#my guesses are the falling sky or the indigo streak!

[anthemofgvf]

WHAT IF I SAID I DIDNT WANT A MUSIC VIDEO IM SO SCARED RN SHUT UP

[jakeydoesit]

Ok ok here’s my album track listing guesses for Starcatcher:

Meeting the Master *Confirmed*

Indigo Streak *Confirmed*

The Falling Sky *Confirmed*

Sacred the Thread *Confirmed*

Runaway Blues *Confirmed*

The Space Between Us (Instagram caption)

Farewell for Now *Confirmed*

Colourful Hues (Instagram caption

(Edited April 2)

[shreddedparchment]

Pt.32 A Hulk’s Smashing Consequences (Pt.2)

06/26/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 5,568

Warnings: violence, blood, pregnancy, labor, seriously...lots of violence

A/N: I’ll let this one speak for itself. Enjoy! xoxo If you happen to reblog, thanks for helping me spread my work!

“Oh…” You whimper, afraid to move as you try to assess the state of your body.

“Why Queen Flowers pee?” Hulk demands, standing up and pointing at your feet.

“I-I think my waters have broken.” You whisper, straining to feel the pain that you were told would come but nothing.

“Baby come now?!” Hulk asks, his voice a little higher than it was before.

You realize he’s nervous and look up to meet his eyes. He’s shifting from one large foot to the other, hands clenched into fists as he stares at the small puddle at your feet while his movements shake the room.

Watching him chew on his large lower lip looks strange considering the barbaric look of him.

“I think so.” You nod, getting a hold of yourself to keep the massive Hulk at ease. “Hulk?”

He turns frenzied and surprisingly understanding eyes on you. He’s definitely not stupid. You weren’t sure how much of Doctor Banner’s intellect transferred over.

One thing you can see in his eyes…a sweetness you hadn’t know you would find there. Fear of what’s to come, but true concern for you in this situation.

“All I need is to change into a simpler dress.” You’re still in your evening dinner gown. Heavy thick white fabric with golden thread embroidered along every surface in a carefully patterned damask design. “And then I’ll lay down, and we’ll wait. Grandmother will be back soon and-”

Oh, no…Grandmother…

Whatever expression your face takes—fear and panic probably from the way you’re feeling—makes hulk thump towards you, stopping two feet away.

“What wrong?” He worries, voice still higher than normal as his nerves get the better of him.

“How is she going to get back into the castle?” You wonder aloud. “She’s…she went into the village to fetch supplies for when I give birth and…and now I’m giving birth and she’s not here and with all the fighting there’s no way she can get back into the castle! Hulk…”

Oh yeah, panic most definitely begins to set in. You shift closer to your bed and carefully sit yourself down as your breathing speeds up. You can feel the wet from your underdress and it’s slightly uncomfortable but nothing you care to notice now.

“Queen Flower no worry. Hulk go get witch lady.” He promises then moves for the door. “Hulk be right back.”

“No wait, Hulk don’t-!” But he’s already gone, barreling through the castle making the ceiling rain dust. “Don’t leave me alone…”

Your whimper fades into silence as your panic begins to steal your resolve to face this night with courage.

Still you feel no pain yet and you relax a little though your mind is attuned to your body more than it ever has been before. When the time comes, you’ll feel it, won’t you? You’ll know when it’s really time?

“It’s too soon.” You cry, not realizing that tears have begun to trail along your cheeks. “You’re too soon.”

Caressing your bump, you sit there for a long time. You hear Hulk’s words again, his assurance and his calling Grandmother a witch which is nothing new—most of the village folk in Bright Rise had called her so—but it’s strange to hear it tumble from Hulk’s lips as if it were true.

Other worries cross your mind. Worries that you’d spoken to Steve about in the quiet hours of cold naked mornings spent with him in bed. Whispered concerns about the possibilities of giving birth. Things that could happen. Might happen. Things that you try not to dwell on right now when Hydra is attacking the castle.

You can feel the rumbles of what feels like castle walls being smashed. Strange sputterings of whizzing magic like that of Father’s energy that propels him through the sky. You hear that strange buzzing of the red magics you’d seen through the window.

There’s thunder and you’re glad that Thor is out there to help. His power is great, and you feel better with him helping in the fight.

It’s endless, their fighting. Although you can’t see it, hearing it you could almost imagine the carnage. The blood and the sweat of your loved ones, trying to protect you. Time too feels endless. Like the night is stretching out forever and only when the sky begins to shift from black tar to starlit indigo do you realize how much time has passed.

Hulk, where are you?

When you can’t stand the waiting any longer you get up and double over as your back splits with pain.

You gasp, trying to catch your breath as you feel the shift in your belly and finally the pain begins to show.

You push through the first wave and move to the large wardrobe where you know you’ll find your clothes. It’s laid out for you at the very front, a long and white nightdress, soft linen with a ruffled and rounded neckline.

It takes what feels like forever to get the cords around your waist undone. Your skirt falls. You unclasp the bodice and let that fall away too.

Your corset is the hardest. You strain to reach the strings that hold you together and as each pull through a loop loosens its grip, you feel a wave of relief to your back.

Stopping to relish in the ability to breathe deep, you stand there, eyes shut.

As another wave of pressure hits your lower back, you grit your teeth as the pain escalates a little more and your hands are temporarily clenched into fists and immobilized to removing your clothes.

You’re almost yelling in silence, mouth open as you struggle through the pain that forces you to stoop over and cling to the door of your wardrobe.

Only after it passes do you remember that Grandmother had told you to count the seconds of your pains, but you’re so wrapped up in it, your mind has only one mission: Endure.

With shaking hands, you manage to pull away from your clothes and stand naked in your room just as the pressure builds again.

“F-five…” You say to yourself, trying to remember that it has only been five minutes is your best guess.

You can’t concentrate enough to count in your head and focus on those sweet and worrying conversations with Steve about this very moment that you’re now living.

As this pain subsides, you breathe out one shaky breath before you concentrate on moving your arms and pulling your birthing dress on.

You feel a little better in clean clothing and waddle as best you can to your bed but reach the post at the foot before you’re seized by another pain. This one is sooner.

“Four…” You guess. “Ahhh…”

You groan with agony as the pressure rips through you once more. Your hand finds and fists the heavy curtains of the canopy on your bed. The strain pulls against the post and you hear a subtle creak as you rely on it with all your might.

The pain is fading when you find your voice again, and you whimper a tearless sob as you wait for your legs to be strong again.

