackled, watching Suga's mouth drop open in fake hurt. It was easier for you to make fun of his appearance than it was to admit that his outfit fit him perfectly, accentuating his toned body and contrasting perfectly with his fair skin.

"Are you kidding? This cardigan is great!" He retorted. "At least I don't look like-" Suga scanned your outfit with lovestruck eyes. What was he going to say to you, anyway? You looked beautiful today. The white dress you wore highlighted every dip and curve in your body, and he had to resist every urge to run his hands through your soft, silky hair.

"Like what, huh?" You laughed harder.

"Shut up," He blushed, tears of laughter brimming in your eyes. "let's just eat already!"

While jesting at each other, you both pulled out the insulated lunchboxes and thermoses stored in your picnic baskets, revealing the contents inside. The smokiness of charbroiled meat, the dance of steamed vegetables, and the earthy aroma of sesame seeds filled your nose as you and Suga uncapped the food. You two dove in.

"Try the meat with perilla leaves and this sauce, Y/N." Suga brought his lunchbox closer to yours, trapping bits of sauce-coated beef and vibrant, green perilla leaves between his chopsticks and bringing it to your own.

"Mah pwate ish fuh." You said.

The laugh that came out of Suga's mouth made your heart skip a beat. "Stop talking with your mouth full, dummy." He waited patiently for you to swallow your food before talking again.

"I'll just feed it to you then."

What? You must've heard that wrong.

"Say ah!" Suga's chopsticks approaching your mouth confirmed that what he said was definitely not a figment of your imagination. And for just that moment, you allowed yourself to succumb to the romantic feelings begging to burst open inside of you. Suga gently place the food onto your tongue, your eyes fluttering shut to imagine how lovely it'd be to have Suga by your side like this everyday–what it'd be like to be someone special to him.

Suga's heart pounded against his chest. So beautiful. At the first taste of the smoky combination of flavors, your eyes shot open. "Mmmm!!!"

Suga smiled and returned to eating his own food. It hadn't even been more than five minutes when...

"Wipe your mouth. There's sauce on it." He poked your forehead. You scrunched up your face in embarrassment. Taking a napkin from the picnic basket, you aggressively rubbed it against your lips.

"Oh my goodness, Y/N. I told you to wipe your mouth—not maul it."

You giggled, sticking your tongue out at the amused, gray-haired boy. "Alright, mom. Wipe it for me then."

"Okay."

The next turn of events passed by too quickly for you to properly recall them. All you could feel was the ghost of Suga's fingers swiping at your bottom lip. He'd closed in on you by then, the beauty mark below his brown eye fading into view as his hands cradled your face. Faint hints of strawberry wafted off of his skin as his thumb delicately wiped at the corner of your mouth. When Suga retreated back to his food, no words left your lips. Your chest tightened; your mind was spinning.

You knew that Suga's presence served as a catalyst that allowed your heartbroken wounds to heal faster. He helped you regain the confidence you'd lost post-confession, and with that confidence came newfound feelings of intimacy for him. But the fact of the matter was that speeding up the process of healing doesn't mean that you've fully recovered.

And when you open up a wound that hasn't healed over...

You gasped, freezing in your spot in Karasuno High's courtyard. In that moment, you could no longer feel Suga's warmth by your side. The world around you crumbled. You were face to face with your first love, eye contact unavoidable, longing eyes square against cold indifference. You were shaking. The thought of glancing over at the smaller figure next to him terrified you, but you did it anyway.

It was like a punch to the stomach, seeing your first love with his arms wrapped around another girl. All the confidence you'd built up over the course of the winter drained out of you at the sight of him and her, and in its place was the same freezing emptiness that choked the life out of your trembling body.

How long had it been since school started? A few months, maybe some months and a half? How long ago was your picnic with Suga? Two weeks, maybe two weeks and some change? Your grasp on time was shaky at best. All you knew right now was that you had to get away. So with a quick turn of your heel, you did.

Your pace was slow at first. You didn't bother turning around to see the look on anyone's face. But as soon as you were out of your first love's sight, you took off sprinting. You quickly pushed past groups of students chatting idly after school, asphalt and cleanly trimmed lawn blurring together to form streaks of grayish, green ground. You sniffled. Tears flooded the corners of your eyes, drowning your vision. Before you knew it, you'd tripped over your own feet, crashing onto the pavement with a hard thud. The impact had scraped both your elbows and your knees, but you couldn't feel the pain. You just needed to get away. Run. You hoisted yourself up off of the ground, tiny pebbles jamming into your palms, and made your way across the school, stopping only when you'd turned a corner that was devoid of students. Soft cries escaped you, rattling your entire body. You felt like the air in your lungs had been ripped out of you. Anger and disappointment churned in the depths of your stomach; you'd been swallowed whole by the plethora of negative emotions swirling dangerously inside.

"Y/N!" You looked to the side to see an out of breath Suga approaching you. The expression on his face told it all: you'd worried him so much that he chased after you.

"Suga?" You whispered. "why'd you follow me? You're gonna be late for prac-"

"It doesn't matter." He replied quickly.

"B-But it does. I was supposed to walk with you to the gym."

"It's okay." Suga said.

You wiped at your eyes aggressively. Seeing this, Suga sighed and inched closer to you. With the same kindness he'd shown you the day you were rejected, Suga ran his thumb across your closed eyes to wipe away stray tears, delicately, as if you were bound to break apart at any second.

"I'm here now..." He whispered. But unlike before, the bitterness in your heavy heart had all but consumed you.

"Don't be sad.." You heard him say.

"He's just one guy. You can do better..." Ha. How would you know? Frustration licked at your insides, and you flinched away from his tender touches. Suga scrunched his eyebrows in confusion.

"You're lucky, Suga." You hiccuped.

"You're lucky that you're so perfect. Nobody would ever pass up on being with you."

Suga retracted his hands, taking a perplexed step back. Despite your own brain telling you to stop, you pushed forward with your distateful thoughts.

"Of course you think he's just another guy. You don't even know how painful it is to be in my position."

Stop. It isn't his fault.

Suga shook his head in an attempt to block your words. "That's not true. I understand."

