annunakathebroken

[oddthesungod]

it's a funny thing, I got into Critical Role back when campaign 2 had just started airing (I think around episode 7), i moved on to Star Trek around the time campaign 3 started up, and the trek fandom, despite being magnitudes older, feels like a very small fandom when compared to what the crit role fandom is now (specially when you don't draw too much spirk art, where the majority of the eyes are when it comes to fan content here on tumblr) so coming back to Crit Role and seeing how much it's grew... it's quite wild!

I'm proud of this silly game and these silly voice actors playing d&d, proud of how far they've come <3

[faerynova]

Eret takes his hand,

fandom: Dream SMP length: 2.6k rating: T (for swearing) relationships: Foolish & Eret tags: fluff, flashbacks, dancing

>>READ ON AO3<<

hi hi @eternalduos ! this is your gift for the @mcytblrholidayexchange. i hope you like it!

~

Eret wishes they could enjoy parties more than they do right now, but the thing is, all the ones they attend nowadays are stuffy political events that are either completely mind numbing or have enough drama to give Eret a days-long migraine. They’ve definitely lost a lot of the love they had for parties before taking the throne.

Though, certain things are making them more enjoyable again, they admit to themself as they see Foolish approach through the crowd of nobles. He stands a head taller above everyone else, still getting startled looks even though he’s now a regular presence in the castle.

He bows so low it’s mocking. “My Lord, may I have this dance?”

“Lord?” Eret feigns offense, hand to their chest. “I’ll have you know, I’m King.”

Something flashes across Foolish’s face, and though they still haven’t been able to pinpoint the exact emotions, it’s the same split-second reaction he always gives when they don’t remember something. They don’t have time to wonder what it was they could have forgotten with that exchange before he smiles and rolls his eyes at them. “Fine then, Your Majesty, may I have this dance?”

They smile. “You may.”

Eret takes his hand,

(Eret takes his hand, having to reach up to keep his arm at the right level while Foolish’s hangs down. “You’re too tall,” they grumble. They’re hardly trying to be quiet on purpose, but they feel drowned out even when the music and dancing is far away from where they stand on the fringes of the town square.

“You’re the one still growing,” Foolish retaliates. “But I don’t think it matters, does it?”

“I’m a reasonable height for my age. You’re just a giant. Why do they make you guys so big anyway?”

Foolish just shrugs.

They roll their eyes, though they know Foolish can’t see it through their sheer blindfold. “Well we’re supposed to hold hands like this.” They shake the hand still clasped to Foolish’s. “And hold each other’s shoulders with the other.” They reach up, but can only get to Foolish’s bicep. It’s so not fair.

“I can just hold both your hands,” he suggests, doing exactly that.

“But that’s not how you’re supposed to do it.”

“Well, there’s not much else we can do here.” Foolish tilts his head at them and a sly grin creeps across his face. “What is it mortals tell their children? You need to drink milk or you won’t grow tall?”

“I’m not a child—!” Eret cuts off as their voice jumps an octave.

“Oh, my bad!” Foolish clears his throat dramatically. “Please, O Dark Lord of Chaos and Destruction and Squeaky Voices, I beg of you to forgive this humble totem for speaking out of—OW!”

Eret kicks Foolish’s shin a second time for good measure before grumbling “I never should have taught you sarcasm.”

“You didn’t teach me jack shit, you little brat!” Foolish laughs and grabs both their hands again, firmer this time, but they could yank away if they really wanted to. “Come on, do you wanna dance or not?”

Eret doesn’t pout. They don’t. “…Yes.”)

~

(Eret takes his hand, narrowly avoiding slipping the last rung of the ladder. Foolish hauls him up the rest of the way to the safety of the roof.

“You good?” Foolish asks as Eret brushes bits of dirt off his pant leg.

“Fine. My shoes just don’t have as much grip as I thought.”

“Aha! I told you they’d be a pain! See where cute shoes get you?”

“Well usually, I wouldn’t be scaling buildings in them. This was your idea.”

“And you should have taken your shoes off for it.”

Eret doesn’t bother responding to him, just taps his sunglasses to vanish them into his inventory so he can look up at the stars properly. It’s been a while since he’s really gotten to look up and appreciate the night sky, what with the persistent clouds and on-and-off rain the past few months. The anxiety of someone seeing his eyes is still there, it always is, but the nighttime and whole roof thing mitigates it somewhat.

Eret doesn’t have the same luxury Foolish does; even the most secluded of backwater villages know exactly what their blank eyes mean, so he’s not safe to take off his sunglasses except when they’re completely alone like this. Meanwhile, only a handful of people have recognized Foolish as a totem while they’ve been traveling, with far less extreme reactions. No one in this town seems to have any knowledge of totems, so they check off his solid red eyes as divine or some other flavor of magic and respectfully keep their distance. 

“Oh hey, they’re playing music now!” Foolish exclaims. The sounds from the tavern below are muted, carried through windows left open to savor the pleasant weather before the rain inevitably comes back, but still loud enough to hear the melody over the rowdy patrons.

“Damn. Just as we left, too.”

“Do you wanna go back down?”

“Nah. More room up here.” Eret smiles and offers his hand. “May I?”

Foolish grins back, taking his hand and sliding into the lead position. “You absolutely may.”)

~

(Eret takes his hand, tugging him down to sit with her on the grass, still damp from the morning dew. The sunrise has long passed, but they wouldn’t have been able to see it through the trees regardless. Eret thinks this is more beautiful anyway, watching the light filter through the leaves and fog in thick stripes for hours instead of the split-second sunrise.

“We’re not going back, are we,” Foolish sighs.

“No.” People don’t take kindly when they catch on to what Eret is. This city had been no different. Thankfully, between their two inventories, they managed to save the most important of their belongings when they fled the proverbial torches and pitchforks.

Though, she’s sure they’ll burn their house down at some point even though they’re long gone. The way Eret affects her surroundings after living in a space long enough, it will remain “haunted” for quite some time.

Foolish hums and drops his head on Eret’s shoulder. “How long till you think they forget about us?”

“Depends. I think all first-hand witnesses will have to be dead, at least.” A beetle crawls over her shoe. She carefully picks it up and watches it skitter over her fingers. “But I don’t think I want to come back even after that.”

She drops the beetle on Foolish’s face, who gives her an exasperated look before flicking it back into the grass. “That doesn’t work on me anymore.”

“Your face looked lonely.”

“Your face looks stupid.”

“Ouch. My pride. How will I ever recover,” Eret says in the most monotone and unimpressed voice she can muster. “Scoot.” She nudges him off of her and lays down. The grass is long enough to brush her cheeks. Foolish’s familiar weight settles on her again as he lays down across her stomach.

Eret supposes that they’ll be going back to their ramshackle base. It’s been, what, six or seven years? It’ll be a bitch to clean up. No doubt there’s bugs everywhere. But once again she’s glad they have a place to go back to when needed, no matter how dingy. They definitely need the time alone to recuperate after... all that.

Maybe they should just leave it behind altogether. At least for a little while.

“We should build a house.”

“We’ve got a house,” Foolish points out. “Kind of.”

“A real house. I’m tired of living in cities and traveling.” Eret sweeps her hand out, gesturing to the still-waking-up forest. “Someplace like this. Far enough away that people won’t notice things are too off about us. Close enough to visit, though. Get supplies and things.”

The gears turn in his head so loudly that Eret can practically hear them. “We could probably build something pretty big if it’s out here…”

She knows what he’s asking. It’s kind of funny that even after all this time he still stumbles and has trouble with wanting things, and consequently asking for what he wants in a straightforward way. But all in all, the fact that he’s capable of wanting things at all shows incredible progress. When Eret first met him, he couldn’t even conceptualize the idea of it. Totems aren’t usually capable of wanting, after all.

And she knows all too clearly that on top of that, Foolish probably feels embarrassed about wanting this particular thing.

“It can be kind of like a temple,” she offers, because she knows he won’t say it. “It would just be for us, after all. It can look however we want.”

She can’t see Foolish, but she can hear his most certainly sheepish smile in his words. “Not much of a temple without worshipers.”

“You’ll get them soon. I know you will.”

His voice grows softer, almost a whisper. “Maybe you will too.”)

~

(Eret takes his hand, stepping through the door of their brand-new, permanent home.)

~

(Eret takes his hand, closing their eyes as instructed. Foolish fiddles with slipping something cold over their hand and settling it on their wrist.

“Okay, you can open them.”

They do so. The cold something is a gold bracelet—a simple but elegant solid band that only breaks to wrap around little smooth gems that Eret thinks might be quartz, but they don’t know enough about crystals to really tell.

“Happy hundred and ninety-si—ssseeeventh birthday?” Foolish cringes.

“Ninety fourth,” they correct him with a chuckle, but their eyes are glued to the shimmering gold on their wrist. “This is gorgeous.”

“You think so?”

“I love it. Where did you get this?”

Eret looks up to see Foolish’s beaming smile. “I made it!”

“You made this? When—how?”

“You remember Jenith? The guy in town who—"

“The one with the cats, yes.”

“Yeah! So, he does jewelry and stuff, and I asked if he could teach me!”

Eret listens intently while Foolish rambles about how, exactly, he made the bracelet—techniques and materials and tools and what parts he found easy or difficult. They don’t entirely follow everything Foolish says, but they’re happy to nod along. Eret just keeps staring at the bracelet.

They aren’t sure why they’re so surprised. It’s not like Foolish has never made anything before, but this feels different than building their home. It’s not that their home isn’t beautiful, but Foolish making something beautiful simply for the sake of being beautiful… and all for them—they don't know how to put that into proper words. Foolish was never built to create. Eret is so proud of him.)

~

(Eret takes his hand, assuming the lead position while Foolish falls into step next to her in time with the rhythm.)

~

(Eret takes his hand, prying it away from his face. “You’re going to smudge your eyeliner if you keep doing that.”

“It feels weird,” Foolish complains. “How do you wear this all the time?”

Eret dabs her brush in the bowl again and continues applying the lapis-blue paste onto Foolish’s eyelids. “You get used to the feeling. It becomes background noise, just like clothes.”

“Sounds fake.”

“I promise. Besides, this is definitely worth it, yes?” Eret picks up the mirror and faces it towards him.

Foolish examines himself. “Oh, huh. I look great, actually.”)

~

(Eret takes his hand, then yelps as Foolish yanks him to his feet.

“Come on, you can’t mope about it forever!” Foolish chides him.

“I’m not moping.”

“Sure you are. Moping and pouty. Just like when you were a little kid.”

“Foolish—”

“O Dark Lord of Pouty Faces—”

Eret snorts and shoves his face away. “Foolish—”

Foolish is relentless, ruffling Eret’s hair and knocking his sunglasses off. “Dark Lord of Overthinking and Being Dumb—!”

Eret finally gets the upper hand, reaching around his shoulders and grabbing Foolish’s collar from behind to yank his shirt up and over his head, then shoving him to the floor.

Eret huffs and dusts off his hands. “Anything else?”

“Dark Lord of Kicking My Ass. Ow.”

Eret gives a petty little hmph! in triumph.

...Right before Foolish sweeps his leg and lays Eret flat out on the floor with him.)

~

(Eret takes his hand, knuckles white with how hard he’s gripping Foolish’s metallic skin. “How bad is it?”

“Not that deep.” He squeezes Eret’s hand back. His voice is as steady as ever. “The bleeding has already pretty much stopped.”

Eret sucks in a sharp breath as Foolish prods the wound on his side. “Hurts like a bitch for it to be not that deep,” he groans.

“We’ve got a lot of regen. Hopefully it’ll heal up pretty quick after this.” Foolish slips his hand out of Eret’s vice grip so he can fetch said regen to pour on the new bandages.)

~

(Eret takes his hand, letting Foolish spin her into a low dip. Then, he promptly lets go so she falls ass first on the sand. She throws a fistful of said sand in his face when he laughs at her, though she can’t help but laugh too.)

~

(Eret takes his hand, and she rests her head against his chest as they begin to sway to the music.)

~

(Eret takes his hand, making sure to)

~

(Eret takes his hand, although he)

~

(Eret takes his hand, and)

~

(Eret takes his hand,)

`

(Eret takes his hand,)

~

(Eret takes his hand,)

and the disjointed memories leave as quickly as they came, making their heart clench and their lungs stutter.

“Eret?”

They remember how to breathe a moment later than they would like, feeling lightheaded trying to catch their breath. “Sorry, sorry. I’m fine. Just another—more memories, rather.”

“Oookay, let’s get you out of here before you fall over.” Foolish pulls them aside, his grip on their arm strong and ready to support them if they stumble. Eret doesn’t stumble (at least they’re mostly sure they don’t), but the reassuring touch is always welcome.

He leads them a short while down the hall and into a servant’s passage that leads to an office. Eret would say it’s overkill, but their reactions to old memories aren’t always the most pleasant. They wave him off when he tries to help them sit down on a chair, but he still hovers close by.

“How are you doing? Gonna pass out?”

“We…” Eret shakes their head, trying to clear their thoughts. “We’ve danced together quite a bit, haven’t we.”

“Yep. We’ve talked about it before,” he reminds them.

“We learned together,” they murmur distantly.

Foolish snaps his fingers in their face. “Okay, okay, roll it back to the present. Do you feel like you’re gonna pass out?” He asks again.

Eret huffs a laugh. “No.”

“Okay. Dizzy or anything?”

“I think I’m alright now.”

“Nice.” Foolish nods, finally satisfied. “Okay now we can download. You wanna talk about it? Questions?”

Eret has to think about it a moment. It was a lot, it’s definitely going to take a while to process, but nothing jumps out at them that they can’t figure out the context for on their own. “Probably later.”

“Alright, later.” Foolish smiles, his skin wrinkling at the edges of his eyes. They never did that before, back when he really was solid gold and didn’t only look it.

The sound of a drum starting up all the way back in the banquet hall makes both of them startle. “Hm. This office really ought to be better soundproofed.” Eret turns to Foolish, ready to ask him his opinion on how to do so, but finds him squinting at the door like it has the secrets to the universe. “Foolish?”

He turns to them with that bright, toothy grin that they’ll never get tired of. “Do you still want that dance?”

They smile. “Of course.”

Eret takes his hand,

[toxicnorn]

i didn't really do this for the sake of nostalgia but i was looking through some past blogs and internet IDs of mine

i'm a very different person from who i was when i originally joined tumblr. i approach writing in a very different way. my opinions on a lot of things have changed a lot. i really cannot give two shits about most discourse nowadays that i used to have opinions on.

when it comes to creative work, i had a lot more energy and confidence, but this was a double-edged sword because for a long period of time, i was single-handedly focused on rp as a distraction from some real heavy shit irl and my fandom stuff wasn't necessarily healthy for me. this is something i've struggled with on and off over the years because i tend to latch really hard to fiction and characters when things are bad. i wrote some really good sentences though and some good characters. i keep trying to recreate the same feelings by recycling characters, but they're different each time because nostalgia's a false thing and you can't just make the same thing twice but different and expect it to be the same.

my latest attempts at fic and rp are trying to come from a different source, which i think is healthier in the long run.

i was like super depressed from 2014-2018 and then the election pummeled me into a different funk for two years, which was better in some ways but worse in others. around 2019, i was finally able to move out of my parents' house for some time. it wasn't very far but it did help me clear my head a bit.

then 2020 happened. i moved back in with my parents for a few months and it was kind of awful, but then i moved back and things were actually better on my end for a bit, but i was still very weird and squirrelish.

2021 happened somewhere along those lines and i don't remember most of 2021 because it was a hell year of going to doctor's appointments until the very end of it. i moved across the country in 2022 to be with my gf (hey bb love you very much if you are reading this) and for the first time maybe ever, i feel like i'm in a pretty good place. i know that there is a still a lot of work ahead of me to figure out How to Be A Person 101 and get over my hangups but i'm really happy.

anyway, when your creative output has been based entirely on distracting yourself from blue moods up until now, it's a bit wild trying to readjust your brain to go "hey, actually, it's okay to like things just to like them, you can fuel yourself with other emotions, having characters that live in your head is not cringe or something." i'm having fun though, even if i can't manage the output that i'd like to.

this isn't me gloomyposting btw. i think if anything, it's the opposite because things are pretty okay. i might have issues that creatively frustrate me and i might have flaws i'm trying to work on and of course learning How To Social is always an ongoing effort and we aren't even getting into the ongoing saga of Getting My Bran To Work On Medication (on one hand, it's been great because i have the least amount of anxiety than i have ever had in my life; on the other hand, my brain feels like it's two feet out of reach more days than i'd like it to and i'm really frustrated by the fact that i cannot make the connections between thoughts and actions, like my brain just stutters before comprehending that ii should do very basic actions), but all in all, things are great and i'm excited for the future.

there are a lot of people i've lost track of that vanished off tumblr after 2018. i realized a small handful of people were assholes. some of the people i used to know seem to have fallen off the fact of the internet entirely and i doubt i'll ever learn what happened to them. at least one of my very early internet friends died, klim. i don't really know what happened to most of the people i knew in those days when i was on gaia online but i hope that they're doing well. i was a very different person when i was on that site but i was also 16, so of course i was.

anyway, i talk different now. i communicate differently. my internet voice has changed. i used to use random caps for everything. i don't capitalize shit anymore and you can't make me.

i don't really want to get back into the mindsets of me of years prior, but i do want to be able to tap into that well of creative potential because it seemed like i had so much energy for writing, for talking about writing, for sharing and brainstorming and thinking. i know that i am a person capable of writing a novella in the same of a few weeks so i want to regain that.

but i want to have more fun with it this time. i want it to belong to me and not belong to various plagues and maladies. i think deep down, there is a part of me that misses being nine and thinking i had invented fanfiction and talking about my zelda fic with all my friends without a hint of self-consciousness, but, like, with less 1999 going on because the 90s normalized a lot of shit that's not great.

anyway i don't really know where i'm going with this, so i am going to rotate characters in my mind before i go to bed

[finalfantasyandnerdiness]

Want

Prompt from the discord server by @imlilyyfromff13: “I want to kiss you.” 

Fandom: FFXIII (post!LR)  Pairing: Hope/Light

A short one-shot about Lightning confronting Hope about becoming a self-destructive workaholic again. 

For the eighth time in about the same number of minutes, Hope’s phone buzzed. He picked it up from the kitchen table, glanced at it, frowned, and then put it down again. Lightning sighed. Serah pursed her lips in annoyance. Sazh muttered something about kids and their addiction to anything with a touch screen. Fang and Vanille exchanged a look that probably carried a full conversation only they could understand. Snow kept shoveling pie into his mouth as if he hadn’t even noticed.

Months ago, right after they’d all arrived in the new world, Serah had declared that Sunday nights were family dinner nights. She’d decided that once a week, they would all gather at her and Snow’s house—and somehow, she’d managed to make it a mandatory thing. Some excuses were acceptable, like Noel and Yeul being abroad, but that was about as far as Serah’s leniency went. Sunday nights were family dinner nights. Period.

Lightning had always been a loner at heart, but even she found joy in these little gatherings. Everyone was so busy living their own lives nowadays that if they hadn’t all feared being hunted down by a passive-aggressive Serah, they probably wouldn’t have been able stay in touch like this—a thought of that scared Lightning more than she would ever admit. She finally had a family again, and she wanted to keep it. Even if it meant having weekly dinners in a kitchen that definitely wasn’t big enough for the entire gang.

The room wasn’t quite as crowded now as when Noel and Yeul was in town, but the seating arrangement was still far from comfortable. Lightning had to dodge Snow’s elbow every time the big buffoon reached for something, and her thigh was pressed flush against Hope.

It was fascinating, really, how the warmth of Hope’s leg could somehow be more distracting than the risk of getting elbowed in the face.

Hope’s phone buzzed.

“Could you please turn that off?” Serah asked. “The world won’t end just because you’re unavailable for an hour.”

“You’re giving the world way too much credit,” Hope muttered. He ran his fingers through his silver hair, a deep wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. The ever-growing concern in Lightning’s chest nagged at her. Hope’s eyes were surrounded by dark circles, and every time she saw him he seemed to have lost another pound or two.