“Steve…” You call for him, knowing he cannot come.

~~~~~~~~~~

Steve crashes painfully with a cart covered in hay. It falls to pieces around him as his body does its damage.

“Ugh…” He groans before shaking his head once to rid himself of the daze and gets to his feet.

He turns to look at his opponent, Rumlow wearing a strange black metal armor. Over his helmet is painted what looks to be a smudged white skull. He can see Rumlow’s dark angry eyes surrounded by charred flesh. A result of the attack on Bright Rise, Steve would guess.

“I didn’t do that to you, which I am most grieved about.” Steve admits to him, rubbing salt in his wounds.

“You die today.” Rumlow promises. “As does that peasant slut you call a Queen.”

Steve’s blood boils and he sees nothing but Rumlow and the death he will gladly dispense.

“You first.”

In his peripheral, though he does not focus on it, he can see a streak of silver blur behind Rumlow across to a group of Hydra guard attacking the Scarlet Witch. She manages to fend them off however and waves her brother along who runs to a lithe figure in black with bright red hair. Natasha leaps onto the shoulders of a guard, twists her hips and brings him to the ground before she unsheathes the daggers along her thighs and throws them at two more guards that had been approaching from behind. The bodies are sent reeling back with the force of her throw, blades in skulls.

Just as the bodies hit the ground, a dark metallic arm reaches down and retrieves a dagger, and sickening squelch as the blade slides through brain and bone. Dressed in a worn but tough navy leather tunic with dark metal armor welded into the fabric to protect his most vital areas, Bucky tosses her dagger back to her before allowing the momentum of his throw to turn him around and catch a leaping guard by the throat. He slams him into the ground with a deep and guttural growl.

Another leaps onto his back and he reaches back, dark hair flying in the scuffle as he grunts and throws the attacker over his head.

The attacker flies through the air and topples into a grouping of five others that suddenly explode back up into the air and in their place is Scott getting larger by the moment. He grows and grows until he’s as tall as the Southern tower and he stomps his way towards the now crumbling and smoking castle gate shaking the ground as he goes. A few of the Hydra guard attack his large feet—a weak attempt considering they cannot even penetrate the thickened hide of his boot—but Scott ignores them and reaches for his target. He grips the flaming battering ram with one hand, lifts it, and with a squeeze of his fist he crushes it easily. As he drops the splintered wood and broken metal to the ground, he finally notices the guard at his feet.

They run, but Scott’s grip is large, and he takes a handful of them before throwing them over his shoulder.

Their bodies soar through the sky, past the Southern tower where Clint nocks an arrow and sends it flying to strike the flying targets. One, two, three bodies shot down, one after the other as the fly past the tower. He misses one and it nearly soars through an open window when Hope appears almost out of thin air to punch the guard. She disappears but the guard is knocked up into the air and then back down to the ground where he falls in a crumpled heap as Hope reappears over his body only to disappear again into the mass of black that pools around a stooped form that seems to be getting overwhelmed with the amount of bodies being piled on top.

There’s a subtle rumble from the sky before it cracks open and lightning rains down to strike the center of the pile just as Thor’s booming battle cry fills the air and those touching him fall down to the ground as the lightning burns them from within.

Thor’s arm is thrust into the air as he pushes up from the ground and flies up only six feet, lightning connecting with his hammer and sizzling with charge as he moves upwards and it follows him back down as falls and slams his hammer down onto the ground sending more Hydra guard up into the air.

They are caught by a streak of red and gold as the Iron Man flies by along with another streak of white and black steel. They throw the guards they’ve caught at each other to collide painfully, before Iron Man catches two more and sends them zooming towards the castle with a blast from his hand.

A shining gleam of silver cuts through the sky as two large wings slice into one of the guards then catches the second. Samuel holds onto the struggling form until they’re nearly at the peak of the tower then he releases the body and dives back down into the fray with an impressive sweeping wind.

The body nearly hits the stone of the parapet when a distinctive whip fills the air and web is wrapped around the body’s waist and swung up into the air and released. The Spider-Man, in a bright blue and red tunic with trousers to match, swings forward as Steve goes flying back once more, a small puff of smoke left where he’d been standing.

As Steve lands, the Spider-Man plants himself behind him and catches him, helping him stand before pulling Steve’s shield off his back.

“Lose something?” He asks, tossing it to Steve.

“Thank you.” Steve says, nodding at Peter before he shakes his head. “Why are you still down here? You’re supposed to be with her Majesty.”

“Hulk is with her.” Peter assures him.

“Hulk?!” Steve gasps, ducking as a guard dives towards him. He swings up with his shield and knocks him out.

“I got sidetracked. There are so many of them.” Peter gasps, jumping easily over a knocked-out guard that rolls by his feet.

“Well, at least I know she’s safe.” Steve sighs, turning back to Rumlow who is busy fighting a few of Tony’s own personal guards while Steve recovers quickly.

“GUHRAWRRHGGG!”

The animal-like cry is familiar and all too close.

Steve, Peter, and half of those fighting turn towards the terrifying sound of an angry Hulk as he comes barreling around the corner of the castle, trampling enemies as he goes while he simultaneously grabs hold of the ones he doesn’t step on, crushing them in his massive grip or throwing them into walls and dirt.

“HULK!” Steve shouts, desperate to get his attention.

The green mass seems to hear him as he turns to look at Steve and then jumps high up taking with him two bodies, before landing only a few feet away, crushing three others and dropping the two that he holds now lifeless.

As he walks over, Steve can see that he’s dirty, hands dripping with blood and mud as if he’s been fighting for a while.

“What are you doing here?” Peter asks before Steve has the chance. “You’re supposed to be with her Majesty!”

Hulk stops, thumping his chest importantly before he points at the cart rolling in from where he’d just come.

“Hulk go get witch lady for Queen flowers.” He says, voice proud. “Queen have baby now. Queen flower peed on floor.”

All of the blood in Steve’s body rushes up to his head and he can hear nothing but Hulk’s last few words.

“Hulk…is-is Y/N in labor?!” Peter asks, voice shocked and full of worry.

“Mm.” Hulk says simply, then points to the cart where Grandmother is dismounting amongst a large violent scuffle.

Steve is numb, and for this moment at least, his mind travels back to a cold winter morning that he will never forget.

You’re nestled in his arms, naked chest pressed against his own as you rest against him. You’ve got one hand up on the back of his neck, your fingers twirling through his hair. The other is resting against his side and he’s trying not to focus on how it tickles when you move your soft fingers in little circles against his skin.

“May I ask you for something? A gift?” You say, voice clear as a bell and full of hesitation but excitement.

Steve smiles, happy that you’ve become so open with him. He can’t believe you’re actually asking him for things now.

“Whatever you want my petal, it’s yours.” He says, pulling you closer as he wraps his arm around you more tightly.

He can feel the heat of your cheek as his words have some strange effect on you. A pleasing one.

You turn to look at him, resting your chin on his chest as gently as you can.

He turns to meet your eyes, admiring the way your hair is all over the place, messier in the back from how much he’s had you on yours.

There’s a glow to your skin, a sticky goodness that gives him such pride to know that he’s spent so much time giving you the pleasure you’d so rightfully deserved. He will never finish making all of it up to you. But this is as good as it will probably get.

“Tell me.” He urges you when you don’t speak.

“Promise me that you’ll be by my side.” You tell him, voice more confident. “When our child is born, I-I know that women die from giving birth and if those are to be my last moments-”

“No.” Steve protests, stroking your arm and shoulders. “No, don’t say that my flower.”

“Please, Steve, I must say it. I need you to hear me and I need to know that you’ll do as I wish.” You sigh. “If giving birth to our son is to be the last thing I do, I would very much like to have you at my side. I love you but more importantly, I want to see him in your arms.

“I want to know that if I should be gone from his life, that you will be there for him. That he will have his father’s protection and love, forever.” You tell him desperately, voice tight and intense.

“Of course, I’ll be there for him. There is no question about my being there for our son. I will always be there for him.” Steve declares, but he knows that you won’t be satisfied with only this. “And I promise, I will be by your side when you give birth to our son.”

It’s odd, sure, for the father to be in the birthing room but if it’s your wish, Steve will fight anyone who gets in his way to be there.

“I-” Steve begins, looking around at the fighting as Hulk disappears into the battle once more.

Beside him, he can see, hear, and feel Peter blocking blows and shielding him from an interruption to his sudden frozen thoughts.

“Your Majesty?” Peter says, trying to bring him around as he incapacitates two guards with his webs. He flings them away where they crash into more Hydra then flips back towards Steve, stopping to place his hand on his King’s shoulder. “Steve…”

Steve looks at him, swallowing hard as he wars with himself to rationalize this decision.

Before he can, two more figures fight their way into their small tense circle.

“What’s the matter?” Natasha asks, red hair whipping back and forth as she blocks a sword and kicks the attack in the gut with a grunt.

Beside her Bucky takes his fist and slams it into the ground hard creating a localized tremor that unbalances a few more guards that Natasha takes out with smaller daggers from around her hip.

“Has something happen?” Bucky asks, breathing hard, skin smudged with blood and dirt.

Steve still can’t speak so Peter does. “It seems Y/N is having the Prince. Now.”

Natasha’s face whitens as she takes a step closer to them both. “What?!”

Steve meets her gaze and Natasha shakes her head.

“You must go, Steve. Go.” Natasha insists.

“What about the fight?” He hesitates, wanting to run to you but knowing that he’s needed here. What if one of them should die because he leaves? He can’t just go.

“We will make do.” She says.

“She’s right.” Peter chimes in. “Y/N needs you more than we do.”

“But-” Steve begins, already decided on giving in.

“STEVE!” Sam shouts from the top of the crumbling gate, pointing towards the Southern forest where a literal cavalry is breaking through the trees.

At the very front, sitting tall and proud with one eye obscured by a black metal mask that covers only that side of his face, Fury leads a troop of guards dressed in blue and gray armor.

There is a deafening crack as the sky splits open once more and through the inky clouds of the coming morning a streak of blinding golden light rips through. At the head of this light is a figure, body covered in a slender armor of gold, blue, and red. Through the helmet is a slit along the top through which long golden hair spills out in what looks like a mane.

The figure stops midair, seems to float there as if the action require no more effort than breathing, then with her fist leading the way, she dives down and cuts through the throng of black until she reaches Rumlow and lands with a small thud.

“Shall we dance?” She asks him, voice cool and amused. Rumlow slams his heavily armored fists together, a reverberating clang filling the air, before he launches himself at the stranger who appears to be on their side.

Steve’s chest is filled with relief as he spots the reinforcements and turns to give in to his own and Nat’s desires when he sees a glimmering blade moving too fast for him to block, aimed right at the center of Natasha’s back.

Steve blinks and when he opens his eyes, he sees Bucky with his metal hand wrapped around the tip of the blade, the back of his hand resting right up against Natasha’s back.

The fury and loathing that blackens Bucky’s eyes worry Steve for a moment that they might not have seen the last of the Winter Soldier but Bucky breaks the blade, knocks the sword from the guard’s hand, and grabs him by the throat.

“I’m going to knock your brain into the soles of your feet.” He promises before punching the man so hard he falls to the ground, motionless with a dribble of blood flowing from his ears.

As he turns to check on Natasha, he has no chance to worry as she throws her arms around him and kisses him so hard his lips turn bright red.

Bucky is quick to wrap his arms around her and crush her to his chest as he returns her affections wholeheartedly.

When she pulls away, they’re both breathing hard.

“We’re getting married tomorrow morning.” Natasha declares.

Bucky swoons and kisses her again.

Steve turns to Peter who nods, and runs with him, helping him clear a path to the nearest entry.

“Tell her we’re all with her.” Peter says, and once Steve is through, he shuts and blocks the door.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re nearly completely folded over, clutching your stomach and back and your legs and everything hurts, and you think you might die from this but then it passes and you’re counting in your head.

“Th-Three.” Three minutes. It should be time? Isn’t that what Grandmother said?

No. Wait longer. The pains must be so close together that you won’t be able to tell them apart. Laying down would be beset right now however, and you edge your way closer to your bed again.

You’re sweating and straining, breathing heavily, and also not breathing enough. It feels like you can’t take a breath. Every other sound that comes from your mouth is a whine or a groan or a moan as pain engulfs you once again.

You manage to sit this time, hands fisting the sheets of your bed as you grit your teeth and then remember to try and breath but it’s too much. It’s too hard. You’re sobbing by the time the pain passes, rubbing your stomach in the hopes that this is the way it should be and the pain is not a sign of some distress your baby must be in but you’re too stupid, too uneducated to know.

Most women don’t know these things right away. You attempt to console yourself, knowing that only a midwife would know. A doctor would know. A peasant turned princess turned queen would not know. It wasn’t in your studies.

Still, the feeling of helplessness takes hold and you hate yourself for not doing better.

“I’m s-so sorry.” You grieve with your little one, scared and unsure of the fate you will both suffer.

You lay yourself down as the pain subsides and it doesn’t help but you don’t want to stand so you lay there for only half a minute before the bedroom door is thrust open.

“Grandmother?” You squeak, turning to look at the door for what you hope is reinforcements but instead find all of the blood in your body turning into ice at the ashy blonde hair and the wrinkled skin and the thin and slightly parted mouth of a desperate Lord Pierce.

You sit up more quickly than you thought would be possible, eyes taking in his slightly hunched stance as he moves towards you with careful steps. His hands are wrapped tight around the hilt of his sword.

He’s sweaty, breathing just as hard as you.

You realize that he’s had to fight his way up here. There’s a cut along his cheek and another gash on his leg. Not big enough to matter but proof of the battle.

“You should have just stayed with the Asgardian in the woods.” Pierce says, voice strong and resolute. “You should have never come back. Then I wouldn’t have to kill you and that brat inside your stomach.”

You raise one hand, a plea for him to stop as you go numb to everything but his movements and your free hand searching underneath the pillows behind you as discreetly as you can manage.

“Please.” You beg. “Please…”

“You really shouldn’t have come back.” He says, almost truly sounding remorseful but really he’s only irritated that he has to get his own hands dirty.

He raises his sword and swings it down to cut off your head just as your fingers make purchase around the solid hilt of Steve’s hidden sword.

You raise the heavy thing with a strength you didn’t know you had and block Pierce’s strike with a metallic clang.

The two of you struggle for a few seconds, struggling against each other’s solid grips until finally you push yourself onto your feet and nearly scream as you muster up all the strength you can to push his sword away from you.

It frees you up and knocks him off balance but he’s recovering quickly and you know that you will not survive a battle of swords with this man so you do the only thing you can do. You reach for the pitcher of water beside your bed, chuck it at his head, and run.

You can hear him sputtering and the break of the china as you sweep from the room, moving as fast as your baby heavy body will allow. Your bare feet slap against the floor as you turn the corner and race down the hallway towards the war room, but there are two floors and six hallways between you and you’ll never make it.

Pain bites into you, compelling your feet to stop moving as you turn another corner and cling with one arm to the peach limestone of your father’s hallways. The sword drags along the floor, scraping and making noise as you groan and try to hold yourself together as you’re robbed of your breath once more.

“Bitch!” Pierce screams and his voice rounds the corner behind you.

Forgetting your pain, you push yourself forward, terrified that he will catch you. You can’t let him kill your son.

You move faster, urging your body to keep moving despite the crippling pain that threatens to bring you to your knees.

It isn’t fast enough. As you round another corner and the stairs are in sight, Pierce’s hand wraps around your hair and he pulls you back hard.

You scream, knowing that no one will come because every man is down on the grounds, fighting with the Avengers.

He manages to wrap his hand around the back of your neck, but you twist in his grip and he adjusts it so that he’s almost choking you. Drawing your sword again, you can’t swing it from this angle so you raise the hilt up as fast as you can and hit your mark.

Pierce’s nose gushes blood as he stumbles back. The chain of your necklace is wrapped around hit thumb and it rips as he falls, releasing you from his grip.

The run down the stairs is terrifying, with every step a threat to you and your prince. You nearly fall on the last two but catch yourself along the banister before you’re racing forward once more.

You turn the corner and can hear Pierce barreling along the steps. In one horrible moment, you realize that you cannot outrun him. Slipping into the first door on your right, you rush in and urge your breathing to slow as the quiet of the room makes every noise you make that much louder.

You have never been in this room before and find yourself in a room with towering shelves. Each shelf is filled with books and strange knickknacks. Statues and pieces of artwork carefully organize and lined up.

Although the silence is unbearable, you’re grateful for the winding and maze-like bends and turns of the shelves and bookcases.

As silently as you can, you weave through them, stopping only when you feel you are deep enough and go still so that you can listen.

Your heartbeat is in your ears. Your breathing is still too labored.

Was that the door?

No. You cry in silence as the pain strikes again. In your back, in your lower body, your pelvis, it’s all on fire.

You raise your hand to your mouth and bite down hard. You can feel the skin break as the pain becomes unbearable, but you cannot utter a single sound or it’s all over.

Not my baby. You grieve.

The pain begins to pass, and you realize that it has only been a minute since the last one and you have to get out of here if your child is going to survive.

With all the remaining courage in your heart mustered you turn around to sneak out once more only to feel the sting of a powerful hit on the left side of your face.

The strength of it sends you falling onto your back and you gasp, struggling to catch your breath as your bones protest the fall.

“Why do you have to make this so hard?” Pierce asks angrily.

Looking up you see the sword flying towards your stomach.

You shut your eyes and wrap your arms around it, trying to cover as much of your baby as you can before the blow lands. You hear the terrible squish of blade piercing flesh and sob once because you know you’re dead…only there’s no pain.

You hear a groan, Pierce’s groan, and urge your eyes open only to find him standing over you with a shining silver blade peeking out of the center of his gut.

Blood dribbles from his mouth onto your nightdress as the light in his eyes fades. The sword is withdrawn and with a shuddering breath, you begin to cry.

“Are you alright?!” She asks, all beauty and enviable strength in her form hugging tunic of blue and black. Her long blonde hair is gathered up on her head, swept out of the way so that she can fight without struggle.

She sheathes her sword and kneels down beside you, her hands moving along your arms as you let your head fall back, happier to see Lady Sharon Carter than you ever thought you’d be in your life.

New pain fills your body as it struggles through the shock of what just happened and the urging of your son to come into this world.

You groan and moan and Sharon’s eyes fill with panic as she realizes that you’re about to give birth.

“Oh my-” She gasps.

“WHERE IS SHE?!” Another shout fills the castle halls, moving closer and closer as he no doubt follows the trail of your fearful flight.

“Here!” Sharon rises to her feet and disappears from your sight, but you hear the door open again. “Steve, she’s here! Quick!”

Despite the pain your body is in, your mind begins to fuzz over and as you lay there between two large bookcases, Pierce’s lifeless stare gazing right at you, you begin to feel numb again.

“Y/N!” Steve’s voice is closer. “Where?!”

“Here.” Sharon says, leading him to you.

You know when he has you in his sights because his voice breaks as he speaks.

“No.” He cries. “I’m here. My flower, I’m here.”

He kneels beside you and you eagerly turn to meet his gaze.

He’s got cuts along his neck and forehead.

You frown, reaching for them in clear disapproval of any injury he’s gained. Storm blue eyes filling with tears, he’s careful to touch you but places his hand over yours as you touch him.

“Steve…” You try to smile. “I-I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Stay with me, love.” He whispers, tracing the shape of your arm from wrist to shoulder and back. “Stay awake.”

Your eyes close and Steve screams. “NO!”

[spacestationdaedalus]

soft tma prompt #1 - “I never noticed your eyes were this [colour]”

I’ve decided to challenge myself by writing a tma oneshot for every prompt on the soft sentence starters prompt list, because most of them live rent free in my mind. I already filled one from an ask here! for convenience I’ll tag them with “soft tma prompts”

Prompt #1 - “I never noticed your eyes were this [colour].” Featuring Jonmartin in the safehouse because I’m predictable

...

Jon wakes early, seemingly of his own accord. Which is odd, considering the exhaustion that still aches behind his closed eyes. He’s warm and the fabric beneath him is soft and he’s definitely not in the Archives, and then awareness comes back to him with all the subtlety of a freight train.

  Lukas Martin Jonah Lonely Martin Scotland Martin-

  His eyes are met with a bedroom that is not his own - but he doesn’t have his own bedroom anymore, does he? - bathed in the hazy indigo of early morning. He’s in a bed. Not a very large bed, but still big enough for two people, because Martin is lying next to him-

  Ah.

  He’s asleep, based on his breathing - deep and rhythmic. Jon rolls onto his side, gently to not shift the mattress too suddenly. It’s not easy - the old springs creak underneath him with every move - but Martin doesn’t stir.

  Jon watches him, for a while. There are dark shadows under his eyes and lines that Jon doesn’t remember being there before. But his face is slack with the peace of deep sleep. His mouth is open ever so slightly. Jon hopes he isn’t dreaming.

  He expects to drift back to unawareness at some point. But every time his eyelids fall shut they open again, sight drawn to Martin’s face like a moth to a flame. The room gradually lightens from purple to blue to yellow, and when the sun hits Martin’s face through a crack in the blinds, he opens his eyes. Jon almost looks away. But he doesn't.

  Martin takes a moment to come to himself, his grey eyes-

  Wait.

  "Hi," Martin whispers, voice low and rough with sleep.

  Jon is quiet for just barely on the far side of too long, and Martin blinks a bit of the drowsiness away. "Is something wrong?" He murmurs, half into the pillow.

  Of course Jon had to go and worry him. And this early in the morning, no less.

  "No, no, sorry. I just-" Jon breathes a laugh into the space between them, closer now than it's ever been. "I always thought your eyes were blue."

  Martin furrows his brow. He looks a bit more awake, now. "What?"

  "Your-” Jon starts, suddenly nervous under Martin’s gaze. “Your eyes. I suppose they look blue from a distance, but I… I can’t believe I never noticed the actual color.”

  Martin searches his face. "What do you mean? They are blue, they always have been."

  Oh.

  Oh no.

  Jon stares. Opens his mouth, closes it again. He doesn't know what to say, which doesn't put Martin at ease in the slightest. His heart sinks as Martin rises, pushing the covers back as he stands.

  "Um-"

  Jon follows him to the bathroom. Martin stands in front of the sink, arms braced on either side. The mirror hangs crooked on the wall, dusty and warped slightly with age. He doesn't move. Neither does Jon.

  "Huh." Martin laughs after a long moment, dry and humorless and it almost certainly echoes a bit at the end. A fist squeezes around Jon's ribcage. He reaches a hand out because it feels like he should, but what is he going to do with it?

  "Martin-"

  "I guess my eyes were blue. Past… past tense." Martin brings a hand to his face as he speaks, studying his reflection like it's the first time he's seen it in months.