"How could you get it?" The pointedness of your question left him speechless. "You have no idea what it's like to be rejected!" For some reason, the more you talked, the louder your voice grew. Suga hadn't done anything wrong. Matter of fact, he was the only reason you hadn't broken down from sadness that winter. But why? Why were you so frustrated at the gray haired boy who was oozing care for you? Why?

"You don't know that at all," came his uncharacteristically curt response. The air hung heavy around your skin.

"Really?" You said back. "Because the last time I checked, you haven't even had the guts to confess to the girl you like. You really think that you can understand how I'm feeling right now?"

Suga's jaw tensed, but his eyes remained on you. You couldn't breathe.

"Am I ugly?" You asked. Dull pains littered your body.

"No."

"Am I boring?"

"No."

"Am I stupid?"

He broke eye contact with you. "No."

"Then why, you cried, "don't I deserve to be loved?"

"You do."

"The person I wanted already rejected me, Suga!" A formidable distance had grown between you and Suga, both in physicality and in mentality. "Who could ever like someone like me?!" Tears streamed down your cheeks in huge bursts, obscuring your vision. Perhaps it was because of your tears that you couldn't see his own expression.

Suga was gnawing at his lip, his eyebrows furrowed as he burned holes into the ground. His brown eyes were telling their own story of hurt, confusion, and love, but you were blind, so blind. He looked up.

"Me. I would."

It was like the world stopped moving the moment he uttered those three words. You blinked your tears away, eyes widened in unadulterated shock.

"You say I don't know what rejection is like? I watched you, listened to you spill your feelings about him for two years." A thin layer of ice was beginning to coat Suga's voice. "I listened to you every night when you'd tell me why he was perfect for you. All those times you and I climbed onto the roof of my house to talk–I had to hear you tell me he's the one even when he treated you like crap. All I could do was comfort you when you cried and I-"

"I would like you—no, I do like you. I like you so much, Y/N! Why can't you...look at me like that?"

His voice shaking with desperation. "It's always been you."

Suga's eyes stung. He couldn't believe that he'd exposed his feelings for you this way. With just a few words, he'd ruined everything. Gone were the days where he could admire your laugh, your smile, your sparkling eyes. Your hugs, your voice, your platonic love. Your support, your jokes, your care. You were fading, fading because he couldn't hold his selfish feelings in. Fading because he overstepped his bounds. Fading because he could no longer deny his heart.

You couldn't think of any words to say. For years, you assumed that Suga was head over heels in love with some enigma. You never bothered invading his privacy, thinking he'd tell you when he was ready. But to think that the girl he'd been longing for, the girl he used to cry over during his lowest nights, the girl who dulled the twinkle in his eyes at just a mere mention of her...

was you?

Despite every feathery touch he'd leave on your hands, the overextended bear hugs he'd give you when you two were alone, the slight blush on his cheeks that only appeared when you were around, you were oblivious.

How could you not have figured it out?

"I might not know what it's like to get turned down after finding the courage to admit my feelings." Suga's breaths were uneven, wavering. "But to say that I haven't experienced what it's like to be rejected isn't right." The sound of his breaking voice made you want to rip out your ears.

"You rejected my love before I even had the chance to give it to you."

He shook his head then. You watched in agony as a single tear cascaded down your friend's loving face, your friend's loving face which was now twisted from the hurt. Your heart was in absolute shambles.

"I'll see you later" was the last thing Suga said to you before his back faded out of sight. The sound of his retreating footsteps rung in your ears. Regardless, no matter how much you wanted to move your feet and chase after him, you stayed glued to your spot.

Warm spring air slapped you in the face as you stared out into the open fields. The sun was supposed to be beating down on your wet face today, rays of light supposed to be tanning your uncovered skin. But you were stone cold, alone.

...you get a deeper scar.

[broomsandbrews]

The Beauty of Seasons Through my Eyes

I wake up on a hot Summer morning to the sound of the birds singing. There are just a few bubbly clouds in the bright blue sky, announcing a lovely day. I spot a butterfly. I think it's a Monarch. Funny how butterflies can't see their wings and see how beautiful they are, but yet others can. I guess we, as people, are a little like that too. I now walk to the kitchen and make some homemade iced tea with fresh lemons, adding some honey for a touch of sweetness. The sun is shining through the window, forming a pool of golden light on the hardwood floor. I do my laundry and hang my clothes on the clothing line, a warm breeze caresses my cheeks. The cotton sheets are swaying in the air; they will smell so good when they're dry. I love that linen, clean smell. The sound of the leaves rustling in the wind is delightful, as well as the calm and gentle ringing noise the wind chimes are making. I do a bit of cleaning, let the animals out so they can run in the field, and go check on my garden. I water the crops and notice they will be ready for harvest soon. I visit my barn and do some early morning chores. I then decide to get inside my greenhouse, where I tend to my plants and fresh culinary herbs. Some will pair gorgeously with today's recipe. I release a lady bug as I think that tonight will be a perfect night to light a bonfire and make some S'mores. I'll sit on a blanket under the mystical moon and the stars, sing and play guitar as I watch the embers glow. All is well. I feel peaceful.

I wake up on a cozy Fall morning and hear the sound of the rain hitting the window as well as the low rumbling of thunder. I get up, and since it's a bit chilly, I put on a knitted sweater, fuzzy socks and light some candles. I turn on an old 80's horror movie; they're my favorite. After it is over, I burn some Sandalwood incense and cleanse my crystals with the smoke. It's almost Samhain. My ultimate favorite Holiday. I put up pictures of loved ones and pets that have passed away and put them on the mantelpiece. They never really leave us, do they? I pour myself some spiced apple cider while I meditate. Then, I open the door; it's still raining, but the air is crisp and cool. I see there's a few carved pumpkins on the patio, and a bunch of Halloween decorations. Ghouls, skeletons, ghosts, witches, you name it. The trees have turned from green, to yellow, to orange, to red, a symphony of colors. I read somewhere that "Autumn shows us how beautiful it is to let things go." I like that quote. I like it a lot. My heart starts racing as I think about going apple picking in my own backyard; Cortlands, Granny Smiths, Golden Delicious...I'm contemplating the many pies I'll be able to make with all this delectable goodness when it stops raining. Fast forward to now, it is time to go pick some tart, wild cranberries. I will also go forage edible mushrooms in the woods later, to put in my spaghetti squash dish. I can't wait to feel the crunching of the autumn leaves under my boots. I feel magical.