When Hope had said that he wanted to work as a researcher again, she’d been happy for him. Of course he’d want to figure out how the science of the new world worked, and of course he’d want to help people find ways to make their new lives work in this unfamiliar environment. What she hadn’t realized was just how much everyone would come to rely on him. Everyone seemed to want a piece of his intellect and his lifetimes of experience. He was being torn apart right before her eyes, and there was nothing she could do about it. Every time she brought it up, he just brushed it off. They’d been partners once, but now, he wouldn’t let her in. He’d shut her out.

“Hope…” She glanced up at him. “The world isn’t your responsibility anymore, you know? Just because everyone wants your help doesn’t mean you have to be there for them constantly. You have to think about what you want, too.”

“I can’t have what I want.” There was a strange combination of heat and sorrow in his eyes when he met her gaze. “I don’t deserve it.”

Lightning fell silent as she tried to get her emotions under control. She sometimes wondered if Hope had any idea how frustratingly attractive he was, with his chiseled jawline, full lips, and ocean-green eyes that still gleamed with an understanding of the universe that no other human on the planet possessed.

She also sometimes wondered if he knew how he made her brain malfunction by simply looking at her. 

It wasn’t his appearance that made her feel the way she did. Seeing him as an adult had only made the final puzzle piece of her conflicting emotions fall into place. And now, when she’d finally realized what their bond truly meant to her, he was shutting her out.

Hope’s phone buzzed.

Serah gave him a glare that could have slayed a behemoth. “That’s it, Hope, you’re turning—”

“It’s okay.” Hope gave the screen a final glance before standing up. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for the dinner, Serah. It was perfect, as always.”

“Hope…” Serah paused. After countless dinners ending the exact same way, they all knew that there was nothing they could do to make him stay.

Lightning watched him leave the kitchen, his narrow frame slimmer than ever, and just… reacted. This time it was her elbow that nearly connected with Snow’s face when she rushed after Hope. She caught up with him in the hallway as he was putting on his coat.

“Enough.” She placed herself between him and the door.

“What?”

“I said enough.”

They stared at each other. Hope’s face went from confusion to annoyance to melancholy in a matter of seconds.

“I really have to go, Light,” he said, giving her a humorless smile. “We can talk later.”

“There will never be a ‘later’, and you know it.” Lightning leaned back against the door, effectively blocking his only escape route. “We’re still partners, right? Or did that change when we arrived here?”

Hope blinked. “Of course we are. Nothing will ever change that.”

“Then, as your partner, I’m putting my foot down.” Lightning raised her chin and crossed her arms. “I’m not going to stand by and watch you tear yourself apart to keep the world afloat. Not again.” She swallowed hard. “Never again.”

“Light…” Hope slowly approached her until their bodies were only inches apart. Lightning’s heart began to race. She refused to look away, though. She was taking a stand, and she was not going to let her emotions get in the way of that.

“If you’re going to say you’re fine, then save it. I know you’re not. Have you looked at yourself lately? Can’t you see what this is doing to you?” A hint of desperation somehow found its way into her voice. “You’re putting the needs of others over your own, and I… I feel like I’m losing you again.”

“I’m sorry, Light. I never meant to… I’m sorry.” Hope looked down. “It’s just that everything’s a mess, and considering the part I played in all of this, I feel like it’s my responsibility to fix it.”

“It’s not. That responsibility lies on humanity as a whole now. You and I… We may have contributed to the destruction of the old world, but we also helped creating this.” Lightning nodded toward the kitchen, where their little mess of a family chatted and laughed together. “A new world. A blank page. We create our own fates now. I know it’s hard—trust me, I know it is—but we deserve a new start too. It’s time for all of us to start living the lives we want to live, and that includes you.” She gently stroked a wayward strand of hair from his forehead. “What do you want, Hope?”

“What I want?” He looked up at her, letting out a bitter sound that wasn’t quite a snort but not quite a laugh either. A shiver ran down her spine. He had that look in his eyes again, hot and sad and hungry. “I don’t think you want to know.”

“Try me.”

He hesitated. “There is one thing I want. More than anything.” He cupped her cheek in his hand, his gaze lowering until it landed on her lips. Another moment of hesitation passed. 

“I want to kiss you.”

Lightning’s eyes widened. Her cheeks burned. Her heart pounded hard enough to drown out her thoughts—which thankfully wasn’t that much of a problem. In this situation, she didn’t need to think.

“Then kiss me.”

Hope’s lips crashed into hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his as her back slammed into the door. Her head spun, and all her repressed emotions sprung into life. This was what she’d been craving ever since she first saw him in the new world. This was how things were supposed to be. This was right.

Their kiss deepened. The rest of the world seemed to disappear. All she could focus on was him—his smell, his warmth, his hands in her hair, and his impossibly soft lips.

When he finally pulled back, an astonished smile played on his lips. Soon, he would most likely rush out the door as usual to once again fix whatever it was that someone had screwed up, but this time he’d at least gotten something he wanted for himself���something she’d been more than happy to give it to him. She wasn’t delusional enough to believe that a kiss would change his self-destructive behavior, but maybe, just maybe, it was a start.

“What about you?” he murmured, slightly out of breath. “What do you want, in this hypothetical utopia of yours?”

She smiled. That was probably the easiest question he could have possibly asked her.

“You.”

[krreader]

TXT reacting to their girlfriend finally debuting.

pairing: txt x idol!reader fandom: txt ; bts warnings: / genre: fluff ; hints of angst word count: 1.3k+

a/n: heeey beautiful, thanks for the request and I hope you like it ♥

choi yeonjun

Yeonjun knew how big of a deal this would be, having you debut in a KPOP group with your background. And well, BigHit thought so too.

You were the secret card they wanted to use to draw everyone in and because it was BigHit we are talking about, they got a thirty seconds teaser for their new girl group at an award show and while the first 25 seconds were showing your other members and reeling in cheer after cheer, the last five minutes were dedicated to you.

And the moment you turned around and smirked into the camera, the audience lost their shit.

BTS was thankfully cheering their ass off, so Yeonjun could do so too without it looking suspicious.

Of course, BTS were simply cheering for their new colleagues, whereas Yeonjun was cheering for his girlfriend of two years, ever since you joined the company.

choi soobin

Soobin's eyes scanned the room as he was about to sit down, smiling at you when he finally spotted you sitting somewhere in the back with your two trainee colleagues.

You and him have been dating for almost half a year now, but not even the company knew. They probably wouldn't contest to it, since you were keeping it under wraps well and were under the same company, after all, but you wanted to keep it a secret as long as you possibly could.

“Sit down, they'll suspect something,” Taehyun pulled him down by his sleeve, “Besides, it's starting.”

This was BigHit's annual conference in regards to plans for the next year. That included already existing groups, such as TXT and then again, groups that would be formed.

“Now, let's get to the part that a lot of you have been waiting for,” Bang PD looked up into the crowd of trainee's, idols and staff members, “The new groups debuting next year.”

Soobin instantly crossed his fingers and made the other members do it too.

You had worked so hard the last year, you deserved to be on that list.

And.. well..

“We thought a lot about what we want to do. Debuting multiple girl groups this year isn't a good idea, we need to take it one step at a time. So for now, we'll focus on only one group,” Bang PD pressed a button for the next slide of his powerpoint. On that slide, there were six pictures.

And your face was on one.

Everyone cheered and Soobin was one of the first to get up and clap proudly, wishing he could go over to you and hug you so tightly, but he'd do that later tonight. For now, he was content just watching you hug your best friends with tears running down your cheeks.

He was so proud.

choi beomgyu

You were so nervous, after all, this was your first performance after you made your debut two days ago.

But as if the producers of this show had known, the MC for this broadcast was none other than your boyfriend.

Choi Beomgyu from TXT.

He obviously had to be professional when the camera was rolling, but his presence in the room alone was enough for you to feel more at ease.

And as soon as the cameras were off, he pulled you behind his and your members to get a bit of privacy and kissed your cheek, “You'll do great, okay?”

"Are you sure?” you shifted from one foot to the other, “Everyone’s counting on me.”

“Listen to me,” he cupped your face, “You worked your butt off for this. You’ll do great, you just have to believe in yourself like I believe in you.”

The longer you looked into his determined eyes, the more you started to believe him until you finally began to smile.

“Okay...”

kang taehyun

Your company knew what the audience liked to see when it came down to a new girl group. They needed the fans – which would mostly be men – to be interested in you. You could go at this two ways, the cutesy way or the sexy way. But your company was like, why choose one when you could have both?

And so your debut song was one that YouTube nowadays liked to call “Plot Twist Songs”, with your group showing a sexy and cute side in one video. And as Taehyun was watching the video for the first time, he knew that this would do incredibly well with his gender.

“So? What do you think?” you asked with an excited grin, taking your phone out of his hand, “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah.. you're going to have so many fans by tomorrow,” but then why did that sound.. upset? Isn’t that something to be excited about?

Your smile slowly faltered, then your shoulders dropped, “You disapprove.”

“No, I don't, it's just,” he raised his eyebrows as he tried to defend himself, but the moment he looked into your eyes, he let out a sigh, “I'm just worried, (Y/N). Our fans aren't like that, because we focus on our soft side. But with those outfits and lines..-”

“You think your fans don't thirst over you just because you release songs that are on the softer side?” you let out a snort and got up, “Forget it.”

“No, wait!” your boyfriend ran after you when you wanted to leave his bedroom.

It's not that he didn't like it, of course he did, you were in that video, that alone made him love it! He just had to come to terms that by this time tomorrow, he'd have to share you with millions.

Of course, he forgot that you had been doing that for a year now already.

kai huening

You had been a trainee as long as Kai had. He had made his debut at this point, but you were still just a trainee.

He tried to give you hope that it would happen soon, but by now, you were starting to believe that you'd never make your debut. That BigHit was simply keeping you around because they were trying to find the right time to let you go.

Kai was currently going upstairs because he needed to talk to his manager and passed by Bang PD's office on his way there. The door was slightly ajar, not enough for him to see who he was talking to, but enough to hear what they were talking about.

“I thought about this for a long time. (Y/N) isn't good for a group.”

Kai froze at that, a rush of nausea hitting him.

“I understand, sir. It's just.. she'll be surprised to hear about this now after she trained for this for so long.”

“Yes, I know. Prepare her well for it.”

Your boyfriend managed to run away before he'd be spotted eavesdropping.

How could they do this to you? How dare they? After all you had sacrificed for this company, they’d just throw you away without even giving you a chance?

And what was he supposed to do? Tell you in advance so you wouldn't be too surprised or heartbroken? As his boyfriend, that seemed to be his duty.

And so he texted you and found out that you were actually still in the building. He found you scribbling something down on your iPad, smiling at him when he came into view.

But Kai wasn't smiling.

“What's wrong?” you furrowed your eyebrows in worry.

And just as he was about to say it, someone approached the two of you and the moment he spoke, Kai realized what was about to happen, because he recognized the voice. He sat down next to you and put his hand on your back, beginning to gently brush it up and down to let you know he was here.

“Can we talk, (Y/N)? Alone?”

“Ah, it's okay,” you smiled and pointed at the seat in front of you. The manager knew that you two were dating, so he allowed it.

“I just talked to the CEO. He revealed his plans for you to me and..-” the moment of silence was enough for your heart to skip multiple beats, “..- he decided that you don't fit into a girl group.”

It was almost like Kai could feel your heart break right there and then.

And when you spoke, he could tell that you were trying to hold back tears, but still be strong, “I see..”

“He wants you to debut solo.”

The manager should have recorded your faces when you both looked back at him with eyes so wide, that it looked like they were about to pop out.

“Congratulations,” he grinned happily.

[saikagerights]

Lay Me Down to Rest - Entry for Day of MirSan 2021

Hello there! And welcome to my first Inuyasha fanfiction, as apart of the @dayofmirsan event. 

I initially was planning to be an observer of the event, but sudden inspiration struck at 1am during my nightly routine of falling asleep to Inuyasha. Rewatching the Monkey Sprite episode is interesting for many reasons. For one, there was an unhealthy amount of filler added into the anime adaptation of this story-line, which gave hit-or-miss comedy. But the most important thing is that Miroku and Sango are mostly unaccounted for in this story-line, which gives shippers like me an opportunity to write some “off-screen development” for them. And though the anime does give us an idea, I’m afraid that Miroku’s indifference and frustrated edge in the scene feels a bit off, so I decided to add a bit of a bit of context. Consider this a bit of a fusion between the anime in manga, though the scene is based off of the anime. Also I was very liberal with my use of English/Japanese dub terminology. I watched the anime in English, but switched over to the manga to replace the Final Act, so it’s a bit inconsistent. 

I’ve been observing this fandom from afar ever since I started getting into Inuyasha back in December, and though I wanted to try and engage with it, it seemed very daunting given this fandom’s age and organization. But I’m very grateful that I was given the chance to participate in this event, and lucky that inspiration struck me at the right time. I’ve really been looking forward to seeing the works that come out of this event, and I hope you enjoy my contribution. 

And thanks for the mods for allowing me to share my work with you fellow fans

InuYasha and it’s properties are owned by creator Rumiko Takahashi and Sunrise 

Read on AO3

Sango tailed the monk as he led their investigation. The villagers they had asked so far had no knowledge of the wicked demon, only of the pestering monkeys that were ravaging their fields. Her companion simply nodded, thanking them for their time and promising that the Inugami would save their village. They soon found themselves at the outskirts of the village on an empty patch of land outside the forest, save for one tall tree. Sango found his behavior during their search to be strange, especially as he now paused at the tree, leaving his Shakujo leaning against its trunk.

Was he just as stumped as she was? Would this reprieve be a chance for them to rethink their approach? 

“Why have we stopped here, Miroku?” She questioned. “Aren’t we supposed to search for Naraku’s whereabouts?”

Her befuddlement heightened as he laid his body to rest in the grass underneath the shade of the tree with a sigh, both hands pillowing his head. His intentions then became clear at the sight of his eyelids slipping shut.

“How might we do that when we have neither Inuyasha’s nose or Kagome’s detection?” His tone reflected his relaxed poise. “I merely said that so that Inuyasha would be more inclined to help those villagers.”

Her head tilted downward towards the monk’s resting face. “I understand wanting to help, but do you honestly think that Inuyasha dealing with those monkeys will get us any closer to finding him?

“Not particularly.” He punctuated the off-handed remark with a yawn, overstating his disinterest. “But enough of that... Why don’t you join me here?”

She stood awestruck at his bold request. He lays there while their friends were helping this poor village and now he asks her to do the same? If Inuyahsa were to find out, he’d surely have more pressing things to worry about than the food security of the village. 

“I don’t think it would be wise, considering your flippant lies.”

The man remained still, no sign of concern disrupting his posture. 

“If you changed back into your battle attire before our return, they’d never suspect a thing.” He ignored her statement, a peaceful smile casually appearing on his face. She instantly recognized this move. He was fully convinced he would get his way, the sleazy crook. “Besides, I’m sure sleep has been as kind to you as it has been to me as of late.”

Although it was usually hard to detect amongst his manner of speaking, the monk’s sarcasm was not missed by the slayer. She knew very well that Naraku’s sudden disappearance had their whole group on edge, including herself. And while sleep had become its own battle, the desperate investigations of their enemy have left her distracted from everything else. Sleep meant the rest needed to fight again, but it also meant time alone with one’s most intimate thoughts. What always plagued her mind nowadays were things she’d rather not willingly engage. Finding Naraku should be her biggest concern now, but she indulged her companion despite what she would consider was her better judgement.

The monk had a particular talent for steering her away from rationality.

“Knowing your pervy ways, I’m sure you’d try and sneak a peek at me”

The monk could’ve never noticed the sneer on her face behind his still-closed eyes. The same smile was plastered on his face as well, despite her accusation. He really did enjoy giving her grief, didn’t he...

“Trust me, my dear. I have no intention of moving from this spot for a while. Or at least until Inuyasha comes for my head.”

 “Then I guess you wouldn’t mind if I left Kilala here to guard this spot until I returned.”

He chuckled at that. “I don’t mind at all. I’m sure she’d love to watch me lie here, right Kilala?”  

Sango looked to the nekomata, who merely chuffed in response. She was wary of Kilala’s strange trust in the monk at times, but she was sure that the demon would keep an eye on him in case he tried something funny. 

Miroku took this as the perfect time to reveal his indigo eyes to her. 

 “Please, my intentions are more honorable than what they seem, believe me.”

There it was, that gentle voice of his used to convince her of his authenticity. The same breathy tones that sent her heart racing and her stomach in somersaults. She knew Miroku was confident in his charms, but she also liked to think that he was fully aware of this game they played. She only came to grips with it recently, but there was something going on. 

They’d fight, they’d talk it through, and just when she thought he would try to make a move, that damn hand of his would find the wrong place to caress. Or it would be when she found herself grieving once more, and he could comfort her with his words alone. How did he always know what to say that made everything clear and could heal every fiber of her being, but also had a hand that never failed to do the exact opposite? He was a truly frustrating man, but he was the only one she ever considered more than just that. 

But did he really know? That was a puzzle Sango couldn’t solve. It wasn’t as if anything meaningful resulted from these escapades. Afterwards, they would act as if nothing happened, and he would return to his typical flirtatious ways with any woman that entered his line of sight. So Sango liked to think that Miroku fully knew that he was toying with her feelings. That way it made it easier to lower her expectations and resent them despite Kagome’s not-so-subtle prodding. 

When she became abruptly aware that her eyes had been locked on him for too long, she made her hasty retreat, hoping he didn’t catch her bright red flush in the shade of the tree. 

“This man will be the death of me,” she softly cursed herself as soon as she knew she left his earshot. 

_______________________________________________________________

Upon her return to their little “spot,” she was greeted by an alert Miroku. His body was now fully upright and turned towards her approaching form. 

“You’ve accepted my invitation, I see”

“I thought you were trying to sleep”

“I still am, but I’d figured it would help if I got a quick glimpse of your beauty before-hand.”

She rolled her eyes at his shameless attempt. “You really are troublesome, you know that?”

“You wound me, dear Sango!” He unceremoniously flopped back into his previous position, his left hand patting the spot next to him. “You are free to lie beside me if you wish.” 

Without the need for consideration, she silently opted to sit against Kilala’s curled form, stretching her legs in front of her. He managed to convince her to relax alongside him, but she had no intention of allowing herself to get too comfortable around him in the likely case the monk’s wandering hands wandered once more. He sighed audibly at her decision, but allowed his eyes to close again without any further word. He could act like a child all he wanted, but she would not budge. 

She watched the man for a while, observing his state of rest. She could tell as much that he hadn’t fallen asleep just yet by all of his idle noises and the way he kept trying to steal a glance in her direction. 

“Can’t sleep?”

She hadn’t even tried to close her eyes just yet, as she was still trying to grasp their current situation. Why was he so insistent on sleeping if he was just going to try and stare at her the entire afternoon? Why did he lie to Inuyasha in the first place if this was how they would spend their time? With all these questions moving around in her head, she might as well ask for the most basic of them.

“Miroku? Why do you lie and steal as casually as you do? I always thought that monks were pure-hearted.”

“What a wonderful question!” He exclaimed. With such enthusiasm, she was almost afraid of the answer she would soon receive from him. “I’ve been traveling on my own for so long, and it’s quite difficult to acquire wealth in such unfortunate times. I wish to give aid to those in need, but I also believe that it never hurts to help yourself as well.” He settled for an even tone and let his eyes slip open once more. 

 “And you are right, It is true that holy-people such as myself are meant to be free of sin. But,  I was born tainted by the hole that resides in my hand.” His voice tapered off at his pause, the newfound silence growing thick with each passing moment. His sound returned to him, soft and low, as if it were only meant for his ears alone. 

“It doesn’t matter how much I devote myself to my faith to any idol or deity. My curse is hell-bent on deciding my fate....”

But we are trying to stop Naraku! To free you from the Kazaana. You can always change your path after that! She immediately contested, perhaps a little too loudly, but she didn’t care. How dare he speak so little of himself and avoid her gaze as he did it?! She refused to accept his belittling statements. 

“It is very hard for me to see a future for myself at this time, I’m afraid…” He brought his head up to look at her. A flash of fear ran through his eyes before he looked down once more. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t speak like that.”