  A buzzing, whirring feedback rises in Jon's mind and suddenly he Knows it’s the first time Martin’s seen his reflection in that long. Bent over the sink in the hospital bathroom, completely and utterly alone, sobs echoing across the cold tile to fall on no one’s ears but his own- all you have to do is look in a mirror - you want to know what she sees when she looks at you?

  Nononononono-

  Jon forces the image down, down as far as he can, fighting the accidental Knowing back with everything he has. The force of it and his guilt leaves him nauseous, with an aching loneliness lingering like a sunspot in his vision and you have no right it’s your fault you did that to him-

  The Lonely’s really gotten to you, hasn’t it?

  "They're beautiful." Jon blurts out.

  Martin turns to him. A tired smile in nothing but shape pulls at his mouth. "Jon-"

  "I mean it.” He declares. “I-I mean, I'm not just saying that." Jon almost puts his hands on Martin's shoulders, but after a moment he brings them to his face, cheeks to palms, fingertips brushing his hairline. Just like he did in the Lonely. But this time Martin's face is warm with sleep instead of chilled with wind, and Jon hopes his hands aren't too cold in comparison.

  He wasn’t lying. They are beautiful. There's a circle of blue around the pupils - the familiar blue that comes unbidden to Jon's mind with warm tea and an equally warm smile. Slate grey creeps in from the edges, bleeding into the blue from the outside in, like tye-dye. The shifting gradient reminds Jon of a foggy sea, like the misting coast he spent wandering as a child in Bournemouth. Or a clear sky, streaked with clouds after a rainstorm. A winter morning, icy and clear and breathtaking in its fundamental beauty. And Jon tells him as such.

  Martin sighs, but he’s smiling, as fragile and uncertain as it is. “God, Jon, I thought I was supposed to be the poet.”

  “Oh, you are, don’t worry.” He thinks for a moment about dropping his hands, but brushes his thumbs across Martin’s cheeks instead. “Any poetry I write is purely accidental. I was going for objective truth, in this case.”

  Martin laughs, and it doesn’t echo quite as much around the edges like the last one, which eases some of the tension coiled in Jon’s chest.

  It’s early, still, and they have nowhere to be. So they go back to bed. It’s not the last time Jon catches Martin staring at his reflection, and it’s not the last time Jon tells him exactly what he sees when he looks at him.

[littlegrrl7]

Fireworks in Oshu

For @garbageangie winner of the tumblr follower appreciation fic 

Ikemen Sengogu- Masamune/OC NYE Fluff

___

 She missed seeing the birds fly south for the winter; the low honking in a bright blue autumn sky. The v formation and steady flap of wings as groups would pass over the golden fields of her farm. She even missed seeing their black and white forms dotting the rolling hills around her home as they foraged the fallow fields after the first snow.

     I’m a long way from home, Mizuko thought wryly, chewing on the stem of her unlit kiseru.

 She tucked a lock of her wavy brown hair behind one ear, looking out over the snow-covered gardens of Oshu. They were wrapped in crystalline splendor. The glittering snow had just eased up as the sun parted from the sky. Another day done.

 With a shiver, Mizuko wrapped her blanket around her a little tighter. It never mentioned in all the beautiful photos she’d seen of a wintery Japan just how freakin’ cold it was without modern heating. It was almost too cold to reach out from under her wrappings to take another sip of sake.

 But she did.

 “Why on earth did I ever agree to this trip?” she said aloud. It had been two months since she fell through time to the Sengoku period, and she was still shaken by how foreign everything was. Some days, she just wanted to hide in her blankets and squeeze her eyes tight until the dream ended.

 “Mizuko? Ah, here you are, lass.”

 She peeked out from under her blankets at the man who talked her into leaving Azuchi. Where it was warm, where she had a lovely large brazier heating her room, maybe it was that sparking deep blue eye of his that had tempted her - or his flirtatious nature. Mizuko watched the warlord walk across the room, balancing a sizable tray on his slim hip. He gave her a saucy wink, or she guessed it was a wink - it was tough to tell with the eye patch he always wore - and set the covered tray beside her.

 “Are you warm enough?” His brows knitted in concern, and he lit another brazier nearby before whisking the blanket she was bundled in away. The icy air stroked along Mizuko’s skin, instantly raising goosebumps.

 “I was almost there— Masamune!” she squealed as he lifted her into his lap, then settled the blanket around them both. His lips brushed her cheek, and she could feel her skin heating. His hard body pressed intimately to her back. She squirmed as if to move, and he put an arm around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

 “There now, lass. I wouldn’t be a good host if I didn’t keep you warm and fed,” he flashed her a grin and lifted the cover off the tray, “I figured we could see the new year in together, just the two of us.”

 “You mean the three of us,” Mizuko smirked as she saw Shogetsu stroll into the room, prowling intently toward the tray. The kitten made a frustrated little noise as he lifted it onto a small stand.

 “Well, it’s a special night now that I have both my kittens,” He dropped the jovial smile for a moment for a look of concern, “Feeling any better?”

 “A bit. It’s quieter here. I really miss my home,” she paused for a long moment before adding, “but it’s nice to be here with you.”

 His arms tightened around her briefly, then he lifted a bowl of dumplings before them, offering her one with his chopsticks.

 “Here you are, our New Year’s Eve feast.”

 Shogetsu snuggled into Mizuko’s lap, perhaps hoping she would drop food. The purrs from the kitten rumbled against her thighs, tugging a small smile on her lips. She snaked one hand out of the warm blankets to stroke the tiger’s soft fur.

 They ate in silence for a while, enjoying the cerulean streaked sky turning to indigo. The snow stopped completely, and the stars came out to dance in the midnight blue velvet of the heavens. Mizuko leaned her head back against Masamune’s shoulder, tempted to close the screen for warmth but still enraptured by the view.

 “What would you usually do on this night, Masamune? Do you always come home?” she asked, her fingers still stroking the purring kitten in her lap.

 “Usually, I’d be in Azuchi, just another night, honestly. You seemed like you were feeling a little crowded, so I thought it would be a perfect time of year to disappear for a few weeks.”

 “You know they will all be gossiping about us when we return,” Mizuko teased, picking her pipe back up to toy with nervously.

 “I hope so.” Masamune grinned against her neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses in the wake of his warm breath.

 “I should probably close the screen. It’s getting cold.” Mizuko shifted to rise, but his strong arm held her tight against him.

 “Not yet, kitten, I have a surprise for you,” she turned to eye Masamune curiously, and he placed an affectionate kiss on her nose, “Just watch.”

 Mizuko gazed out at the night sky. The moon was only a sliver tonight, the snow making everything unusually bright. She made a small huffing noise of impatience, and Shogetsu shifted in her lap.

 “What should I be watching for? Oh!” At that moment, a shooting star darted across the sky.

 He grinned. “Well, I guess now you can make a wish.”

 “You’ll have to make one with me.” Her hands folded over his, letting her pipe drop forgotten onto the tatami mat.

 “What shall we wish for then?” Masamune teased, seemingly more interested in nuzzling her neck than any wish a star might grant.

 Mizuko mused for a moment. She thought she wished to go home. To be back in her own time with all the modern amenities that entailed. But right at this moment, sitting in Masamune’s lap in his home, with a belly full of good warm food? Being here was actually pretty good.

 She closed her eyes, making a wish.

 Her hands squeezed his again, and Masamune smiled.

 “What did you wish for?” His hand boldly slid into her kimono to rest warmly against her stomach.

 “If I tell you, it won’t come true.” She laughed as he tickled his fingers lightly against her skin, then leaned forward for her drink. Sipping it, she looked back out to the night sky. “So, what else should I be watching for?”

 With a whistle and a crack, the sky lit up in reds and golds. The fireworks reflected off the snow casting the whole landscape in a wash of colorful lights.

 “Surprise, kitten.” Masamune kissed her cheek. He held her close as they watched the bloom of light dance across the sky. Every new flower-like burst lit the gardens before falling in a trail of sparkles back to the earth.

 “What did you wish for?” Mizuko asked, turning to look at Masamune. He wasn’t watching the fireworks, though. His eye had been solely on her. He was silent for a long moment, the glittering lights outside casting him in an attractive show of shadow and light. Masamune raised a hand to tenderly stroke her cheek.

 “You.”

 Her dark lashes fluttered shyly to her cheeks for a moment, and then she raised her gaze to meet his boldly.

 “I think I could grant that.”

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Hiii! I was wondering if I could request a revali x reader where revali and reader are best friends and are in love with each other but they’re both too oblivious to notice until one day something happens and they find out? i love your writing! thank you so much😊

Hey there! Sorry this took so long, but here it is! This is gonna be a two parter because I got super carried away with all the banter and scenes. Thanks for the request because I had a lot of fun with this! So, here is

Oblivious Actions Part 1 of 2

4015 Words (sorry it’s so long)

Revali x Reader

It was a perfect day to disobey your elders.

The sky was just waking, strokes of rose and honey painted the edges of the horizon. The wind was crisp, and playful, ruffling through his feathers as he flew. Lake Totori glistened below. Sunlight shone across a bright blue expanse, laced with only a few, white clouds. The plateaus surrounding the area were dotted with pine trees, their umber trunks rooted to the ground. The air was open and infinite. Gliding through the sky and observing the tiny specks of nature below filled him with a sense of wonder. Revali flapped his little wings down towards the forest.

HA! See? I’m already an expert flyer! I can explore as much of the world as I want, without any adults. I’m not a kid anymore!

The Rito baby blush marks that painted his cheeks said otherwise.

Even though Rito under 10 years of age were heavily discouraged from venturing beyond the bridges, Revali had decided he was big enough to go where he wanted. Behind him, the towering spire of Rito Village continued to shrink. To his left, the jutting figure of a wooden horse head could be seen. Hylians are so weird, needing other animals in order to move around. The stable in the distance then drowned into an evergreen sea. Gliding closer to the earth, the view of the sky was now covered with dry pine needles and brittle branches. He focused his attention to what was under him, trying to find a safe place to land. The breeze cooled and quickened. Revali angled his wings downward, trying to move his body to land gracefully among the trees.

He would fail.

There was a small clearing in the middle of the grove, a dirt path that travelers would use to hike between Warbler’s Nest and Rito Stable. Supposedly, following the trail even further up would lead to the infamous Hebra Peaks, a mountain range that lay just outside the view from his house, full of secrets and sights that no one has ever explored. Being the child that he was, naivety clouded his judgement, as Revali had ignored the warnings given to him about monsters nestled in the woods. The Rito was desperate to get out of the village in any way he could, even if it meant learning to glide all on his own.

Trying to plan his descent, he positioned himself at an angle, moving his weight backwards, ready to land. His feet shifted forward, ready to grip onto something solid, but the wind suddenly changed. It’s direction altered only slightly, but it was enough to catch him off guard. Flailing his wings, Revali tried to catch the current under his wings again, but it was no use, the current keeping him in the air was gone, and his baby wings weren’t big enough to flap a large gust of his own. A stray branch knocking into his side, the little Rito tumbled into the dirt. 

“Gaah!” he grunted, panic coursing through him.

Revali plunged through the trees, not unlike how a snowball tramples down a mountain slope, picking up debris as it rolls. Falling through the branches, his feathery features caught sticks, leaves, and pinecones, until he connected with the earth with a thud.

“…ow…” 

The impact caused dust to cloud around him. It got in his eyes and settled on the edges of his feathers. The dirt wasn’t the worst place to land, but it still hurt. His crash had broken a few branches, causing a couple of pinecones and leaves to break loose. One stray, falling leaf hovered through the air, delicately. Its flight was much more elegant, dancing in the wind. It landed gracefully on the tip of his beak, its cinnamon hue and crinkly features mocking him. Revali blew it off with a “hmph!”

Sitting in the dirt, Revali brushed off the dust and twigs on his tunic as best he could. It was one thing that he had snuck out of the house, but coming back all dirty wouldn’t do either. Mumbling to himself, he sat there, taking in the sights and sounds of the woods. A much better setting than sitting in the house all day. Then there was an abrupt shuffling in the bushes. 

Looking up, Revali searched for the source of the noise. Getting to his feet, he picked up a twig and held it in front of him like a sword. Was it the monsters everyone had warned him about? His heart quickened, his mind raced. The trees still swayed in the wind, and the birds and bugs chirped, but suddenly everything was looking a lot more ominous. Another rustle. He hastily faced his left side, where a single dark green bush greeted him. Do I move closer? Back away? Revali was frozen in place. Finally, he dared to whisper.

“W-who’s there?” he asked.

Instead of a cliché silence, his question was immediately answered with a loud scream from the bush.

“AHHHHH! IT’S TALKING!” the bush yelled.

Revali followed suit and screamed himself, as it was only natural to be scared of shrieking plants.

“AAHHHHHH!”

“AHHHHHHH?!”

This exchange of confused and fearful yelling went on for a few seconds. A few sparrows took off for the sky, startled by the noise. Then, silence took hold again, with only the wind brushing through the woods. The bush and Revali stared at each other for another eternity. Finally the bush spoke again.

“Why are you pretty?”

“AGH?! What?” the Rito took a step back, bewildered. “W-wha…what’re you talking about??”

Suddenly, a small face peeked out from the bush. Their eyes were wide, and curious, but their expression was still wary. “I said, why are you pretty? Monsters are supposed to be ugly.”

Revali tightened his grip around the twig. “I’m not! You’re the one hiding in a bush, so you’re the monster if anything. I’m a Rito!”

“A Rito?” a small, Hylian child stepped out of the bush. They were wearing a maroon tunic, along with stable gloves and boots. The collar of their shirt was lined with cotton. A loopy scarf, that was far too big for them, was wrapped around their shoulders, etched with the emblem of the Hylian Stable System. Their hair was messy, probably from hiding within the bush. Gripped in their hands was their own makeshift sword, a wooden spoon. They waved it in Revali’s direction. “You’re way too tiny to be a Rito. The ones who visit the stables are always taller than my mom.”

“W-well, then maybe you’re mom’s short!” Revali sputtered out.

“Nuh-uh!”

“Ya-huh!’

He stomped his foot. “Obviously, I’m not a monster. I’m just of a… different height, because kids don’t leave the village without supervision. It’s only the adults you see. So quit being dumb. I mean, I can talk can’t I?”

The Hylian crossed their arms, tapping the spoon against their elbow. They considered his argument… I guess a tiny monster couldn’t eat me in one bite anyhow. “Fine then. If you’re not a monster, then you should have a Rito-sounding name, right? So what is it?”

Revali held his beak in the air and turned his back, crossing his own wings in imitation. “Hmph! Well why should I tell you when you’re a complete stranger! I thought you were a monster too, you know.”

The Hylian squinted their eyes thinking. “Well… fine. Your name probably sucks anyway! Thanks for scaring me half to death, tiny Rito!”

With that, the child turned around and started marching back in the direction of the stables. They made an effort to pound their boots on the ground to make as much sound as possible. Revali was left with his beak hanging open. How dare they! They’re the one with a sucky name, whatever it is.

He ran behind them, trying to catch up. He fluttered his wings to shake off any other dirt and twigs. He matched their pace, and puffed out his feathers. “I’ll have you know that I have a supercool nickname! Nicknames are always cool, therefore my name doesn’t suck. So, Ha!”

The Hylian raised an eyebrow. “Well, what is it then? What’s your fancy name?”

“They call me…” he stopped and posed, both wings outstretched in front of them, “…the Supreme Master of the Sky!”

They Hylian clutched their stomach, laughing hysterically. “HA! There’s no way that’s true. I saw you crash through the trees earlier! Some master you are, that’s probably even dumber than whatever your real name is.”

Revali narrowed his eyes, “Nuh-uh!”

“Ya-huh.”

“Hmph! Well at least I have a cool nickname. I bet you don’t even have one!” 

“Nope. People just call me [Name], because my name is already great and I don’t need dumb nicknames or titles.” They stuck out their tongue at him.

Revali made a dumb face in retaliation, before responding. “Fine, if you won’t call me that, you can just stick with ‘Revali,’ and you better remember it!” 

[Name] shot him a look, then huffed. “Yeah. Sure.”

The two of them continued their walk through the woods. Revali trusted it was the route back to the stable. They talked and jeered, laughed and scowled at each other, their conversations about nothing in particular. At one point, the Rito attempted to show off by gliding through the air. It would end with another crash, and the Hylian child chuckling.

“It’s cause you still have a bunch of stuff tucked in your wings!” [Name] said with a sigh. Removing a pinecone and several bits of dried leaves, they cleaned up the rest of Revali’s wing. When taking out a twig, they accidentally took out a feather.

Revali yelped, “Ow! What was that for?”

“I’m so sorry! I was just trying to get rid of this.” [Name] chucked the twig over their shoulder. The feather they had taken out was mainly white, but faded into a deep, indigo color at the bottom. It was like a star had shot across the sky, and its streak had colored this single, delicate feather. [Name] brushed it against their fingers, and stared at it in awe. It’s so pretty.

“Pfft. I know that. Anything from me is great.” Revali’s feathers puffed up in pride.

Oh no! Did I say that out-loud?? “Uh…yeah.” [Name] mumbled. They suddenly became very interested in the condition of their boots, turning their head to the ground as the two of them walked. 

A silence fell between them. Then, 

“Can…can I keep this?” 

Revali cast them a glance. “Uh…sure, why not. Not like I need it anymore. I’ll have plenty next time I molt.”

[Name] looked up, eyes wide. “Really?! Are you sure? This doesn’t, like, curse me or anything right?”

He scoffed. “No, of course not. It’s just a feather. I’ve seen adults trade them all the time. It’s fine. Whatever…”

The large horse head was now in front of them. The trees were more dispersed, and piles of lumber scattered the ground. The muted colors that decorated the stable billowed in the wind, the breeze blowing loose cloth and banners across the sky. To the left were the wooden bridges. They led up to a towering spire, the familiar shape of Rito Village casting over the two of them. The two of them stopped by the back side of the stable. [Name] forced themself to plaster on a grin.

“Well, guess I’ll see you never!” they jeered.

“Ha! If I’m lucky, I’ll never see you or your wooden spoon again!” Revali stuck his tongue out at them. 

After staring at each other for another eternity, [Name] finally turned around and ran back towards the entrance to the stable. Revali then began his walk back over the wooden bridges.

The next day, Revali would be punished for sneaking out of the village. His grounding would include having to do extra chores, specifically by having to help around Rito Stable for the rest of the month, much to [Name]’s surprise. Neither of them minded.

- - - - - 

Years Later…

- - - - - 

The Champions had arrived. 

The letter had reached the village around a week ago, but they had come a day earlier than scheduled. But, that was to be expected, as the princess was always eager to go out and explore the shrines. The sun was set high in the sky, Rito Village’s shadow cast down on the woods below. The breeze exposed the pine cones nestled in the trees. The birds sang a familiar tune. However, the state of Rito Stable was very much unusual, or at the very least, uncustomary. Hylians and Rito alike were bustling. What was usually a quiet setting was now full of life and movement. People scrambled to set up decorations and supplies, most of which was being transported towards the village. Some were preparing lanterns, others setting up bright blue banners, adorned with the Hyrulean Family’s crest. The colors of the stable were now even brighter than usual, even the Rito flying about added streaks of bright colors in the sky. Children ran through the boxes of cargo, and stable hands moved barrels of goods towards the bridges that led to the towering stone spire. Among the chaos, a few individuals were chatting by the roadside. 

“I’m just saying, I don’t wanna accidentally break the bridge! It wouldn’t be the first time something like that has happened…” Daruk scratched the back of his head, chuckling. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. The bridges are sturdy enough to handle the strongest of winds, after all.” Mipha gave him a reassuring smile. She glanced at Urbosa for confirmation, “Don’t you agree?”

The Gerudo nodded, “There’s no need to worry about such things. The whole point of throwing a party is to sweep your worries away. Besides,” she cast a glance towards a particular Rito’s direction, “we owe it to everyone who worked hard to organize it to be there. Isn’t that right, Revali?”

The Rito Champion was busy observing… something, but it was clear he wasn’t listening. He kept watching people file in and out of the stable, as if waiting for something. Revali kept fiddling with the edges of his blue scarf, smoothing it out to make himself more presentable. 

“Revaaaaaali?”

“Hmm?” Finally snapping out of it, he turned to face the other Champions. “Ah yes, sorry. Daruk, there’s no need to be concerned, if you break the bridge all the Rito are perfectly capable of flying home, so it won’t matter anyhow. Plus Lake Totori is quite refreshing, so when you fall—”

Urbosa elbowed him on the side, cutting him off. He mumbled something about practicing honesty. She sighed, “Why did I expect you to add something genuine to the conversation…”

Revali scoffed, “Tsk. Your mistake.” Mipha gave a small laugh. The Zora princess tilted her head before chiming in, “Revali, Urbosa does have a point. You’re going to come to the celebration this time, yes?” The Rito Champion had a habit of not attending events that weren’t necessary or mandatory. He had skipped out on nearly every noble party, feast, and nightly social gatherings, on the pretense that “diplomats were boring,” “it’s utterly useless,” “I didn’t come here to socialize,” and “I’m busy doing something that’s actually important.”

However, it would be a bit more difficult to opt out of something that’s held right in your hometown. Revali turned and sighed. “Unfortunately, my schedule is quite clear for tonight. So, unless something more significant comes to my attention, I suppose I’ll attend the damn p—”

“HEY! IS THAT THE SUPREME MASTER OF THE SKY I SEE?”

The Champions turned in the direction of the voice. The feathers on Revali’s neck fluffed up in surprise, or was it embarrassment? Well, some sort of combination of the two. A Hylian stable-hand, carrying an assortment of wildflowers in their arms, made their way towards the group. 

Mipha snickered, “Master of the Sky?” The Rito shot daggers in her direction, before facing back towards the stable-hand. 

“Are you ever going to live that down? I was six. I think I’ve grown out of that.”

A bright grin grew on the Hylian’s face. “Hmm. Not vertically you haven’t!” They stood on their toes and used a hand to pat the feathers on the top of Revali’s head like a puppy. “I mean, you’re taller than me and I can still make fun of you for being a short Rito. That’s an achievement all on its own!” 

Daruk didn’t try to hide his laughter that time. Revali shot more daggers at the Hylian. Although no one could notice it (and he would certainly never admit it), there was the slightest creep of a smile on his face when they patted him. He responded with his own quip. “Funny hearing that from someone who awarded themselves the title of ‘Number One Horse Boss,’ don’t you think?”

Their cheeks flushed, their grin was replaced with an awkward smile. “I was nine…”

“Oh? Does age matter now?”

The two continued to laugh among themselves about things the other Champions couldn’t really understand. Daruk was scratching the back of his head again, clearly it was new seeing the Rito so carefree. Mipha also watched them curiously. Urbosa’s gaze continued to switch between Revali and the Hylian. She then asked, “So Revali, are you going to continue insulting each other, or are you going to introduce us?”

He quickly coughed and straightened himself out. “Right, sorry. Well, esteem fellow Champions, this is [Name], they’ve been working at Rito Stable for as long as I can remember.” He wrapped his wing around their shoulder, pushing them forward. “Say hi, [Name]”

Snapping their attention to them, [Name] turned to greet them with a beaming smile. They excitedly shook everyone’s hand, a bundle of wildflowers still in their other arm. “It’s great to finally meet you all! Revali’s told me so much about you guys.” 

Urbosa raised an eyebrow, looking at Revali. “Oh, what sort of things has he said?”

Before he even had a chance to stop them, [Name] gestured to Daruk. “He said that your optimism and laugh are very contagious,” they turned to Mipha, “And that you’re one of the nicest people he’s ever met.” Mipha blushed, Daruk had a grin plastered on his face. Turning to Urbosa, [Name] added, “And he said that you basically act as everyone’s mom in the group.”