I wake up on a cold Winter morning and realize there's a blizzard outside. The first real snowfall of the year. There are icicles hanging from the window sill. The visibility is low, but some snowflakes are sticking to the glass; they are all unique in themselves. We should all be like the snow and beautify everything we touch. With gentleness. With kindness. With resilience. With fierceness. All I can hear are the strong gusts and howling of the arctic winds, but apart from that, everything is quiet. I suddenly get excited for Christmas, I take out some traditional decorations and dress our entire home in Holiday and Yule spirit while sipping on candy cane flavored hot chocolate and listening to old Christmas classics. I’m ecstatic to put up my Christmas tree and start decorating it with fairy lights, garlands and festive ornaments. I put chopped firewood in the fireplace and light it up; a nice, toasty feeling envelops me as I snuggle and curl up in a fluffy blanket by the flames; they're almost as warm as my heart. I take a break, write in my Book of Shadows, documenting some new spells I invented. I re-read the Harry Potter series happily until it's time for dinner. I wanna make something hearty, maybe a vegetable soup, a stew, or some pork roast, perhaps? I also bake some sugar and chocolate chip cookies in the oven, waiting for the rich and sweet aroma to fill up the cabin. I bundle up. Hat, mittens, scarf, snow pants, winter jacket and I turn into a child as I go outside and decide to make snow angels and build snowmen. Memories of childhood flood through me. My cheeks are rosy. I feel nostalgic.

I wake up on a mild Spring morning. The first thing I do is tie my hair in a high ponytail and go for a hike; the snow is starting to melt. The delicate sound of water trickling and flowing freely on the ground tickles my ears. It's like hearing a sweet, comforting song. I take a deep breath of fresh air; there is definitely a feeling of playfulness, but also revival in the air. Wildlife is not quite awake, yet, but everything slowly starts to come back to life, foreshadowing and promising the coming of warm days ahead. The flowers and branches will surely bloom in a short time. The earth scents the air with its fragrance; soon the grass will sprout, drink the rain and color the ground in its new growth, evergreen. The flowers will soon reappear; they are a reminder that everything and everyone grows at its own pace and that there is nothing wrong with it. The winds are now picking up and a wild thought crosses my mind; maybe I should fly a kite or be creative and paint, write or draw. When I get back home, exhausted but joyful, I do some light spring cleaning, and hang some bird feeders outside on the porch. I notice a few flies are starting to buzz about. I start gathering the seeds I have ordered a few weeks back, and plan out my garden. I take a trip to the nearest sugar shack and enjoy some maple toffee. It is a period of starting over. Spirits are lifted. As we see nature being transformed, let's not forget that we are being transformed, too. I feel infinite.

An original work by: @broomsandbrews​.

[until-the-sun-rises]

Patton’s Goodbye

AU Masterlist

AU Creators: @a-valorous-choice and @ironwoman359

Summary: Isolated on a farm, Patton has been survivng the apocalypse as best he can. The loneliness is hard to deal with sometimes, but at least he has his sister by his side. But not even their remote farm is completely safe from the terminal hordes. On the brink of losing everything, Patton meets a group of other survivors for the first time and must come to terms with the new reality he's facing.

Content Warnings: Apocalypse AU, angst, character death, death of a sibling, guns, knives, violence, some minor blood and gore, zombies (called terminals in universe), crying, grief, sympathetic deceit (in the fic in genral, not this part), sympathetic remus, cursing, bittersweet ending. Let us know if you’d like something else tagged!

Word Count: 6,897

Read on AO3 here

Author’s Notes: It’s done! We hope you guys enjoy this, it has been a labor of love from both of us, and we couldn’t be happier with how it turned out. More character introduction fics are on their way, as well as some less plot heavy, more slice of lifey fics. We hope you’re enjoying this au as much as we are!

---

The day began like any other. Patton got up early, splashed some water on his face, and pulled his straw hat over his eyes. He let the chickens out for the day, scattered a handful of seed in their yard and emptied their egg boxes, then turned his attention to the garden. The sun beat down on him as he worked, but the brim of his hat helped keep him cool, and he hummed a gentle melody as he pulled away sprouts of weeds and spread compost around the vegetables. Most of the morning had passed when a sound coming from the field beside him caused him to look up from his work.

He straightened when he saw a single silhouette moving slowly towards the farm.

He glanced at the axe that he kept within reach  at all times, but he made no effort to grab it. The figure was moving slowly; Patton had time to finish his chores before it got here.

Even though he had seen enough terminals to know that the person ambling towards him was not of the living variety, it never stopped him from wishing it was. 

It has been so long since he heard anything from the outside world that Patton wasn’t sure anything even existed besides his farm anymore. He certainly prayed there were still other humans out there, but he was beginning to feel as though he would be the last man standing. 

Patton was not somebody who enjoyed isolation, and dwelling on how lonely things had become these days just tended to upset him, so he pushed the thoughts out of his head and grabbed the axe.

He strode over to the fence and unlatched the gate, studying the terminal as it came closer. This one had been a young male, and only recently turned, judging by the lack of decomposition he could see. As disgusting as it was to think about, this terminal wasn’t literally falling to pieces as it approached, so it couldn’t have been more than a day or so since he’d changed. 

If he was being honest, terminals made Patton sad to look at, and he’d just as soon not deal with them at all, but he felt he owed it to them. They had once been people with lives, jobs, families, and friends, and all that could not be brushed aside or forgotten because of what they had become. 

Patton spent a few moments wondering what kind of life this man might have lead, perhaps he’d had a girlfriend or a boyfriend? Had he been a good person or a bad person? Patton hoped the former. 

“Good morning,” Patton said cheerfully as the terminal finally stumbled through the gate. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Morgan hated when he spoke to them, she said that it freaked her out, but it gave Patton a sense of normalcy. Patton tried not to view them as monsters, it wasn’t their fault that they’d become what they were. Besides, it had been so long since he had met another living person besides his sister that the solitude was starting to settle in like a weight on his shoulders. Treating them as if nothing had changed was as much for his own sake as it was for theirs. Even if they didn’t know what was going on, Patton did. He could at least show them a little respect before ending it all permanently.