He’s afraid…

And he had every right to be. 

“Please don’t apologize.”

He never showed it in front of their group, but behind that calm and smooth exterior remained a man trembling under the weight of his own mortality. He was a man after all, and men were never to show what made them most vulnerable. But with how much he gives to help others, it feels unfair for him to just allow himself to suffer inside as he did.

 If they understood each other as well as he liked to claim, then she knew he hated the restless feeling they had knowing nothing of where their wicked nemesis resided, surely plotting something to exploit the fears he caused within their hearts. Knowing that her poor brother remained in that demon’s grasp sickened her to her core, and sitting around with no leads made it hard to lay dormant as they did now. 

“I get it. I am just as frustrated as you… About Kohaku-”

“-You don’t need to go any further” He  interrupted her thoughts, I didn’t mean to remind you of your pain like that.”

 “Miroku-” 

 “-Please,” he sharply cut in once more, hoarseness settling into his throat. He must’ve noticed it as well, as he cleared his throat soon after. “let’s just try to find rest while we still can.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut, clearly trying to force unconsciousness upon himself. Sango relented, trying to relax her body, idly stroking Kilala as she watched the man slowly succumb to rest. It was surreal to see him struggle like this when it seemed like meditation was second nature to him. She decided on trying for sleep once his breathing evened out and all the remaining tension left his face. 

________________________________________________________________

Miroku wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep, but he could tell from the shadows before him had grown considerably when his eyes peered open. He turned his head to see Sango now curled up against Kilala, her face all but buried in her demon companion’s fur. He slowly rose to his feet, slightly stretching as he made an intake of his surroundings. It looked as if the sun would soon begin it’s retreat from the sky. The monk knew the rest was necessary, but he definitely didn’t look forward to another predictively sleepless night. 

One more glance at Sango’s sleeping form was enough to convince him to approach her, neglecting his Shakujo to silence his movements. He knew, probably better than anybody, of the threat imposed by the slayer’s attuned senses. He also knew the danger of being caught if she awoke to his gawking. Unfortunately it was a risk he was willing for one small fleeting moment to stare at her.

What an idiot he had been for making her sympathize with his life. Even worse that it reminded her of her own grief. He was happy to indulge her curiosity, but when he looked up at her, he turned cowardly at what he saw. It wasn’t fear, or sadness over his grim fate. It was the very same fire that lit behind her eyes in battle. 

She was prepared to fight for him, it seemed…

He dare not think that she would go any farther for that. He was not worth her death. In fact, nothing was worth her death. The honor of her clan was at stake, and her life was essential in carrying on their legacy. One measly itinerant monk with a fated death should be worthless in her eyes, even if he wanted nothing more than to keep her alive.

Even if he wanted more than anything to see a future with her.

He turned away from her, returning to his spot in a now seated position. The monk had half a mind to wake the woman, but decided against it. Every waking moment for her was its own battle, after all. She needed all the rest she could get. And he’d gladly wait for her until that battle resumed, and fight with her at every step.

And if dying for her now meant he could spend the next life by her side, then he would welcome death with open arms. 

“I hope this woman is the death of me,” he softly wished before all else melted away to his own meditation.

______________________________________________________________

Yeah I realized I took some liberties here with how Miroku and Sango’s relationship was at this point. This episode takes place after the Temptress of the Mist and Demon-Head castle, but far behind Mt. Hakurei, so what was going on with them hadn’t really become a “pattern” just yet. And Miroku had just comforted her in her grieving state for the first time right before that. Sango wasn’t deep enough to say he was her reason for living, so that’s why I kept her on the fence and didn’t have her feel too disappointed, because that’s what came after Mt Hakurei. 

I’m a sucker for long winded perspective changes, especially here with all the parallels I draw between them. Some of my best lines were written here, especially the ending line. My GOD. I swear, I wrote that and everything made sense. I said “yes” over and over again, it was so good.

Also can you tell whose voice I’m talking about when describing Miroku’s? The answer is Koji Tsujitani. I always knew about Tsujitani’s delivery that makes Miroku sound truly “fake” but I noticed rather recently how he would add so much breath, especially in serious scenes. On the other hand, Kirby Morrow played the character down and deep in his throat, which isn’t bad when talking about his overall performance, but I decided to favor Tsujitani’s performance in this instance. 

(I’m a classically trained singer and a music education major, so I’m a nut for analyzing voice acting. I have respect for both of these men may they rest in peace.)

Thanks again for the opportunity, and I hope to write more for this series. 

-Saikage

[typewriterghcst]

Title: mother, forget me

Fandom: Kung Fu Panda

Characters: Shen, Soothsayer

Summary: He’s lived his life in a burning house, and now he is wasting away inside it. Why should he be at all surprised that she would fight the flames to traverse back into it in order to rescue him? At this rate, though, perhaps they’re simply burning to ash together.

Notes: whispers kind of an affectionate maybe Send Off written for @infini-tree regarding our Shen and Soothsayer muses, since we’ve both sorta halfway-ish moved into different fandoms and don’t write together very often anymore `~`

So of course this is based on the main verse on my Shen blog, where he Somehow survives the end of his canon and starts hiding out at the Soothsayer’s home like a particularly deviant NEET

I’ve long enjoyed our interactions, and even if we don’t write together again, I’ll still think back fondly on those interactions, ha. So. Just sort of a gift, then!

                                                        +++

Shen forgets he is no longer a skittish, sullen teenager sometimes, though he isn’t certain how. There’s an aching stiffness in his bones that has followed him into his miraculous second chance survival which had never assailed him back then. He lives now in a dream world where time stands still at inopportune and awkward moments, only to pass in an instant when he blinks. He doesn’t know how long he’s lingered here. He can not force himself to think of the future; it’s like futilely plucking at a minuscule piece of shell in the egg white.

Yet unlike those dream worlds he remembers from his childhood, he is not alone this time. No, he has become someone’s burden again, and he might relish in that newfound purpose were it not for who it is that has undertaken the burden.

The Soothsayer joins him at the window, once, and leaves a thin jacket of her own thrown across his shoulders, and it’s then he realizes he isn’t sure who has imprisoned who. 

It’s then, also, he thinks he should leave.

                                                        +++

Quite often he will find himself reluctant to ask those questions he so dearly covets answers for, simply out of a fear that those same answers shall prove ultimately devastating. Tonight, his courage refuses to falter.

"Did you know?" Shen asks his old caretaker (a position she's rather wordlessly slipped back into, though he will not dwell on the similarities now). "Did you know I'd do it?"

"I knew you had the potential to travel down a very dark path," she eventually answers with a measured cadence, and Shen fills in the blanks that she hadn't foreseen just how much darkness that path had had the capacity for.

                                                        +++

He had tried to promise himself once, in a fleeting, blinding instant of childish fury, the source of which has been long obscured by time. 

He had tried to promise himself that anyone who tried to harm her would meet with an agonizing fate, and he had taken a certain amount of comfort and pleasure in imagining just how he might make good on that promise.

He thinks of it nowadays sometimes when she leaves early in the morning, when he pretends to sleep so she doesn’t know he knows he wasn’t the only one unable to sleep through the night. 

(They are both such prideful creatures.)

He thinks about how he is in a far more convenient position to keep his word now, how he would not hesitate, and he wonders if that is perhaps the closest he will ever come to real love.

                                                        +++

What will he do, he wonders sometimes against his will, when she is gone? He has but one friend left in the wide, blue world, and being a creature quite comfortably accustomed to a literal army of supporters kept in line with fear, the instability inherent in this new status quo is perhaps more distressing than even he realizes.

Shen spies the Soothsayer drifting off at her table as she works once or twice, and it lights in him a difficult to define, frenzied knot of half-emotions. He makes mention of her fatigue once. Her response, he assumes, is to put more effort into keeping up her composure in his presence, as he doesn’t catch her dozing again.

It isn't fair, it isn't fair, and sometimes he's so frustrated by what he’s managed to do how things have ended up that he can't stand it. It's then, again, that he thinks he should leave.

                                                        +++

He doesn't know her story. Somehow in all their years together, interrupted as they've been, she has never been compelled to share it with him. It's fine that way. It's the way it ought to be, he supposes.

Yet, every now and again, he will glimpse some shared similarity, some shared response to a petty trauma, and for the first time find himself musing on what other familiarities might linger in their pasts. 

                                                        +++

Even now, the memory will so often come back to him, unwanted, unprompted. Pulling himself up over a balustrade in a clumsy attempt to see over it, to catch a faraway glimpse of Mother, needling curiosity and awe always tempered so expertly by the lingering haze of unbelonging.

For so long he has recalled this moment as one of solitude and numb resentment, but like a buoyant balloon eventually resurfacing after being shoved under bathwater, he remembers the Soothsayer calling to him from down the hall, and how he'd so eagerly abandoned his hiding spot to bound to her side. She had smiled at him, had asked what it was which had captured his attention so thoroughly.

And something rises in him, then, a sharp stab of remorse so powerful it aches in a way he’d never thought possible.

If only. If only.

                                                        +++

Too often she approaches his occasional fleeting tantrums with nothing more than mutely exasperated resignation, her hooves folded neatly on the top of her cane as she surveys the petty devastation he's left behind— an upended side table, scattered incense and old, singed bowls now lying in disarray.

"Was it unworthy of me?" She eventually asks flatly, and Shen barks out a harsh laugh despite himself.

“Yes,” he says, with an unhinged lightness he hasn’t felt in decades. “It should be better. It should be ornately and ostentatiously decorated and well-constructed enough to last literal dynasties. Then it’d be a worthy addition to your meager collection of furniture.”

There she smiles at him, familiarly, a half-crooked one that speaks to decade’s worth of dealing with his childish temper. He’d seen it, too, all that time ago, in the feverish and sleep-deprived days of his biggest scheme, but at the time it’d only infuriated him, made him feel intrinsically small. Here, now, the sight of it elicits a wash of comfort to come over him, and tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

He laughs, but the sound is thick with emotion, and he flees shortly after.

                                                        +++

"I should leave."

He speaks it into existence with all the strength of a flickering candle, hoping it might pass by unnoticed, perhaps. Yet like a candle in a darkened room, this hushed murmur's reach in the silence of the midnight stillness betrays him.

The clatter of the Soothsayer’s pestle somewhere across the expanse between them tells him she’s heard him. When she speaks, it’s soft but reluctant.

“...Where will you go?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to leave.”

“But I should.”

She doesn’t respond to that, but he can feel that she wants to. He can imagine her when he closes his eyes, searching desperately for something to make this all alright. To make it work for the best. Something that makes it not so hopeless. But she’s smart, he knows. She’ll come to the same conclusion. If she hasn’t already.

Somewhere, there comes that same memory of running to her side, taking her outstretched hoof in his wing, already starting in on some inane factoid he’d picked up in his studies that day, eager to share with her his discoveries.

"I-I'm sorry."

It slips away from him without his approval, before he has a chance to stifle and drown it with any kind of success, and it comes out as a broken whisper. His vision as he stares out the window has started swimming. Some part of him wishes it was because he has begun breathing his last breaths.

Even now, he remains selfish and weak— were he truly so sorry, he thinks, he would have simply disappeared from her life in the night, with only a letter to explain his thoughts; he would have vanished just as unceremoniously as he had arrived, and left her in peace.

But he had done that once, he remembers abruptly.

I thought you died. It comes back to him in pieces.

And now he knows what he is apologizing for. There’s no one left to blame it all on. There is only him. And now for the first time does he feel so thoroughly where he has ruined himself with his own hands only to have pointed the bloodied finger outward to everyone else.

This is a mistake which can not be mended, and he’s known it all along.

Somewhere in the midst of it all he’s aware of a ginger touch to his wing. It’s the Soothsayer, looking up at him with an expression he finds quite difficult to interpret— the furrowed brow of regret, of heartache, but the quirk of hesitant hopefulness. When she speaks, her voice is just as frustratingly troublesome for him to comprehend, soft and sad and vastly unfitting for the words she has decided upon.

“...I’ve wanted to hear you say that for a long time.”

“It’s not enough—” Shen starts, and he can already hear the beginnings of his old hysteria rising in his protest, can feel his age-old pessimism awakening, but the gentle shake of her head in apparent, paradoxical agreement prompts him to hold his tongue.

“No. It’s not.” Then, more firmly, with a tenacity he finds quite startling in its unexpected familiarity, “But it’s a beginning we can work with.”

[notthatiwilleverwriteit]

Hi. How are you? Hope you're doing well.

Nowadays, MGS is seen to be more willing in receiving HT's affection/attention. And being more considerate of HT.

What's your opinion on this?

P. S: thanks in advance

Hello, dear anon!

Considering all the things going on in our world right now, I’m doing pretty good, thank you! I hope you’re well and keeping safe, too. I’m sorry to have kept your ask waiting. Every time I tried to get to this, something else came up. It’s been quite hectic in both 19 Days and Given fandom lately. Thank you for your patience!

For this answer, I’m not going to link my previous posts because I will probably touch upon a lot of different Tianshan topics. But feel free to browse my Answered Asks Masterpost for relevant posts.

“Nowadays, MGS is seen to be more willing in receiving HT's affection/attention. And being more considerate of HT.”

I’m glad you were pondering this because I have actually been meaning to talk about something that I think is related to this. A year ago (to the day!), I wrote my take on the Tianshan timeline. According to my interpretation, I divided the journey of MGS and HT’s relationship into three “segments” that went about something like this:

“You’ll answer to me from now on”

HT and MGS started out as MGS almost being HT’s “underling”. MGS was very weary and distrustful of HT. HT used physical violence and threats to submit MGS. HT was very much taking control, and MGS was hostile but also scared of HT’s kind of people.

“Don’t try to shoulder everything by yourself”

HT keeps “honing down” MGS’s personality and trying to make him “an outstanding person” by giving him small tasks and chores. But the tone is different; HT becomes more playful and teasing instead of threatening and intimidating.

First hints of HT gaining romantic feelings for MGS?

MGS gets mixed up in SL’s offer to get expelled and ends up being falsely accused of assaulting a girl. HT and the gang save him, and MGS begins to realize there are people willing to fight for him. He doesn't have to shoulder things on his own. 

The infamous first Tianshan kiss.

“I’m so bothered by you…“

HT’s feelings for MGS deepen and gain more layers. HT reveals more of his possessive, clingy, and needy side with those feelings.

A big increase in physical contact in Tianshan interactions. Mainly HT casually clinging to MGS or being touchy-feely otherwise. Touching and interactions gain a more suggestive tone.

In return, MGS becomes more conscious of HT. HT still makes him nervous but in a different way than in the beginning. MGS gets flustered, blushes, and overcompensates like a tsundere.

MGS starts showing more concern towards HT. He gets worried about him and even comforts HT a couple of times.

My timeline left off approximately when HT gave MGS the earrings (ch. 305) and MGS left him the sandwich at school (ch. 309). I didn't really touch the timeline until MGS told HT about how he and SL had met. Despite trying, I couldn't find the post anymore, but I think I reblogged one of my posts about that moment and said that this could mark the fourth “phase” of Tianshan. Either way, I think that was the kind of development in their relationship that I think would be a natural continuum of my “timeline”.

Which brings me to your question, dear anon. I don’t know how far back your “nowadays” reaches or what moments exactly you mean by MGS being more willing to accept HT’s affection, but I do think there has been a shift in their relationship ever since the “SL & MGS backstory”. So, I’m going to treat this as the next “segment” in my Tianshan timeline.

What I want to stress when I’m talking about these things is that it’s all very much relative and vague. It’s difficult to pinpoint where one trait in their relationship begins or ends. In the same way, many of the things I see as a part of this phase might have already been present in the previous ones. It’s just that that trait seems more essential and emphasized now.

“I thought you were dead...”

This phase, the way I see it, is about the increasing trust in Tianshan. Not only did MGS open up about his most painful memory to HT, but HT is also becoming more direct and honest about his vulnerability. His words aren’t veiled by teasing and double-meanings anymore, but he is more “raw” about it.

Another common demeanor to me in this phase is MGS giving into his feelings regarding HT more. He’s been concerned about HT before, but now he’s panicking and even attentive. He allows himself to listen to what HT has to say and rely on the support HT wants to offer. Don’t get me wrong, MGS is still very much of a tsundere. He still curses at HT and pushes his advances away, but as I’ve said before, I think that will always be a part of their dynamics. I doubt that side in MGS is ever going anywhere, but it’s also been balanced more by him being more open to HT.

The development of the increasing trust that was HT learning about MGS’s history with SL had its initial push in how SL approached MGS at the train station (ch. 317):

This incident had two big things. First of all, SL is getting bolder. He’s always been unpredictable but for the most part, he’s remained in the shadows despite the trouble he’s caused. He hasn’t been very keen on direct confrontation. MGS had been under his hold without SL needing to get defensive against anyone trying to take away his “property”.

However, HT has not only been pulling MGS further and further away from SL but he’s also been posing a serious opposition to SL. SL can no longer take advantage of MGS being an outcast and not having someone as strong as HT on his side. I think all that has been increasingly irritating SL. He’s getting frustrated which makes him dangerous. He seemed to be barely holding his cool at the train station confrontation and then ended up chasing MGS through the crowd.

Overall, it was a very stressful situation for MGS, and the first person he literally thought to run to was HT. I don’t want to make it sound too dramatic because I think anyone would have run to their friends in that situation. But still, MGS relied on HT in his panic and distress. He knew he would be safe with HT if he just reached him. He very much trusted HT in that situation, not to mention out of his own volition instead of trying to handle it by himself and refusing anyone’s help.

I think being cornered by SL like that shook MGS as well, and it didn’t take that much nudging by HT to make him talk about his past with SL (ch. 318):

I like how HT was gentle about this but didn't let MGS evade and refuse to talk about it all. If HT was going to protect him, he needed to know what was going on. In addition to that, HT wants MGS to rely on him by sharing the burden with him. “Don’t try to shoulder it by yourself” is repeated again, but this time they are actually facing each other (both physically and mentally). MGS physically slumps and for the first time, he lets all the guilt, anxiety, and self-blame seep through for someone to see. He shares his deepest and darkest secret for which he has been beating himself up for years. 

And this massive leap of trust from MGS’s part was met with what I think he was both desperate for but also scared of hearing (ch. 319):

HT saying “it wasn’t your fault” was such a seemingly obvious thing for us but a huge relief for MGS. In these situations, people are often desperate for a “second opinion” but also nervous about it because what if they find us “guilty”, too. Nevertheless, we look for that absolution in other people because it helps us ease our own guilty conscience. Living with guilt is probably one of the heaviest burdens to carry in life.

MGS telling HT the story of him and SL and being relieved by HT’s words and comfort was a huge step of trust in their development. Especially for MGS. I think the relationship deepened for him at that moment. It was something he had never revealed to anyone, and that tied him to HT in ways that he wasn't really tied to anyone else. (Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say he was tied to SL in a similar but opposite way which is interesting.)

Reaching for trust has also worked in the other direction in this phase. In addition to MGS trusting HT with his most painful secrets, HT on the other hand has been initiating that he trusts MGS with his vulnerable side too (ch. 323, 343):

HT has shown his vulnerable side before a few times, but he’s been more guarded about it. Instead of directly opening up like this, he somewhat always masked those feelings. I would say HT still very much likes to control those situations when he’s vulnerable by offering to talk about them, but he doesn’t get defensive about MGS knowing about his past or feel threaten by MGS knowing about his weaknesses and painful things.

I do think HT has trusted MGS as someone around whom it’s safe to show his vulnerable moments. But these days, it’s as if HT has decided to talk about his past and fears. It even looks like he wants to talk about them to someone. And instead of asking “don’t abandon me” like he’s ashamed of asking that from MGS, he is now more confident about not wanting to be alone. (This development is probably at least partially connected to the possibility that HT has known their time is limited for a while now.)

For now, MGS seems to be somewhat putting up with this side of HT. Unless it’s something that would require MGS to react and act somehow (for example, HT getting hurt), MGS seems to be more passive. We haven’t really seen him show much interest in HT’s past/vulnerable confessions or pass comments on them. I’m interested in seeing if he will gain a more active role in this regard.