Revali suddenly stepped in front of them, his feathers were puffed up. “AAAAAND NONE OF THAT IS TRUE OF COURSE. THAT WAS ALL A JOKE, A DUMB JOKE I TOLD A LONG TIME AGO. I GUESS THEY DIDN’T PICK UP ON THAT, OBVIOUSLY URBOSA ISN’T ANYONE’S MOM HAHA YEAH GOOD JOKE [NAME].” 

Urbosa put a hand on her chest fake offense. The Rito turned back to [Name]. “So you’ve met everyone now, maybe now’s a good time for you to leave and not say anything else about our old conversations, got it?”

“Oh! Wait before I go,” [Name] took a wreath of yellow wildflowers from their arm, “The, uh…the Rito children were making these flower crowns…I, uh…I thought you all might want some..?”

[Name] draped them over Revali’s head before he could object. The flowers were a bright, bumblebee color, with small blushes of white. It matched well with his indigo and white feathers. “See? Now you look, uh, pretty…” they said. Their cheeks were beginning to rose in color.

Urbosa took three flower crowns from [Name], blue, green, and red in color. She took the red flowers and placed them in her own hair. “Thank you [Name]. I’ll give these other two to Link and Zelda. He’s off somewhere chasing the princess near the shrine at Tabantha. So I’ll just give them these later.” 

[Name] nodded. Daruk took a pink flower crown, the salmon color bright on his white hair. It was more of a bracelet if anything. Mipha draped some on her own head, the pure, pearly white hue seemed to glow along with her other jewelry.   

Revali then took lavender ones. “Don’t forget yourself, don’t think you can escape without also wearing one of these ridiculous crowns…” He gently set them on [Name]. They mumbled a meek “thank you” to Revali.

“Awww” Daruk gushed, “you both look cute together.”

Revali and [Name] stared at him in confusion. 

“Uh, yes. The flowers are pretty…neat.” the Rito mumbled.

“Yeah,” [Name] whispered, “It’s pretty…swell…?”

Another silence fell over the group. Urbosa seemed to be barely holding it together, ready to snicker at any moment. But [Name] didn’t notice, they turned to Revali, slightly flustered. 

“And, uh, Revali?” He glanced at them with a raised eyebrow. “Since you’re back in town, maybe we can hang out later? Or tomorrow? Maybe sometime before your big Champion party, we could hang out at our usual spot? You up for it?” Their ears and cheeks were starting to red, perhaps from the cold…

The Rito smiled, “Yeah, I think I can make room in my schedule for it. I’m very busy, but I’ll make it work.”

The two just stared at each other for a moment, both oblivious to the other Champions staring wide eyed at Revali. Then [Name], broke their gaze, giving a forced cough. “Well, *cough* I think I should get back to work. There’s probably a bunch of guests I need to serve inside.” They turned to the other Champions, “Feel free to stop by and I’ll whip up something for you to eat! On the house!” With that, they cast one last glance at Revali, and then started walking back. The purple petals in their hair rustled in the breeze. 

“Uh, right. I’ll see you later.” Revali mumbled. He watched them walk away. “AND, um, Y-YOU LOOK NICE!” he called. [Name] turned, fumbling, and gave him a thumbs up, before joining the other workers inside the stable. 

Revali turned back to the other Champions. They were all staring at him in silence. 

“Tsk. What are you looking at?” he asked with a grimace. 

Urbosa finally broke the silence, half laughing as she spoke. “What in the hells did I just witness?” 

This cued all sorts of chaos in the group. Mipha started to barrage Revali with questions about his relationship with [Name]. Daruk was gesturing wildly at him, mouth agape, as if to wordlessly ask who are you?? How come you never smile like that when you’re around us? What’s the deal here?!

In the end, it was Urbosa who had to get everyone off Revali’s back. Placing an arm around him, she said, “Ok, now, now. Let’s leave our fellow Champion alone. We’ve been traveling for awhile, so I’m sure he’s eager to get back home without us all pestering him.”

Revali shook his wings and held his head in the air. “Hmph! That’s correct. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Giving a mighty flap, he summoned his gale and took off into the air in one smooth, fluid motion, literally leaving the other Champions in the dust. It seems he couldn’t get out of there quick enough.

Mipha turned to Urbosa with a teasing expression on her face. “Are we really going to pass up the chance to see how Revali’s gonna act around his obvious crush?”

“Oh don’t worry,” a knowing smile spread across the Gerudo’s face, “I’m not gonna let this opportunity go to waste.

- - - - - 

“So is it your title as Champion, or Gerudo Chief that entitles you to lurk on my property?”

Revali gave a condescending glare at Urbosa. While it was one thing that she had the audacity to visit him so early in the morning, he was mainly just embarrassed she had caught him with his hair still messy. She gave a smug smile. “Neither, it’s simply my role as a concerned mom.”

The Rito hopped off his hammock. He fitted messy ribbons into his braids, before wrapping a white scarf around himself. Glaring back at her, he added, “Just to clarify, I don’t need any additional parental figures in my life.”

Urbosa sighed. “Just follow me when you’re ready. I’m gonna take up [Name]’s offer on the free food.”

Revali clicked his tongue. “Tsk. I don’t see why it’s necessary that I tag along.”

“Just for the company, we can chat over a drink.”

“About what?”

“Well, I have a few interesting conversation topics,” she turned back towards the wooden stairs, a grin still shone on her face.

 “It’ll just be you and me, but I find the topic of your love life quite interesting.”

[gallifreyan-writer]

Doctor who x reader - If I Could Tell Her

Authors note: This is the first fanfic that I am posting on here so please be nice :). This is loosely based off the song “If I Could Tell Her” from Dear Evan Hanson, I had that song stuck in my head for an entire day then I thought about a fic idea and wrote it at 4 in the morning. If you do enjoy this please like this or even follow me if you want to see more of my stuff, requests are open too!

Summary: (Y/n) is having trouble with the whole regeneration thing even if it isn’t their first go around with it. They can’t help but wonder what the past regeneration of the Doctor thought of them and now they feel like they may never know until the Doctor tells them what the previous thought.

Warnings: Nothing, fluff?

Pairing(s): 12th Doctor x gender neutral!reader, 13th Doctor x gender neutral! reader

***

The Doctor walked up behind me as my legs swung outside the TARDIS sitting in whatever constellation it picked that day.

“Mind if I sit with you?” the Doctor asked already starting to sit down before I could answer, knowing what I would say before even opening my mouth. His silver hair glowed in the light of the stars in front of us.

“Of course not.” I replied. “Something on your mind?” he had that look in his eyes that he wanted to talk about something, whether or not he would speak his mind was another matter.

“Always.” he said half jokingly with a slight smirk.

“Anything you want to talk about?” I could already tell that he would say no. he wasn’t really a feelings person in this regeneration, the one before was the exact opposite, he wouldn’t stop going on about how he felt whether it be how blue the sky was that day or the ethics of a certain alien species. That was the version of the Doctor that I fell in love with and somehow fell in love with me, a simple human. We are still together obviously, but I didn’t really know if any of his feeling changed as his face and personality did; and I never really questioned it, afraid that I would offend him.

“No, not really.” The Doctor simply answered, and that was enough for me. If he really did want to talk then he would, so I went back to admire the view and placed my head softly on his shoulder, admiring the stars.

***

The day the Doctor regenerated was hectic with hime pushing it off as long as he could as he didn’t want to change, but deep down he knew that he wouldn’t be able to push it off forever. I guess now it’s she. This time when she regenerated, she didn’t seem to care about her appearance as much as she didn’t complain about the color of her kidneys like the last time, that or she like the color. I never did find out what color they were. In fact, the first thing that she did was run up to me and hug me like she hadn’t seen me in years. I jugged her back as much as I could before the both of us were thrown from the TARDIS and everything went back to running for our lives before either of us could properly process anything.

***

I sat next to the console on the stairs looking down at the floor. I always liked to think back on our adventures but this time, there was a bit more to take in, with the regeneration and everything. Even though I had done this once before, it didn’t make the second time any easier. It was actually harder in a way because I never really got to say goodby, thought I knew that he, or she, was still with me. Before too long I heard those same old boots come up behind me. The Doctor hasn’t changed her shoes yet.

“Mind if I join you?” She asked in her sweet little voice, it was such a change. This time she waited for me to answer before sitting down.

“Of course, love.” I said looking up at her with a simple smile.

“Thinking of something?” I guess it was her turn to ask that question, I had been a bit more quiet than normal.

“Just a bit.”

“About?” Simple and straight to the point.

“You.” I looked over and into her eyes, she let out a little sigh. “Nothing bad I promise.” I said, a smile playing on my lips, she mimicked it. “I know that through regeneration you are the same person but I can’t help but wonder if your feelings for me changed with your face and personality. You were so closed off in your last regeneration, I never knew, and I never asked. Now a part of me feels like I’ll never know ‘cause...” I trailed off, looking down.

“I understand.” She continued, “Would you like to know, what I, he, thought of you?”

“I’s like that.” I looked back up at her.

“He thought that there’s nothing like your smile, it was subtle and perfect, it would make him fell all warm inside. he loved how when you were bored you’d draw stars on yourself  in pen. He thought it was cute how you would still fill out those quizzes in magazines. He thought you looked pretty when you put indigo streaks in your hair.” She reached up and played with a piece of my hair between her fingers. I smiled while she continued. “He wondered how you learned how to dance like the rest of the universe wasn’t there. But he kept it all inside his head and it was left unsaid, he couldn’t figure out how to tell you. All he could think was ‘if I could tell them, the them everything I see. If I could tell them, how they’re everything to me.’ He truly and deeply loved you (y/n), I love you.” At this point we were both teary eyed.

“I love you too, Doctor.” With that, I closed the space that was between us, our lips meeting for the first time in this regeneration. I could feel fireworks going off, sparks flying. It was like our first kiss. It was like falling in love all over again.

[dragon-fics]

DOS: {Wings of Fire} Watching a Fourth Moon (Moonwatcher x Heather{OC}) {100k Special}

Chapter summary: Heather is a former spy for the Talons of Peace. After the attack on the Summer Palace, Heather is forced to find her parents alone. While searching the Rainforest, she comes across a NightWing and only one.

Pt. 1 of 100k special, Pt. 2 (Wings of Fire)

This takes place between the third and fourth book (Maybe early in the fourth)

Heather glided through the air, the scales matching the pale blue sky around her. Beneath her was swamp. Lot’s of swamp! The Mud Kingdom.

She sighed and dropped her camouflage for the time being, revealing her indigo scales, magenta wings and royal blue underbelly and Seawing markings. She could see the mass of bright green trees beyond the dark mud. Her home, the Rainforest.

I hope they’re there! she thought. If her parents weren’t there, she’d have to crawl her way back to the Talons of Peace, right back to Nautilus and all those other annoying lizards.

The only exception was Riptide. Her cousin had been good company while they travelled from the burnt Summer Palace to meet what was left of the Talons on the Claws of the Cloud Mountains. But that was done with, and now she was scouring Pyrrhia for her parents, Fin and Grapefruit.

Before leaving the Kingdom of the Sea, Heather and Riptide had searched for her parents with no sign of a RainWing disguised as a SkyWing, or a turquoise SeaWing. Heather’s next guess was the Rainforest, with Heather’s RainWing family—who had kept up the defensive image that RainWing’s used to to have, specialising in spying and defensive training.

Which was what Heather was for the Talons of Peace; a spy. She hid herself wherever she was told to hide, waiting for other dragons to drop information and relaying it on to the Talons, for whatever they wanted it for.

But that was all behind her. Now it was time to finally meet the dragonets she’d spent all of her seven years training to protect. The Dragonets of Destiny. from what she had heard. They were in the Rainforest, after travelling to the Kingdom of the Sea, narrowly escaping Blister’s clutches.

Heather sighed as the rainforest came into gliding distance. She shifted herself to slowly descend to the lush jungle. She spread her wings to a slow stop and landed with a bounce among a thicket of ferns and coconut trees.

She looked up, loving the warm dampness against her scales. The last time she had been here was four years ago, when she was a year old.

Heather looked around. “I guess the village is the best place to go.” she climbed up a coconut tree and glided along the trees. It had been so long since she had done any tree-gliding and she kept slipping onto lower branches. And as she kept slipping, it wasn’t long before she bumped into someone.

Black flashed before her eyes as she rolled around in a clearing, wrapped around the dragon she’d crashed into.

“Oof!” Heather said, dropping to the dark overgrowth.

“Sorry!” came a youthful voice. She scrambled to her feet and edged towards Heather.

She shook herself and got to her feet. Looking back at her was a NightWing a little younger that her with dark scales and the cutest white teardrop-shaped scales by her eyes. Heather’s ruff turned blue with curiosity. She hadn’t seen many NightWing’s before—apart from Fatespeaker and Morrowseer and even then bother were at a distance.

“Hi,” she said, straightening her head. “I didn’t see you when I was travelling through the trees. Are you OK?”

The NightWing nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied quietly.

Heather glanced up at the sky. She needed to find her grandfather, but sparing a few moments with this pretty NightWing wouldn’t hurt. “I’m Heather. What’s your name?”

“Moon,” the NightWing said shyly.

“Nice to meet you, Moon.” She held out her talon to shake, but Moon shuffled back. “So, um... are you enjoying the Rainforest?”

Moon nodded. “Yep. the fruit is tasty and the sloths are cute. I can’t go very wrong here.”

Heather nodded. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Moon. I’m sure we’ll see each other around.” She flashed goodbye(i) with her SeaWing markings absentmindedly and continued travelling to the south.

*-*-*-*

“I should’ve known you’d bring more NightWings to our wonderful rainforest,” Heather teased, sitting high in a tree.

“Very funny,” Moon replied, climbing up beside her.

“At least your mom is here all the time now, and you can get all the attention you so desperately needed.” She admired her claws as she sat on her perch.

Moon rubbed up against her. She had never been this affectionate to Heather, but since telling her about her powers, she’d become closer with the Rainwing-Seawing hybrid. She smiled. “So, are you coming to Jade Mountain?”

“Yep. My parents want to get back in touch with the Talons and I’d rather not do that, so I took up Queen Glory’s offer and I signed up to the academy.” Yellow streaks appeared on her indigo scales.

“Maybe we’ll be classmates,” Moon gasped. “That’d be great. Your mind is so quiet.”

Heather shrugged, her streaks fading. “So you keep saying.” She watched a blue macaw fly through the trees. “How are you feeling about it?”

“Nervous,” she said in a small voice. “I don’t know how I’ll be able to handle so many minds without a way to escape from them all.”

Heather looked down, her ruff drooping. “And none of the Nightwings can help you?”

“Mom’s scared to tell them.”

“her name suits her then.” she stayed quiet, knowing she shouldn’t have said that.

“Could you teach me your technique?”

“I just don’t think, remember,” Heather said, looking to her. “If I think, I might end up saying something I’m not supposed to, or my camouflage with fade, or my disguise will drop. Everything I do has been drilled into me since I could talk; it’s instinctual at this point.”

She looked above her and picked a star fruit. “But I will say that thinking of white noise helps.” She peeled off a segment and ate it. She offered the fruit to Moon.

“White noise,” Moon mused. She took a segment from the yellow fruit. “Like rain?”

“Rain, a thrashing sea, or the sound of being in a raging current. It all works.” She licked the star fruit juice from her chin. “I don’t know if it’ll do much, but it’s worth a try.”

*-*-*-*

“I hope your not planning on leaving me, Moonwatcher!” Heather called as neared the four dragonets. They were sitting in the pouring rain, trying to stop their clawmate from leaving without them to find his murderous sister. He landed beside them, getting awkward glances from each of them.

“Who are you?” Winter spat. “Can’t you see we’re busy?”

Heather ignored him and looked to Moon. “What are you planning?”

“We have to find Icicle,” Moon said, “before she gets to Glory.”

“Sounds like quite the adventure,” she mused. “So can anyone join, or is it only dragonets from the Jade Winglet?”

Winter eyed her suspiciously. “Why would you want to come with us?”

“Actually, Heather might be quite useful. She’s a fast swimmer, can swim underwater, and she’s and excellent spy,” Moon defended. “I think she’d be a good addition to our team.”

“What about your... ability?” Qibli asked.

“Oh, she knows. We’ve been friends for a while.” Moon gave Heather a significant look.

She smiled back at her. “Besides, I know a lot of dragons and I know a lot about those dragons.” She shook herself, freeing her scales of water temporarily. “So, can we get going, before Princess Icicle gets too far?”

The dragonets soon took off, flying through the storm. You’re not going to shake me, Moon. I enjoy watching the fourth moon of Pyrrhia. That and I promised Secretkeeper I’d look out for you.

She thought she saw Moon react in front of her, flapping her wings out of balance. But she thought no more and focused on the falling rain.

Might write more about these two later, but for the time being, this is it. Hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for the 100k on Wattpad! <3

[crescent-quill-writings]

Midnight Meetings on the Reef

Fandom: Hamilton - Miranda

Words: 2422

Relationship: Hercules Mulligan/Thomas Jefferson

Additional tags: Mermaid AU, Fluff, Loneliness, Mermaid!Thomas Jefferson, Sailor!Hercules Mulligan, Bioluminescence, Hercules gets a bioluminescent boyfriend

Summary: Hercules Mulligan is a sailor living a simple life yet always wanting something more than what he has. So, when he receives a map that would supposedly lead him to a great treasure hidden in a distant reef, of course, he follows the path it lays out for him. Even though he gets lost along the way, he still ends up finding the treasure... Or more like the treasure finds him. 

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

As the sun began to sink below the horizon it painted calm waters with flame-like reds and tinted the skies with bright pinks. These fading golden rays created a near-perfect silhouette of a small sailboat and the man on board as it slowly drifted across the glassy surface of the water, disturbing its smooth surface with the ripples of its wake and scattering a school of silvery fish in the reef below. The sailor was a giant of a man, standing right around 7 feet tall with broad shoulders and rugged features. He was almost as gorgeous as the scene around him, but he was much too distracted with pacing back and forth across the deck and trying to make sense of the old parchment in his hands. 

"So... If I did this right and this is the reef and back there was the sandbar then the archipelago should be just ahead of us?" He mutters to himself, suddenly stopping on the bow of the ship and looking up and around him. His eyes were bright with excitement, but it slowly faded into a dull realization when he was met with the sight of the infinite horizon of the uninterrupted ocean. "... I guess that's what I get for trusting an old coot in a bar with a map and fancy fairytale after a couple of pints." He then grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering a series of colourful curses under his breath before he crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it overboard. "Useless piece of junk..."

Rightfully upset with himself, the sailor pulled a flask from his pocket and took a swig of the amber liquid inside. Sitting back on a crate pushed against the mast he watched, or moreso glared at the setting sun as the sky shifted from pink to red, to purple, and then finally to black as night fell upon the reef. He continued to stare up at the stars as they began to poke through the dark canvas of the sky before he sighed and stood, capping his flask and placing it in his pocket again.

"Time to turn in so we can figure this shit out in the morning." He mutters, fumbling with a match for a moment so he could light an oil lamp and hang it up above his head so he at least wasn't stumbling around in the dark as he tied everything down and dropped anchor for the night. Just as he took a rope in his hands and began to hoist the sails a ripple of movement and a flash of something bright and pink from beneath the waves caught his attention. "The hell...?" He murmurs, letting the rope fall from his hands and the sails fall slack as he took a step towards the water. For a moment the sailor thought it was some figment of his buzzed imagination and was about to turn back to the ropes before the light darted by again and pulled something beneath the water with a 'sploosh'. "The fuck?!" He exclaimed, rushing to the edge of his little sailboat and leaning over to peer into the water, looking for the light again.

"Was that a fish...? A glowing fish?" He knew about bioluminescence, having heard stories from other sailors and seen a few photos too, but even that didn't make sense. He'd heard of the algae that dotted the waves and beaches like stars and the freaky deep-sea fish that used light to lure in their prey, but nothing like what he was seeing now. Nothing he knew of was such a rich pink in colour like what he was seeing, and none of it could move so fast either. Again the sailor questioned if it was just in his imagination as he took out his flask, uncapping it quickly and taking a whiff to see if its contents had gone bad (if that was something that whiskey could do) before there was a sudden loud splash as his back was drenched with seawater and the small flame of his lamp extinguished. The water was still calm, so something had to have caused it.

"Shit, fuck--!!" The sailor exclaims, fumbling for a harpoon in the darkness and rushing for the other side of his little sailboat, ready for a fight and looking for the threat only for his weapon to fall from his hand and clatter against the deck. Now without the interruption of firelight, the world beneath the water was able to reveal itself to the sailor. Fear turned to shock and shock turned to awe as he watched the seagrass glow an azure blue, swaying anemones lighting up with scarlet hues, the forest of coral shine with shades of teal, indigo, and orange, and the schools of neon pink and blue fish that darted in and out from the nooks and crannies of the world beneath the waves. Nearly entranced by the other-worldly sight in front of him the sailor had forgotten about the earlier perceived threat and the streak of pink light he had first seen until--

"What the fuck!!" He exclaims, leaping back from the edge as his gaze locks on a human face poking out of the water and the curious indigo eyes looking back at him.

"I believe this is yours... You should be more careful." It spoke, its voice low yet smooth like a honeyed melody that made the sailor's knees go weak. He was stuck in a sort of shocked silence that he didn't notice the face had lifted an arm out of the water and was holding up a sodden grey lump that looked to be whatever was left of the map he had thrown out earlier.

"Oh, uh, thanks..." The sailor murmurs. He didn't know why he was so calm as he stepped forwards and kneeled down at the edge of the boat so he could reach for the ruined ball of paper, but he couldn't help the gasp that escaped him as he finally got a good look at what had approached him.

It had the head and the upper body of a human man and quite an attractive one at that with chiselled features and hair made up of long dark curls that looked well kept and soft despite being submerged in saltwater all day. As strange as it was to see a man living in the water, this was not what made the sailor gasp. Instead, his gaze locked on the 'man's tail. It was over twice the length of his torso and was crowned with a large and elegantly flowing fluke. Every scale was perfectly overlayed with each other and glowed with a rich pink hue in shifting intervals and levels to create a nearly hypnotic display of patterns as his tail swayed steadily to keep him in place against the light currents.

"Holy shit... You're a- You're a mermaid!" The sailor murmured, voice barely above a whisper as his fingers brush against the aquatic humanoid's as he takes back the ruined map.

"That I am, yes. You're quite the observant sailor, hm?" The merman replies with a warm chuckle, a sound that nearly makes the human melt as he rises further out of the water to rest his arms on the edge of the boat before he notices the harpoon and frowns, "I'm sorry if I startled you earlier, I just wanted to put out your light. This place can't thrive properly when there's something bright like that around, you see. I promise I mean you no harm, though, and thank you for not attacking me yet." He adds with a small sigh before smiling with sharpened teeth up at the sailor.

"Yeah, no, it's okay. No harm no foul and all that, I get it. This place is beautiful... You're beautiful..." He replied, only realizing what he had said as the merman laughs again and the sailor's face flushes with heat. "Uh- My name's Hercules Mulligan, though you can just call me Hercules or Herc. Do you have a name?"