“Have you travelled far?” Patton asked. “We haven’t really seen anybody out here for some time.” 

The creature groaned, moving closer with outstretched arms, and Patton took several steps backwards. He wondered, not for the first time, if they could actually see or if they were just drawn to something the living had that the dead didn’t, like a smell or some kind of hormone. 

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Patton said softly. “Nobody deserves this.” He paused, raising the axe. It never brought him joy to bring it down. “I hope your family is somewhere safe... I hope wherever you end up is better than this.” 

Patton took a deep breath, steeled himself, and swung the axe, flinching when it collided with the terminal’s skull. 

No matter how many times he ended a terminal, Patton would never get used to it; it made him feel like a murderer. He knew that technically, they were already dead, but it didn’t stop him from feeling icky.

He exhaled slowly, pulling the axe free and wiping off the blood as the body dropped to the ground.  “I’m sorry,” he repeated. 

Patton reached down and closed the man’s eyes and paused to give the man a moment of respect. He would give the young man a proper burial later, but for now he had to check on Morgan.

He cleaned himself off and headed into the house, reaching into his pocket for the key to Morgan’s room. He knocked lightly on the door before he spoke. 

“Morgan? It’s Patton,” he said, though he didn’t know why he bothered clarifying. It wasn’t like there was anyone else that it could be.

“I’m still me.” Her reply came back soft and weak, but it was still her, and that was enough for him.

Patton slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open gently. His sister was laying down on her bed, head propped by several pillows. She looked paler than she had last night, and Patton resisted the urge to stare at the gauze poking out from beneath the collar of her nightgown.

 “Hey, kiddo,” Patton said softly. “How do you feel?” 

A healthy Morgan would have rolled her eyes and said, “kiddo? I’m five years older than you!” but the Morgan before him now only shook her head and said, “I saw you kill that one.”

Patton frowned and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I thought I told you to stay away from the windows,” he said firmly. 

“More of them are finding their way here,” Morgan said, ignoring his comment. “Every day we’re getting at least one or two, it’s not as secluded here as it used to be. It’s kept us safe awhile but it won’t be long before something really big happens. Maybe next time it will be the living.”

“This is exactly why I wanted you to stay in bed,” Patton told her. “You’ll stress yourself out, you need to rest.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Morgan laughed bitterly. “What good will rest do me anyway? I’ll be getting plenty of it soon enough.”

Patton winced at her words and she grabbed his hand, looking sheepish. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” she whispered.

“Yes, you did,” Patton said, “but it’s okay.”

“It isn’t,” Morgan protested. “None of this is. You’re going to be on your own, and it’s not fair. No Mom or Dad, no Jason, no-” she broke off, tears in her eyes. “I’m your big sister, I should be here to keep you safe.”

Her breathing was starting to become erratic, and Patton could see the fear rising in her eyes. He couldn’t blame her, he was scared too.

Morgan was all he had had for quite some time now. Their parents and older brother Jason had died in the early days of the outbreak, and it had been the two of them on their farm ever since. At first they had managed, living off the land like their mom and dad had taught them to, but eventually, as more and more people on the outside died, the number of terminals increased. Attacks by the creatures on the farm went up from one every month or so to several a week, until finally one had gotten to Morgan. 

Patton didn’t dare look at the deep gash on her shoulder, so he kept his gaze on her face, stroking her hair and trying to alleviate some of her fear. 

“Let me take care of you for once, okay?” he said. “You and Jason protected me for my entire life, let me return the favour.”

“But it’s just not fair.”

Patton couldn’t help but agree with her, but he didn’t want her to worry; she had enough to focus on right now. 

“You’re warm,” he told her instead, pressing his hand against her forehead. 

“You’re changing the subject,” she retorted. He chuckled and handed her a glass of water that was beside her bed. 

“Drink,” he instructed her. 

There was really no need for her to do that, it wouldn’t help at all, but it made him feel like he was helping, and she wanted to keep him happy, so she obliged.

 “You just want me to stop talking,” she joked as she finished the last of the water.

Patton opened his mouth to insist that was not true, if anything he wanted her to keep talking, but something caught his eye and he leapt to his feet. 

“Patton?” Morgan asked as he bolted over to the window. “What is it?” 

Patton pressed his face against the glass in utter disbelief. There was no way he was seeing this, it had to be a dream or a hallucination.

“Patton!” Morgan snapped. “What’s going on?” 

“People,” Patton murmured.

“Huh?”

Patton pulled back from the glass, staring at her in shock. “There are people outside.” 

“What?”

Patton ignored her, opting instead to stare in disbelief.

There were actual living, breathing, people coming towards the farmhouse. Patton could tell the difference immediately; the figures coming towards him didn’t lurch or stumble. They moved with clarity and precision, and what’s more, they were clearly talking to each other, pointing at the farmhouse as they approached. There were four of them– no, wait. Five, there were five real, living people on his farm. 

And one of them was a child. 

Patton did a double take. No, that was definitely a child, a young boy by the looks of it, who looked to be around ten or eleven years old. A small bow and a quiver of arrows was strapped to his back, and he was holding hands with one of the others. Patton had to admit, he was impressed that a kid had managed to survive this long. 

“Patton?”

Patton glanced back at his sister, whose body was so frail now that she could no longer leave her bed for more than a few minutes, and something inside him steeled. 

“Wait here,” he said, quickly pressing a kiss to her cheek and slipping out of her room before she had a chance to protest. 

Patton locked Morgan’s door before heading out the back door into the garden. He stood still for a moment, watching the group advance, then his fingers wrapped around the handle of his axe and he walked out into view. 

“Good morning,” Patton called, catching the party’s attention immediately. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” 

The five strangers immediately tensed, and one man swung a shotgun into view, pointing it squarely at Patton’s head. 

“Don’t take another step!” he snarled, and Patton obligingly stood still, raising his empty hand up in a peaceful gesture.

“Have you travelled far?” he continued, as though he wasn’t being actively threatened. “We haven’t really seen anybody out here for some time.” 

“What’s it to you?” the man with the gun growled, but he seemed to be the only one who was actually angry. 

“Wade, calm down,” hissed the one at the back holding the child’s hand, and the man with the gun (Wade, Patton presumed) rolled his eyes. 