Besides the increasing trust between MGS and HT, another thing I have noticed in this phase is that MGS has more “inner push” to care about HT and believe him. I find it a bit difficult to explain what I mean by that exactly, but I hope I manage to make some sense of this.

As I said earlier, I think the leap of trust regarding the SL backstory was at least partially induced by the pressure and shock of SL attacking MGS. In a similar way, I think MGS thinking HT had died cause him perhaps be more honest to himself regarding HT (ch. 329):

Nothing quite puts things in perspective as swiftly and violently as a death scare. When facing something as final as dying (either dying yourself or losing someone in your life), it clears up our priorities and makes us realize what matters to us.

As far as MGS is concerned, HT hadn’t been in this kind of sudden and unexpected danger like getting crushed by the landslide. They were all - MGS included - virtually powerless against such force of nature. All they could do was dig with their bare hands and hope it wasn’t as bad as it looked. I’m sure having HT behind his back one moment and not the next shook MGS deeply and made him realize what it would be like to lose HT.

I would like to think that that scare made MGS think about what HT meant to him, and that ultimately “coaxed” MGS to give HT more of a chance (ch. 340, 344, 346):

I’m trying to choose my words with care because I don’t want to make it sound like MGS’s resistance and reluctance when it comes to HT has melted away. I don’t think it has and I don’t think it ever will be gone completely. As I said, I think he will always have his tsundere nature that says “no” to everything almost automatically before he even considers it through properly.

What I’m trying to say instead is that MGS seems to consider HT’s feelings more and also be more open to believing in what HT is trying to tell him because having HT in his life shouldn’t be taken for granted. Maybe MGS thought that he could be more fair towards HT and not be so quick to reject everything. Also, maybe he could lower his guard and try to internalize what HT is so persistently trying to tell him. I do think MGS trusts HT to help him if he’s in trouble, but trusting HT to support his dreams is another thing. That is not an issue of just trust anymore, but it’s also about MGS having the courage to go for what he wants.

This hesitance and self-evaluation of sorts in MGS is also paired up with HT playing the kicked puppy card more shamelessly. It seems HT has discovered what tone to take if MGS rejects him. Is milking his injuries playing a bit dirty? Eh, I guess, but I don’t honestly see much harm in that. It’s cute. What comes to acting hurt if MGS refuses to listen to him, I think it would be a nice change if HT lets his hurt show. As much as I love MGS, I think it’s good that he also has those moments when he feels like he said something hurtful.

In my previous “timeline” post, I wondered if HT’s romantic feelings towards MGS started shaping somewhere around the second “ Don’t try to shoulder everything by yourself“ phase. Now, I’m wondering if the future developments of this current phase will lead to MGS discover those same romantic feelings. Especially if HT is leaving which would make MGS think about what HT means to him even more.

That’s pretty much what I have gathered in this “phase” so far. If we get back to your original question of why it seems MGS is more willing in receiving HT's affection/attention and being more considerate of HT, I think the answer lies in the deepening trust (both ways) and MGS realizing and allowing himself to recognize that HT does actually mean quite a lot to him. Through the moments I talked about, their relationship has deepened in new ways and they’re both trying to be more open about themselves and to each other. Of course, this is only a handful of chapters and the moments I mentioned are also accompanied by a lot of the “usual” Tianshan dynamics. So, I would say that this is the “early stages” of their new phase even though the development turns have been quite big.

Thank you for your question and your patience, dear anon!

[colorofmymindposts]

As Long As He's Safe

Fandom: BBC Merlin 

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon 

Rating: Teen 

Status: Complete 

Word Count: 1198

Summary: "Arthur was used to the wounded. He’d been treated for many injuries since he first started training as a knight, seen his fellow brothers fall beside him in battle, some never to return to their feet. It was a rare instance, if he was wounded, that he was in mortal peril. But whenever Merlin managed to cross into the foray of the lances and spears and poisoned goblets, it was always catastrophic."

Merlin is injured in an attack, Arthur cares for him, and certain revelations are made about the bond between the king and his sorcerer.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Feelings Realization kind of, Like They Know But They Don't Know Because They're Idiots, But Nothing Like A Near-Mortal Injury To Bring You And Your Bae-To-Be Closer Together, How Do I Tag

Notes: This can also be read on ao3! 

Story: Arthur was used to the wounded. He’d been treated for many injuries since he first started training as a knight, seen his fellow brothers fall beside him in battle, some never to return to their feet. It was a rare instance, if he was wounded, that he was in mortal peril. 

But whenever Merlin managed to cross into the foray of the lances and spears and poisoned goblets, it was always catastrophic. 

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” his court sorcerer asked breathlessly. 

Currently, he had his back propped up against a tree, wincing slightly as Arthur knotted his scarlet cloak around Merlin’s bloody midriff. It was not good, Arthur had enough sense to admit to himself at any rate. 

Everything had happened so quickly, as attacks and wounds always did in the heat of battle. The bandits had come upon Arthur, Merlin, Gwaine, and Leon without warning in the Darkling Woods as they returned from visiting the towns further out from the citadel. They had all fought in earnest, but it had been Merlin who pinned the rogues against the trees, felled branches in convenient places, transformed their weapons into bouquets of daisies. It had been an easy fight, as most of them had been since Merlin started openly using his magic. 

Arthur had just dispatched the last bandit when he turned to see a blade protruding from Merlin’s stomach, the helm held by a dying bandit half on the ground. Truthfully, he only vaguely registered Leon’s and Gwaine’s anguished cries, he had been so caught up in the horrific sight of the blood pouring out of the wound and then spilling dark red over Merlin’s lips and chin as he coughed more up. Arthur’s sword fell from his hand, and he rushed forward to catch his friend as it was clear Merlin’s legs could no longer support him. With an arm wrapped around his midriff and neck, Arthur had slowly lowered Merlin to lean against the tree, careful of the weapon still very much burrowed inside. Pulling it out would have only increased the likelihood of him bleeding out faster. Distantly, he had heard Gwaine end the bandit’s life with a string of curses. 

In a panic, Arthur had sent Leon and Gwaine to retrieve Gaius at breakneck speed, trusting he could attend to Merlin and stay the bleeding in the meantime. Neither had questioned the order. Now, he was praying to any god that would listen that Merlin could be spared from death. 

“Gaius will be here soon,” was his answer, because it was and always had been easier for him to avoid the truth than outright lie. “Why couldn’t you just heal yourself with magic?” 

“I’ve told you, I’m not good with healing magic,” Merlin explained in a tired way. “Would’ve saved me a lot of trouble with you if I was.” 

The younger man’s eyelids began to droop and flutter close, and Arthur knew what that inevitably led to. He placed his gloved hand on Merlin’s shoulder, shaking it slightly to rouse him, only getting Merlin to open his eyes, which were worriedly unfocused. In an attempt to ground him, Arthur threw off his glove and threaded his fingers through the man’s hair, and Merlin rasped a breath in surprise. 

“You are not allowed to die, Merlin,” Arthur stated, attempting to sound firm but failing. “That’s an order from your king.” 

“You know how well I listen to those,” he said with mirth sparkling in his eyes. 

Those eyes, whether they reflected the cool waters of Avalon or the fiery light of the sun, was something Arthur was finding himself increasingly lost in nowadays. 

“Then do it for me. Stay for me.” 

He always struggled not to make everything sound like a command, but he hoped Merlin would hear it as it was meant to be: a plea. The court sorcerer’s gaze seemed to soften in turn. 

“I would never leave you, Arthur. Not if I can help it.” 

Merlin grimaced as he shifted slightly, and Arthur gripped his hip firmly with a spare hand. 

“Don’t move. What do you need?” 

“Water,” Merlin mumbled. “Mouth tastes funny.” 

Luckily, Arthur still had a mostly full waterskin on his person. With care, he lifted it to Merlin’s lips who then drank in steady gulps. After the man was done, Arthur took the waterskin and Merlin’s neckerchief, adorned round his neck, and reverently wiped away the dried blood from his face. In the years that Merlin had used magic and Arthur had known, he as king had become used to the sorcerer’s seemingly unlimited power and assumed Merlin to be invulnerable to practically any threat. It had been a very long time since he had to look at Merlin’s prone, lithe form and feel any cause to worry. 

“There. Now you look half decent,” Arthur assessed, eyes purposefully averting the sword still in Merlin’s stomach.

Even in his state, skirting close to death, Merlin was willing to play along. “Half?” He asked, mock-offended. “What would I have to do to look fully decent?” 

“Get rid of that neckerchief for a start.” 

“In your dreams, clotpole,” Merlin grinned. 

But it was just a shadow of the smiles that warmed Arthur’s heart on even the darkest of days. A sense of desperation hit him keenly, and the reason for the depth of his worry, his fear that Merlin would not make it out of this alive made itself known in his heart—it was not the undercurrent of feeling that ran his veins when a brother in arms was felled, this was a much deeper, more complex and all-consuming force, an unspoken love that had likely controlled his heart and mind for some time now finally making itself known. 

Arthur surged from where he was crouched, pressing an impassioned kiss to Merlin’s forehead, hoping to impress all of his love that he vainly hoped could sustain the other man. 

“There is something I must tell you. Something you must know now,” he whispered brokenly, lips forming the words against the sorcerer’s brow. 

“I thought I was the only one keeping secrets,” Merlin spoke just as quietly. 

“Still?” Arthur questioned, dread starting to settle in his gut, the familiar fear of betrayal fresh even after all these years. He did not break the contact between them, though. “What more don’t I know?” 

“It’s just the one secret now,” Merlin reassured softly. “I think it may be the same as yours.” 

The rushed gallop of three horses sounded the approach of Leon, Gwaine, and now Gaius, the former two helping the physician off of his horse and over to where they had left Arthur and Merlin. 

“Sire, Merlin, I—” Arthur finally willed himself to draw back from the court sorcerer as Gaius hovered above them with his medical supplies. “I must see to Merlin’s wounds immediately, sire, if he is to be healed.” 

“Of course,” the king said as he stepped away. “Do everything you can for him.” 

They would have time for these things, Arthur reasoned to himself as he watched Gaius tend to Merlin. Time to talk, to hold, and, potentially, to love without fear of it all slipping away.

[fallen-gravity]

awaken the stars, ‘cause they’re all around you

Stanford Pines never really believed in soulmates.

He can't imagine the idea that there's one person out there for him in the multiverse who would stop at nothing to love him for who he is, despite everything he is and everything he's done. He can't imagine that someone out there is meant for him, someone who will stand by his side until the end of time.

Or maybe he'd just been looking at it from the wrong angle.

Notes: 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @stariousfalls!!!!! I can't believe we've been friends for upwards of five years now?? You've been a huge inspiration of mine from my first day in the gravity falls fandom back in late 2014, and now you're one of my closest friends. I've been spending the last week and a half working on this behind your back, because I wanted to surprise you with a gift I thought you'd love!!

7.5k words of fluff was....not my original plan, but fluff brain wanted to go feral for you, I guess.

Huge, huge shoutout to @ariasofelegance  for helping me keep my mouth shut about this, I absolutely would've internally combusted without your help & support

AO3

Ford never saw the appeal of romantic relationships.

One night when he and Stan were kids, they snuck downstairs in the middle of the night after their parents were asleep to dig through Pa’s “Secret stash” of movies he thought he was good at keeping a secret. They’d thought for sure they’d be coming across bootleg cuts of action movies that were still playing in theaters, or documentaries about how all of the politicians in power were secretly aliens. 

What they actually found was much more…sensual. They were both horrified, to say the least, but each time Ford had to turn away to prevent himself from gagging, he’d hear Stan beside him struggling not to laugh. 

For years, Ford was convinced coming across those tapes before he was old enough to fully comprehend what was happening in them is what had turned him off to relationships altogether. It certainly didn’t help that he was never able to experience romantic relationships firsthand, as every time he tried asking someone out in high school he’d just be laughed at or called a freak.

Though college was another story entirely, his feelings towards romantic relationships never seemed to change. He went out with a girl from his dungeons, dungeons, and more dungeons club for a few weeks, a guy from his advanced physics class for almost two months, and even tried going out with Fiddleford for upwards of nine months, but he never felt that deeper connection with any of them, no matter how much he wanted to feel that connection. 

It’d be forty more years before he learned the term aromantic, but when he was still in college he would brush off his parents’ questions about his relationship status by telling them he was too busy working on his thesis, which technically wasn’t all that far from the truth anyway.

Still, the faint sense of yearning never seemed to leave him be. Whenever he found gaps in his schedule, he would spend hours in his university library reading up on the science of relationships and their place in society. Though he no longer remembers most of the papers he read, one scientific study that’s always stuck with him was a dissertation written entirely on the concept of soulmates.

Everyone has a soulmate, the paper claimed. Though it may be decades until you properly meet, your path always leads to the moment that you and your soulmate are finally united. Once finally together, not a single force on earth can tear you apart. Even if you are apart physically, the stars will always align to bring you together. Weirdest of all, the paper mentioned soulmarks, which were described as “the phenomenon that a person’s very soul is marked with a piece that belongs to their soulmate, which may appear as a physical anomaly on a person’s body, such as an oddly-shaped birthmark”. 

Ford had thought for sure that somebody must’ve moved a romance novel into the sociology section of the library as a joke. The only sort of anomaly he had going for him was his polydactyly, and thinking too much about how that could connect him to a single person who was destined to love him gave him a headache. 

Nowadays, though, Ford tries not to give it much thought. He’s perfectly happy right where he is, watching the sunrise from the deck of the Stan O’ War II through the steam visibly rising from his coffee mug. 

He sighs contently. 

“Mornin’” Stan’s voice sounds beside him, gruff with sleep. When Ford turns to look at him, he’s rubbing at his eyes with one hand while he holds a steaming cup of coffee in his other. He’s already donning one of the sweaters Mabel mailed to him, a deep blue with a tropical island and a treasure chest stitched across the chest.

Ford smirks. “You’re up early” 

Stan cocks an eyebrow as he sips from his coffee. “A’course I am. I always get up early when we’re docking to see the kids”

Ford blinks, the teasing smirk on his face melting into a gentle smile. “That’s today?” 

“Haven’t you checked the calendar lately?” Stan tosses a second handmade sweater at Ford. This one’s the same shade of maroon as his journal covers, and pictures an angry cycloptopus squirting ink towards the bottom left corner of the sweater. “The kids are on spring break. They talked to their parents about letting us have ‘em all week” 

Ford is quick to pull the warm sweater over his head. “All week?” 

He can’t help sounding like a broken record, but it’s been months since the last time he saw the kids face to face. Sure, they talk over video at least once a week, but nothing beats seeing their smiling faces and having them nearly tackle him to the ground in a hug in-person. 

“Heh, you miss em too, Sixer?” 

As little as two years ago, Ford would’ve flinched at the nickname. But Bill is gone for good, and Ford knows that Bill is gone for good, and Stan made a promise to do anything in his power to help him reclaim the nickname. He brings his mug close to his face without taking a sip, allowing himself to take in the warmth in his hands and the steam in his face.

“Not as much as you, clearly” Ford smirks, and Stan crosses his arms over his chest.

“You bet I missed them more than you. I’d been taking care of them all summer before you showed up and fell in love with them in half that time”

Ford smirks as he finishes up his coffee and heads into the navigation room to set their course. “By that logic, wouldn’t that mean that I miss them more, since I had less time with them?”

“Hey!” Stan groans as he follows him into the room. “It does not. It means that you don’t know them like I know them, genius. Everyone knows that it’s all about how much time you’ve spent with a person that determines how close you are with them” 

Ford laughs as he enters the coordinates they need to get to the seaport they were meeting the young twins at. From the looks of it, it’d be three hours before they arrived. 

“Mm, and who put that study together? Was it you?” 

Stan doesn’t reply with words, just a noise that sounds halfway between disgruntled and baffled. It makes Ford laugh even harder, and he wipes at his eyes with a wrist. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Stan’s overdramatic pout melt away until he’s laughing too. 

The sight of it makes the smile on Ford’s face widen. It’d been decades since the two of them were able to just be like this. It’d been so long since the last time Ford heard Stan’s genuine laugh that he’d gone and forgotten what it sounded like altogether. When he was still traveling the multiverse, he searched far and wide for a shred of hope, something to keep his anxieties and nightmares from catching up to him.

What a fool he’d been to ignore his childhood memories of home. 

The trip is a quiet but familiar one. Ford can’t talk much when he’s steering because he needs to be on constant lookout, but Stan remains in the room to talk at him and keep him company anyway. The sun is well over the horizon by the time they reach the seaport, and call it instincts, intuition, or something else entirely, because Ford spots the kids sitting on a bench in the near distance the moment he and Stan step foot onto the dock. 

They’re squished closely together, watching a video on Mabel’s phone. Whether they’re aware of it or not, they’re swaying their legs back and forth underneath the bench in perfect unison. On the ground beside them are their backpacks, overstuffed with so many things that both of them are popping open. 

Most importantly, neither of them have noticed that Ford and Stan are approaching them. 

Ford exchanges an amused glance with Stan, and clears his throat to catch their attention. 

The phone nearly stumbles out of their hands in shock when they look up and meet their eyes.

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel squeals, standing to sprint past Ford to knock Stan off of his feet. Ford chuckles at the sight, but not quickly enough to hear Dipper’s “Great Uncle Ford!”, and before he knows it he’s hitting the floor too. The young twins are laughing messes, and stumble over each other as they try to stand to their feet and help their Grunkles up. 

Mabel spits out the hair that stuck to her mouth, and pulls a hair tie seemingly out of thin air to tie her hair up into a ponytail. It’s only now that Ford realizes that she and Dipper are also both wearing sweaters, and if Ford had to guess, it looks like Mabel made both of these sweaters as well. Mabel’s is a galaxy print with actual twinkling stars, and Ford makes a mental note to ask her later what she did to make it glow like that. Dipper’s is also space themed, though his pictures the big dipper splotched across a black night sky with a bright orange meteor shooting through the center.

“You have to tell us about everything you’ve encountered”, Dipper beams, once Stan finishes brushing himself off. 

Stan cocks an eyebrow. “Two years’ worth is a lot to get through, kiddo”

“Exactly!” Mabel beams, turning to pick up her backpack and put it on. “Which is exactly why you can tell us on the way to the hotel!” 

“Hotel?” Ford and Stan ask in unison.

“Surprise?” Dipper giggles. “Our parents rented us a hotel room for the week cause they figured you’d appreciate some time away from the boat” 

“It’ll be like our summer in Gravity Falls all over again!” Mabel grins. “But in reverse! You’re in our territory now” 

Stan laughs. “You’re the boss, kiddo”

“You bet I am!” She beams, and hands Dipper his backpack. “Now c’mon! If you tell us all of the horrors you’ve encountered out at sea, we’ll tell you about all the horrors we’ve encountered in high school!”

“I...think I remember those horrors pretty well already, thank you” Ford smiles sheepishly, adjusting his glasses. “But we’d be more than glad to tell you some of our own stories”

It’s a short walk to the bus stop, but Ford honestly wouldn’t mind if they walked all the way to the hotel on foot if it meant an extra half an hour with the kids. They’re just as eccentric as he remembers, attached at the hip but still wildly different people all on their own. Dipper’s still hanging on to every word he’s saying, and Mabel’s still skipping along like she’s in her own world. 

Once they reach the hotel and check in, Dipper collapses face first onto one of the beds the moment he steps into the room, groaning. 

Stan smiles. “Something bothering you, kiddo?” 

He turns on his side to look Stan in the eye, his face smushing into the pillow. “Mabel didn’t let me get any sleep last night. She insisted on getting to the seaport three whole hours early because she insisted that she had this gut feeling that you guys would have the same idea and we’d magically show up at the same time” 

Mabel pouts, and sits on the bed besides him. “Well it’s not my fault you stayed up late reading that dumb book of yours. Plus, would you rather have kept them waiting for three hours?” 

Dipper removes his hat and places it on the table beside him, exposing just enough of his forehead through his hair to reveal his birthmark. It has the same faint glow to it as Mabel’s sweater, and Ford wonders how the two could possibly reflect off of each other. 