"It's nice to meet you, Hercules. You're quite handsome yourself, especially for a human... My name is Thomas, at least, that's what I believe it translates to in your tongue." The merman earns a quiet 'likewise' in response from Hercules as silence falls on the pair. Thomas' expression was serene yet amused as he watched Hercules with those same curious indigo eyes, chuckling again as he catches him staring at his tail again. "It's alright, you can look... as long as you don't mind if I do the same, that is... I don't get many visitors out here, you see, especially not ones as kind as you." He watched the sailor blink quickly in response before he chuckled quietly and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. Thomas found himself enjoying the sound and wanting to hear it some more. "Is there a reason why you've travelled all the way out here on your lonesome, Captain?"

"No, not really..." Hercules replies with a sigh and a shake of his head, looking out across the dark horizon for a moment and taking in a deep breath. "Just heard some stories and got a map, I guess I thought it'd be like going on an adventure of my own if I found treasure or something like that. Pretty sure I got lost along the way, not that this place isn't nice... Just not what I expected, I guess." He explains, and the merman laughs in a melodious sound that made Hercules' breath catch in his throat before he slips into the water and began to swam lazy circles on his back around the sailboat.

"Even if you did get lost I think you've done pretty well. This place isn't easy to find, after all, and it's not every day you get to meet a merman either." Thomas grinned at the way the sailor scrambled to stand and paced across the deck to follow him, finding it cute how enamoured he had become as he stops by the bow of the ship.

"Yeah, I guess you're right... Meeting you could be a kind of treasure in itself." Hercules replied with a small smile, though the expression shifts to confusion as he tilts his head at the merman's extended hand.

"I would like to sit next to you, could you help me up? I'm afraid climbing is rather difficult with just a tail." Thomas explains with an easy smile, and the sailor nods as he takes the merman's hand in his and hoists him up and out of the water.

"Jesus you're big... N-Not that it's a bad thing!" He comments as he struggles to collect the mass of Thomas' tail in his arms, suddenly embarrassed again and his cheeks flushing with heat as he was met with the sound of the merman's melodious laughter again and set him down on the deck to him as he sat down with him.

"You're really sweet, you know that?" Thomas smiled a little more, dipping his fluke in the water and tucking most of his tail off to the side, letting silence settle between the two of them. It was a comfortable silence, giving them both the time they needed to process the day's events and where it led them and a chance to enjoy another's company on a calm midnight.

"So... Is there any real reason you wanted to come up here?" The sailor asks, breaking the silence and earning a small shrug in response from his new companion.

"I just thought it'd be easier to talk this way, or perhaps it'd just close some of the distance between us... I'm not really sure, honestly." Thomas admits, pulling his tail closer to his body as his gaze dropped to watch the ripples around the boat. Silence came over the pair again, though this time it was less comfortable. Hercules watched the merman with a frown, wondering what was going on behind those indigo eyes before he wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close to his chest.

"It's okay, I don't mind... It's not like I got any company out here either. Except for you now, of course." He replied after a moment, offering Thomas a warm smile that only grew as their gazes met and he was able to catch a sparkle of hope in those beautiful indigo eyes. "Y'know, I wouldn't mind coming back here either if I got to see you again. Not sure how I'd do it, since I kinda trashed the map, but you found me on accident anyways so maybe we could make it work out. I don't got much to go back home to anyways..." Sure, Hercules may have started rambling a bit, but he couldn't really help it. Being with Thomas made him feel relaxed like he could enjoy the moment and not have to worry about much other than making sure the merman kept smiling. Thomas was happy too, and although he was a bit unused to the feeling of another's arm around him he happily let himself lean into the sailor's side and rested his head on his shoulder, humming in content as he closed his eyes and simply enjoyed the little moment they were sharing.

"If you're really that worried I can get you a conch shell... If you play it right the sound will travel for miles and guide me right to you. That way I could help you find this place again until you've learnt the way yourself." The merman explains, his voice a gentle noise that harmonized with the rippling of the water under the boat that Hercules could only describe as 'cute.' Sitting up a bit the merman opened his eyes again and pressed a kiss to the corner of his sailor's lips, humming in satisfaction at the way Hercules began to laugh to hide how flustered he'd become and settling against his side once more. "You're a good man, Hercules, so I'm not worried... Let's just talk, the night's still young and I'd like to hear you laugh some more." The merman muses, smiling up at his sailor with a little shine in his indigo eyes as he sees his sailor was smiling too, "I haven't heard something that nice in a very long time, nor have I met someone as nice as you either... So thank you, the reef is a little less lonely tonight because of you."

[vannahfanfics]

Live Like You Were Dying

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Oboro Shirakumo, Shota Aizawa, Hizashi Yamada, Nemuri Kayama

Oboro scrunched up his face happily as he sipped at his juice box, enjoying the sweet taste of apple juice bursting on his tongue. It was the perfect thing to wash down the rice and beef he’d just inhaled for lunch. He popped his lips off the straw with a satiated hum, wobbling his head in tandem with clicking his heels. His shoes scraped against the concrete roof— a sound grating enough to awaken the napping boy beside him. 

“You’re awfully chipper ,” Shota grunted from within the confines of his yellow sleeping bag. Before Oboro could answer, Hizashi perked up from Shota’s other side, emerald eyes gleaming behind his shades. 

“Why not be? It’s a beaaaaaaautiful day!” As Hizashi stretched out the word with a delighted trill, Shota scowled dourly and burrowed further into his sleeping bag. The plastic-like fabric crinkled with each of his irritated movements. Hizashi only laughed good-naturedly as the boy zipped up the sleeping bag from the inside, clearly displaying his opinion on the “beaaaaaaautiful day.” 

Unlike his grumpy compatriot, Oboro was very inclined to agree that the weather was dandy indeed. He basked in the warm sun streaming down from the cloudless sky above, rolling his shoulders as it heated the fabric of his school uniform. Birdsong drifted up from the trees and bushes flanking the school building, and occasionally the breeze rustled the leaves, filling the air with a pleasant symphony. Oboro could never understand how Shota could snooze away such a balmy afternoon, but sure enough, his snores joined the melody wafting over the rooftop. 

The snores turned into a startled “snooork?!” as the door to the roof violently flung open. The metallic clang resounded through the air, prompting Shota to open the sleeping bag up part of the way to glare out. Nemuri came flouncing over, skirt swishing around her supple thighs with every sashay of her hips. A confident smirk decorated his lipstick-coated lips as she struck a saucy pose before them. 

“Hey, boys <3” 

Shota grunted disinterestedly and tunneled back into the depths of his sleeping bag. Nemuri’s millionaire smile vanished into a surly pout. She turned to Oboro expectantly, who did not disappoint. 

“Hey, Nemuri. What’s up?” 

“I am glad you asked!” Nemuri beamed, the white flash of her teeth returning with vigor. She flipped her midnight-blue hair over her shoulder as her eyes grew lidded with paramountcy. “I want to formally invite you all to attend a meteor shower viewing this evening.” 

“Pass,” came the dispassionate groan from the sleeping bag. Scowling, Hizashi whapped the shiny yellow surface. Shota popped his head out with an indignant glower, to which the blond just raised his eyebrows admonishingly. Shota’s eyes slowly drifted to Nemuri, who had put on her best pleading expression. She even batted her eyes and pressed the tip of her index finger to her slightly parted lip in a look of pure demure. 

“Please, Sho~?” 

“Come on, Shota!” Oboro pressed. He tucked his legs criss-cross and gripped his shins, beaming brightly at his friend. “It’ll be fun. What else do you have to do— sleep?” 

Shota gave him a look saying that was exactly what he had in mind for the evening. However, he silently deliberated Nemuri’s invitation and finally released a long sigh of relent. 

“Fine.” 

“Yay!” Nemuri squealed, throwing her hands into the air excitedly. Hizashi and Nemuri soon became involved in an avid conversation about meteor showers’ romantic aspects, with Shota grumbling within his sleeping bag over his soured nap. Oboro resumed sipping at his apple juice, blue eyes beholding the azure sky and envisioning it instead as an inky black canvas studded with glittering stars. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Oboro released a small “hup!” as he hopped down from his cloud. Nemuri had decided that the school roof was the optimal place to view the meteor shower, so he had used his Quirk to float them over the chain-link fence that ringed the area. As his feet met the solid ground, he turned to offer a hand to Nemuri, who flashed him a sultry smile. 

“Oh, what a gentleman,” she cooed lasciviously. Much used to Nemuri’s flirtations, he only winked at her and helped her slip down from the fluffy cloud. Shota and Hizashi dropped down on either side of her, blinking to adjust to the gloom shrouding them. The light from the nearby lampposts only dimly illuminated the rooftop, casting them in grey shadow. 

Nemuri skipped over to their favorite roosting spot, untying her jacket from around her waist to drape it over the concrete before primly sitting down. Shota shambled over to slide down the wall, legs stuck out and his hands buried into his hoodie pockets. Hizashi opted to stand, leaning against the wall with an earbud stuck in his ear; Oboro could hear the muted tones of his rock music emanating from the one dangling down by his collarbone. Oboro squatted down near the chain-link fence, head craned to behold the indigo-black sky gleaming brilliantly above the campus. 

The stars twinkled like diamonds, splashed across the sky like a thick streak of white paint. A few wisps of gray clouds drifted lazily like canoes across a mirror-smooth lake. In a stroke of luck, the meteor shower fell on the night of the new moon. Thus, the stars were relegated to a solo performance— and they didn’t fall short, bathing the world in a soft white glow. However, they didn’t have to perform alone for very long. 

“There it is!” Oboro gasped as a single streak of light slashed across the sky. It looked like someone scored a pencil across the heavens, etching it into white radiance. After the first once fizzled into nothingness, the sky illuminated with several more, and within seconds, dozens of meteors were raining to earth. The small meteors gave their last breath as they burned away in the atmosphere, crying their death in a burst of luminescence. 

Oboro found it both captivating and haunting. As he watched the meteors shoot across the sky, he marveled at how easily something could just blip out of existence. A flash of light, one final chance to make your imprint on the earth, and then— nothing. You fade into oblivion, a passing memory slowly dwindling with time. 

How sobering. 

He peered over his shoulder to his three friends. Nemuri’s sky blue eyes reflected the showering lights, making them twinkle like galaxies of their own; her face was drawn in reverence that he’d never seen before as she beheld the natural phenomena. Shota suppressed his awe better, but Oboro could see his appreciation by the way his jaw set and the gleam in his eyes. Hizashi was even stunned into silence, a thoughtful look on his face and one hand still held up from where he had taken out his other earbud. 

Oboro could tell just by the atmosphere that an intense rumination had pervaded their usually animated group. Maybe they were all thinking the same thing, or perhaps they were all thinking different things. Oboro wasn’t a mind-reader. Nor did it matter— some things were better left unspoken. 

He didn’t want to fade into nothingness like those meteors. Sure, he hoped he’d live a long, fulfilling life— but sometimes things don’t work out how you think it will. If the worst became him, he didn’t want to fade into obscurity, relegating to the dark parts of his friends’ minds that they only looked upon in melancholy. 

Luckily, oddly-beget optimism was Oboro’s specialty. 

“Let’s make a wish!” he grinned suddenly. His friends jerked, startled out of their quiet contemplation by his loud cry. Nemuri’s eyes fluttered as she regarded him curiously, and then she smiled broadly. 

“Oh, what a nice idea! Me first, me first!” she cried, holding out her hand as if flagging down a teacher. She cleared her throat professionally before declaring purposefully, “I want to dominate the hero world with my ultimate sexy style! I will bring both men and women on their knees before me! Mwahahaha!” 

Shota looked like he wanted to die. Hizashi appeared elated, and Oboro gave Nemuri a smile somewhere between supportive and concerned. 

“That’s… a nice way to put it, Nemuri,” the blue-haired boy offered placatingly. Nemuri seemed quite pleased with herself, tucking her chin into the webbing between her thumb and forefinger. “What about you, ‘Zashi?” 

“I wanna bring my tunes to the whole world, baby! Spread the love through the power of music, yeeaaaaaah!” he crowed, striking a flashy pose. He yelped when Shota punched him in the calf, making his leg buckle a bit. “Oww! Whydja do that, huh?” 

“You’re too loud. You’ll get us caught; we’re not supposed to be up here,” Shota sniffed matter-of-factly. Hizashi stuck out his tongue mockingly before peevishly crossing his arms. When Nemuri prompted him, his eyes widened slightly, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “A good nap would be nice.” 

“Be serious, Shota!” Hizashi whined. The grouchy boy huffed and tipped his head to the side to give his wish some actual thought. 

“I guess becoming an underground hero would be nice,” he shrugged after a moment. 

“Now that’s more like it!” Hizashi praised with a pump of his fist. Oboro smirked at the teeny little smile that appeared on Shota’s lips. “All right, Oboro? What do you wish for?” 

Oboro smiled, looking back up at the splendorous display illuminating the heavens above. 

“Me? Well… I just wish that we all remember times like this forever.” 

A silence descended between them. When Oboro looked back over his shoulder, they were all gawking at him. 

“Whoa, dude. That’s heavy,” Hizashi whistled. Oboro laughed and threaded his fingers through his cotton candy-blue hair, feeling a little self-conscious at how surprised they were. He blushed a little and gave them a sheepish smile. 

“What? A guy can’t get a little sentimental every now and then?” he joked, trying to lighten the mood he’d inadvertently heavied. He smiled lopsidedly, scratching his cheek. “I was just thinking…. You never know which day is your last, right? We gotta make the most out of life, ya know?” 

“Hmm… I see what you mean,” Nemuri hummed appraisingly. Oboro relaxed, glad the heat was off him a little. He glanced up at the sky; the meteor shower was dwindling, fewer streaks lighting the sky with each passing second. “Yeah,” Nemuri said brightly after a second. “A wish to live every day to its fullest… I love it!” 

“Me too, me too!” Hizashi agreed energetically and punched the air a few times. 

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Shota shrugged with a wry smirk. Oboro preened a little, his smile widening as he watched the last of the falling meteors proclaim their final moments to all those watching. 

Oboro made a promise that night to live like those meteors— screaming his presence to the world for as long as he was there, imprinting his being on all those who would listen, and bring joy and smiles to as many people as he could. If he lived like that, enjoying each and every day, then maybe even if the worst befell him, he would leave some kind of mark in people’s memories. 

Live like you were dying, and then, could you really have any regrets?

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[winterune]

Forgotten Joy

A Persona 5 Fanfiction

Late entry for Day 9 of Daybreakers 2020 by @p5daybreak

Character: Ren Amamiya/Protagonist - Prompt: School Life

Word count: 2340

Summary: On one Friday afternoon, Ren decides to visit the batting cage in Yongen-Jaya.

A/N: I wanted to write some fluff but it became angsty near the end lol

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~

He had always been interested in baseball. Not that he had ever played the game. With how Ren grew up in an environment filled with his father’s favorite phrase it’s a waste of time (really, though, it seemed everything was a waste of time to his father except school, cram school, and studying), Ren never had a chance to play or do much of anything that kids his age would have normally done. So, when he saw the batting cage in the backstreet of Yongen-Jaya, the thought had immediately entered his mind: I’m going to play this game even if it’s the last thing I do. However, with the whole Kamoshida thing happening in the past couple of weeks, Ren’s life had been in such a frenzy that he had simply forgotten the place existed.

That was, until one Friday afternoon when he had just gotten back from school and was heading to the supermarket that Morgana suddenly spoke from inside his bag.

“What’s this?”

Ren stopped mid-step and looked to his right. A narrow set of stairs tucked between buildings stood there, leading up to who-knew-where. There was a yellow sign at the top of it that said, ‘YONGEN-JAYA BATTING CAGE’.

“A batting cage,” Ren said, mostly to himself, and he caught himself. Hadn’t he wanted to visit this place for some time now?

“A batting cage?” Morgana echoed. The cat had pushed his way out of Ren’s bag and popped his head over his shoulder, placing his paws there as though Ren’s shoulder was a steppingstone. The sudden shift in weight made his shoulder sag. He seriously wondered sometimes why the cat wouldn’t walk on his own. His left shoulder was getting stiffer by the day.

“A batting cage in a small place like this?”

Ren shrugged. He did wonder where the cage exactly was, because there was the supermarket on one side and…Ren didn’t know what the other building was—it always had its shutters down every time Ren walked past it.

“What’s it like inside?” Morgana mused.

Ren glanced at the cat. “Do you wanna check it out?”

“Sure.”

***

The batting cage was nestled at the rooftop in-between buildings. Up the set of rickety stairs to another flight of stairs before Ren reached the topmost landing where he was met by another sign on a white board. A doorway to his right opened up to a narrow hallway, with a receptionist counter on one side and the netted batting areas on the other.

“So it’s on the rooftop,” Morgana said as Ren ducked underneath the doorway.

It wasn’t big, and it wasn’t crowded. In fact, they were practically the only ones there. However, despite its size, the place didn’t feel cluttered at all. “Nice,” Ren murmured under his breath. There were a few tables and chairs for people—if there were any—to sit and wait. Its roof only covered the receptionist area and half of the batting cages. Ren liked how the people had used a spare space to make a little bit of money and give some sort of downtime activity for anyone in the neighborhood without having to travel very far. He already liked this place very much and could see himself just sitting there, reading a book.

“Can I help you?” The voice from the counter interrupted his reverie and Ren found a middle-aged man standing behind it. He wasn’t as tall as him, and a little stout around the edges. He was probably around Sojiro’s age—probably younger. He wore a bluish-green shirt and a matching cap that Ren had initially thought might be a uniform, but he couldn’t find any sort of logo or even the words Batting Cage on it.

However, before Ren could say anything, the man had tilted his head to the side and said, “Haven’t seen you around here before.”

“Oh—um, yes, I just moved here last month,” Ren said.

“Ah!” the man exclaimed, eyes widening at the realization. “The one staying at Sakura-san’s place?” Ren nodded. He didn’t know how much he could tell him, as Sojiro had explicitly said not to talk much with the people around here. “Yes, yes, I’ve heard about you. You go to Shujin Academy, right? I heard you’re helping Sakura-san with his cafe?”

Right, that was what Sojiro was telling people: that Ren was working part-time there. Then, not exactly sure what he should do, Ren bowed and introduced himself formally, to which the man smiled and nodded and replied with, “I’m the owner of this batting cage. Feel free if you want to play some game. It’s your first time here, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we only have one type of machine at the moment, but I do plan on adding some later on. They’re five hundred yen a game,” the man went on. “Also, to get that youth blood pumping inside you, we give out prizes if you manage to hit all of them. There might even be some little extra if you hit a homerun.”

“Prizes?” came Morgana’s muffled voice from inside Ren’s bag—the cat had shuffled back inside when Ren started talking with the owner. “Do it, Ren! They might be useful.”

“Shut up, Mona,” Ren muttered from the corner of his mouth, giving his bag a quick squeeze.

“Hm? What’s that?”

“Oh, um, nothing,” Ren quickly answered. “Anyway, yeah, I guess I’ll play.”

***

Ren entered one of the cages and set his bag down on the ground—the batting cage token on one hand and the baseball bat on the other. His fingers flexed around the hilt.

“Have you ever played baseball?” Morgana asked.

His only experience in baseball was in some of the PE classes he had had back in middle school or watching his school team practice from his window in the classroom.

“A bit, I guess,” Ren said, inserting the token to the machine. “If you count PE classes.”

“What about with your friends?” Morgana asked again. “You know, like local neighborhood matches?”

Ren chuckled. “How do you know kids often have neighborhood matches?”

If cats could scoff, Ren swore Morgana had done just that. “I told you. I was a human. Don’t underestimate my knowledge of a normal human life.”

Normal, huh, Ren thought. If playing catch or having friendly neighborhood skirmishes counted as normal, then Ren felt he wasn’t much of a normal kid. But still, he laughed as he positioned himself on the base and gripped the hilt of his baseball bat tightly.

He heard the pitcher machine started, the cogs and wheels moving, then—

His body moved, swinging the bat wide.

The ball hit the net behind him.

“That was close,” Morgana said.

That had been far from close. Ren frowned, rolling his stiff shoulders and neck. He had run around a Palace and fought Shadows. His body had felt so light and nimble and fast. Could he really not hit one measly ball?

The pitcher machine moved again.

Ren swung his bat too fast.

He sighed. “Want me to change with you?” Morgana said.

“You can’t even hold the bat,” Ren retorted.

“And you can’t even hit it.”

Ren glanced at the cat, who seemed to be smirking. He couldn’t help but feel his own lips stretching into a grin.

Third time’s the charm, he told himself. He tried to remember what it had been like to hit the ball—the stance he had to have, how tight or how loose he had to hold the bat, how flexible his body had to be. Watch the ball. He remembered someone telling him once. Watch the ball and predict its trajectory. Not that he understood much about baseball to be able to do that.

The machine should only throw fastballs, so…

The machine moved, and Ren swung his bat. It grazed the underside of the ball, though not enough of an impact to send it flying to the other side.

“Aaah so close!” Morgana commented.

It had been so long. Was it three years—four—since the last time he last played the sport? He hadn’t played it enough for his body to remember any sort of kinesthetic memory. But he had managed to touch the ball, so that was something. Now, if he could just do that again but better.

The machine shot the ball toward him and—

Ren swung hard and fast, timing it carefully. The bat made contact, and the ball flew to the other side, hitting the net.

“You hit it!” Morgana cheered.

Ren watched the ball fall to the ground on the other side. He remembered it, the feeling of his bat making full contact with the ball—the resistance and vibration that followed—and then seeing the ball flying to the other side. A sort of jubilation he rarely felt filled his whole being and before he knew it, his lips had already stretched into a wide grin.

“All right! There’s more of that where it’s coming from!”

***

He didn’t get the prize. Well, of course he didn’t, not after those first three failed hits. “We’ll get it next time,” Morgana had said. Before Ren left, the batting cage owner told him that they were going to have new machines installed over the summer, offering more challenging faster pitches. Though he had yet to master this beginner stage, as he liked to call it, Ren still promised the man he would come by once in a while.

Ren was quiet on their way down from the batting cage. The sun had set, plunging the sky into a deep indigo hue with streaks of dark red and orange by the horizon. There were no clouds to be seen, but unlike his hometown where Ren could often see the stars and make out constellations in the night, the Tokyo night lights often obscured those same stars from view.

He heard Morgana’s voice in the background. The cat was talking about how the batting cage could improve Ren’s handy works, which might help in future Palace infiltrations. Then he started wondering what kind of prizes they would get. Then Morgana told Ren not to forget to stop by the batting cage so Ren could improve his batting skills.

“Hey, I’m not trying to become a Koshien player, you know,” Ren interjected with a laugh.

“I know, but I think this skill would come in real handy to have,” the cat said. “A good coordination between your eyes, your hands, and your mind? That’s a skill any Phantom Thief should have.”