“Last I checked, you’re not the leader of this raiding party, Sanders.” 

“Last I checked, neither are you,” a woman standing next to Wade said cooly. “You there!” she called to Patton. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

“I’m Patton,” he said, and he smiled wryly. “And this is my farm, so I feel like I should be asking you what you’re doing here.” 

For a moment, a tense silence hung in the air, and Patton held his breath. Then all of a sudden, the fourth adult in the party threw his head back and let out a loud laugh. The shorter man in the back (Sanders was his name?) flinched, but then rolled his eyes fondly as the laughter continued. 

“I like this one,” the laughing man said, pointing towards Patton, an action that probably would have looked less unhinged without the machete gripped in his hand. “He’s funny.”

“You think everyone’s funny,” Wade grumbled, lowering his gun with a huff. 

“That is not true, YOU have never said anything funny in your LIFE.”  

“ANYWAY,” the woman said, holding up a hand before either of the men could retaliate. “I’m Lauren. The one with the blade is Remus, the one with the attitude is Wade, and that’s Virgil with his brother Thomas.” 

She gestured over her shoulder, and the shorter man let go of his little brother’s hand to throw Patton a two-fingered salute. 

“Nice to meet you folks,” Patton said with a smile. “What brings you out this way?” 

“What part of ‘raiding party’ didn’t you get?” Wade snarled, and Patton decided he didn’t much like this man. 

Still though, looking at the ragtag group of survivors, Patton felt something stir inside his chest. He glanced behind him at his family’s two-story farmhouse, his eyes lingering on the window of Morgan’s bedroom, before turning back to the group, a perfect smile sliding into place. 

“Well, don’t just dilly dally in the garden, come on in!”

He walked back towards the house, half expecting to find a bullet between his shoulder blades the moment his back was turned, but he reached the kitchen door without incident, shooting the group of scavengers another smile when he saw they hadn’t followed him. 

“Well? I assume you’re here because you want supplies, right? You can’t very well get them from out there.” 

The group exchanged looks, but eventually Lauren muttered something to them and they began filing into Patton’s kitchen one by one. 

“Okie dokie!” Patton said cheerfully, leaning his axe against the door once everyone was inside. “It’s been awhile since I cooked for this many people, but I don’t think I’ll have lost my touch just yet. None of you have any food allergies, do you?” 

The group was silent, exchanging furtive glances with each other, and Patton sighed. 

“If you do, you need to tell me, I don’t want to accidentally poison anyone here.” 

After waiting until each of the raiders shook their heads, Patton nodded brightly and turned, throwing all his energy into preparing a meal. He had some fresh bread left, and plenty of eggs thanks to the chickens, and before too long, he had a decent batch of breakfast food cooking.

“Now, food of course is important,” he said as he dished out plates of scrambled eggs with peppers and onions and slices of toast. “But what other sorts of supplies were you hoping on finding? I may be able to help out with some of them.” 

Patton sat down with his own plate, sweeping his eyes around the room. His guests were an awfully quiet bunch...that, or they were still reeling from finding someone who was actually alive out here, which he couldn’t really blame them for. He could empathize with that feeling, after all. He noticed too that no one had touched their food yet, and Wade in particular was looking down at his plate with what could only be described as a glare. 

Patton rolled his eyes and picked up his own fork, then took a massive bite of eggs, raising an eyebrow as he did so. Remus cackled, then cheerfully began shoveling his own food into his mouth. 

“I’m telling you, I like this kid,” he said around a mouthful of egg, and one by one, the others began to eat as well.

“We’re looking for anything that’s useful, really,” the leader, Lauren, said. “Food, blankets, medical supplies, weapons...anything we can use.” 

Patton nodded as he took another bite. 

“Well, we’ve been doing alright for ourselves out here. I can’t offer much, but what I do have you’re welcome to take what you need from.” 

“I don’t wanna sound rude,” Wade said, and Remus rolled his eyes. 

“Since when?” he scoffed, and Wade glared at him. 

“But, why would you give up your resources to us? What’s in it for you? What’s the catch?” 

“Why does there have to be something in it for me?” Patton asked, frowning. “Has everyone thrown kindness and hospitality out the window since the world came to an end?” 

“I’m struggling to understand how you’ve survived this long if you still believe people care about hospitality in days like these,” Wade shot back. 

Patton raised an eyebrow. 

“And I’m struggling to understand how, if the world is as cruel as you seem to think, nobody has killed you yet.” 

Remus snorted so hard that he choked on his toast, and the boy, Thomas, hid a giggle behind his hand. Wade’s face was turning into quite an amusing shade of red, and Patton allowed himself to enjoy it for a moment before he spoke again. 

“There’s nothing in it for me,” he said, looking down at his plate and pushing some food around. “But you’re right about one thing...there is a catch.” 

“Oh really?” Lauren asked, narrowing her eyes and leaning forward. 

“You can have anything you need,” Patton explained. “Take whatever you want from the house, the barn, the garden, I don’t care.” 

“And the catch?” Lauren prompted, and Patton looked up, meeting her eyes. 

“You can’t have it until my sister is gone.” 

--- --- --- 

Patton plucked a petal from the flower he held between his fingers, and watched as it fluttered down to the ground, lying white against the grass. One of the chickens at his feet perked up its head and pecked at the petal curiously, but dropped it upon realizing that it was not the tasty morsel it’d been hoping for. Patton’s eyes were trained on the ground, watching the chickens peck the ground at the edge of his garden beds, so he didn’t notice the other man until his feet were right in front of him. 

“Patton?” 

Patton jumped, his eyes flying up and his hand moving towards where his axe sat beside him but he relaxed when he saw a pair of gray eyes peering down at him from beneath a swathe of dark bangs. 

“Virgil! Goodness, kiddo, you gave me quite the fright there!” 

“Sorry,” Virgil said, leaning back on his heels sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just...I can go, if you want.” 

Patton shook his head quickly and smiled up at Virgil. 

“I don’t mind the company.” 

Virgil hesitated for another moment, then sat down on the ground next to Patton, drawing his legs underneath him.

“Are y’all finding what you need in the barn so far?” Patton asked, and Virgil nodded. 

“There’s a lot there that will really help us out...thank you for letting us take it.” 