“Their boat has beds and a fully stocked kitchen, Mabel. They can afford to wait. All we had were those strawberry pop tarts that you ate five minutes after we got there”

Ford can’t help but smile softly at their banter. He missed them so, so, much more than he could’ve ever imagined. He’s got half a mind to stow them away on the boat at the end of the week and homeschool them both himself so he never has to be apart from them again.

Apart. The word still feels like a knife twisted into his chest. There’s nothing he regrets more than trying to separate the young twins from each other two summers ago because he’d been so caught up in projecting his own fears onto the pair. He’d tried apologizing to Mabel over the whole ordeal, but she stopped him before he could even start to tell him he had nothing to worry about.

He only wishes he could learn to forgive himself as easily as she did.

“...Can we, Grunkle Ford?”

He blushes. Had he just said all of that out loud?

“Can we...what?” 

“Take the boat out! Not right now, since Dips is being a grumpy-grump and insists on wasting precious time with a nap, but we’ve been talking about it all week”

From across the room, Stan snorts. “Let me get this straight,” he takes his jacket off and hangs it up in the closet. At this point Ford swears his eyes must be playing tricks on him, because Stan’s old burn scar is glowing just as Mabel’s sweater and Dipper’s birthmark are. “All the time you spent groaning and complaining about fishing every time I took you in Gravity Falls, and now you’re asking to go fishing?” 

“I was thinking more along the lines of a joy ride,” Dipper yawns from under the covers. “But if agreeing to go fishing is what gets you to say yes, then sure” 

He’s smirking under the covers, Ford can tell, because he inherited that expression from Stan.

Stan’s about to bite back, but Dipper must not have been exaggerating about how long he and Mabel were waiting for them at the dock, because he’s already out cold. Stan smiles at him, gently ruffling up his hair before he takes a seat on the adjacent bed, kicking his shoes off so he can kick his feet up on the bed and relax. Ford sits beside Stan, and Stan slings his arms behind him to support his head in his hands as he glances over at Ford. 

“They make you wanna retire the whole ‘treasure hunting’ thing and move into the city to be closer to ‘em too?”

Ford chuckles. “I’ve already considered hiding them away on the boat twice today already.” He taps at his chin. “Though I suppose that moving in with them would go over better with their parents then taking them away to live on a boat” 

“Hmm…” Stan taps at his chin as well. “Being stuck in the same stuffy high school for four years, or living on a boat traveling all over the world whenever they feel like it? I dunno about you, Sixer, but I have a pretty good idea on what the kids would prefer”

“Grunkle Stan? Grunkle Ford?” Mabel’s voice suddenly chimes in, and Ford blushes, wondering how much of that she just heard. 

“What’s on your mind, pumpkin?” Stan asks. 

“Well, uh, Dipper was right about us only eating once really early this morning, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to, uh” She twirls her hair between her fingers. “Cook something for us? For old time’s sake?”

Okay, it’s settled, Ford’s never letting these kids go again. 

“Sure, kiddo. Soon as your brother’s up we’ll head right back up, okay?” 

“Okay!” she beams, and crawls back into her side of the bed, staring at Dipper like she can will him into waking up on command. 

Though Ford would’ve been okay if they’d had to wait hours for him, it’s really only about twenty minutes before Dipper opens his eyes again and nearly shrieks in surprise at Mabel’s face hovering three inches from his own. He smacks his hand into her face to shove her away, and she giggles as she rolls off the bed and onto the floor. 

Beside Ford, Stan smirks. “Better get up before we leave without you and all our food goes to Mabel, kiddo. You’ve got plenty of time to crash in Ford’s bed on the ship, since he never seems to use it anyway”

Dipper yawns, rubbing at his eyes as he kicks the covers off. “I hadn’t even realized I’d fallen asleep”

“I didn’t realize you were even capable of sleep, bro-bro” Mabel punches him in the shoulder as she walks past him to put her shoes on. He glares at her wordlessly, and Ford has to cover up his snicker with a fake cough. 

This time, the bus ride and the walk back to the ship are a quiet one. Ford never really lets himself let his guard down and relax for an extended period of the time, so he cherishes any moment he can get where he finally feels like he doesn’t constantly feel the need to check over his shoulder for signs of danger. Most of the time, if you asked him about his heightened senses, he’d call them a curse. But on days like these, when he can hear the birds chirping and the waves smacking gently against the boats in the seaport, he’d almost go as far as calling it a blessing. 

The kids take a seat at the dining table as soon as they enter the kitchen, and Stan grins at them from over his shoulder as he clicks the stove on. “Whaddya say, Stancakes?” 

Dipper and Mabel grimace in unison. “Ewwww, Grunkle Stan, you promised lunch!” Mabel scrunches her nose, and Stan’s grin only widens. 

“Ah, ah, you said like old times. That means I get to decide what to make, and you have to eat it because I’m your legal guardian”.

“Well I wasn’t even awake when you were talking about old times, so I’d say that cancels out” Dipper crosses his arms over his chest, and Ford can’t help but smile warmly at the three of them as he reaches into the cupboard for his favorite coffee mug. The younger twins clearly had just gotten two copies of the same mug, but crossed both of them out so they’d say #1 GRUNKLES on them instead of #1 UNCLE. Stan has the other one, of course, but he keeps it on his bedside to hold small treasures and keepsakes because it’s, in his own words, “Too special to waste on something as ordinary as coffee”.

Ford sits himself in the seat between the younger twins at their okay, and after some back and forth banter between the four of them, they end up settling for burgers. Truth be told, this is the first time Ford’s eaten a meal in a group larger than two since the last time he and Stan visited the young twins in the winter, and he can’t help but smile into his food at the thought. The closest he’d come even remotely close to eating with others in his research years was his very, very brief time at the truck stop diner, and the experience had soured his view of...well, other people for near decades.

Now, though, he’d burn his own research dozens of times over before he’d even consider eating alone.

Stan’s chair scraping across the floor as he stands pops Ford out of his bubble of serenity. 

“Now that that’s taken care of,” Stan cracks his knuckles, smiling mischievously at Dipper and Mabel. “I think I remember a couple of kiddos finally promising their Grunkle Stan he could take them fishing”

“Promise is a strong word-” Dipper starts as he stands to place his plate in the sink, but Stan’s already placing a fishing hat on his head before he can finish his sentence. 

“Course you did! You wanna take our baby for a joyride, you gotta earn it first”

Dipper turns to Ford, like he’s expecting him to back him up.

Ford chuckles. “I don’t know, Dipper. That sounds perfectly reasonable to me”.

Dipper scoffs, sitting back down at the table. Mabel laughs. 

“Aww, C’mon, Dipper! Aren’t you all about the supernatural? For all we know, Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford could be harboring magical glowing bait that only attracts, like, magical talking fish men, or something!” 

Dipper raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t you just receive a bottle message from Mermando last week?”

“Exactly!” Mabel flashes a grin. “That must mean that he’s in the area!”

Stan laughs. “You tellin’ me you only agreed to go fishing so you could kiss and make-up with your long-distance fish boyfriend?”

“Grunkle Stan, what kind of person do you take me for?” she gasps. “He’s married! You know I would never want to break apart such a loving couple!”

Ford’s smile only warms. Where else could he partake in such a conversation that doesn’t turn heads and result in judgmental whispers? Where else can he just be like this, surrounded by loved ones who are just as weird, just as out of the ordinary as himself? In his younger years he thought for sure his place would be among the monsters and cryptids everyone in his childhood made him out to be, but even in the weirdness capital of the country he felt more alone than ever. 

“...Don’t think you’re immune, Sixer” Stan’s voice cuts into his thoughts, and before Ford can ask what he means Stan is smacking a homemade fishing cap on his head. “It may ruin your badass image when we’re monster hunting, or whatever, but we’re fishing with the kids.” Stan gestures to them with his thumb. They’re already outside, leaning over the railing to look out at the water in a perfect mirror of each other.  “If they have to embarrass themselves by humoring me for a few hours, so do you” 

Ford waits for Stan to join the kids outside before he takes his hat off to admire the stitch work. It’s not perfect, and nowhere near the fancy embroidery he and Stan have found in various markets across their world travels. But it’s personalized, and Ford knows it comes from a place in Stan’s mind that’s been stuck behind lock and key since he was seventeen.

Ford runs his hands along each individual letter, which reads POINDEXTER, before placing it back on his head to join the others outside. 

Stan has, miraculously, already pulled out his joke book. Stan’s laughing too hard at his own joke for Ford to really make out what the punchline is, but the younger twins’ collective groans is all he needs to know about it. When Mabel notices him stepping out of the doorway, though, her expression shifts entirely. 

“So…” she draws out, stepping towards him. “Is there a trick for attracting merpeople to your boat? I mean, asides from being super cute, obviously” 

Ford chuckles, taking a glance behind her to make sure that Stan is out of earshot. “Stan’ll kill me if I tell you this, but they’re really attracted towards shiny things. If you tied one of his gold necklaces around a fishing pole and dangled it into the water, the boat’ll be surrounded in minutes” 

Mabel offers up her pinkie finger. “I won’t tell him if you won’t”

Ford interlocks his pinkie with hers, smiling. “I think he’ll notice when a whole family of merpeople show up”

“Hmmm…” Mabel taps at her chin with her free hand, visibly mouthing a plan to herself. “Oh! I know! Come with me,” she beams, and before Ford can even open his mouth to respond she’s already dragging him back into the kitchen. She kneels down on the floor and opens the cupboard below the sink. “Got any empty bottles I can use?”

Ford blinks. “Empty....bottles”

“Yeah!” Mabel pulls a neatly folded piece of paper out of her skirt. “If I can send out my response letter the same time we throw Stan’s necklace over, he’ll never be able to tell the difference!”

“Wait, wait” Ford shakes his head. “You really are dating a merperson?”

“Listening skills, Grunkle Ford” she taps at her forehead, folding the letter back into her pocket as she continues to dig through the cupboards. “Used to date. We met at the Gravity Falls Public Pool, where he was stuck, but then I drove him to the lake in a golf cart I stole from the pool grounds because he really missed his family, and then he was my first kiss, and then we were in a long-distance relationship for like, two months, and I kept every single bottle he sent me, but then we had to break up because he was arranged to marry to prevent a big undersea war.” She picks up a bottle, shakes it, and puts it back when it’s too full for her liking. “I know it sounds, like, super complicated, but it’s all okay, because we’re still pen pals!” 

Ford laughs, shaking his head. “No, Mabel, I had to ask because I, uh…” his cheeks warm, and he clears his throat. “Before I...came to term with my orientation, I...dated a merperson too” 

The bottles in the cupboard rattle as Mabel’s head smacks against the doorframe. She’s rubbing the spot where her head hit, but there are stars in her eyes. “Really?” 

Ford’s cheeks burn even hotter. “Yes,” he whispers, and takes a knee so he can get at her eye level. “Technically he was a siren, but yes, we dated for about a month. He promised me he wouldn’t entice anyone else while we were together, but I guess there wasn’t anything...there.” He turns to help her shuffle through the cupboard, and finds a near-empty bottle of olive oil that’s definitely been sitting down there for at least a year. He hands it off to Mabel, smiling. “I’m glad that things worked out with you, though” 

To his surprise, Mabel drops the bottle and throws her arms around him in a hug. “I can’t wait to introduce you! He’s gonna love you”

Ford huffs a quiet laugh, and pulls her close as he winds his arms around her as well. The hug only lasts for a few brief moments, but it feels to Ford in those moments that time itself had stopped. Mabel stands, taking the bottle in one hand and offering to help Ford up in her other. 

Mabel places the bottle in the sink and turns the water on to rinse it out before she turns back towards Ford, stretching her arms up in the air as if she were warming up for an exercise. “Alright, here’s the plan. You tell me where Grunkle Stan keeps all of his jewelry, and I’ll sneak in and take his necklace while you distract him. Got it?”

Ford smiles. “Got it”.

As Mabel splits away for Stan’s bedroom, Ford heads back out to the deck. Dipper’s leaning over the side of the boat pointing at something jumping out of the water, rambling excitedly to Stan beside him. He’s holding his fishing hat in his hand to stop it from blowing into the water, and his hair is bouncing in the breeze. It’s just enough for the edge of his birthmark to poke through his bangs, and even in broad daylight it seems to be emitting a faint glow.

“I found it!” Mabel cheers, bounding up from behind him. She’s wearing the chain around her neck, and for some reason the gold seems much dimmer in contrast to her sweater. She takes it off and hands it to him. “You wanna do the honors while I go and throw this overboard?”

Ford smiles, ruffling her hair. “Sure thing.” He walks over to where Stan and Dipper are chatting and picks up one of the extra fishing rods. Making sure that Stan’s too engrossed with his conversation to notice, Ford starts wrapping the chain along the line, and at the signal from Mabel, he tosses his line as far from the boat as he can manage.

Five minutes pass before Mabel squeals so loud that Ford’s afraid his glasses might shatter. He reaches for the gun he knows he’s got stashed in his pants pocket, but when he turns to run to her aid she’s leaning halfway over the boat wrapping her arms around a young merman in a tight hug.

“...so good to see you again!” She’s beaming. “I didn’t think you’d be able to find us so quickly!”

“Yes, well, you were easy to track down after we figured out the coordinates to the seaport” the young man says in a thick Spanish accent. “It is good to see you too! My family was so excited to meet you”

“Your family?” she gasps. “Did they all come with you?” 

“Of course!” he grins. “We merpeople are very family oriented. Wherever we go, we go together” 

Ford winces at the uncanny familiarity of the statement. Mabel must recognize the statement too, because she responds with “Oh, that reminds me! There’s someone I want you guys to meet! Wait right here,” she says, and comes bouncing back over to Ford. Taking his hand in her own, she starts to drag him back to where she’d just been leaning. “C’mon! He’s the one I was just talking about!”

Three more merpeople emerge from the water when she gently knocks on the side of the boat again. “Grunkle Ford, this is Mermando!” she grins, gesturing to the young merman she’d just been conversing with. “He’s the one I helped reunite with his family after they were separated by tragic circumstances.” She wraps her arms around Ford in a side-hug. “Mermando, this is my Grunkle Ford! He was also separated from his family by tragic circumstances, but I helped with that too!” 

Mermando laughs. “Even when you think it’s the end, family always finds its way, doesn’t it?”

Ford laughs, shaking his hand. “It always seems that way to me”

“Awwww!” Mabel squeals. “I knew you’d get along!” She grins, and turns her attention back towards Mermando. “Before I forget, though, did you see where Grunkle Ford threw that gold necklace? If I don’t get it back my Grunkle Stan’s gonna kill me”

Mermando laughs again. “I was wondering if that belonged to any of you!” He takes off his shell necklace to reveal that he’d put Stan’s necklace on around his neck. He takes that off, too, and offers it to Ford. “I much prefer this one, anyway” he clicks his shell necklace open, revealing it to be a locket with a picture of his family inside.

Ford takes the gold necklace back, and he means to thank him, but a bell ringing from elsewhere in the port interrupts him before he can open his mouth. Mermando turns to Mabel, taking her hands in his own. “We must go. I’m so sorry we have to leave so soon, but we merpeople recognize the sounds of fishing boats very easily. We’ll try to come back later this week” He opens his arms for her once more, and Mabel wraps his arms around him in a quick hug before she watches him and his family swim away. 

“I am so glad that all you were doing was hugging,” Dipper shudders as he and Stan approach Ford and Mabel. “I’m not sure my stomach could handle witnessing you two kissing a second time” 

“Awww,” Mabel punches him playfully in the shoulder. “You’re just jealous that I had a boyfriend before you did!” 

Dipper cringes. “If you having a boyfriend before I do means I didn’t have to be the one dating a fish, then I’m glad you were the one who got stuck with him first” He punches her back, and gestures at Stan over his shoulder with his thumb. “But anyways, I came over here because Grunkle Stan says he wants to get out on the open water before everyone else gets the idea, or something”.

Ford pockets Stan’s necklace and makes a mental note to put it away sometime later tonight when Stan is too distracted to notice. “Tell Stan I’m going to untie the rope from the edge of the dock, and when he sees me back on board we’re all set to go.”

Nodding, Dipper bounds off towards the navigation room where Stan must be waiting, and Ford steps off of the boat to take care of everything else. On the way to the bow, he traces a hand along the white painted STAN O’ WAR II, and a feeling of warmth sprouts in his chest. Once back on board, he waves to Stan as he passes besides the navigation room once more, and takes a seat on one of the beach chairs they liked to keep aboard. 

Most days, Ford prefers to be the one at the wheel. But every once in a while he just wants to be. All he wants to do is lean back in one of their beach chairs and let the sun warm his face. It’s a good kind of warm, the same way spending time with the kids and heavy rain hitting his bedroom window and planning new escapades with Stan feel warm. After so, so long of only knowing unbearable burns, it feels indescribable to have a constant back in his life that heals, rather than hurts. 

“Mind if we join you?” Dipper asks, and Ford glances over to see both of the young twins dragging a chair behind them.

Speaking of healing constants.

“Sure,” Ford says, and can’t help the warmth spilling through his tone. They pull their chairs up on either side of him, and curl up to enjoy the warm breeze. Dipper places his hat on his lap to let the wind blow through his hair, and Mabel stretches her arms out behind her head to act as her own pillow. Ford chuckles silently at the pair, and closes his eyes to let himself relax.

All is quiet when Stan finally finds them a spot out on the open water without a single other boat in sight. The water is nearly still, save for the occasional small wave that gently sways the boat. The sun is at its afternoon high, turning the water beautiful shades of teal and aqua. Fishing is tedious, but it’s careful work, and gives Ford something to put all of his focus into. Two whole hours pass before any of them catch a thing, and Stan laughs himself to tears when it’s Dipper who pulls up a single sardine. 

Typically Ford prefers much more immersive activities, but right now there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. The sun is starting to set before they realize they aren’t going to have much luck catching anything, and instead decide to take the boat for another ride around the harbor to look for a better place to eventually watch the stars. 

“...Great Uncle Ford?” Dipper approaches him shyly once they’ve anchored the boat.

“Yes?”

He tugs shyly at the edge of his sweater. “I…” he starts. “I know you’ve told me that the multiverse was dangerous, and all, but...was there ever anything you enjoyed about it?” He pauses. “What were the sunsets like?”

Ford chuckles, patting at the seat beside him, and Dipper’s eyes light up as he sits down.

“You’re right,” Ford starts, folding his hands together. “I wouldn’t wish what I went through on even my worst enemies, Dipper. It was practically impossible to get any decent amount of sleep and even harder to find food digestible by human kind. I lost some of my best years to the multiverse when I could’ve gone on to become the most renowned scientist in the world.” Ford turns his gaze away from the sun setting on the horizon to meet Dipper’s eyes, but he’s frowning, eyes cast downwards towards the deck of the ship.

“But,” Ford adds before the poor kid can get too lost in his own head, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It definitely had its perks.” He smiles. “The sun in Dimension 18.2 would emit a sound that mimicked a lullaby every night as it set. Dimension 47’23 had three moons that would shift phases before your very eyes. I haven’t told Mabel because I’m afraid she’ll try activating a portal of her own and run away, but in Dimension 25-12, everyone and everything looks like a watercolor painting. There’s danger in the multiverse, but there’s beauty in equal measure”

“Do you ever miss it?” Dipper fiddles with his hands, like he’s trying real hard not to say the wrong thing. “I mean, I know you don’t miss being lost, or having no idea if you’re ever going to see home again, but...is there any dimension...where you could’ve seen yourself staying, if you thought you couldn’t make it back?” 

Ford shifts in his chair so he doesn’t have to twist his neck so much to look directly at his nephew. “Occasionally,” he muses. “I met the most friendly faces in Dimension 52, so my mind does tend to wander there from time to time” he smiles. “But rest assured, there is something in this dimension that makes it my favorite”

“Oh yeah?” Dipper’s eyes light up. “Over every other dimension you’ve passed through? What is it?”

Ford gently nudges Dipper’s shoulder. “You and your sister”

Dipper’s cheeks turn bright red, and he looks as though he’s struggling not to bury his face into the collar of his sweater and disappear. “Really?” his voice squeaks.