Ren gave a small chuckle, keeping his eyes to the ground. “Yeah, okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

There was a pause, before Morgana popped out of Ren’s bag and he felt the cat climbing onto his shoulder. “Hm? What’s wrong? I thought you were having fun there.”

Ren glanced at the cat, not sure what he was getting on. “What do you mean? I am having fun.”

“You don’t sound as enthusiastic as before though.”

Enthusiastic?

Ren stopped in his tracks. What did he mean by ‘enthusiastic’? Ren was enthusiastic, wasn’t he? He was, but…

After leaving the batting cage behind and feeling the cool evening air brush against his face, that rush of adrenaline he had felt hitting one ball after another had subsided, leaving him feeling somewhat empty. The elation from before felt like a distant dream, a brief reprieve before he was thrust back into reality.

This feeling had felt like an everyday thing that Ren had never noticed it. Like a protection gear he had put around himself to brave whatever reality had to offer. As though a part of his mind had settled on the fact that something would take away his happiness and joy and he had to be ready for whenever it struck.

The image of a broken bat came to mind. His father’s cold eyes. The screaming he had heard behind closed doors. Ren had retreated to the park, as he always would every time his parents fought. He didn’t remember if he had cried—it hadn’t seemed like something worth crying for—but he remembered now the pain he had felt when he heard the crack and saw the splintered wood.

Ren had completely forgotten about it—the first and last time his father ever broke something of his. His mother had given it to him, after seeing him enjoying the sport in a local event. A glove and a bat—ones he could play with the kids in the neighborhood.

“Ren.”

A soft furry touch to his cheek, and he realized his eyes were wet.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, quietly taking his glasses off and wiping his eyes. “Dust must’ve caught in them.”

“Hey, if it’s hard to talk about—”

But Ren shook his head before Morgana could finish his sentence. He realized he had never told anyone about it—about his parents—not even when he still lived with them, because people knew them, and they would expect Ren to be the proper young man worthy of them. Now he was here, living by himself, gotten rid of if he were to use Sojiro’s words. Would it be all right if he talked about them now?

Ren blew a quiet breath from his mouth, putting his glasses back on, then leaned against the railing of the stairs. The streaks of light in the sky were fading away, the streetlamps flickering to life.

“You asked me if I’d played with some of the neighborhood kids, right?” Ren said. Morgana nodded. “Well, I did, for a time. But then my dad found out, and…I stopped.”

It took him a moment to realize that Morgana probably couldn’t understand a single thing from a short explanation like that. As expected, Morgana then asked, “What happened with your dad?”

Ren chuckled under his breath and gave the cat a bitter smile. “Let’s just say, he’s not the best dad around.” And in the quiet of the night, Ren began telling Morgana about his parents.

~ END ~

[bee-dot-exe]

La Forêt Des Rêves

Now that everything has been posted to Ao3, and all of us have been revealed, here's my fic for you on Tumblr. Happy belated holidays @anxiouslyfred. Also a massive thanks to @friendlyfacestabbing and @melonlord527 for being my awesome beta readers.

Sanders Sides

Prinxiety

Some angst with happy ending/comfort/fluff

Word count/appx. 2,200

The sun was just beginning to set in the sky above, slightly hidden behind the clouds and trees, creating a peachy hue. Virgil watched for a bit as the clouds turned rosy. They marched as the glow of the world around him grew. Eyes fixated and mind exploring, Virgil was taken from his daydream state rather abruptly, at the sound of brush breaking closed in.

Logically, he knew that the sound of brush rustling and sticks breaking was likely from an animal who meant him no harm, but the mind tends to play tricks when it had nothing else to do. What if it was another person, a stranger, a murderer? He managed a couple of deep breaths before creating an aura like state, a cloak if you will, of protection.

Brush cracked again before it's source of sound appeared. A deer, a buck in fact, standing before him. He was beautiful, he looked powerful and strong, and Virgil raised his chin slightly and cocked his head forward. The buck lowered himself slightly and bowed his head back to Virgil. His brown eyes shining in the blushing light as Virgil watched.

The buck suddenly stepped with one foot forward, his brown eyes blinked once, Virgil blinked back, and then the buck had disappeared.

That wasn't a dream, was it? Virgil didn't dream that. Definitely not. But where did the buck go?

In place of the creature who once stood before him, perched a dove, golden streaks of light and shadows glazing it's porcelain feathers. The bird cocked its head to the side before shaking its delicate feathers. Virgil stood still, extending a hand to the dove. The dove looked at Virgil, it's small eyes almost looking into his soul, suddenly fluttered it's wings, it was headed for the perch of Virgil's hand, but before it reached him, it too appeared to have vanished, leaving only a feather the color and texture of lace behind.

Blinking curiously, Virgil cautiously took a step forward, intending to pick up the feather. Instead, it sparkled and began to glow red, leaving Virgil to shield his eyes momentarily. When his eyes opened, a young man stood before him, lowering to a bow with deep brown eyes shining up to him.

"Your wrist."

"I'm sorry?" Said Virgil, he was in too far in shock to form much more of a sentence.

"Your wrist, it's glowing, you're like me."

So it was, a line that had formed years ago when the bracelet first made contact with his skin but was now a faded scar, was glowing softly as the other boy spoke.

"I know you're like me."

Said the young man, holding up his left hand, revealing the same kind of scar, but on his ring finger.

Virgil could remember when his teacher first gave him the bracelet, he thought it was nice, but then it started getting smaller. He started to panic and tried pulling his wrist away from his teacher, but it was too late, the bracelet was now being imbedded into the skin of his wrist. It felt like his wrist had been set on fire, but the pain vanished almost as quickly as the bracelet itself, all that remained was a scar and the memories. The same thing had apparently happened to this boy, but his scar was quite a bit smaller in circumference, that was what really convinced Virgil that he wasn't in a dream and that there was someone he had some form of connection with. He suddenly felt very exposed.

"I'm afraid I don't understand" Virgil said while taking a small step back.

Of course the young man was right, Virgil wasn't like everyone else, but that didn't mean he was about to tell that to a random somebody, no matter how piercing his brown eyes or how toned his muscles were.

"I know you saw what happened, I know you saw my transformations, what all can you do?"

Virgil shook his head slightly, he didn't want to show anyone anything right now, especially this stranger.

"Why are you out here anyway?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"Touché." The young man replied with a smirk.

Hesitantly, Virgil replied.

"Too much going on, needed a break, needed to walk."

"Lessons do that to me sometimes too, it's okay to get overwhelmed, did you do anything besides just leave?"

Not really sure what this guy meant by the end of his sentence, Virgil shook his head a little, and wrapped his arms around himself, more for the matter of comfort, but the heat impact helped as a sudden gush of wind brushed between the two. Virgil stood shaking slightly, less because of the slight temperature change and more because of his anxiety. His breathing started to become erratic, but he lost his ability to breathe at the same time, everything in his chest suddenly felt tight and he started to lose his ability to hear clearly. A stronger breeze suddenly came through and Virgil started to panic a bit more, he didn't want to do anything, not right now. He always causes problems. He's never been very useful.

What was he asking and why? Why was this boy standing there? Where did he come from? What happened to Virgil's voice? Why did it hurt to breathe? Why was he kind of dizzy now?

"Hey there, it's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you. Can you hear me? Could I help you? Repeat after me if you can. 1, 2, 3--."

The boy motioned for Virgil's eyes to focus on him, as he was demonstrating to inhale, then hold his breath, then exhale, and slowly but surely, he got his breathing somewhat more under control and everything started to sound less like he was underwater and the air around him had almost come to a halt at this point.

"Hey, you did really good, are you back with me now?"

Why was this guy being so nice? He didn't even know Virgil. Why couldn't he say anything? He probably looked so dumb. All he could do was nod his head.

"That's awesome. Wanna sit down for a minute?"

Virgil nodded again.

"Can I sit with you?"

Finally, he nodded, and he got the words back, and they didn't get stuck in his throat.

"What's your name, by the way?"

"My apologies, I'm Roman."

So the mystery man had a name.

"Virgil."

"It's wonderful to meet you, I do hope you're feeling better now, Virgil?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry." Virgil said while tugging lightly at the sleeve of his jacket.

"No need to apologize, honest."

Sitting against a maple tree across from him, Roman focused in front of him, and a hummingbird began to take form. Its wings a kind of sapphire color and its breast fuchsia. Its tiny and delicate feet perched on his finger.

"Would you like to pet him?"

Virgil began to shrink slightly into his jacket, that bird was way to small, he would damage it, he would knock it off, he would---

"Hey, are you there, are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry." Said Virgil shrinking still and now his cheeks were lightly dusted with blushes.

"It's really alright. He won't hurt you, and you won't hurt him, I swear to you. Would you like me to show you?"

He was still slightly hesitant, but nodded as Roman seemed so genuine, so he sat on his knees in front of the boy and the bird.

"Gently, like this."

The young man took hold of his hand and directed it toward the tiny creature, leading him to extend a finger, and use the back of it to stroke the feathers down its neck and back. It was so soft. The bird stretched its neck and head forward in content. Roman still held onto Virgil's hand. It was soft too.

Virgil looked curiously at the Roman's hand before gently pulling away from him and the bird.

"I realize I probably interrupted your walk, so I apologize, I can leave."

"No, wait, it's honestly fine, It's not like I was really doing much anyway, you can stay with me. Please."

"If you're sure." Said Roman, and Virgil nodded, so they walked together.

The sun was just barely hanging on as dusk and nighttime approached, the clouds sand sky were now an almost lavender color, it made the lights shining through the trees and onto the ground below an array of dandelion and amethyst and indigo.

They walked in silence for a moment more before Roman spoke up.

"This has always been my favorite time of year, once summer ends and autumn begins, when the leaves have turned and begin to fall and coat the ground."

Virgil turned his head to listen and saw that Roman had crinkles along the outer corners of his eyes when he smiled.

A wave of sudden courage blanketed Virgil, he inhaled through his nose, and Roman turned his head. When Roman looked his direction, Virgil's naturally brown like tea hair was slowly turning an ombré of shades of crimson red and sunny gold and deep forest green from the roots. Roman's brown eyes sparked with awe and they still had that crinkle.

"So, that's something I can do, I guess." Virgil said to Roman while tugging at his sleeve nervously.

Roman stood speechless for a moment, until Virgil asked him to say something.

"Would you dance with me?"

"What?" Alright, he wasn't expecting that to be Roman's answer.

"Dance with me." He repeated.

"Hold on, Romeo."

"It's Roman, actually." Virgil smirked at that.

"There's no music."

"We don't have to have music."

"We don't even really know each other."

"Alright, fine, we'll get to know one another." And Roman took him by the hand and lead him to dance in the middle of the woods with nothing but the sounds of life around them.

"How old are you?"

"Thirty." Replied Virgil.

"Wonderful, me too!" Roman said while leading the dance, which Virgil didn't mind, he didn't think he was very good anyway.

"What's your favorite color?"

"Red of course." Roman said while gestering with his free hand to his shirt.

They asked each other more things, like if they had siblings and their taste in music and such, then it was Roman's turn again.

"What other things can you do, besides change your hair?"

"It's not really that important."

"Come on, of course it is, I'm sure it's amazing!"

"I really don't think I should show you right now, Roman." Virgil said while starting to get anxious, a sudden breeze covered them both.

"But why don't you want to show me? You know you can trust me."

"I just don't want to, okay, is that so wrong?" Said Virgil, with his voice slightly lower in pitch, and the light behind his eyes slightly faded.

"No, Virgil, I'm--"

"Not proud of you. Disappointed in you. Afraid of you. Tired of you. Leaving you."

The negative thoughts in Virgil's head were now echoes in the open air, and they swirled around him, he stood practically surrounded by a hurricane. Roman stood still and in awe at the creation. Virgil stood inside of his personal hurricane with hands over his ears, trying, and seemingly failing, to block out the noise of his thoughts. Some nearby debris from the forest around them was incoming and added to the mix.

Roman took a step forward, raising a hand to protect himself from the incoming nearby debris.

"Virgil, can you hear me?"

There wasn't any indication that he was mentally present.

"Virgil, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to cause any of this personal torment."

A new thought emerged and surrounded Virgil's head, it said "not your fault."

"Well it's not yours either."

Roman saw some light return behind Virgil's eyes at that remark.

"I shouldn't have pushed you, I know that I need to stop when too late sometimes, I respect you no matter what you can do."

And Virgil could see through the debris and the pain and anxiety, that Roman was smiling, and the corners of his eyes crinkled, and everything around him slowly came to a halt, and Virgil fell to his knees, but Roman caught him before he could fully fall forward.

"Roman--"

"No, don't, you have nothing to apologize for, you couldn't have controlled that."

Virgil stayed silent for a moment, before he spoke under his breath.

"It kind of is though."

"How so?" Roman asked.

"Did you not notice the whole weather changing around me thing?"

Roman considered his wording, before looking into Virgil's eyes.

"Virgil, can you look at me?"

He looked into Roman's brilliant brown eyes.

"There you are. Alright, yes, of course I saw that. I saw something come into creation because of something you can't control. Anxiety is just a voice in you brain that always has to have the last word. It's a bully. You couldn't help what just happened around you."

"But I--"

Roman shushed him, and suddenly their lips were pressed against one another's, and they kissed, as the silver moon rose and sky faded to royal blue. In reality, the kiss only lasted about a minute, but it felt like an eternity. His lips were as soft as he hand he took Virgil's own in and the kiss as striking as his brown eyes.

"Do you believe me now?"

Virgil put their lips back together as his answer.

[dulciscoeur]

the banality of my evil passions enslaved by ancient tenderness

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle Summary: Villanelle washes Eve’s hair. Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff if you squint, Dark!Eve, Soft!Villanelle, Nudity, Aftermath of Violence

Set after 2x07, possible spoilers for 2x08. (AO3 link)

The night she kills Raymond, Eve washes her body like a rape victim would.

With trembling fingers and uncharacteristic franticness, she scrubs away red and guilt stuck along the smooth expanse of skin grown pink - from the roughness of the sponge or the diluted blood, she isn’t sure -  and thinks of his, surely cooled by now, nothing but blueish flesh to be consumed eventually, when sticky maggots, shiny like oyster pearls but not as beautiful, feast on necrotic swell.

She imagines eyes that would resemble overripe plums in a matter of weeks as she closes hers for a moment, times her breathing with the water that laps at the side of her bath, and opens them again. Something unnerving simmering below her breastbone, she looks at the stubborn smudges of dried blood dyeing her cuticles burgundy until her vision slides out of focus, the image before her flowing seamlessly from hands into a lazy waltz of colors merging together with no discernible features.

It’s very possible that she is crying but it could be steamy water beating against her that’s blurring her vision. There’s the suggestion of a laugh bubbling on the tip of her tongue.

—

Villanelle finds her with her forehead resting on drawn up knees, arms tightly wrapped around them.

“Eve,” she says from the doorway, careful not to startle her. “I knocked twice but you did not answer.”

When she looks up at her, both eyebrows raised like she doesn’t understand, the corner lamp and lavender moonlight spilling through the windows hits pale skin, and it’s hard for Villanelle to associate this Eve to the one whose eyes had adopted an animalistic glint not two hours ago. This is more like the tenderly horrified version of Eve, the one that said Hold on, it’s okay, I got you after she had stuck a knife in her in Paris.

“He would’ve killed you,” Eve is saying quietly, like she no idea why she’s saying it at all.

He wouldn’t have, but she understands the importance of lies when the truth is keen on destruction, so she lets her believe that all the same.

“Yes. He would have.”

Fingertips traveling to the sensitive spots on her neck Raymond’s hands had branded, her mind works through the events of the previous hours, the memory of it all preserved in a box inside her head, a treasured jewel.

She recalls the feel of her hyoid bone being forcefully pushed down under the V of his rear naked choke, adrenaline dense as quicksand travelling in twisted forms through her bloodstream to fight back the fading of her vision, the manic laugh that had been simmering inside her chest for too long eventually making it’s way up her throat because she enjoys it more when her victims think they have the upper hand until the very last moment, and then-- just as she was starting to lose her patience, fingers tightly wrapped around the knife at her waist, ready-- the wet gurgling sound of an axe going through flesh like butter.

When his body collapsed and she turned around, being greeted with wild hair and equally wild eyes had just been icing on the cake. Thrill, there was no other word for it, was lurking behind brown orbs. She could read intention in them from every single angle, even through the haze, so perfect a negative of what should’ve been there instead.

Trust Eve to always exceed her expectations.

—

“You’ve been in here for nearly an hour.” She hears Villanelle say. “Are you okay? May I come in?”

She nods to one of her questions. “Yeah.”

She feels only a little foolish for thinking she would walk in and kneel to be at eye-level. Instead, she sees bare feet sliding into the room, hears the swish of silk robe caressing skin to make its way to the floor. Against white tiles, the fabric forms a pool the color of sangria sunsets, of Dom Perignon Oenotheque Rosé, of life spilled onto a rug.

She clears her throat, tries her best not to look up.

Her gaze flies up to Villanelle’s face all the same. There are no traces of blood anymore. Right after it was over, she had averted her eyes from Villanelles as though the exhilaration would rub off on her but she did wipe some of it herself. Her fingertips had danced across her cheeks, something protective in her not bearing the sight of gore splattered out like freckles on her face.

She takes in the honey-colored eyes, the carefully arranged emotions filling up such depths. She lets herself revel in everything she finds staring back. Longing, softness, and the ever-present hunger that surely must be a reflection of her own hidden desires.

It’s the proud gleam she eventually recognizes there that eventually makes her look away.

Some emotion she didn’t care to name stirring in his chest, she watches her nakedness like you watch a chemical reaction. Cautious, wary. Fascinated. She commits to memory the contradiction that is Villanelle— the softness of the rosy nipples and supple breasts, of the full hips and thighs; and then the tightness of lean muscles underneath creamy skin, the strength of long fingers clenching at her sides, waiting, letting herself be seen.

She reminds herself to breathe as her eyes fall and linger on the scar of her creation, a thing she made. It’s smaller, now, but still, it protrudes proudly pink on ivory canvas. A flashback threatens to destroy her composure, her breathing shaking like the delicate stutter of wounded butterfly wings. She’s been here before. Under different circumstances, yes, but still. There’s something to be said about finding oneself in the same situation twice, but she blinks that thought away when Villanelle moves to sit behind her.  

“The water is cold,” she remarks like a child would, water splashing out onto the floor as it welcomes the new weight.

Eve only notices it then, the temperature contrasting against Villanelle’s naked body, solid around hers.

She smiles a weak smile out of reflex. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

“Let me, Eve,” Villanelle offers evenly.

It pricks at her, the way Villanelle, who is not in the least afraid of anything, uses that careful tone of voice with her, the one whispered to alert your friend about a bear in the clear. She thinks of role reversals but doesn’t dwell on this because that would make her the threat, and because Villanelle is moving to twist the drain stopper open and turn the spray on once again. She finds herself relaxing under the new soothing warmth, lets her body melt deeper into her.

When Villanelle tentatively says, “You didn’t wash your hair yet,” she guesses the intention behind her words, precariously hidden behind strong phonemes of someone who speaks a foreign language.

This time, she thinks of belonging and vulnerability and bruised hearts, and the guilt seared inside her turns into the good kind of pull, something like longing sitting in her stomach like lead. If this is what they are now, so be it.

Relief deeper than consolation curling the muscles around her mouth into a genuine smile, she says,

“Would you do it for me?”

—

Time seems to be slowed tonight, liquescent. Boundless fascination igniting unfamiliar fluttering in her breast, pulsing through the weak confines of her system, Villanelle feels most alive in the small moments Eve offers herself to her.

Pouring a dollop of expensive shampoo into her palm, she conceals the metallic smell of blood and fear with floral notes and musky herbs purchased in Tuscany, working the cream from her scalp to the ends, her intention to soften Eve’s thoughts, her heart squeezing when she feels more than hears Eve exhaling a noise of pleasure.

She imagines half-lidded eyes and slightly parted lips as she traces the thick mass of hair cascading through her fingers. Almost dizzy, she runs her hands over impossibly onyx like it’s a sacred thing, enraptured by the ghastly shimmer that every droplet reflects, bright white and indigo hues where light falls.

Amorphous like the water flowing between them, her curls are lost because of the weight, but they are soft all the same on fingers weaving through strands, slippery silks tickling nerve endings, hair runny like good ink. Villanelle drinks in its heaviness-- buoyant, generous, luscious. Obscene.She feels the tingling previously narrowed down to pinpricks at her fingertips expand, propelling to meet the newfound buzzing rising in her lower belly right at the middle of her chest, where sinews taut like violin strings seem to snap, spreading stark explosions of amber everywhere.

Before she has the chance to voice her admiration,

“I have killed someone.” Eve breathes it out like a revelation, a little hysterical.

Villanelle inhales sharply, hands frozen in place. She waits.

“Don’t stop now, Oksana,” Eve admonishes softly, and encourages her to resume her movements by nuzzling against her palms the way cats do.

—

Outside the windows, the buzz and hiss of streetlamps remind Eve of her own inconsistency reverberating inside her core, flaring, barely kept at bay. Inside, Villanelle unhooks the shower head to rinse her clean. With practiced skill, fingers surprisingly delicate for someone as strong as her, she gathers her hair and lets it fall, once, twice, a delicious number of times.

Her knuckles graze the base of her neck in whirls and lines and streaks, a brush connecting twinkling dots scattered in the sky to form constellations. Cygnus, Ophiuchus, Orion cross her mind.

Always in synchrony with each other, they both sigh.

If she were anyone else, or if Villanelle were, she would’ve been more wary. Because she is not, and Villanelle isn’t, so she closes her eyes and lowers her guard and herself into sultry warmth.

Underwater, she listens carefully to the sound of blood thrumming in her ears and the vicious beat of her living heart. Darkness. For a while, that’s all there is. Then, the same deep quiet that soothes helps filter out with deafening clarity Villanelle’s Why did you do that, Eve? inside her mind, an echo from some other time when she thought she would become a corpse in her kitchen. Only this time, the crime scene hadn’t been her kitchen and the corpse hadn’t been hers.

She breaks the surface gasping for air just as the sob trapped inside her throat makes its way out.

—

She turns Eve around easily, drawing her closer and burying her head in her chest. She traces endless circles on her back, tenderly where skin was rubbed raw, trying to offer Eve any measure of comfort. She imagines what she must be feeling right now and waits, unsure of what to make of Eve’s reactions.

Villanelle is still so stunned by her very existence, by the very presence of this woman in her life. Eve, who had left everything she knew in the past to follow her into an uncertain future. Eve, who is a force of nature, untamed and undeterred. Eve, whose hot breath tickles where she tries to muffle her sobs.