“Well, I won’t have much use for most of it anymore,” Patton said, wrapping his arms around himself. “You may as well take it.” 

“I guess so…” Virgil said, glancing over at Patton. There was a beat of silence, and then…

“So, you and your sister have been here together this whole time?” 

Patton’s heart skipped a beat.

“Pretty much,” he whispered, then cleared his throat to continue. “Our parents...they died in the initial outbreak. The last thing we heard from them was a voicemail telling us not to leave the farm, and that they’d be home soon. But…” he trailed off, and Virgil grimaced. 

“They didn’t ever make it back?” he finished quietly, and Patton nodded, blinking quickly to try and stop tears from welling up in his eyes.

“Thomas and I lost our parents too.” Virgil fiddled with the edge of his sleeves as he spoke, and he turned to Patton with a grim look. “Our dad when things first went to shit, and our mom a few months later. She um...” he clenched his fists and let out a shuddering breath. “She got...turned. ” 

��Patton winced, then looked over at Virgil, taking in the baggy clothes and the dark bags stamped beneath his eyes. 

“It’s still really bad out there, huh?” he asked quietly, looking out into the field that stretched out past his garden until it met the woods. 

Virgil hummed in agreement. 

“It’s not great, no.”

“How old was Thomas? When...when you lost your mom?”

“Eight,” Virgil whispered, and Patton’s eyes widened. 

“Oh my goodness, poor kiddo...so he’s what, eleven now?”

“He turns twelve next month,” Virgil said, and Patton shook his head. 

“And you’ve raised him all by yourself this whole time? That’s incredible.” 

“I’ve had a little help since settling in Eden, but yeah, for the most part,” Virgil agreed. “Sometimes...well, a lot of times, actually, I think I’m screwing everything up, but I’d do anything for him. He’s all I have left, you know?” 

Patton swallowed a lump in his throat. 

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I know.” 

A heavy silence hung in the space between them, and Virgil fiddled with the edge of his sleeves before glancing up at Patton. 

“If it’s okay for me to ask,” Virgil said slowly, and Patton looked over at him. “How long ago did your sister...um…” 

“When did she get bitten?” Patton asked, his voice sharp, and Virgil shrank back. 

“I’m sorry, if you don’t want to talk about it, I-” 

“No, it’s fine,” Patton said, deflating almost instantly. He looked up at the farmhouse, his eyes lingering on Morgan’s window before he turned back to Virgil. “It was...it was three days ago. She didn’t actually get bitten, it’s just a scratch from one of them, but that’s still enough to transmit the...virus, disease, whatever it is, I don’t know.” 

“Will she still turn from that?” Virgil asked, and Patton nodded. 

“It...it takes a few days, but from what I can tell, the infection spreads slowly from the wound and just...shuts the body down. Then it...you know.” 

Virgil grimaced. 

“Yeah. But wait...if you’ve been here on the farm this whole time, then how are you so sure what’s happening to her? I’ve been going on scavenging trips out in the wild for three years now, and I’ve never seen anything like what’s happening to your sister.” 

“I’m sure,” Patton said cooly. “Since that’s how my brother died.” 

“Oh, shit, Patton, I didn’t mean-” 

“No, no, it’s okay,” Patton said. “You didn’t know, it’s not your fault.” He laughed wetly, the words unable to stop tumbling from his mouth now that he’d started. “We didn’t even realize ourselves at first. I mean, we knew he’d gotten injured in the attack, but we just wrapped up his wound and continued on like normal, why wouldn’t we, right? But he just kept getting sicker and sicker, and we didn’t have any medical supplies, we didn’t know what to do, and all the news said in the beginning was that the bites would turn you, and this was a cut, but then a few days later Jason wasn’t Jason anymore, and he...h-he…” 

Patton choked on a sob, and buried his face in his hands. Part of him was ashamed to be crying in front of what was essentially a stranger to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d been trying so hard to stay strong for Morgan, to show her that she wasn’t alone and that he wasn’t scared, but he was, he was so so scared, and he hated it. 

A warm hand touched Patton’s back, and he flinched. 

Virgil drew his hand away as though it had been burned, the beginnings of an apology halfway out of his mouth before Patton cut him off by throwing himself into Virgil’s arms. Virgil caught him easily, one hand gently rubbing up and down his back, and Patton buried his face in Virgil’s chest. 

He wasn’t sure how long he cried, but eventually, his body declared that it was out of tears and he pulled away, looking up at Virgil sheepishly. 

“I...I’m sorry,” he began, but Virgil just took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. 

“Don’t be,” he said quietly, and Patton nodded. 

“I...I should probably go check on Morgan,” he said, climbing shakily to his feet, and Virgil followed suit, his eyes turning serious. 

“Do you want me to go with you?” he asked, but Patton shook his head. 

“I appreciate it...but no. Go join your friends and finish gathering what you need...I’ll come and get you when…when...” His breath hitched, and he bit his lip to stop another round of tears from falling.

“I get it,” Virgil said quietly. “Just...let me know if you change your mind, okay? You don’t have to do this alone.” 

“Thank you,” Patton said, giving Virgil a shaky smile. 

Virgil smiled back, then with a quick two-fingered salute, he turned and headed back towards the barn. Patton watched him go, then turned back towards the house and took a deep breath. He picked up his axe by the handle and headed inside, paying no mind to the pile of dirty dishes left on the kitchen table. He’d clean them up later...if he could be bothered to.

Patton hesitated when he reached the door to Morgan’s room. He knew that putting off going in wouldn’t do any good, but a part of him wanted to believe that if he just didn’t open the door, then the inevitability behind it would cease to exist. That if he turned around, Morgan would be standing in the hallway, chiding him for worrying so much about her. 

“I’m the older sister,” she would say. “I’m supposed to worry about you, not the other way around!”

Patton swallowed the lump in his throat and knocked quietly on her door. 

“Morgan?” he called, his voice barely audible even to himself. 

“I’m here, Patton,” she called back, and Patton unlocked the door as quietly as he could. 

“How’re you doing?” he asked. 

“Patton…”

“D-do you need anything?” Patton asked, his voice shaking. “Water maybe, or, or more pillows, or–” 

“Patton–” 

“I, I made scrambled eggs, you should try to eat some eggs, you haven’t eaten anything and scrambled eggs are your fav–” 

She took his hand, her grip weak but determined, and Patton sank to his knees beside her bed. 