Ford nods. “Everything I had in those other dimensions were fleeting, Dipper. At a moment’s notice everything I grew to love could disappear in the blink of an eye. The very thing happened to me in Dimension 52. When I fell asleep, I woke up in a new dimension I didn’t recognize. Things may have been more advanced, and there may have been dimensions crafted to give you your greatest desires, but in the end nothing ever lasted.” 

Now it’s Ford’s turn to divert Dipper’s eyes, gaze casting towards the floor. “Stan was cut from my life completely in the dimension that claimed to be a perfect world. I had nobody. Even in dimensions that actively worked towards my happiness, I was all alone” Ford shakes his head, and turns his gaze once more out on the horizon. The sun is still touching the horizon, but it’s dipped just low enough that some of the stars are beginning to show in the sky. 

“But...here, at home, everything is consistent. I don’t have to worry about waking up in the morning to find that everyone I love is gone. I can keep everyone in arm’s lengths, even when Stan and I can only communicate with you and your sister over a video call. I’m…” Ford gently squeezes his hands to reassure himself that this is real and now. “...happy. Happier than I’ve been in decades” 

Beside him, Dipper yawns, and when Ford spares a glance over at him he’s smiling at him sleepily.  “We’re really happy you’re here too, Grunkle Ford” he murmurs, and his eyes slip closed. Ford’s cheeks flush pink, and he has to choke back a laugh because that’s one of the first times Dipper’s felt comfortable enough to call him Grunkle. 

Ford stands, so as not to wake Dipper from his nap. A small glance to his right and he catches a glimpse of Stan and Mabel leaning against the side of the boat watching the sunset just outside of earshot of his current conversation with Dipper.

“You finally bore him to sleep with all your nerdy science talk?” Stan asks as he approaches, sparing a glance behind him at Dipper. “Was starting to think that the poor kid would never get a nap in” 

“Yes, well,” Ford smirks. “I’m sure it helped plenty that you bored him to death by taking him fishing first”

Stan gasps in mock offense, and slugs him in the shoulder. “Hey, at least I’m engaging them in something they can actually interact with, unlike your kooky alien stories, or whatever”

Ford can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “Bold statement coming from the man who dedicated thirty years of his life rescuing me from said kooky aliens” he says, returning with a punch of his own. Stan opens his mouth to argue back, realizes he has nothing to say, and closes his mouth. The sight of it makes Ford laugh even harder, keeling over and slapping a hand on Stan’s shoulder to support himself. It must be contagious, because it’s not long before Stan is laughing too.

Ford removes his glasses to wipe the tears from his eyes, and cleans off the lenses with the edge of his sweater. Once his eyes adjust after he puts them back on, his throat nearly catches in his throat when he glances back out towards the water. He’s just able to catch a shooting star before it disappears over the horizon, and the boat’s just far out enough on the water that there isn’t an ounce of light pollution obscuring the rest of the stars in the sky.  He takes a few steps back so he can look up and admire more of them at once, and if he looks close enough he can see them twinkling. 

Before he can ask the others if they’re seeing the same thing, a bright flash of light coming from somewhere on the boat cuts into his thoughts. He turns, to make sure that none of the lights in any of the rooms are on, but no, they’d turned those off when they’d started fishing. Scratching at his head, he turns to Stan and Mabel to ask if they have any idea where the light is coming from, but that question catches in its throat as quickly as it formulated.

They’re the ones emitting light.

Or, rather, Mabel’s sweater and Stan’s shoulder, approximately where his burn scar should be. Those are emitting light. 

...Surely it must just be the reflection of the starlight on the water, right? That same bright light must have woken Dipper from his nap, yes? 

He turns heel to ask Dipper the same question, but freezes in his tracks before he can take a single step forward. Dipper’s forehead is glowing too, the same way it has since he and Stan docked the boat this morning. 

It...It can’t be, can it?

Gripping his forehead, Ford takes a number of steps backwards until his back hits the wall. Maybe...maybe he just needs to call it a night. He’s been awake since sunrise, maybe his vision is just blurring because he needs to lie down? 

He waves his hands in front of his face, but no, those don’t look any different. He squints, to make sure his hands aren’t shaking, but no, they’re perfectly still.

He squints at Stan and Mabel, just to try and see if his eyes are watering, and-

He gasps. 

Mabel’s sweater, Dipper’s forehead, Stan’s shoulder; they’re not glowing; they’re twinkling like the stars. It was hard to tell in broad daylight, but now that they’re surrounded by a thousand shining stars, the resemblance is unmistakable. 

But...that’s not possible. If he can see them twinkling, but none of them have said anything about it, that could only be if those were…

...soulmarks. 

Ford suddenly feels like he’s going to pass out. 

He slides to the floor.

Is...Is that even possible? Ford thought for sure that study he read years ago was nothing but a joke. Someone...who does everything in their power to bring you two together, no matter the cost? Someone who, even though you may not meet for decades, will feel as though you’ve known each other their entire lives? Someone who will do anything for you, no matter the personal expense?

Someone...someone like Stan, who spent a painstaking thirty years teaching himself quantum physics to rescue someone that anyone else would assume dead? The man who sacrificed his very mind, his very life, so he could be spared physical torture?

Or...someone like Mabel, the first friendly face he saw after emerging from the portal? The one who forgave him so easily after he tried to separate her from her brother? The one who insists on calling him a good person, despite all of those he knows he hurt? 

Or...Dipper? His kindred spirit in all things supernatural? The one who, alongside his sister, sacrificed himself as bait for the most dangerous being in the entire multiverse? Who saw memories of him at his very worst, and apologized to him for snooping?

After everything he’s been through...could things really work out that well in his favor? To not have one soulmate but three, and the guarantee that they’ll never leave, because they’ve already expressed how they love him so? 

There’s a tear streaming down his cheek at the thought, but he’s too distracted by a fourth light suddenly emitting from...himself to really notice.

He spares a cautious glance downward, and notices a pulsing light emerging from his chest in perfect time with his heartbeat. If he looks closely, he notices that the light travels down his arms and ties itself into a translucent bow around his fingers. If he looks closer still, the light looks as though it’s slinking faintly across the deck of the boat and reaching towards the gentle twinkling of Stan and Mabel’s marks.

Ford places a hand to his forehead, throws his head back, and laughs his throat dry, paying no mind to the tears pouring down his face.

[alicedopey]

Third Birthday’s A Charm

Fandom: Vikings

Pairing: Halfdan x OC (Gaby)

Genre: Modern AU, Romance, Smut-ish

Words: 1794

Warnings: Well, there is a little bit of smut.

Summary: Gaby is not the only one who can make a wish for her birthday.

A/N: This is a birthday gift for my other half, @naaladareia​  Honey, you are such a kind-hearted and caring person, always there to listen. I wish you the best for your very special day. I love you.

A/N 2: This is the continuation of a little series so if you are interested in reading the first two installments: Part I - Part II

Halfdan woke up at the sound of something crashing on the ground followed by a loud gasp. He groaned and rolled on the side. The floor under his body was different from was he was used to. He blinked a few times and opened his eyes to close them back instantly. There was definitely too much sun here.

“What..what are you doing here?” A feminine voice stuttered.

It was something distant and yet, very familiar. His eyes opened again and abruptly sat up on the floor. He remembered where he was by now – or rather, when he was.

He looked up at the woman who had been in his thoughts for a while. Her jaw was opened, her eyes wide, her hair slightly disheveled and she was wearing some large loose shirt which let her legs show. He smirked.

“Hello!” He rasped.

She seemed to process his word and finally greeted him back. She bent down to gather the broken pieces of the weirdly bright colored pot she had certainly been holding in her hands before dropping it when she spotted him. She left for a few seconds and came back with a wet cloth to wash the liquid that was spilled on her odd floor. When she was done, she gave him a shy look.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what are you doing here? How did you come?”

Halfdan smiled and stood up. “Don’t you celebrate the day you were born today? I thought it was a pattern for us to meet on that special occasion.”

“Maybe…I did not make any wish this time, though.”

“You have your ways, I have mine”. He answered in an enigmatic tone but she was still curious.

“Magic, I guess?”

He nodded. “Of some sort.”

“Why are you here?” She asked, extremely confused.

He approached her, extending a hand to play with a strand of her hair. He scrutinized her face since he did not have to pleasure to do so during the former two times they had met. It seemed so soft and spotless, quite different from the women he knew. It was also very inviting so his hand let go of her hair to run along her cheek.

“I have to admit I was highly suspicious of you at first but when you mentioned something about your birthday wish, I figured the Gods wants us to meet. It was fate.”

She put her hand on his, he got closer as he kept explaining himself. “I went to the Seer who told me my adventurous destiny was waiting for me much further than I thought. It was not the first time he said those words but I always thought I was made to discover every new land until I had reached my destination. Now, I understand what he was meaning.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you saying you are here to stay?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “That’s up to the Gods and their mysterious ways. We should enjoy it while we can.”

He pecked her lips. “You got any food? I’m starving.”

                                        ¤     ¤

Gaby filled the dishwasher while Halfdan was relaxing on her couch after stuffing his face with the brunch she had prepared: eggs, ham, cheese, potatoes with juice, coffee and tea, that he happened to like more.

She could not help pinching her skin again. Having a Viking in her home could not possibly be true and yet, here he was…and maybe for a long time. It would take a while for him to adjust since he was watching every object around him suspiciously but he was an adventurer so she was certain he would manage in the end.

“What are the plans for today?”

His voice almost made her jump. She had not heard him at all, too lost in her thoughts.

“Nothing special.” She replied. “A nice bath to relax, I’ll probably bake some birthday cake and then I’ll cook some pasta dish for dinner.”

“No big celebration? Nobody is coming here?”

“It is…quite difficult nowadays. To make a long story short, there is some kind of plague going on. We can’t really visit each other and all the places when where we can eat and drink are closed, as well as cinemas or museum.”

He frowned. “What are those?”

“Places to have some fun.” She did not really want to get into the details since she was not ever sure he would go there once. “I could offer you to go outside but we will have to wear a mask.”

Halfdan let out a disgusted sound when she pointed at the numerous masks lying on her cupboard. “No, thank you. I might be up for a bath, though. Shall we?”

“Together?” She squeaked in spite of herself.

“Well, of course”. He eyed her up and down. “Besides it’s not like I have not seen it all before.”

Gaby felt herself blushing like an innocent teenage girl even though the idea of sharing a bath with him was very tempting.

She led Halfdan to her bathroom where he looked everywhere with wide eyes. It gave her time to prepare the bath, adding some lavender bubble bath and relaxing oil. She turned off the water when there was enough and looked at him shyly again. “Bath is ready.”

Halfdan started at the foam suspiciously before getting undressed, and dipped in. Gaby did the same, trying to ignore the fact that he was ogling her shamelessly. The water had a relaxing effect on her and she leaned back against the tub. On the opposite side, Hafldan mimicked her actions.

“Relaxing, isn’t it?”

“It is…how long do we have to stay here?”

Gaby laughed. “Impatient, are we?”

“I’m just not used to laziness, that’s all.” He bit back teasingly.

She threw some water at him playfully. Halfdan suddenly leaned forwards and pulled her against him. She immediately felt his hardness. Her breath hitched as his hand travelled down her back, her ass and her thigh that he grabbed to make her straddle him. He slid into her with a deep sigh. Gaby’s head tilted backwards in pleasure.

“I guess I could get used to this type of laziness.” He rasped before moving in and out of her.

Gaby gripped his shoulders to steady herself and meet his thrusts. The water splashed gently against the tub and soon, only the sound of their lovemaking could be heard.

                                         ¤     ¤

After their steamy sexual encounter, they got out of the tub. Gaby gave Halfdan more comfortable clothes that her ex-boyfriend had left in her apartment. It was really confusing to see him wearing some pants and a tee-shirt with his warrior demeanor. It was also very charming if she was honest with herself.

Later, he helped her bake her chocolate birthday cake – well, more like created a mess in her kitchen – but they had fun. Gaby was happy to fall into some sort of domestic life with him. It had been a long time and it felt nice to have someone around her during those very particular times.

Halfdan talked to her about some of his travels and raids. She winced at some of the most gruesome details but enjoyed every word. After all, it was as if she was watching a live documentary about Vikings. Only, it was better than television, better than the show she had enjoyed watching so much. To her surprise, Halfdan was a great story teller, very passionate and entertaining. He was answering all of her questions, pleased to see she was interested in everything he had to tell.

Dinner time came quickly. Halfdan devoured the pasta Gaby had prepared and then watched her blow the candles on her birthday cake.

“What did you wish for this time?”

She smiled. “It will not come true if I tell you.”

He rolled his eyes at her answer. A playful smile suddenly curved his lips upwards. “I am here. What more could you ask for?”

It was her turn to roll her eyes at his cockiness. “Of course. Still, I will not tell you my wish, you sexy murderous Viking.”

His smile widened. “You like calling me that, don’t you? I remember you saying it last time.”

“You remember too many things.” She mumbled under her breath.

Halfdan chuckled. “My brother keeps telling me that.”

Gaby suddenly frowned, thinking of Harald. “Does he know you are here?”

“I told him everything, of course.”

“And he let you leave?” From what she knew of Harald, he was quite possessive when his brother was concerned.

“My brother has his own destiny and I have mine.” He smiled. “To be truthful, he was more inclined to let me leave because he knew it was about a woman. Helpless romantic! I only hope none of them will try and kill him while I’m gone, no matter how long it is.”

Gaby felt a slight pang in her chest when he reminded her that there was a slight chance for him to disappear one day, just as fast as he had arrived. Halfdan sensed her sudden mood change and rose up from his chair to join her. He made her stand up before attacking her lips with a kiss that left them both breathless. They exchanged a lustful gaze.

“Why don’t you show me how sexy you think I am in that oddly over comfortable bed of yours?”

How could she say no to such a proposition?

First, she cleaned up everything while Halfdan was trying to get familiar with his new surroundings and was purposely avoiding the television, a television that he had almost destroyed when she had turned it on to show him what it was. He would definitely need more time with new technology.

When she was done, the two of them went to bed where they had sex and talked some more about Halfdan’s adventures. He held her in his arms. Gaby was happy to have spent another special and eventful birthday for the third time but also worried that there was a possibility he might not be here tomorrow when she would wake up.

Before falling asleep though, she remembered Halfdan’s earlier words. We should enjoy it while we can. He was right. For the moment he was there with her, maybe for a day or maybe for ten years but either way, they seemed to share some special bond as if their destinies were linked. It meant that no matter what happened, they would always find each other again.

Tagging (please tell me if you want to be added or removed): @naaladareia​ @flowers-in-your-hayr​ @gearhead66​ @therealcalicali​ @tephi101​ @ivarswickedqueen​ @akamaiden​ @peaceisadirtyword​ @captstefanbrandt​ @mblaqgi​ @medievalfangirl​

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Winter Whumperland Day 11: Vows

Summary: Written for Winter Whumperland Day 11. Set in a Modern AU, follows up on Day 10 'Ruin'. During the months after his son's disappearance, Stoick has trouble coping and finds himself lost in memories.

Warning: /

Rating: Teen and up

Characters: Stoick, Gobber, Valka, Hiccup, Fishlegs, Dagur, Astrid, Heather, Snotlout, Ruffnut, Tuffnut

Pairing: Past-Hiccstrid

Words: 4 006

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “Falling Through Ice”

Whumpee: Hiccup, Stoick, Gobber, Valka

Author’s Notes: Okay, so believe it or not, I did finish this one waaay back in December. But I didn't want to post it until I finished Day 12, which then turned out to be so long I needed to divide it into two parts. Day 12 part 2 still isn't finished yet, but after much too long, I did finally have the energy to get through proofreading this one.

So there you have it, here's Day 11 at long last!

Constructive criticism is appreciated.

Enjoy!

Ao3

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It’s through a call in the late morning that Stoick received the news. He was sleeping in for once, something he rarely does as he enjoys waking up early in the morning to get the most work out of a day.

That day, he slept in and it was the ringtone of the smartphone Hiccup made him get that woke him up. He grabbed it and sat up before he answered tiredly.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Haddock, sir?” He recognized the voice as belonging to that of Astrid Hofferson, his son’s girlfriend.

“Yes, lass?” He rubbed in his heavy eyes. How did sleeping in longer make him more than waking up with the sun did?

“We think something’s happened with Hiccup. We think he’s missing.”

It was news Stoick never thought he would ever get to hear and he would’ve thought it a prank, if it wasn’t for the tremble in the girl’s voice. Astrid has always seemed tough to him and a terrible liar, like Hiccup. That was genuine emotion in her tone.

That was how he found out his son was missing.

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In the beginning, there was a fire driving Stoick forwards.

When his son���s friends called to tell him that they hadn’t seen or heard from Hiccup in a worryingly amount of time when he should’ve been taking his dragon home, Stoick was quick to come over.

He met with the five and the dragon, the one Hiccup was supposed to return to the sanctuary he had escaped from just to see his human companion.

He’d gotten their stories in person, spent another couple of hours trying to reach Hiccup, then searched the places he could’ve possibly gone to, even visiting Gobber and calling Valka, neither of which had seen a sign of him either. After a whole night wasted on trying to reach him, Stoick finally went to the police.

The friends had to do their story again, they were taken seriously, Stoick provided with a description and a picture, it was on the news, posters were printed and posted, it was a whole process, but they were fired up and stubborn in bringing him home.

Then days passed with no real news, then weeks, and then months of nothing. Nothing but sick minds who get some sort of kick out prank calling a worried father and grieving friends and girlfriend.

Stoick went out there himself to search for his son. The coffee shop he worked at, his street, the neighboring streets, he searched the entire city for just a single sign of Hiccup. And if he thought the police wasn’t doing enough, he’d hound them into doing more.

In the beginning, there was no short supply of spirit in his desire to find Hiccup, but now it’s been months and he feels like he’s already running on fumes.

He’s not going to stop, he’s never going to stop, but there are days where he can only sit on the couch in a darkened room and nothing more.

It doesn’t help that the holidays are fast approaching and all they do now is add to his sour mood. If Hiccup isn’t found soon, this’ll be his first without his son and that does not sit well with Stoick at all.

But anyway, Gobber is here, too.

“You know, Stoick, you scowl any more, you’re going to scare even me away.” Gobber jokes with him, attempting to lighten the mood with a light joke. The two have been silently and mindlessly watching whatever crosses their way, hoping to chase away any and all thought as they bring them both nothing but pain.

Gobber is heartbroken, too, jokes and faith in their son’s stubbornness used to help him cling to the hope that they’ll see him again.

At first, it was the hope that they’ll see him again soon, nowadays it’s the hope that they’ll see him again someday, whether dead or alive. Because Gobber isn’t a fool, he knows the first few days are very crucial in a missing person’s case, especially the first 24 hours. Isn’t that what those cop shows always claim? Hiccup has already been gone for months.

He wasn’t able to do much in the beginning. When it came to searching for Hiccup out there on the street and surrounding forests, he was only able to come along for so much with a leg and an arm missing. But with jokes, by talking with Stoick, or just keeping him company, he can help the man be less alone in his suffering.

Stoick hasn’t left the house in days, has stopped returning Valka’s call, and Gobber thinks that’s an alarming thing. The last thing his friend needs is to cut himself off from his family and Hiccup’s friends.

Taking his glare off the tv, which he isn’t paying attention to, anyway, Stoick instead scowls at Gobber.

“Do you truly think that I am in the mood for jokes, Gobber?” He asks, not all that happy to deal with Gobber’s attempt at humor, to say the least.

“Only for tasteful ones!” Gobber replies, his cheer still very much intact. Or that’s what he wants Stoick and those friends of Hiccup’s to believe.

Wordlessly, Stoick looks back at the tv. Apparently, they’ve been watching a channel about DIYs, a chair is being constructed in the current program. He hadn’t even noticed before.

Gobber sighs and looks back at the tv, the living room bathing in darkness except for the light from the screen. Once upon a time, he could at least annoy Stoick into interacting with him, now he can’t even accomplish that anymore.

And if he can’t reach Stoick… Well, it does little good for his own mental health.

Though usually a man that likes a clean house, Stoick has really been letting the place go as there are dishes and cans and filth everywhere. Not that Gobber can fault him for that as his own housekeeping isn’t what it used to be, though it’s always been on the messy side.