To a certain extent, she had experienced enjoyment in the situation, not sure she’s ever felt so flattered. The realization of what Eve has done for her had blossomed inside her chest like flowers turning its heads to the sun. She’s used to taking lives, but she’s not used to people taking them in order to save hers. It had been a gift, and that is much more familiar.

She knows a thing or two about returning favors, and maybe because she doesn’t care about faceless men and consequences and guilt this is not a selfless act, but deep down, she knows she does what she does out of love for her, and that she means every promise she makes.

And so she grabs her hand, if only so that an axe wasn’t the last thing she’s held, and says in hushed words, a quiet breath in the space between them,

“No one has to know it was you who did it.”

—

Eve tenses. She thinks, Would you? For me? and Shut up, shut up, shut up in the same millisecond.

She can see that going one of two ways: Villanelle takes the fall for her, if it comes to that, because one more victim wouldn’t make a difference to anyone. Except her. She’s free. Probably. She’s free, without Villanelle. Her breath hitches. Or, Villanelle doesn’t:  She takes responsibility for what she’s done and accepts her fate, whatever that might be. Her breath hitches.

An unreasonable line of thought sprouts in her mind. If we go down, we down together. She almost lets out a laugh, loud and importunate, at the absurdity of that part of her that longs for the idealized end. Almost.

She will make sure it doesn’t go any of those ways at all. She has no intention of negotiating. You are not doing that, Villanelle.

She must have said that last part out loud, because Villanelle lifts her chin to meet her eyes.

“I don’t care about adding one more name to my list,” she says, matter-of-factly. Then she makes a face, adds: “I’m only worried about people thinking I’m sloppy.”

It wasn’t meant to be a joke. Her eyebrows are raised, forehead slightly scrunched up, eyes open and honest. It’s that innate innocence of hers that makes her let out the laugh she was holding— something dry, like it was forced out her lungs. She fights the impulse to press her lips to hers, to kiss her just for the sake of making her stop talking for the rest of the night.

If she is honest, the only reason she doesn’t is because if they ever kiss, she doesn’t want it to be like this. If she is completely honest, she prefers not being on the brink of a nervous breakdown when they do.

Firmly, because she is so tired: “You are not doing that.”

As consolation, the back of her fingers brushes against her high cheeks with the same tenderness they had caressed her that night in her kitchen, a barely-there touch.

Time stifled into stillness, they make this moment theirs. In the confines of these seconds, they breathe in and out steadily, the crucible of their intimacy finding a rhythm when their hearts beat the same quiet symphony.

Villanelle is looking at her the way she has looked at her from the first moment they met. The way no one else has— Her, in her line of vision, and then everything else.

Eve thinks that if this were happening in an alternate universe, she would be whispering three words at her like a confession.

Best not to think of what could have been, she blinks then to escape the intensity of Villanelles eyes, probably close to guessing her thoughts.

“Let’s get out of here,” she says, slightly breathless, not sure she means the tub or something else.

Villanelle decides for her. Standing up, she gently extends a hand.

She holds it, filled with a calm contentment so otherworldly that she feels both light-headed and heavy at the same time, as if she were so relaxed her seemingly weightless body could float and drift away towards night sky if it weren’t for the honey thick feel of drowsiness running through her veins and Villanelle’s hand sliding against hers, twining their fingers together, anchoring her.

[prevdustinhendrsn]

under that starry summer sky

lucas sinclair/max mayfield 2.9k - read on ao3 requested by anonymous from this list: 86. ‘I’ll walk you home.’

a/n: hello and welcome to my summer of ‘85 lumax one-shot, composed entirely of fluff, milkshake mustache kisses, lucas ‘holy shit max mayfield is my girlfriend’ sinclair, and my all-time favorite trope that I’ll use in every single fic until the day I die: the big ‘I love you’ revelation.

The party’s lazy day in Mike’s air-conditioned basement ends when Will, sprawled on the carpet, lets out the first yawn.

“I need to get home,” he sighs, dropping the colored pencil in his hand. Lucas eyes his sketchpad. The topmost drawing is only half-finished, but it looks suspiciously like the midsummer carnival’s Ferris wheel, bright rainbow lights and all. The carnival isn’t for another month – how does he even remember that much detail?

“Yeah, me too. Gotta feed my frogs ‘cause my mom isn’t gonna remember,” Dustin says, stretched out on the couch with an arm slung over his eyes. Across from him lies El, face screwed up in concentration as she works on the puzzle floating several feet above her face, several tissues stuck up one nostril. All the pieces are scattered in the air around the portion of puzzle that she’s completed already; she sorts through, finds, and attaches the pieces she needs all without lifting a finger. It’s unbelievable, yet here she is, forcing them all to believe.

“Do we have plans tomorrow, Mike?” Lucas asks. He’s sat at the rickety old table in the middle of the basement along with Max, who’s tipping dangerously on the back legs of her chair just to see how far she can go by balance alone, and Mike, who’s hunched over a spread of papers for D&D, pencil rapidly spinning between his fingers.

“Up to you guys,” he says absently, chewing his lip.

“Let’s go to the pool,” El suggests. Dustin groans, swinging off the couch and onto his feet.

“We’ve been to the pool like four times this week.”

“It’s a million degrees outside,” Will interjects. “We can’t not go to the pool at least four times a week. We’ll melt.”

“Grow up,” Max drawls, eyes closed. “This is normal California weather in, like, April.” Her tongue sticks out between her teeth as she concentrates on not falling over; Lucas thinks it’s adorable.

“Hey, Max?” Dustin says, his voice suddenly too sickly-sweet to mean anything good.

“Yeah?”

He crosses the room and sticks his foot under one of the suspended chair legs, promptly shoving it up and sending Max crashing to the ground. He doubles over in cackling laughter and Mike snorts as she gapes at him from the ground, sputtering out swears.

“You fucking asshole! I swear one day I’m going to throw you off the goddamn quarry –“

“It was funny!” he yells in protest, grinning wide. Max flips him off, but Lucas can see the telltale curve of a reluctant smile on her lips.

“Sorry, Max, but it was kind of funny,” Will says light-heartedly, collecting his art supplies. Lucas gets to his feet and holds out a hand to his defeated girlfriend.

“I didn’t think it was funny,” he says loyally, hauling her up. She rolls her eyes.

“Sure you didn’t. Are we leaving too?”

“Let me know if you guys want to do something tomorrow,” Mike says, his gaze still focused on his game planning.

“El, are we taking you home?” Will asks. El shakes her head.

“Hopper is picking me up later. See you tomorrow!”

After a chorus of goodbyes, the four of them are out the door. The evening is humid and clingy, just as it’s been all summer; streaks of indigo paint the orange sky, the sunset a hazy golden mirage on the horizon.

“Goddamn summer, man,” Dustin huffs as they head up to yard to the street. “Eight-thirty and it’s barely even dark.”

“I like it,” Max says, hoisting her skateboard under her arm. A fond smile crosses her face. “California summers always last forever. They’re great.”

Lucas looks over at her. Her hair blazes in the glow of the sunset, the sharp planes of her face illuminated in fire. Radiant, beautiful, always.

“See you guys tomorrow?” Will asks, pulling his bike up from the lawn.

“I’ll radio after breakfast,” Dustin says as he adjusts his walkie-talkie mic. “El wants to go swimming so that’s probably what we’ll do, knowing Mike.”

“Ten-four. Night, guys.” Lucas salutes and Dustin copies with a laugh, and then he and Will take off down the street.

Max idly spins one of the wheels on her skateboard, looking up at Lucas. “What now?”

“Whatever you want. Meg’s is still open, or I’ll walk you home?”

He always walks her home after days like these, despite the fact that she lives half a mile away and he’s just two houses down. At first she had adamantly refused, saying it wasn’t logical for him to go all that way and honestly, I can take care of myself just fine, thanks. Lucas couldn’t help but laugh. Believe me, Max, all of Hawkins knows you can take care of yourself, he had said. I just like spending time with you. Much to his delight, she relented, and each walk home – or sometimes bike-slash-skateboard ride – is a valued memory of his.

Now, though, she hesitates, eyes dropping to her shoes, and Lucas recognizes what’s going on immediately.

“Or you can stay at my house tonight, if you want,” he adds. She sighs.

“I’m sorry, Lucas, I just – it’s been bad, the last few days, and I wouldn’t ask if –“

“Max.” Lucas plants his hands on her shoulders and she wearily looks up at him, her expression somewhere between hope and reluctance. “It’s okay. I get it, dude. It’s not a problem. You know you’re always welcome at my house. My family loves you.”

She takes a deep breath, and with her nod comes a smile. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Lucas.”

He smiles back at her, because how can he not? “Anytime. Milkshakes?”

“Milkshakes,” she agrees.

She discards her skateboard in the Wheelers’ lawn, to be picked up on their way back, and takes Lucas’ hand. He tries not to smile too wide.

Hawkins is tranquil and undisturbed on this sticky summer night. As the sky darkens, the streetlamps flicker to life, dotting the street with patches of dim yellow halogen. The occasional rustling of trees is accompanied by the scuffle of Max’s and Lucas’ shoes on the asphalt, and with their hands swinging between them, Lucas feels a warm sense of peace drift through him.

They discuss whatever comes to mind as they walk (mostly the new video games that the arcade is getting next week) and it doesn’t take long before they get to Meg’s, the closest thing to a diner Hawkins has after Benny’s Burgers shut down. A rush of cool air greets them as they step inside, the entire restaurant lit up in neon purples and pinks. After ordering a chocolate milkshake for Max, a strawberry one for Lucas, and a large side of fries because they’re both sad suckers for the comfort food combination of both, they take a booth near the window.

“Do you think El will be able to come to school this year?” Max asks offhandedly as they wait for their food, drumming her nails on the checkered tabletop. The neon lights cast a soft purple glow over her sun-kissed face and dye her hair a bright magenta.

Lucas shrugs. “Maybe. Mike said she and Hopper have been fighting nonstop about it. Technically her safety year isn’t up until December, so…Hopper’s just looking out for her.”

Max nods, leaning back in the booth. “Why does she have to hide so much anyways? I thought the lab was closed for good.”

“There could be more labs, I guess. More experiments that would want to find her.”

“I can’t believe she’s our friend.” Max shakes her head. “She’s so cool.”

Lucas grins. Despite Max’s constant no-shits-given attitude, she really looks up to El and he can see how highly she thinks of their telekinetic friend. “Yeah, she is. I didn’t always think that, back when we first met her.”

“Really?”

He shakes his head. “I thought she was against us, sabotaging us and keeping us from finding Will. But I was way, way wrong. She’s a good person. She’s been through a lot.”

Max pulls her lip between her teeth, eyeing him. “Mike loves her.” It isn’t a question – how could it be, to anyone who has eyes?

“Well, yeah. She’s everything to him.”

Max grins, presumably at the blush Lucas can feel rising in his cheeks. “You’re such a sap, dude.” He rolls his eyes.

“You brought it up!”

She starts to say something but then their food arrives and she changes tack at warp speed. “Oh my God, that looks amazing. It smells amazing. Am I drooling? I have to be. Save me, Lucas.”

He snorts, picking up some fries at the same time that she grabs for them with some kind of freaky animalistic instinct. He watches amusedly as she crams them into her mouth, giving a moan that’s way too obscene for a diner.

“Don’t choke, man,” he says, wincing. “Don’t you want some ketchup or something? Max, seriously, when was the last time you ate –“

“’M ffn,” she mumbles in a highly protestant tone, completely incomprehensible because of the absurd amount of food in her mouth. Lucas laughs, unsure whether to stop her for her own good or just let her go.

“Here.” He tears the paper off a straw and dunks it in her milkshake, sliding it across the table to her. “Drink this before you suffocate.”

She rolls her eyes but the overall effect is diminished by her bulging chipmunk-cheeks. She finally gets a breath and takes a huge gulp of the milkshake.

“Better?”

“Those fries are the best fries I’ve ever had,” she says with a heavy sigh, gazing at the basket longingly. “I love these fries. I’d marry these fries.”

Lucas smiles, unwrapping another straw. “Date them instead, then. Who needs poor pitiful me when you’ve got potatoes?”

“Damn right,” she says with a grin, watching him take a drink of his milkshake. When he sets the glass down her expression shifts to amusement, laughter bubbling up in her voice. “You, um, you got something there.”

He already knows – he can feel the cold foam across his upper lip – but he forces himself to keep a straight face as he looks at her innocently. “Hm?”

Max’s mouth twitches, a glint in her eyes, and then before he can move she leans across the table and kisses the entire strawberry milkshake moustache right off him. All of his brain processes freeze up and he gapes at her, eyes wide as she sits back, looking extremely smug despite the slight reddening of her ears.

He’s straight up malfunctioning as a human being. “Did you – did you just –“

She nods, clearly pleased with herself. “I did. Not bad, right?”

He blinks, his fingers absently ghosting across his lips before he breaks into an incredulous grin. This girl. “That was the cheesiest thing I’ve ever seen. And pretty awesome. You’re crazy.”

She beams. “You were asking for it.” She pops another fry in her mouth, scrutinizing him, and when she finishes she says, “Kiss me again?”

Despite the sun having fully set and the clock nearing ten by the time they leave the diner, the air outside is just as sultry and hot as it was before. The streets stretch out before them, empty and quiet, trees rustling in the dark distance beyond the edges of the concrete. Max swings a plastic sack from her hand as they walk; it’s filled with more fries that she had ordered before they left. Her other hand is loosely interlaced with Lucas’.

“Do you want to go see a movie or something this weekend?” Lucas asks. “Just us?”

“D’aw, are you asking me on a date?”

“I mean, only if you want to –“

She swerves into his side, playfully nudging him with her elbow. “Yes, Stalker. I want to go to a movie. Just us. Not that I don’t enjoy doubling up with Mike and El, but…”

Lucas blows out a breath. “Yeah. Their level of PDA and a dark theater isn’t a good mix for anyone who wants to keep their popcorn down.”

“Exactly. Hey, hold this.”

She hands him the sack of fries and steps behind him. Before he can figure out what she’s doing she leaps up onto his back, arms around his neck and legs around his waist. Her whole body rumbles against him as she laughs while he staggers under the sudden weight, tipping back and forth on the street. After a second he regains his balance, squeezing her thighs against his sides.

“Shit, Max,” he laughs, starting forward again at a much slower rate. She keeps on laughing, her hair swinging back and forth and tickling his face. Something deep in his bones tugs at him then, swelling his heart with a surge of happy emotions. It’s just the two of them in the wind, carefree, and Lucas realizes the emotion that’s pressing outwards against his skin, threatening to burst through in a spectrum of light, is probably love.

Love? I love Max?

It’s the first time he’s thought it, but it doesn’t feel out of place. It feels like a truth that was there all along finally being brought back into the light where it belongs.

“Earth to Sinclair. What are you thinking about?” Max says, pushing her knee into his side to get his attention. He refocuses on the street ahead of him, brushing away his thoughts.

“Just you.”

“Typical. Everyone’s always thinking about me, Mad Max Mayfield, coolest person in town. Just out of curiosity though, not because I care, what about me?”

Making sure his pace is steady and he’s not about to trip over a rock, he risks craning his head back to look at her. Her features are relaxed, her smile soft, fondness in her eyes despite her tone.

Yeah. Probably love.

He’s screwed.

“Trying to decide just how pissed you’ll be if I dump you off my back right now.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He smiles, that warm something filling up his lungs. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Why do we have to be so sneaky?” Max hisses as they tiptoe through Lucas’ kitchen.

“Because my parents are asleep, and if Erica sees us, she’ll never shut up,” he whispers, depositing the bag of fries on the island counter for their breakfast. He gestures back down the hall and they start making their way up the carpeted stairs.

“She doesn’t shut up. I mean I love her, but.”

“See?”

They manage to make it into Lucas’ room without running into any loud-mouthed sisters and as soon as he shuts the door, Max kicks off her shoes, drops her skateboard, and collapses on his bed with a luxurious sigh.

“I don’t wanna sound weird, but I love your bed. It’s awesome.”

He nods approvingly, pushing open the closet door. “It definitely is. Do you want your stuff?”

She started spending nights at his house earlier this spring, him on the floor and her on the bed, and they both came to an unspoken agreement that it was just easier for her to keep her essential stuff here in one of Lucas’ old backpacks in the corner of his closet. Pajamas, a toothbrush, an extra change of clothes, stuff like that.

“Not yet. Just…lay with me for a minute?” she asks quietly.

“Oh. Yeah, okay.”

He tugs off his shoes and climbs up next to her, leaving what he hopes is a respectable amount of distance between them. She rolls onto her side, back pressed against the wall below the window. Her hand reaches out to tug on his shirt.

“You can get closer than that. I’m not gonna stick my fangs in your neck.”

“Yet,” Lucas mumbles, shifting closer all the same until she tangles their legs together.

And then it’s just her and her soft breathing, her eyes that glitter in the dark and her warm presence. Everything that makes her Max, all right here with him. Sometimes it’s hard for him to believe. Max.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” she whispers.

“Anytime. I like it when you’re here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I like you.”

“That’s a relief,” she says with the smallest hint of a laugh. He smiles even though it’s too dark to see. Time slips and slides, their eyelids getting heavier and heavier with each moment.

“Max?”

“Present.”

“I’m glad I met you. I know the circumstances kind of sucked, but…”

For a moment he’s afraid he said the wrong thing – he didn’t exactly think it through – but then her fingertips press into his chest, his shoulder, searching, until they trace down his arm and fold into his hand.

“I’m glad I met you too.” She leans forward, gently pressing her lips to his. It’s warm and sweet and fills him with a kind of joy only Max seems to be able to create. A few moments pass before she pulls away, her voice slightly more tired and slurred this time. “I’m falling asleep.”

“Me too.”

She pulls their hands up to rest on the bed between their chests. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

He squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back, and the sweet summer night slides by until they fall asleep side by side.

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[webcricket]

An Angel’s Elegy

Characters: CastielXReader ft. Sam and Dean Winchester, Crowley, and Jack Kline

Word Count: 3448 (Act V)

A/N: Act V of a five-act series (5 acts plus a full-length Epilogue, so I suppose it’s actually six acts!). Elegy charts Castiel’s grief after losing the reader in childbirth. Despite her death, the reader remains an integral part of the story. Watch for the concluding Epilogue coming up next where we see a long-awaited father-daughter reunion and the mystery of the reader’s soul is laid to rest. Apologies for the lengthy posting gap due to the author’s crisis of confidence over the conclusion.

Summary: An anguishing journey about the intertwining of love and loss - adrift in a sea of grief and self-blame after losing his love, Castiel abandons hope. Leaving his newborn Nephilim daughter to the care of the Winchesters, he seeks absolution for your death at any cost. Will he ever find his way home?

Beta’d by: Act V and the Epilogue post un-beta’d - The Queen of Angst @willowing-love has my everlasting gratitude for her invaluable assistance, advice, and reassurance of my angst-ing ability in the first 4 acts!

Miss an Act? Here’s the Masterlist:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/181477590760/an-angels-elegy-masterlist

Act V

The cold cast indigo hue of nocturnal sky thaws dusky gold on the horizon. Sun rising to outshine the canvas of stars with her gleaming splendor, distant crystalline dots blot out one by one as gently glimmering wisps of morn caress the dewy damp of outspread earth. The ascending light, like that defining each day before and those yet to come, illuminates an everlasting promise in its unfolding; a dawn declaration of endless rekindled potential for new beginnings no matter how dark or pervasive the clasp of night.

An indiscriminate smiling beam slithers through the budding leaves of a lanky old oak tree and bounces, refracting in brilliance off the roof of a rusted brown and beige truck to touch upon the paint-peeled pane of the window fronting the corner room of a rundown motel. In the span of a minute, it grows wider to lay a ribbon of sunny yellow across the grey opacity of glass, infiltrating a gap between the murk and blinds within to rest in rejuvenating warmth across the grief-stricken countenance of the cataleptic celestial being coiled on the floor.

Blinking his salt-crusted lashes dryly, Castiel pivots his head to avoid the shine shifting to sting his vision.

The renewing ray, insistent on delivering its optimistic message, increases with heated intensity over the vulnerable lobe of his ear. Kissing the sensitive skin thereon, the streak of sun whispers a warm reminder of the soothing words you spoke to the angel on the rooftop dawn of your last day together. “You ever wonder what a sunrise is, angel? I think it’s a promise fulfilled. A beginning born from darkness. The light is hope.”

He closes puffy tear-swollen blues; neck lolling, he submits to the velvet reminiscence of your voice hotly ghosting his vessel’s flesh and, in doing so, to the persevering brightness blanketing its blaze across his shuttered lashes. Exhaling a strident sigh, exhausted and out of energy to continue to fight, he acquiesces acceptance to the balmy hope softening the lines of lament etching his stoic façade. Haze of struggle evaporating, the dense mist guarding his heart from feeling all else in the denial of your death dissipates in concession. He understands in the lucidity of lightening day and unclouded love what you meant about the sunrise; and not merely what you said, but what you were asking of him – what he could not comprehend until he could fall no farther.

“No matter what happens, the sun always rises. Promise me you’ll remember that, angel.”

He realizes you were asking him all along to reassure you, to promise that the hope you carried, the hope you wanted him to share in, was enough for him; you were scared, and through his own blind terror of losing you he could not give you the comfort you needed most of all. You were asking him not to hold on to hope for himself, a sentiment exiled by inner reproach when he learned of the pregnancy and dubbed himself your executioner, but to nurture yours on in your stead as a torch to navigate the gloomy days ahead; you knew, tried desperately to tell him, that hope has ways of mending broken hearts.

Lying there, lashes lifting, Cas accepts you are gone, truly gone; although, not as completely as his despondent search led him to believe. Traces of you live on in his enduring love, in the memories of those you loved, and in the life you and he created – the daughter he, drowning in inky salt seas of sorrow over your death, selfish in suffering anguish, did not so much as acknowledge when she, too, mewled for you in mourning and cried out for a father’s succor – that piece of himself he could not freely give until he stumbled upon, in the darkest recesses of despair, the fragment of light leading to self-forgiveness.

In the brightness of full daybreak saturating the rundown room, basking the seraph’s fallen form in a glorious glow, facets of sapphire refract the hopefulness awakening in his eyes. He licks the cracked outline of his lips to wet them, encouraging pink to pervade the blanched petals; sliding an elbow beneath his torso, smearing the blood-flaked remnants of the demon trap on the floor, he pushes himself upright to slump against the creaky bedframe. “I remember,” he murmurs to the radiance-filled room, to you, and to the gift you gave him, the girl he’s ready now to embrace, “and I promise.” Staggering to unsteady feet, fingers outstretching toward the doorknob, he prays it’s not too late.

 “Well?” Sam pushes a hand through his hair where he stands in the threshold, glancing expectantly between a bewildered Jack and your tot-statured daughter.

The girl presently sprawls on a blanket playing quietly with a stuffed bear and various other colorful baubles collected in her exploration of the library’s low-lying shelves. In three day’s absence Dean managed to miss her transition from crawling to toddling and the resultant rapid-fire scramble to baby-proof – Nephilim-style replete with Enochian warding and cabinet locks – a bunker drama that developmental milestone entailed. Sam’s convinced he missed something in his haste, so he can’t just leave her with anyone while he goes hunting for his brother.

Jack’s squint narrows further, having the effect of unifying his brow and forehead into a tense trough of pale complexion. “You want me to … babysit?” he asks, intonation a rising squeak of incredulity at the end.