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry, Morgan, I-I don’t know what to do anymore.” 

“Hey, hey,” she soothed, running her thumb over his hand. “It’s okay.” 

“It isn’t,” Patton said bitterly. “Nothing about this is okay.” 

Morgan sighed and looked out the window toward the garden. 

“You’re right,” she agreed. “It isn’t okay. But...but I think you will be. Eventually.” 

“How can you say that?” Patton asked, staring at Morgan incredulously, and she smiled sadly. 

“You’re the strongest person I know, Patton. You’ve worked hard every single day, and no matter what we’ve been through, you’ve stayed positive. You’re so brave, and I know that...that you’re going to be okay.”

“Morgan,” Patton whispered. “I...I don’t know. I don’t know if I can do it, without you. Without all of you.” 

“You’re going to have to, baby brother,” Morgan said. “Just...promise me something, okay?” 

“Anything,” Patton said immediately. 

“Don’t lose sight of that spark of yours, okay? No matter what happens, whatever this world throws at you next, don’t let it turn you cruel and heartless. Your kindness and your faith in people is just as much a part of your strength as your bravery...you hang on to that for me, got it?” 

“I will,” Patton said, bringing her hand up to kiss her palm. “I promise.” 

Morgan relaxed visibly, and she gave him a tired smile. 

“Good. Last thing I wanna be worried about right at the end is whether or not my baby brother’s going to be okay.” 

“I’m hardly a baby anymore,” Patton said, nudging her, and she laughed. 

“It doesn’t matter, you’re the youngest, so you’re the baby brother for life. Those are the rules, can’t do anything about them now.”  

“Not fair!” 

“Tough luck!” 

The pair continued to banter, and for a moment Patton could almost pretend that everything was normal, and that Morgan just had a particularly nasty cold. But he couldn’t pretend forever, and the longer he sat in her room the more the reality sank in. 

“Can I get you anything?” he asked softly, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over the two of them. 

“Maybe...could you maybe open the window?” Morgan asked, and Patton was on his feet in an instant, opening the window wide and letting the breeze blow into the room.  

Patton took Morgan’s hand again and she let out a soft sigh. For a time, the only sounds in the room were Morgan’s slightly laboured breaths and the occasional chirp of a bird from outside. After what felt like an eternity, but could have only been fifteen minutes, Patton wasn’t sure, Morgan spoke again. 

“I’m scared, Patton.” 

Her voice was so small, so timid. Not at all like what Patton was used to hearing, and that, more than anything, made him want to curl into a ball and hide from the world. But instead, he stroked her hair gently and whispered, 

“I am too, Morgan.” 

“Will you stay with me?” 

Tears welled up in Patton’s eyes, and he nodded, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

“Of course I will.” 

--- --- --- 

“I just don’t see why we have to wait. We’ve gotten what we need from the barn, so let’s scavenge from the house now so we can get back to Eden before nightfall.” 

“Patton said we couldn’t take what was in the house until after his sister was gone.” 

“So what? There’s one of him and four of us–” 

“Five, I’m here too, you know.”

“Whatever, kid. There’s five of us, my point is, we outnumber him! Why are we just listening to him, no questions asked?” 

“This still technically his home, Wade, we can’t just–” 

“It’s the fucking apocalypse, Lauren, why the hell does that matter now? Is legal ownership even a thing anymore?” 

“Don’t. Swear. In front of my brother. And besides, can’t you see that the guy’s been through hell? Cut him some slack.”

“We’ve all been through hell, Sanders, that doesn’t make him special.” 

“‘Scuse me.” 

The sun was low in the sky when Patton stepped into the barn, interrupting the group of scavengers’ conversation. They looked up, surprise at being overheard written on their faces, but Patton ignored them. He stepped past where they were sitting in a circle and grabbed a shovel that was leaning against the wall. 

“I need this.” 

Everyone exchanged uncomfortable looks with each other as Patton hoisted the shovel over his shoulder and turned to leave. 

“So...the house?” Wade asked, and Patton stopped walking. 

The air was thick with tension; Patton was certain several people were holding their breath, and he closed his eyes, breathing out through his nose. 

“The house is yours,” he said, his voice clipped. “Take whatever you want, I don’t care.” 

He started walking back towards the garden, but before he'd made it twenty feet, a screech echoed across the field. 

“We’ve got ourselves a horde, bitches!” 

Remus came sprinting into view, a manic grin on his face. His machete drawn and as he came closer, Patton saw that fresh blood stains splattered his clothes. 

And there were about twenty terminals lagging after him. 

“Patton, get down!” Lauren ordered from behind him, and Patton dropped to a crouch. 

A gunshot echoed from behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see Wade on his feet with his shotgun braced against his shoulder, his expression a mask of cool determination. He fired another shot, and Remus gave a cheer. 

“Headshot! One down, a fuckton more to go!” 

“Remus!” Virgil hissed, placing a hand on Thomas’s shoulder and stepping in front of him protectively. 

“Sorry Virgey!” Remus chirped in a tone that did not sound sorry at all. 

“Reloading!” Wade called, and as he lowered his shotgun Lauren raised up a rifle that she’d been wearing strapped to her back. 

More gunfire echoed in Patton’s ears, and a few more terminals fell, but there were still far too many coming towards them. 

“Options!” Lauren called. 

“There’s nowhere to run to, but too many to fight head on,” Virgil said. “And we haven’t found any new ammo this trip, so we’re limited.” 

“I have my arrows!” Thomas piped up, and Virgil squeezed his shoulder. 

“Only if you have to, buddy, let us take care of it.” 

“Thin the herd from here, then spread out and pick the rest off in smaller groups,” Wade said, and Remus clapped his hands. 

“Sounds like a plan, Stan!” 

Wade glared at him, but lifted his gun to his shoulder again and focused back on the still advancing horde of terminals. Shots rang out, bodies fell, and the crowd still inched forward. 

“Spread out!” Lauren called, her voice sounding strange to Patton’s ringing ears. 

Remus was quick to oblige; he darted out past the horde then let out a wild cry, attracting several of the creatures’ attention. They began ambling towards him, but before they all turned around, Lauren darted the other way. Her gun was slung back over her shoulder and she had a large knife in her hand, and she let out a scream of her own, drawing a few of the terminals in her direction. 