Stoick hadn’t wanted to see him either, further backing up his worries that his friend is isolating himself from the outside world. It’s only because Gobber insisted by pushing right past him and forced his way into the home that he isn’t alone now.

Gazing at the silent man, he wonders what he’s thinking now.

Stoick is thinking of Hiccup, for sure, he always is these past months. He shuts himself off to avoid the media, to avoid people who will recognize him from the tireless interviews, to avoid being bothered, running into Astrid or any of her and Hiccup’s friends, or coming across any reminders of his son. Gobber guesses those are the reasons that Stoick no longer goes outside and he only wishes the other would let him in.

Gobber’s assumption couldn’t be more right. In his attempt to hide and stop his endless thoughts and worrying, all Stoick does is think and fret and tear himself apart for his failure.

As a father, he’s supposed to protect his child, that has been his duty from the day he and Valka decided to expand their family. He followed through on this while Valka was pregnant with their son, he held him as soon as he could after birth and promised him that he wouldn’t know a single day of strive, and he tried and tried every single day of the boy’s short lived life to make it come true.

Now look where his incompetence has left him, left Hiccup.

And before this, there were at least two more times when he felt, and was, absolutely useless.

The second time was when a dragon attacked his son, scarred his back, and mangled his leg so badly it had to be taken.

The very first, it was during a snowy winter when his son was 12-years-old and that is the particular moment he’s thinking of now.

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“Be careful!” He remembers warning his son that cold afternoon as his friends had come to ask him outside to play, which is slowly devolving into “hanging out” as they age. Not a bad idea, Valka had convinced him and she was still his wife at the time.

Hiccup was a young boy with plenty of friends, he should make use of his childhood while he still can before the inevitable responsibilities of life will whisk him away. He should enjoy himself, that is what Valka said to convince him to let Hiccup outside.

Back then, Oswald, a good friend of Stoick’s, was still alive. Back then, Dagur was still a good boy and Heather was a young girl full of life, who didn’t need to struggle to make ends meet following the loss of her father and her brother’s troubles.

But Stoick knew there was something off about the boy from the beginning. Dagur was too reckless for his tastes, always seeking trouble in some way, never listening to his father. That day, it was Hiccup he dragged down with him.

It was Fishlegs who suddenly stood on his front porch, twiddling his thumbs uncertainly and timidly staring at the ground. Apparently, Astrid had sent him, as Stoick would later find out. She’s always been a smart girl, a girl who doesn’t like to break rules and listens to her parents.

“Um, Mr. Haddock, sir? I think Hiccup’s about to get in a lot of trouble.” For any kid at any age, tattling on your friends never feels good and it doesn’t help that Stoick is so big and scary. The 11-year-old never understood how Hiccup was never scared of him. But Astrid had made him go while she stayed, believing she needed to keep an eye on what she thought was a situation about to get really out of hand.

Tearing their coats off the rack, he and Valka left quickly, the boy guiding them towards the local lake in a forest just outside of town.

They would find that Dagur was the biggest troublemaker in this situation. A much older boy, he’d followed his sister when she left with Astrid.

“Come on, Hiccup! You’re not scared like they are, are you? Get over here!” That was unmistakably young Dagur’s voice that they heard as they approached the lake. Whatever he was hounding their son to do, it couldn’t be anything good.

“Hiccup!” Stoick called out to him the second he spotted him, seeing his small frame on a frozen lake nobody has cleared for use yet and there he was.

Dagurr stood in the middle of it, arms crossed and an impatient look on his face. That is, until he saw the angry and mountainous dad of his target at the banks of the lake together with Hiccup’s mom. And suddenly, he felt like fleeing, having been caught red-handed.

“Mo-Mom? Dad?” Hiccup looked back at his parents, his face and posture betraying that his position isn’t one he put himself in as willingly as it first appeared.

Dagur had been bullying the younger kids, daring them into getting on the ice like he dared to. Kids don’t like to be challenged this way, they don’t like to be made to feel like they can’t do something, like they’re afraid and being afraid makes them a coward. Nobody wants to be seen as anything but brave. But Hiccup, he merely wanted to “prove himself” to end this charade and convince him to get off.

Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Snotlout, Astrid, and Heather, too, looked uncomfortable with the situation. They knew it was bad, even the first three who are troublemakers themselves.

“Hiccup, come on! Come back!” Astrid shouted towards him, but he was too stubborn to leave, still waiting on Dagur to get off the ice first.

He wasn’t ready to give up on him yet, not even with his own well-being on the line. He cared too much about others, he has always cared too much. Three years in the future, it might contribute to Dagur’s future obsession with him. His mother has left him, his father would, too, then, but Hiccup hadn’t.

Looking away from his terrified parents to gaze back at Dagur again, he shuffles ever closer while trembling in fright. He can hear and feel the lake cracking in warning beneath his feet.

“Dagur, I’m-I’m-I’m here-I’m here now, can we-can we go back?” He asked with a tremble and tears of stress in his eyes. He wanted to go back so badly, but he refused to go alone.

“Um-” The older boy’s bravado from before was entirely gone, his gaze moved from Hiccup to his father nervously.

“Yes, you two can! And you better come back quickly! Dagur, your father will hear of this!” Stoick couldn’t hear the ice straining, but that didn’t make him any less urged to get those two boys on solid ground.

“Dagur!” Heather shouts, sniffing.

“Dagur, please, you’re only putting yourself in danger! Come back to shore and everything will be okay.” Valka took a less consequential stance, something Stoick looked at her in disagreement for.

“Oh-okay,” Dagur quietly replied, spooked by Hiccup’s parents, and shuffled his way cautious off the lake.

It was only then, when he saw Dagur safely on the banks, that Hiccup could breathe easy and return, too.

“And now you, my brave boy, come here!” Valka stretched her hands out, causing him to smile.

Stoick didn’t plan on being as encouraging as his wife was being, fuming. Their 12-year-old was recklessly risking his life and for what? If he wants to be a hero, he should do it without endangering himself as well.

“I’m-I’m coming!” Hiccup called back, happy that he no longer needed to be here.

But as his luck would have it, just like he will somehow attract the attention of two obsessed men in a span of only three years, he had to be the one to fall through the ice.

Slowly, he moved closer to his friends and parents, the thin layer of ice under his feet cracking beneath his feather-light weight. No matter how much he moved from the spot, the cracks followed him and they grew bigger and they multiplied quickly. He was so scared, dying to reunite with his parents again. They were right there and yet so far away.

And then it breaks and he sinks into the freezing water below with a shriek that is cut short.

“Hiccup!” Everyone shouted as they watched him disappear.

Stoick will remember this incident as one of the worst moments in his entire life. Nothing in any of his 45 years of life will ever come close, not until his son loses his leg and fights for his life in the hospital, not until some faceless stranger kidnapped him for reasons Stoick never wants to know.

He couldn’t traverse the ice to go get him, it would’ve never been able to hold his weight if it couldn’t hold Hiccup’s. All he was able to do, all any of them were able to do, was watch in fear as Hiccup cried and clawed and struggled to get out.

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Somehow that incident ended well. Somehow Hiccup managed to pull himself back up on slightly thicker ice than the parts that kept breaking on him. He got far enough away from the hole that someone could pull him the rest of the way. Once he was pulled back, Stoick and Valka enclosed him in their arms, his tiny and wet body cold in their embrace.

Neither of them have ever forgotten that day and it’s all Stoick can think about now. He can still hear Hiccup’s voice.

“Mom! Dad!” He’d cried for their help, something he has rarely ever done growing up. No matter how many problems may pile and pile, Hiccup has always wanted to solve things himself before he called in any sort of help. It’s probably why, after recovering from his amputation, he wanted to pull Toothless out of his guilt.

Stoick wonders if that was what had gotten him kidnapped. There are plenty of stories of people pretending to be hurt or in distress just to lure in unsuspecting good-natured people. If anybody could fall for such a scam, it would be Hiccup. Every part of his mind could be telling him that this person was up to no good and he would still act on that small, small “what if this person truly is in trouble?”

Is that what got him kidnapped? What got him... killed? Was Hiccup simply too pure of heart and did someone take advantage of that to snuff out his light?

After the lake incident, they drove him to the hospital as fast as they could and they found out he was okay. The doctor there told them he would be just fine and that they just needed to keep him warm and dry until his temperature was back up. After that, they could take him home with them.

He hadn’t lost consciousness, he didn’t seem to have swallowed or breathed in too much water, they could be almost certain that he was entirely okay.

As for his parents, however, they were never quite the same after that accident. Once Hiccup was dry, Stoick held his shivering son to him and vowed to him that he would never let anything happen to him ever again.

It’s a vow he broke twice.

Hiccup bounces back from pretty much anything thrown at him. After his fall, he would sneak out to play when his parents would much rather have him home with them. And though he wouldn’t go back on a frozen lake again, he’d still go out swimming with his friends.

During his divorce with Valka, though it was a painful time for all of them, he seemed to understand why it needed to happen and adjusted quickly. Even when asked if he thought badly of his parents months after it was finalized, he’d told them “no”, that it was better this way.

When a dragon went and bit his leg off, Hiccup went on to not only see the darn thing again, but he made friends with it and decided to fully dedicate his life to dragonkind. At 15, he wasn’t sure yet where he wanted his life to go, not until that accident.

Again and again, Stoick promised his son that nothing would ever happen to him after this. He held him in the hospital after his birth as he promised, then a second time after the lake, then a third time as he held his hand just before the surgery that would take his leg. Chances are, he will never get to promise him a fourth time.

Sitting on the couch, not paying attention to the tv and wasting away, there are tears in his eyes. Never much of an emotional man, Stoick doesn’t feel like he can stop them.

Strictly statistically speaking, the chances of a missing person ever being found alive, or even found at all, dwindles by the day and Hiccup has been gone since early June.

It’s December now.

The horrendous theories from the police don’t help either. Some even dare to put the blame on Hiccup, insinuating that his death, not his vanishing, but his death , might’ve been caused by a crime of passion. 19 years old, handsome, tall, capable, who isn’t to say he’s been cheating on his girlfriend and either she or the mistress found out? Naturally, that meant Astrid was a suspect at some point, too.

Stoick remembers seeing her after an interrogation once. Her parents came to pick her up at the same time he’d come to the station to demand an update.

She’d been distraught, face red and eyes bloodshot. Hiccup was her boyfriend of a year, her childhood friend, and they’d accused her of killing him over something like that. While cheating is no trivial matter, it’s not something she would kill over. Besides that, everyone who knew Hiccup also knows that he would’ve never done such a thing to her in the first place.

Then they settled for the most likely culprit, which was Dagur.

Stoick won’t lie, it felt good to finally hear from the police that they got him and that he would answer for his crimes, but that only lasted for… what? A day? Two days? A week at most? The relief ended quickly because the question of what happened to Hiccup remains unanswered to this day and Dagur stubbornly persists that he’s “getting better”, that he “would never hurt Hiccup”. And frankly, a part of Stoick seems to believe the young man.

Gods, why didn’t he just let him go live with Valka to study dragons? He wouldn’t have needed to move out and gotten an apartment deeper in their town. He would’ve already been living in the sanctuary if he did.

Or maybe the sanctuary was part of the problem. It’s not exactly a car ride away, you need to take the ferry there. So perhaps, part of the reason why he didn’t let Hiccup study dragons, he now realizes, is because he didn’t want him to go so far away.

How ironic, then, that someone decided to take him away anyway when he wasn’t looking. As if someone knew of Stoick’s inability to let go of his only child and thought that they should be the one to make him.

This never would’ve happened if he let Hiccup do as he wished. On the sanctuary, surrounded by dragons who know and love him, where Valka is, he would’ve been perfectly safe. Stoick may as well have asked someone to kidnap him.

It’s a painful thought and a tear falls, but Stoick doesn’t fight the guilt that he feels. This is all his fault. If he didn’t constantly break his vow to keep his child safe, Hiccup would still be here.

Gobber can read every self-deprecating thought on his old friend’s face, can see the tears, and sighs deeply before he looks back at the tv. On the channel they’re watching, they’re now installing some plumbing on a different program.

He wishes he could take the hurt away, wishes he could say something, but everything that can possibly be said he’s already said.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Stoick.”

“They’ll find him, Stoick.”

“Hiccup’s a strong and smart lad, Stoick”.

He’s sick of repeating himself. He doesn’t even believe his own words, so why should he continue to spout these lies? To a grieving father especially?

Hiccup is smart and he is strong, but does that mean he could still be alive today?

The will to comfort his friend quickly abates in the face of his own doubts and loss, Gobber feels like he may as well follow Stoick’s example and waste away alongside him. What else is left for him to do?

Just then, Stoick’s phone rings.

Snapping them both of their contemplation, Stoick picks it up and looks at the caller’s ID. It’s Astrid, the poor lass. He doesn’t feel like talking to her, but then, he also didn’t feel like letting Gobber in, so he answers the call.

“Astrid, lass?” He acknowledges her, hand rubbing in his eyes.

His eyes widen suddenly and he shoots up from the couch, startling Gobber in the process.

“Stoick?” He wonders what’s gotten him so riled up and so out of nowhere. What could Astrid possibly be telling him?

“Yes, I’m still here. Thank you for telling me, lass, I’m coming. Please, tell him that when he wakes up.” Eventually, after what felt like much too long of a call to Gobber, Stoick hangs up the phone and stares at him with that same wide-eyed look he can’t quite place. The tears are still there, they’re still falling, so what is that expression telling him?

“What is it, man?! Don’t keep me waiting, spit it out!” He demands, throwing his remaining hand up in growing frustration.

“They found him, Gobber. They found my son.”

Perhaps, Stoick can still make good on that vow.

[miohmy]

It was only a matter of time.

fandom: haikyuu

characters: kuroo x tsukishima

summary: 

“Why did you call me, then?”

“Hah?” Kuroo squinted his eyes, looking at Tsukishima as if he were the dumbest person alive. “Cause I wanted to hear your voice, of course. Keep talking.”

Kuroo falls asleep over FaceTime and Tsukishima’s feelings overwhelm him. 

Tsukishima Kei was bad at expressing his emotions. 

Or rather - he was not bad so much as he was methodical. He was almost too logical for his own good, approaching matters of the heart with a precise level of skepticism and objectivity. He would never let his emotions control him. Feelings like frustration and anger were fleeting, after all. Given time they would eventually fade, so there was really no need for Tsukishima to work himself up over nothing. 

Similarly, when Tsukishima felt an inkling of happiness or hope in his chest, he would never let it consume him, for those feelings were temporary, too. It was better to keep his expectations low. If things ended up taking a turn for the worst, then he could stave off disappointment (and save face).

Tsukishima approached all aspects of his life in this precise manner: school, family, volleyball, friendships, whatever. He never made any decisions without careful consideration. Nor did he allow himself to be carried away on whims or anything resembling irrationally.

Of course, that was before the joint training camp...before he met Kuroo Tetsurou.

Kuroo was different for Tsukishima and he couldn’t figure out why. All sense of rationality immediately flew out the window when it came to rooster-hair. Kuroo provoked a different side of him - one he didn’t even realize was there. At first, Tsukishima assumed the feeling swelling in his chest was annoyance - albeit an very extreme case. Kuroo did love to be a thorn at his side and tease him.

Deep down, however, Tsukishima knew it couldn’t be that simple. Whenever Kuroo ruffled his hair or pinched his cheek or got a little too close during blocking practice, Tsukishima didn’t know how to act. He’d pull away, flustered, cheeks burning red, heat chasing after Kuroo’s touch. The sensation crawling under his skin couldn’t be mere annoyance; it was too strong, too overwhelming.

Even more suffocating were the thoughts. They were constant: an endless barrage, day and night. All he could think about was that sly grin, and the feeling of Kuroo’s hand at his back, correcting his form in a manner that came off far more intimate than intended.

These feelings didn’t die with the training camp, either. Kuroo wouldn’t let them, no matter how hard Tsukishima tried. 

Somehow, in the weeks following the camp, Kuroo managed to get a hold of Tsukishima’s phone number. He doesn’t know who gave it out, but he suspected it might have been Hinata. The traitor.

Kuroo would message Tsukishima every day, first thing in the morning, reminding him to eat a full breakfast. He would sometimes even ask for pictures as proof. How are you going to get any stronger if you skip meals? 

In between classes, too, he would berate Tsukishima with questions. What’s the weather like there? How’s shrimpy doing? Did you eat lunch? What are you doing right now? Do you miss me?

Why do you keep talking to me? Tsukishima finally sent one day, his words seeming harsher than intended over text. He certainly didn’t mean to come off cold. He simply could not understand why Nekoma’s captain kept messaging him constantly, and over nothing. 

Kuroo’s reply was delayed - perhaps he was considering the question himself. Why does he keep talking to Tsukishima?

Later that night, his phone lit up with the answer. 

you’re cute thats why :P

Tsukishima stared at his screen. The heat, the blushing, the swelling in his chest - it all came flooding in full force.

He took off his glass and rubbed his eyes, the smallest hint of a smile ghosting his lips. 

-

Tsukishima didn’t know when their daily texts turned into daily calls, or when those calls then became FaceTimes. Kuroo must have suggested it at some point - he’s always the one coming up with ideas - but Tsukishima can’t say for certain. It was all a blur, really. 

What he did know, however, was that seeing Kuroo’s sly grin had now become a staple in his nighttime routine. After practice let out, he would walk home with Yamaguchi, greet his parents at the door, eat dinner with his brother, and then head up stairs to take a shower. Once he had dried off and slipped into sweats, he would putter around his room, waiting. Then, at 9 PM on the dot, his phone would ring.

Kuroo Tetsurou wants to FaceTime.

“Yo Tsukki~” 

He greeted him the same way every time. And every time, Tsukishima would return the greeting properly, like the respectful kouhai he was.

Kuroo didn’t like all that formal crap; he’d said so on multiple occasions. But no matter what, Tsukishima couldn’t bring himself to be familiar. He still felt flustered around Kuroo, like nothing between them had changed since training camp. 

Of course...nothing had changed between them. Whatever the hell they were doing...FaceTiming each other every day and talking until midnight...it was strictly platonic. 

That’s what Tsukishima kept telling himself. Strictly platonic.

“How was your day?” Kuroo asked. It wasn’t some poor attempt at small talk, either. He was genuinely interested. He’d listen to Tsukishima talk about school and practice, asking questions and following up on information previously shared.

“How’s your friend’s float serve coming along? What’s his name....”

“Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima answered. He propped his elbow on his desk and rested his chin in his palm, his other hand holding up the phone. “He’s been working a lot with the alumni,” he said, thinking back on practice. “His ball control is getting better.”

Kuroo whistled. “Already? You know, if he manages to get that nailed down by nationals, he might just give Nekoma some trouble.”

“Nationals?" Tsukishima smirked. "That’s a bit presumptuous. We probably won’t even beat Shiratorizawa next week...”

Ah, there is was. Tsukishima’s precise rationality; never letting himself get too hopeful.

“Hey, you don’t know that,” Kuroo cut him off. “Karasuno is strong. Not as strong as Nekoma, maybe...but you’ve got that freak duo. Daichi’s a reliable captain too, and your little libero is pretty competent when it comes to receives. Not to mention, they have you. My little blocking prodigy.”

Tsukishima’s stomach twisted in knots. “Shut up,” he muttered, his words lacking any real bite.

Kuroo yawned. He reclined further back on his bed, switching to his side. It was only then that Tsukishima realized how truly exhausted he appeared. By all means, Kuroo was a fairly energetic guy, especially when compared to the reserved Tsukishima. He was far more outgoing, getting easily wrapped up in Bokuto’s antics and causing mischief just for the fun of it.

But now, his energy was noticeably low, sapped from him. The circles under his eyes were dark, and his voice was beginning to rasp. Tsukishima’s brows furrowed.

“Are you alright? You seem tired.”

Kuroo chuckled at this. “Aw, are you worried about me, four-eyes?”

Tsukishima’s rolled his eyes. “No. I just don’t want to keep you up.”

Kuroo grew suddenly serious. “Don’t hang up. I’m not tired. I’m the one who called you, anyway.”

Tsukishima was unconvinced, raising a skeptical brow. 