“Yeah,” Sam’s answer exits as an airy burst of breath, “I need you to keep her safe. She’s … special.”

The clarification, as well as an intrinsic curiosity, alleviates some of the boy’s trepidation. “She-she’s like me.”

“Yes, and Castiel is her father.” Sam affirms, a small smile skirting his mouth at Jack’s no longer being alone in this world in terms of his being. Seeking belonging, the teenage experience, the boy enrolled at a boarding school months back to try out the stereotypical trappings of youth in lieu of the supernatural for a while. It was Castiel who barred the brothers from telling Jack about your pregnancy so as not to have him around as a constant reminder of Kelly’s fate.

Jack’s gaze blows wide in a jolt of realization. His train of thought derails aloud. “If Castiel is her father, that means Y/N, she-”

“She’s gone.” Sam sets a palm to the boy’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

“Like my mother,” Jack mumbles the reflection through a frown. Although he wasn’t especially close to you, he empathizes for your daughter losing her mother, and for Castiel losing the woman he loves. The past few weeks of the angel’s unanswered calls suddenly begin to deeply worry the boy. He chews the inside of his cheek.

Sam mirrors the frown, his weighted down more so with remorse. “Cas didn’t-,” he pauses to correct, firm, “we didn’t want to worry you while you were at school.”

Jack swallows hard, frets his mouth into a colorless mass and looks at the floor. “It’s okay,” he concedes, a blonde shock of hair hanging across his dampened aspect, “I understand.”

Sam loosens a sigh of relief. For being Lucifer’s issue, the boy inherited none of the archangel’s cold-heartedness and proclivity toward grudges.

Concern for Castiel rearing, Jack’s regard rises to peer around the map room and library niches visible from where they stand. “What I don’t understand is, where is Castiel?”

It’s too much to encumber the boy with, the angel’s desertion, Dean’s deceit-veiled disappearance most likely to track down the seraph and do God knows what to him with the rage that’s been boiling his blood for weeks, Sam nonetheless deems honesty appropriate given the circumstances. “He’s gone too.”

Jack’s eyes startle.

“Not gone gone,” Sam swiftly reassures. “He took off after Y/N died.”

“Castiel … left? Left his daughter alone? But she needs him.” Confusion again crevices the boy’s brow. “I don’t understand.”

“Join the club,” Sam huffs.

“There’s a club?”

“No, there’s not a club.” Sam subdues an incongruous in affront to sharing this awful news smirk of amusement; Jack’s seriousness of interpretation reminds him greatly of Cas when they first encountered the angel. “It’s, uh, a figure of speech.”

“Oh.”

“Something inside Cas broke when we lost Y/N. He went off the reservation.” Sam amends the non sequitur of using another metaphor. “Er, I mean he left the bunker.”

“And why did Dean leave? Did something inside him break too?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Jack.” Sam jostles the boy’s shoulder roughly, his rasping voice broaching on a whisper. “I guess you could say that Dean’s heart broke for that little girl. He knows how much she needs her father.”

A clatter behind the door at the top of the staircase diverts both their attentions. Dean’s jut-jawed dark-blonde freckled face emerges a few millimeters ahead of his taut flannelled frame.

“Dean!” Legging it in three steps to the base of the stairs to meet him, Sam throws his hands in the air demanding an explanation. “Where the hell have you been?”

“We have a problem,” Dean grunts, blustering past him to hurtle his duffle haphazardly at the map table and sink into the nearest chair. “Hey, Jack, how’s school?” Noticing the boy dawdling on the opposite end of the table, he flicks him a greeted salute and, rocking his neck to settle a stern look upon Sam, gestures a thumb back at him as if to say, ‘Really, you freaked out and got the kid involved?’

Jack may be oblivious at times, but he can tell Dean’s not interested in an answer.

Snorting, Sam is having none of Dean’s evasive nonsense. “A problem? No kidding! I’ve been calling you for two days. What if something happened?”

Dean got the messages, none of which expressed anything negative having happened aside from Sammy finding out he wasn’t actually with Donna on a hunt; not wanting to argue about where he was and why, he ignored them. Crossing his arms over his chest, casting a cool green gaze at his brother, he states in deflection, “Y/N’s soul isn’t in Heaven.”

“Wh-what?” Sam, dizzied by disbelief, drops jelly-kneed into an adjacent seat.

“Where is she?” Jack asks, peering between the brothers.

“She couldn’t be in-?” Sam hesitates to suggest Hell.

Dean knows exactly what Sam is thinking, he had the same thought, however heart wrenching the very notion. He shrugs, “Gave Crowley a call. No answer. Yet. Seem suspicious to you?” He quirks a brow for emphasis.

Sam’s chin wags in agreement as to the suspect nature of the demon’s avoidance. “And Cas? You get Jody’s e-mail about Oliver Pryce?”

Dean sighs, prods a thumb at his temple in frustration, then jabs the digit into his eye and rubs until the socket is furious red. “Yeah, trail went cold. No new leads, it’s like Cas went poof after the explosion.”

Jack’s anxiety palpably electrifies the room. “You think Castiel is-?”

“No … no.” Dean quickly dismisses the possibility of Castiel’s fatal angelic retirement. He still owes the damned fool a bruising wallop, and as far as his friend is concerned, there’s no chance the angel gets to die without Dean first getting a crack at him. “I checked, no wing prints anywhere.”

Jack melts into the nearest chair in a puddle of relief.

“You could’ve called,” Sam mutters again in the strain of silence.

Dean knows. He still doesn’t want to argue about it. Not with your little girl so close. “How is she?”

Sam can’t help but smile knowing how happy she’ll be that Dean is home. She’s not tactful about hiding the fact uncle Dean’s clownishness makes him a clear favorite, not that she isn’t always up for Sammy snuggles. “She’s good – great actually. Been rearranging artifacts on the library shelves with Bear-Bear all morning and saying she’s helping ‘we-search.’”

 Clear blue eyes dart now and then toward the conversation of her caretakers and the newcomer, a being exuding pure curiosity whose soul and power resonate at so similar a frequency to hers as to be instantly familiar – family. Long lashes blink, shadowing a rosy-mantled cheek shyly buried in the brown faux fur of a teddy clutched in plump arms – a stuffed buffer to the bunker’s underground bleakness. She doesn’t understand all the words touching her tender ears. Sensitive to emotion though, she reads their feelings in the same manner a person might scan the bolded headlines of a newspaper.

She senses Sam’s anxiety abated with the return of his brother and the surge of urgent concern for Castiel’s whereabouts shifting into its stead. She feels the fevered frustration of Dean over his failure in finding her father, the simmering anger directed at the angel bubbling to the surface, and also the conflicting affection for him. They talk and talk, suppressing true sentiment for her sake, thinking it’s the right thing to do, thinking it cushions her from the calamity of heartbreak she was birthed into, and yet she comprehends the truth through everything they feel.

Born into a world shrouded in darkness, a child of death and doubt and anguish, she should be sad. The sleepy smile toying around her innocently plush mouth suggests she is not. Gold glints of a sun she hasn’t seen yet but knows exists, an inner glow growing stronger each day, ring her blue irises. Hope, burning bright like the sun, arises from the deepest dark.

A strange impression accosts her from the far corner of the library, flaring pinpricks of reactive fire in her gaze. Threads of avarice and a sinister inquisitiveness weave into the tailored Italian silk-suited figure of a man with an appearance alternately perverted by grotesqueness then simpering with a close-cropped salt and pepper shave. She hugs Bear-Bear tighter, tiny fingers digging into the plush pelt as the demon warily eyes the book-lined walls and, satisfied he’s out of sight line, swaggers confidently in approach.

Crouching before her, extricating his palms from his pockets, a disingenuous smirk centers above his bearded chin. This, this treasure, must surely be the source of the seraph’s sorrow and the living embodiment of your demise. He sees the halo of power pulsing from her – a Nephilim, and Castiel’s own judging by the curious blue depths of her contemplation. Crowley didn’t think the fallen angel had it in him to sire a child, especially knowing the cost for you to bear her to birth – your pleading to deal, the angel’s anguished demands of the demon at that God-forsaken motel, it makes such perfect sense he can’t believe he didn’t surmise the details of the situation before now in order to better bend them to his, and Hell’s, advantage.

Beady black eyes dash beyond the girl, gauging whether the Winchesters in the adjacent room will hear his whispered words. Deciding not, cocking his head in wonderment, he mutters under his breath, “My my, what sort of shiny trinket do we have hiding in here?”

Fear a foreign concept, she does not flinch from his reaching fingers, the flames of self-serving intent lapping her skin from their tips, nor does she duck from the thoughts of how he could bend the budding power of a Nephilim to his will. Instead, she feels emanating from the black-cordoned shriveled heart barely beating in his chest, the conflicted sentiments of a man lacking a mother’s love who spends eternity endeavoring to fill that empty space inside with concrete connection. Pitying his plight, she offers him Bear-Bear to hug.

Focus flicking to the still empty threshold, unable to see in himself as she does the stricken source driving his every action, he grins at the perceived pureness of her naivety. “I’m Crowley. Can you say, Crow-ley?” he enunciates slowly.

“Cwo-ley,” she tries in a bashful murmur.

His smile stretches. “And what’s your name, poppet?” It would be easy to snatch her away, make an escape with this unguarded prize, play out her potential – some unacknowledged sentiment stays his hand a moment too long.

“Get away from her!” A hurricane of red flannel, Dean swoops in to scoop up the girl. “You okay, sweetheart? Did the bad man hurt you?” Dropping Bear-Bear in the tumult, she loops her arms loosely around his neck and buries her flushed face into his shirt. Tears prick her eyes in sensing the alarm of emotion discharging from Dean as he does a cursory visual exam to determine if she’s been hurt.

Crowley has the unholy audacity to appear wounded at the insinuation he would mistreat the child.

“How the hell did you get in here?” Sam positions himself as a human buffer between Dean clutching your daughter and the demon.

“How the Hell, indeed,” Crowley scoffs, straightening himself, his injured pride, and his creased suit. “Considering it was you who rang me, I mightn’t have bothered carving time out of my busy day, well” –his forehead arcs upward in reflection, a smirk affecting his mouth– “carving up souls, if I’d known to expect an unfriendly reception. Not that I expect much from you lot.”

Jack, straighter to the point even than Castiel, intuiting from the conversation this is the Crowley Sam and Dean suspect knows something of the location of your soul, steps forward to sternly ask, “Do you have Y/N’s soul?”

“That, it seems, is the question of the hour.” Crowley scrutinizes the boy up and down, curling a lip in approval. “And who is this youthful Adonis?”

“Screw the games you limey little bastard! Answer him,” Dean growls, satisfied your daughter is unharmed save for being upset. “Do you have her, or not?”

The demon’s lids narrow. “Tit for tat.”

“My name is Jack,” the boy’s tongue cuts in sharp-edged reply, curtly complying with the stated terms.

“Well, Jack.” Crowley thrusts two fingers into his inside breast pocket causing both Winchesters to reactively flinch in anticipation of danger. He whips out a perfectly non-lethal silver-embellished matte black business card. He proffers the rectangular trifle to Jack. “You ever get bored mingling with the local wildlife, do get in touch.”

“Or don’t.” Twisting his torso to protect your daughter, Dean intercepts the hand off. Squinting to read the snatched card, his greens flare in exasperation. “Twitter? Really?”

Suaveness sustained in affront to Dean’s cynicism, Crowley shrugs. “It’s the digital age of deals. You think the Donald got elected to the highest office in the nation because he promised to make America great again?”

“You didn’t answer me,” Jack interrupts, unwilling to be sidetracked by the swindling demon.

Crowley summarily avoids answering. “Are you boys running a Nephilim orphanage now?” Countered by Sam’s knot-browed tight-lipped scowl, he diverts his thwarted attention again to Jack. “Are you one of Castiel’s spawn, too? The resemblance is uncanny.” Judging by Dean’s cringe, he infers he’s hit the nail on the proverbial head at least as to the girl’s parentage. A self-congratulatory smirk crinkles his eyes.

Uncertain, Jack looks to Sam, seeking his opinion on expounding upon his origins to the interloper.

Conscious of the effect the devilish origin of the information will have on Crowley’s composure given their sordid history, Sam nods.

“Actually-” A compact smirk sets up in the crook of Jack’s mouth, dimpling his cheek as he speaks. “Lucifer is my father.”

“Lucifer?” Crowley gulps, swallowing down the name hard against the too tight tie encircling his throat.

“Yeah, Lucifer.” Jack echoes.

The demon adjusts the knot of his tie to accommodate a thickening gorge. The smirk donning his mien fades to a forced feint of a smile.

“You really should answer him,” Sam menaces, peril plummeting his tone.

Rethinking the circumstances in light not of what he can gain, but rather of all he has to lose, namely his kingly title to a princely heir of Lucifer himself, not to mention his life, Crowley determines cooperation to be the shrewdest course. Coolly containing his terror with perfunctory poise, cocky glance flitting between the brothers, the unassuming teenage son of Satan, the sniffling heavenly abomination half-hidden in the folds of Dean’s shirt, and sliding beyond to where Castiel dallies in the oversized doorway to the map room – the seraph having entered into the confrontational equation through the front door only a minute ago, entrance unheard on account of demonic distraction.

Crowley trades gazes with the angel and shoots him a sympathetic frown, stunning even himself with the genuineness of the gesture. “As I already told Castiel when he summoned me, I do not have Y/N’s soul.” The King of Hell lingers several sadistically satisfying seconds to appreciate the shock value of the revelation as the individual focus of those gathered instinctively follows his to land on the wayward angel returned home.

Continue reading Epilogue:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/181477611015/an-angels-elegy

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Oblivious Actions (snippet)

A teaser appears!

This is for a request I got for a Revali x Reader, and its the thing I posted the “no context” memes about. This is just like, a third or maybe a fourth of the full thing. Any critiques or typos found are appreciated! Anyway, Enjoy :P

It was a perfect day to disobey your elders.

The sky was just waking, strokes of rose and honey painted the edges of the horizon. The wind was crisp, and playful, ruffling through his feathers as he flew. Lake Totori glistened below. Sunlight shone across a bright blue expanse, laced with only a few, white clouds. The plateaus surrounding the area were dotted with pine trees, their umber trunks rooted to the ground. The air was open and infinite, gliding through the sky and observing the tiny specks of nature below filled him with a sense of wonder. Revali flapped his little wings down towards the forest.

HA! See? I’m already an expert flyer! I can explore as much of the world as I want, without any adults. I’m not a kid anymore!

The Rito baby blush marks that painted his cheeks said otherwise.

Even though Rito under 10 years of age were heavily discouraged from venturing beyond the bridges, Revali had decided he was big enough to go where he wanted. Behind him, the towering spire of Rito Village continued to shrink. To his left, the jutting figure of a wooden horse head could be seen. Hylians are so weird, needing other animals in order to move around. The stable in the distance then drowned into an evergreen sea. Gliding closer to the earth, the view of the sky was now covered with dry pine needles and brittle branches. He focused his attention to what was under him, trying to find a safe place to land. The breeze cooled and quickened. Revali angled his wings downward, trying to move his body to land gracefully among the trees.

He would fail.

There was a small clearing in the middle of the grove, a dirt path that travelers would use to hike between Warbler’s Nest and Rito Stable. Supposedly, following the trail even further up would lead to the infamous Hebra Peaks, a mountain range that lay just outside the view from his house, full of secrets and sights that no one has ever explored. Being the child that he was, naivety clouded his judgement, as Revali had ignored the warnings given to him about monsters nestled in the woods. Revali was desperate to get out of the village as soon as he grew enough feathers for it. 

Trying to plan his descent, he positioned himself at an angle, moving his weight, ready to land. His feet shifted forward, ready to grip onto something solid, but the wind suddenly changed. It’s direction altered only slightly, but it was enough to catch him off guard. Flailing his wings, Revali tried to catch the current under his wings again, but it was no use, the current keeping him in the air was gone, and his baby wings weren’t big enough to flap a large gust of his own. A stray branch knocking into his side, the little Rito tumbled into the dirt. 

“Gaah!” he grunted, panic coursing through him.

Revali plunged through the trees, not unlike how a snowball tramples down a mountain slope, picking up debris as it rolls. Falling through the branches, his feathery features caught sticks, leaves, and pinecones, until he connected with the earth with a thud.

“...ow…” 

The impact caused dust to cloud around him. It got in his eyes and settled on the edges of his feathers. The dirt wasn’t the worst place to land, but it still hurt. His crash had broken a few branches, causing a couple of pinecones and leaves to break loose. One stray, falling leaf hovered through the air, delicately. Its flight was much more elegant, dancing in the wind. It landed gracefully on the tip of his beak, its cinnamon hue and crinkly features mocking him. Revali blew it off with a “hmph!”

Sitting in the dirt, Revali brushed off the dust and twigs on his tunic as best he could. It was one thing that he had snuck out of the house, but coming back all dirty wouldn’t do either. Mumbling to himself, he sat there, taking in the sights and sounds of the woods. A much better setting than sitting in the house all day. Then there was an abrupt shuffling in the bushes. 

Looking up, Revali searched for the source of the noise. Getting to his feet, he picked up a twig and held it in front of him like a sword. Was it the monsters everyone had warned him about? His heart quickened, his mind raced. The trees still swayed in the wind, and the birds and bugs chirped, but suddenly everything was looking a lot more ominous. Another rustle. He hastily faced his left side, where a single dark green bush greeted him. Do I move closer? Back away? Revali was frozen in place. Finally, he dared to whisper.

“W-who’s there?” he asked.

Instead of a cliché silence, his question was immediately answered with a loud scream from the bush.

“AHHHHH! IT’S TALKING!” the bush yelled.

Revali followed suit and screamed himself, as it was only natural to be scared of shrieking plants.

“AAHHHHHH!”

“AHHHHHHH?!”

This exchange of confused and fearful yelling went on for a few seconds. A few sparrows took off for the sky, startled by the noise. Then, silence took hold again, with only the wind brushing through the woods. The bush and Revali stared at each other for another eternity. Finally the bush spoke again.

“Why are you pretty?”

“AGH?! What?” the Rito took a step back, bewildered. “W-wha...what’re you talking about??”

Suddenly, a small face peeked out from the bush. Their eyes were wide, and curious, but their expression was still wary. “I said, why are you pretty? Monsters are supposed to be ugly.”

Revali tightened his grip around the twig. “I’m not! You’re the one hiding in a bush, so you’re the monster if anything. I’m a Rito!”

“A Rito?” a small, Hylian child stepped out of the bush. They were wearing a maroon tunic, along with stable gloves and boots. The collar of their shirt was lined with cotton. A loopy scarf, that was far too big for them, was wrapped around their shoulders, etched with the emblem of the Hylian Stable System. Their hair was messy, probably from hiding within the bush. Gripped in their hands was their own makeshift sword, a wooden spoon. They waved it in Revali's direction. “You’re way too tiny to be a Rito. The ones who visit the stables are always taller than my mom.”

“W-well, then maybe you’re mom’s short!” Revali sputtered out.

“Nuh-uh!”

“Ya-huh!’

He stomped his foot. “Obviously, I’m not a monster. I’m just of a… different height, because kids don’t leave the village, it's only the adults you see. So quit being dumb. I mean, I can talk can’t I?”

The Hylian crossed their arms, tapping the spoon against their elbow. They considered his argument… I guess a tiny monster couldn’t eat me in one bite anyhow. “Fine then. If you’re not a monster, then you should have a Rito-sounding name, right? So what is it?”

Revali held his beak in the air and turned his back, crossing his own wings in imitation. “Hmph! Well why should I tell you when you’re a complete stranger! I thought you were a monster too, you know.”

The Hylian squinted their eyes thinking. “Well… fine. Your name probably sucks anyway! Thanks for scaring me half to death, tiny Rito!”

With that, the child turned around and started marching back in the direction of the stables. They made an effort to pound their boots on the ground to make as much sound as possible. Revali was left with his beak hanging open. How dare they! They’re the one with a sucky name, whatever it is.

He ran behind them, trying to catch up. He fluttered his wings to shake off any other dirt and twigs. He matched their pace, and puffed out his feathers. “I’ll have you know that I have a supercool nickname! Nicknames are always cool, therefore my name doesn’t suck. So, Ha!”

The Hylian raised an eyebrow. “Well, what is it then? What’s your fancy name?”

“They call me…” he stopped and posed, both wings outstretched in front of them, “...the Supreme Master of the Sky!”

They Hylian clutched their stomach, laughing hysterically. “HA! There’s no way that’s true. I saw you crash through the trees earlier! Some master you are, that’s probably even dumber than whatever your real name is.”

Revali narrowed his eyes, “Nuh-uh!”

“Ya-huh.”

“Hmph! Well at least I have a cool nickname. I bet you don’t even have one!” 

“Nope. People just call me [Name], because my name is already great and I don't need dumb nicknames or titles.” They stuck out their tongue at him.

Revali made a dumb face in retaliation, before responding. “Fine, if you won't call me that, you can just stick with ‘Revali,’ and you better remember it!” 

[Name] shot him a look, then huffed. “Yeah. Sure.”

The two of them continued their walk through the woods. Revali trusted it was the route back to the stable. They talked and jeered, laughed and scowled at each other, their conversations about nothing in particular. At one point, the Rito attempted to show off by gliding through the air. It would end with another crash, and the Hylian child chuckling.

“It’s cause you still have a bunch of stuff tucked in your wings!” [Name] said with a sigh. Removing a pinecone and several bits of dried leaves, they cleaned up the rest of Revali’s wing. When taking out a twig, they accidentally took out a feather.

Revali yelped, “Ow! What was that for?”

“I’m so sorry! I was just trying to get rid of this.” [Name] chucked the twig over their shoulder. The feather they had taken out was mainly white, but faded into a deep, indigo color at the bottom. It was like a star had shot across the sky, and its streak had colored this single, delicate feather. [Name] brushed it against their fingers, and stared at it in awe. It’s so pretty.

“Pfft. I know that. Anything from me is great.” Revali’s feathers puffed up in pride.

Oh no! Did I say that out-loud?? “Uh...yeah.” [Name] mumbled. They suddenly became very interested in the condition of their boots, turning their head to the ground as the two of them walked. 

A silence fell between them. Then, 

“Can...can I keep this?” 

Revali cast them a glance. “Uh...sure, why not. Not like I need it anymore. I’ll have plenty next time I molt.”

[Name] looked up, eyes wide. “Really?! Are you sure? This doesn’t, like, curse me or anything right?”

He scoffed. “No, of course not. It’s just a feather. I’ve seen adults trade them all the time. It’s fine. Whatever...”

The large horse head was now in front of them. The trees were more dispersed, and piles of lumber scattered the ground. The muted colors that decorated the stable billowed in the wind, the breeze blowing loose cloth and banners across the sky. To the left were the wooden bridges. They led up to a towering spire, the familiar shape of Rito Village casting over the two of them. The two of them stopped by the back side of the stable. [Name] forced themself to plaster on a grin.

“Well, guess I’ll see you never!” they jeered.

“Ha! If I’m lucky, I’ll never see you or your wooden spoon again!” Revali stuck his tongue out at them. 

After staring at each other for another eternity, [Name] finally turned around and ran back towards the entrance to the stable. Revali then began his walk back over the wooden bridges.

The next day, Revali would be punished for sneaking out of the village. His grounding would include having to do extra chores, specifically by having to help around Rito Stable for the rest of the month, much to [Name]’s surprise. Neither of them minded.

- - - - - 

Years Later…

- - - - - 

The Champions had arrived. 

AAAANDD That's where that ends. Mwahahaha that’s right. I’m cutting it off right there. Take that nerds. Oh what’s that? You want more? You want to understand the no context memes? You want more Revali? And the Champions? More cute stuff? More dumb stuff? Well you’re going to have to wait.  So here’s a cliff for you to hang on

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