They were getting confused now, turning back and forth between the two sources of sound, and Remus used that to his advantage to dash at the few heading towards him, hacking wildly with his machete. 

“Wade!” Virgil called, and he tossed the man a baseball bat, which Wade traded happily for his shotgun. 

“Get the kid to pick off the ones still confused in the middle,” he ordered, before running in yet another direction, hollering to catch the creatures attention. 

Virgil glared at him, but turned to Thomas and muttered something Patton couldn’t hear. The boy nodded seriously, then pulled out his bow and notched an arrow carefully. He aimed for a moment, then the arrow flew loose and struck a zombie in the leg, causing it to stumble. 

Patton had to admit, watching the group fight was impressive. Despite their earlier bickering, it was clear they had done this many times before. In fact, Patton was so distracted that he didn’t notice that one of the terminals was getting closer until it was nearly right on top of him.

“Patton!” Virgil cried out in warning, and he raised the shotgun up.

Patton moved without thinking, springing to his feet and swinging his shovel around like a bat. He hit the terminal square in the face and partially dislocated its jaw, causing it to stumble backwards. It groaned and tried to move towards Patton again, but Patton wound the shovel back and swung it hard with a cry, hitting it in the exact same place. 

The creature dropped to the ground, and Patton flipped the shovel so that its blade was pointed downward, driving it into the creature’s neck and effectively severing its head from its body. He pulled the shovel free, then looked up to see more terminals coming towards him, attracted to the sound of shovel blade connecting with bone, or maybe just Patton’s own defiant shout, but specifics didn’t really matter. He gripped the rough wooden handle tighter, and as a scream bubbled up from deep inside of him, he ran forward and raised the shovel over his head. 

The first time he’d killed a terminal he’d been so scared. The creature was so much more horrifying in person than on the news, with its rotting flesh and soulless eyes, yet killing it had still hurt. It had once been human, after all...not an “it,” but a “he” or a “she” or a “they,” and Patton had cried for hours in his older sister’s arms after that first attack on their farm. And while he’d gotten more used to dealing with the creatures in the past three years, he’d always had to push past his hesitation when it came to killing them. 

But now, all Patton could think about was the panic in his parents’ voices on their last voicemail to him, the way his brother’s eyes had rolled back into his head the day he turned, and Morgan’s hand finally going limp in his own. 

He swung the shovel, over and over and over again, holding nothing back. Bones crunched, blood splattered, and he kept on swinging. Someone was screaming, Patton thought it might even be himself, but he didn’t care.  He swung the tool again; it was what he lived for at this point. There was nothing but the swing of the shovel and the crack of metal meeting bone and the thud of terminals hitting the ground. 

A voice called his name, but it sounded far away and out of focus, as though he were underwater. A face appeared in his vision and he swung again, but this time the face dodged out of the way, reappearing a moment later. Patton wasn’t used to an opponent that could move so quickly, and before he knew it, his shovel was gone and he'd been wrestled to the ground. 

“Patton!” the voice said again. “Patton, they’re gone! You can stop!” 

Patton kicked and struggled, letting out an angry cry, but his attacker sat on his thighs and grabbed his wrists, holding them down.

“I know,” he said, and Patton realized it was Remus who had pinned him down. 

He blinked tears out of his eyes (when had he started crying?) and tried again to twist out of the grip, but Remus grabbed Patton’s shoulder and shook him, staring intently into Patton’s eyes. 

“Trust me,” Remus said, his voice more earnest than Patton had heard all day. “I know. But you have to stop now. Let it go...that’s it…” He smiled as the tension began to drain out of Patton’s shoulders. “Just let it go.” 

Slowly, Patton began to calm down; the rage and grief that had filled him only moments before slowly drained away, leaving him feeling hollow, and as he finally stilled, Remus rolled back and let him sit up. 

“I get it, I really do,” he said again, getting to his feet and pulling Patton up behind him. “You gotta let it all out, I feel ya. But you can’t lose yourself like that...you gotta be able to pull yourself out outta that frenzy, or you’re gonna have regrets.” 

“Patton?” 

Patton turned to see Virgil approaching, Thomas following carefully behind. Looking around, he finally realized that the horde was in fact defeated; between the five adults and the occasional landed arrow from Thomas, the terminals had all fallen.

“Are you okay?” Virgil asked. 

“I...I will be, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lose control like that, it’s never happened to me before, I–” 

“I didn’t just mean about the terminals, Patton,” Virgil said gently, and Patton looked down. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted in a whisper. “I...I don’t really know...what to do, now that...” he trailed off, and Virgil exchanged glances with Remus.

“Well,” Virgil said slowly. “I don’t wanna assume anything...and I know this is your family farm and all, but if you wanted to...you could come to Eden with us?” 

“Go with you?” Patton asked, frowning. “Is that, I mean, can you even offer something like that? What if Lauren–”

“Lauren’s the point on this expedition but she’s not our leader,” Remus piped up. “Dee is in charge of the whole operation, and if Virgey and I here say you’re good, you’re good.” 

“Only if you want to though,” Virgil added quickly. “I’d understand if you want to stay here, I just thought...maybe you’d like to, you know. Not be alone?” 

“I…” Patton looked back at the farmhouse, at the garden and the chicken yard and the barn, then back at Virgil. “I think that I would like that.” 

“Really?” Virgil asked. “Because I really do get it if you want to stay–”

“Really,” Patton said firmly. “There’s nothing left for me here now, only memories...memories that I don’t know if I could face alone.”

“I get it,” Virgil said, and somehow Patton knew that he wasn’t just saying that...Virgil really did understand how he was feeling right now, even if he couldn’t even properly articulate it himself. 

“Can...I just do one thing before we go?” he asked. 

He picked up his shovel again, and Virgil nodded silently. “Do you want any help?

Patton opened his mouth to say no, thank you, but he could take care of this himself, but then he stopped, his sister’s words echoing in his mind. 

“Your kindness and your faith in people is just as much a part of your strength as your bravery...you hang on to that for me, got it?” 

“Yeah,” he said, letting Virgil take the shovel from him. “I think I do.” 

---

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