Kuroo sighed. “Really, four-eyes, when did you become so responsible? I’m only tired because training was brutal today. We lost our practice match against Fukurodani last week and coach made us pay today with extra laps.”

“You lost to Bokuto?” Tsukishima asked, not even bothering to hide the smile playing at this lips.

“Oi, give me a break,” Kuroo moaned, frowning. “I've had a long day and I didn’t call you to be made fun of.”

Tsukishima’s smile faded. He brought his knees up and hugged them to his chest, toes curling over the end of his desk chair. He allowed himself a beat of consideration, before asking, “Why did you call me, then?”

“Hah?” Kuroo squinted his eyes, looking at Tsukishima as if he were the dumbest person alive. “Cause I wanted to hear your voice, of course. Keep talking.”

The knots in Tsukishima’s stomach returned, twisting and flipping and turning inside out. For a second, he really felt like he was going to throw up. “Oh,” was all he could think to say. “Ok.”

And so talk he did, rambling about nothing. He must have gone on for thirty minutes uninterrupted. He can’t even remember what he said - something about an assignment for class he was struggling with. At some point, he was so strapped for interesting topics that he brought up his older brother - someone he rarely ever mentioned nowadays. 

“...recently he’s been coming to our matches. He’s still a little awkward about everything, but I think he’s trying to make up for lost time...”

Tsukishima trailed off, distracted by the sound coming from the other side of the screen. Kuroo’s eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm, his breathing heavy and loud.

The bastard was snoring.

“I told you to go to bed, dumbass,” Tsukishima said softly. He wondered how long Kuroo had been out for, chiding himself for not noticing sooner. 

His first instinct was to hang up. Kuroo really did seem wiped out from practice. Tsukishima knew if he woke him up now, the stubborn idiot would insist he was fine and try to keep talking. Kuroo was usually the reason their nightly FaceTimes stretched out to midnight. He hated saying goodnight and would come up with any excuse to prolong the conversation.

At the same time, Tsukishima couldn’t bring himself to end the call. His eyes were glued to the screen, drinking up the soft expression before him. 

Kuroo was never one to put on airs and pretend to be something he’s not. At least, not in the way Tsukishima was sometimes guilty of. That being said, Kuroo definitely liked to play up certain parts of his personality when the two talked. He was always lighthearted, making unfunny jokes to keep the atmosphere from becoming too serious. That was part of the reason why Tsukishima found him so hard to read. There were very few occasions in which Kuroo’s expression broke from that sly grin.

This just so happen to be one of those rare, golden moments.

Kuroo’s brows knit together while he slept, creasing in the middle as if he were worried about something. His right cheek was buried in his pillow, causing his lower lip to part slightly and create a small puddle of drool by his chin. His hair, which was messy on a good day, had been further rumpled by the pillow, sticking flat to his forehead. And his expression - it was nothing Tsukishima ever seen before - soft and vulnerable, tinted orange from the glow of his bedside lamp.

Staring in quiet awe, Tsukishima realized he wanted to see this side of Kuroo more often. He imagined what it would have been like if they were together in person, talking late into the night until Kuroo inevitably drifted off first. Tsukishima would just lay there beside him, wide awake, soaking up his vulnerable expression until he was content.

Thoughtlessly, he brushed his thumb across the screen, stopping over Kuroo’s parted lips, wondering what they felt like.

Wait.

It only took a second of self-reflection to snap Tsukishima back to reality. He quickly ended the call and placed his phone face down on the desk. He sat there frozen for a second or two, before covering his face with both hands.

What the hell was he just thinking?

Tsukishima was no fool. He may have been a rational thinker, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t reconcile his own emotions, especially when they were presented to him so clearly. 

Part of Tsukishima - a deeply buried, unconscious part - had always known this would happen. From the very beginning, Kuroo had been different. Tsukishima fixated on him, imitated him, looked up to him. But more than that, he liked him. He liked him so much that he was willing to put up with his lame jokes and constant teasing. Hell, he would gladly talk for hours each night about nothing, so long as it meant more time together.

It was only a matter of time before Tsukishima dealt with the feelings planted firmly in the pit of his stomach. They had always been there, vining through his body and blooming beneath his skin every time Kuroo’s number lit up his screen.

After what felt like forever, Tsukishima finally pulled his hands away from his face. He leaned back in his desk chair and stared at the blank white ceiling. Strangely, he was smiling.

“I’m so fucked.”

[dicedungeons-and-dragons]

Waylan’s Sabbatical (6/?)

A chunk of writing following our party NPC (and my Son) as he breaks away from the party. Our campaign uses names of places from various fandoms for fun but they have no real relation to the source material. (We also call the Raven Queen Nara because of some hasty Wiki reading) This section contains Terran and Waylan’s first meeting!

TW: Mentions of past torture, general violence, injury.

Part: First | Previous | Next

“Wake up!” The slap rattles his teeth as it hits him. If he wasn’t already crying he thinks the blow would force tears to his eyes. A fresh taste of blood coats the inside of his mouth as his vision swims around the dimly lit room. The Crimson Sign sneers down at him. Gods what he wouldn’t give to forget the times that Maurak sat down at the bar to share a drink with Gadreel. Because those memories only make the monster standing in front of him, a monster who has shattered his bones and hacked away at his arm, more vivid. Maurak was always a monster. He had just hid it well. 

Another blow snaps his head to the other side, but this one is harder, hard enough he feels his cheekbone crumple inward and one of his teeth splinter and jam into the side of his tongue. Black spots dance across his vision and he tries to spit out the blood that’s rapidly pooling in his mouth before he chokes on it. 

“He wasn’t the only monster in hiding.” Oh. Oh, thank Gods. It’s another one of these. His head spins as he forces himself to look up. He’s standing in front of his own bound body, Maurak’s knife in his flesh hand, and his metal one raised to deliver another blow if need be. 

“It’s just a dream.” Waylan slurs to himself. “You’re not real.” 

“Not yet.” The blow comes again. But this time he feels it reverberating up the gears of his arm. Sees Gadreel’s head snap to the side. Sees Lugh spitting out blood. Sees Vani’s legs bent at odd angles. Sees Ray’s arm hacked off, tattoos still burning. And it feels so good. He loves pressing his metal hand against their begging mouths, love watching his hand catch fire and the flesh bubble and blacken on their face as their screams rattle against his palm. He burns them until he can’t see their faces anymore, until he wakes up screaming with smoke clinging to the back of his throat. 

****

It’s rare he wakes up screaming, and even rarer that he loses control of his magic nowadays. But when he comes out of his nightmare, brain soaked in pain and fear and sees a shadow moving towards him he strikes without thought. Magic dripping from his lips as he throws out a hand and blasts the approaching figure with a burst of flame.

“Waylan!” The Knight’s voice, so unfamiliar compared to the ones that haunt his dreams,  manages to shake him from the lingering terror.

“Fuck, shit, Gods I’m sorry,” he jumps from the bed and rushes forward. “Are you alright?”

“I’m well enough. It would take far more than that to incapacitate me. You were screaming.”

“I’m sorry. That doesn’t usually happen.” The Knight stares down at him for a long moment. It’s times like this, with glowing red eyes looking down at him, he remembers that the lich towers over him just like Radiance, Lugh and Gadreel used to.

“The screaming, perhaps, doesn’t happen. But I watched over you as you healed. I had thought your nightmares a symptom of fever, but they haunt you now as well.” Waylan swallows the wave of shame that tries to crawl up his throat, reaches for anger instead.

“It’s none of your business.” The words are covered in barbs but the lich doesn’t seem to notice.

“Why do you keep coming back into the forest, Waylan?”

“What the fuck does it matter?” He turns away from the Knight, stalks over to the wardrobe with no doors to grab his few belongings. “I won’t be back.” Because this is too much. Too close. He left Creta so that no one would ask him questions he can’t answer. He doesn’t need those questions to find him here, least of all out of the mouth of an undead. He gathers his things as quickly as possible and makes for the door. The Black Knight’s gloved hand slams into the stone beside his head, cages him against the wall before he can make a break for it. Sparks flick up over his fingers nervously. He can’t fight a lich. He’s not strong enough for that. And even if he could get away from him he doesn’t know the castle as well. The Knight could certainly catch up to him if he wanted.

“Waylan.” He says his name lowly, the sound of it reverberating against his helmet. “You are not a traveler are you?”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” He says, his throat tight.

“You are not traveling, you are running. A coward, fleeing from a person, or a memory. And you have found a home in woods that makes cowards of all who journey inside.”

“You’re still here.” He snaps. “Two hundred years later in this place for cowards. What are you hiding from?”

“I’m not hiding. The forest you see and the one I live in are very different. You will stay here and I will show you.” The Knight drops his hand and gives Waylan a bit of space. “Maybe when I am finished you will be able to face what you were running from.”

“You aren’t going to keep me here against my will.”

“I’m not. But I think you know as well as I that you’d return again even if you left right now.”

And every nerve in him is scraped raw and pulled taut and he desperately wants to walk out the door, take his things, find a ship, and move on to a new place. He could be away from Okren in four days time if he didn’t rest. He could leave and never come back. Never blink at what might have happened to the Dark Forest and the warrior lich that lived there.

But the stump of his arm is aching, and his throat is still raw from screaming. He hasn’t heard from the others in weeks. He hasn’t slept well in months. And he’s tired of running.

****

The next morning the Knight has him up at the crack of dawn and as soon as he’s dressed and fed they’re heading out through the service tunnels and into the forest. To be honest he’s still half furious with himself for staying. The other half is furious with the lich for presuming to know so much about him and having the gall to be right. Which doesn’t make him much for conversation and they head deeper into the forest. 

Waylan’s been past the castle before. He’s gone about four days further, but it was extremely slow going. When he’d first started traveling through the Dark Forest he thought that the castle would be at the heart of the forest and the most difficult to make it to. But while there are plenty of monsters and treacherous land serving as deterrents, he found the actual landscape of the forest beyond the castle is far more hazardous. The Knight navigates through the foggy landscape with ease even as Waylan starts to struggle for breath as a the mist takes on a sharp and nauseating odor. It takes until about mid day, but eventually he has to pause, coughing hard enough that he thinks he might shake a lung loose. 

“Apologies, I forget the boons my existence offers me.” 

“Yeah, well, do you know if this fog is toxic for us lowly humans?” 

“It will not poison you, but it will be uncomfortable.” The Knight looks around and then says, “Ah, little one,” Waylan is about to start cursing when he sees the lich looking over at a squirrel that’s sitting up in a nearby tree. “Get a message to your master. Tell him I have come to visit and hope he will extend the same hospitality to my friend as he has graciously done for myself.” The squirrel cocks its head and then skitters across the branches, leaping into the next tree and then on into the thick forest until Waylan can’t spot it anymore. 

“I don’t think I want to meet your friend.” 

“I will do my best to keep you safe.” And Waylan doesn’t like the sincerity in the tone. 

“What am I about to meet?” 

“‘Who’, you’re going to meet the dragon who has made his home within my borders.”

“A dragon?” Realization slides sickeningly along the same path as sour air to his lungs. “A green dragon?” The lich inclines his head. “I can’t meet a green dragon, Knight! I helped kill one!” He hisses. 

“And why would I care about that little human?” The words come in raspy tones and Waylan tenses as he turns to face the new speaker. Fuck him with a dull pike. Fuck. 

There is no towering creature before him and somehow that makes what is standing there even more terrifying. Only old dragons can take human form and the one standing in front of him has to be old. And the older a dragon is the more dangerous. The man is tall and thin, too thin, with his dark leathers clinging to his body. His cheekbones jut out sharply as if he’s missed a few dozen meals, and the long fingered hands that he folds in front of himself as he considers the two of them are thin with his knuckles making knobby protrusions. His eyes are an unnatural vibrant yellow and his hair is shorn very short against his skull, so short Waylan can’t really tell the color, only that the fuzz is very dark. 

“If you managed to kill a dragon that means it was not worthy of life. What kind of higher being gets slain by a flea?” 

“Waylan this is Terran, the Hungry One.” The Knight dips his head respectfully and Waylan follows suit. “Terran, this is Waylan, the human who has been mapping the forest.” 

“Yes, yes, your little pet project. Why bring him to meet me?” Terran looks Waylan over disinterestedly. “Unless you’ve brought me an offering, Lich?” 

“Not this time.” 

Waylan is half a second away from casting a fireball between them all, turning invisible, and making a run for it. 

“He speaks draconic. You so often complain you no longer get to converse in your mother tongue I thought you would appreciate the opportunity.”

Waylan thinks he sees a spark of interest in the dragon’s eyes. “Is that true little human, do you speak a language far superior to the one that humans use to grunt through their meaningless lives?” 

Every inch of him bristles at the comment. And for a wonderful, suicidal moment, Waylan considers telling the dragon to go fuck himself in clean curt draconic. Instead he settles on, “If a language’s worth is based on how many know it then the ravings of a madman must be far more blessed than even Tiamat’s tongue.”

Terran stares at him for a long moment and Waylan wonders if he can still spit poison in this form. Then he looks over at the Black Knight. “He lives, for now.”

“Your patience is appreciated.”

[composereggwrites]

Love will not break your Heart (but dismiss your Fears)

Chapter 1: Plant Your Hope with Good Seeds

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Rating: T

Characters/Ships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Alice “Daisy” Tonner/Basira Hussain, Gerard Keay, Gertrude Robinson

Additional: Reincarnation AU, Soul Bond, Team as Family, Autistic Jon, Post-Canon Fix-it, Childhood Friends, Hurt/Comfort

They stand in the Panopticon, fire raining down from the sky, as the Eye stares down at them.

Jon takes Martin’s hand in his.

Jonathan Barker-King wakes up and goes to class. He works under Gertrude’s rule at the university archives, and subs in when his coworkers at the library, Sasha and Tim, are out sick.

It’s on one such day that he reconnects with his old childhood friend. The one he hasn’t seen in 11 years, ever since their houses burned down. Martin Hussain-Tonner.

An Undone-Apocalypse reincarnation AU.

Ao3 or Below!

Jonathan Sims Barker-King sits at the checkout desk of Oxford University, and curses the flu for taking out both Tim and Sasha in the same week. Abandoning him to cover their shifts, when he should be down in the archives today, learning the ropes from Gertrude.

It’s not a hard job. Arguably, working in the archives is harder. But it’s also midterms season, and that means dealing with an influx of students who’ve realized they need to actually study, and he’s running this place short-staffed.

There’s a lull around 4:30pm, and he breathes a sigh of relief as it hits. The 4pm rush is typically the last of the day. No more beeping of the scanner, no more arguing with patrons about the fines they’ve accrued, and no more dealing with the incompetent people who don’t even know how to use a basic search function.

Maybe now he can work on his own homework. He’s got two essays and a test to study for, after all.

Just as he’s settling into the flow, typing the words into the document at a decent pace, someone approaches the desk once again.

“What do you need?” he snaps, most of the sharp edge tempered down with years of practice, before looking up.

The person who stands before him is easily 6’5, with wavy ginger hair, round glasses, and is absolutely built like a bear. But more importantly–

“Jon? Is that you?” he asks, grin on his face and light dancing in his eyes.

Jon laughs, still staring. “Y–Yeah. Holy–” he bites his tongue, no swearing on the job. “Martin? When the hell did you get so tall?”

Martin Blackwood Hussain-Tonner rubs the back of his head, laughing too. “Oh, you know. Hit a couple growth-spurts as a teen. Fifteen, sixteen, really shot up like a tree. What about you though? You’re so…”

“It’s alright, you can say small,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Unlike some people, I didn’t get height genes from my mysterious spawners. Mum still delights in being able to pick me up.”

“Oh I’m sure. She was absolutely fearless, wasn’t she?” Martin asks, and Jon nods.

“It’s almost terrifying at times. I mean, I’m 23, and she comes swooping in and carrying me around like it’s nothing.” His brain presents him with a mental image of Martin doing this, like he is now, and then he shoves that thought into a dark, locked box. Nope, not doing that.

Jon almost keeps talking, but some of the students with books piled higher than their heads are starting to glare, so he sighs. “I’m still on shift for another hour, but we should catch up, yeah? It’s been ages.”

Martin nods. “Sure! There’s a nice cafe on campus that we could go to, not too far from here, and I’m free tonight.”

He smiles. “I think I know the one. Sounds good to me. Meet you there?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

___

It takes three years to find them.

Daisy and Basira chose to look for Martin, while Georgie and Melanie search for Jon. Because these foolish boys decided to stop the apocalypse together, and die together.

They’d left a tape behind, of course. Static layered over the words.

“We’re going to do something. If you’re hearing this, I’m going to assume it worked,” Jon had said. “We’re undoing the apocalypse. Both Martin and I.”

“The thing is,” Martin said, false-confidence in his bold voice, only a hint of a waver, “We’re not making it out of this… Well, not alive. Not how we are now, at least. But it’s okay! We’ll be coming back.”

Then Jon again, slipping into a neutral voice, steady as he explains. “Time is going to get a bit weirder than normal, and this is going to open the door for a lot of people to get second chances. Anyone touched by an Entity who stays alive will still remember everything that happened, but for the rest of the world… It’ll be like a mass hallucination.”

“You don’t need to find us,” Martin murmurs, softer now. “But… You can if you want. Jon doesn’t think we’ll remember anything. Definitely not at first, maybe not ever. We’re just going to be little kids, after all.”

“Take care of yourselves, alright? Georgie. Melanie. Daisy. Basira. This is a chance for freedom for all of you, too. We’re burning that wretched institute to the ground, with Jonah inside of it, and getting out.” Jon sighs, a hint of compassion leaking into his voice. Such a struggle for The Archivist to feel anything, and yet he feels more than ever, nowadays.

“Be safe, all of you. Maybe we’ll meet again someday.”

After a bit of debate, Melanie had scoffed and said, “Obviously we’re gonna find those idiots. If we don’t, then Jude’ll hunt them down and burn them or somethin’. Might as well make sure that don’t happen.”

Easier said than done, of course. Daisy had managed to track down Martin a couple months ago, using some of the Hunt, before diving into a few rounds of Halo to shake the rest of the energy off. (That had been Basira’s idea, what better way to channel the Hunt than through violent video-games?)

Stepping into this orphanage, at first Georgie thinks it’ll be no different. It’s not a bad place, pristine and clean, but there’s no soul. Just another cluster of kids, too alone and small, who need homes that they can’t give.

Until she spots a child with too-big too-familiar eyes staring at them.

When they make eye-contact, the kid stands, and stumbles closer. She kneels down, and this child states, matter-of-fact, “You’re looking for me.”

“Oh, are we now?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “What’s your name, then?”

“Jonathan. They don’t call me that, they call me a girly name. But I’m Jon.” There’s a hard edge, determination, as if prepared for anything but acceptance.

“Of course you’re Jon,” Melanie says, careful to kneel, careful as she reaches out. It takes a moment, but she finds his hair, and ruffles it. Tenderness wiping away the gleam of fear in his eyes. “Why do you think we’re looking for you?”

He leans closer. “I just know. I know things. I’m very smart!” he says, with what’s almost a proud grin.

She laughs, and leans close to Melanie, so she can whisper, “Mels, he’s so small!”

Melanie, predictably, laughs at her, and keeps talking to Jon. “Well, you certainly seem very smart. And you’re right, we have been searching just for you. It might take a bit before you’re able to come home with us, but I think you’re just the one we’ve been looking for, Jon.”

So they sit there, and talk with Jon. Playing games and reading stories with him. It’s not long before he gets tired, and crawls into Georgie’s lap, tuckered out.

She leans against Melanie’s shoulder, as they both relax.

“He’s such a child,” Melanie says, voice low.

“He really is. But I mean, we expected that, yeah? He’s three, if anything, he seems smarter than the average three-year-old.” Georgie says back, still carding her fingers through Jon’s hair. She had thought it’d be weird, seeing her ex-boyfriend/old friend as a child, and it was, a little. But he was so endearing. A little kid, free from the stress he’d been carrying.

“You don’t think…”

She shrugs. “He might be, I don’t know how all that super works. But from the way he was speaking on the tape, I doubt it. Maybe it’s just… After-effects?” Either way, she’s prepared to raise a weird kid. Had been ever since she and Melanie realized they might have a future together (because there’s no way they were going to be raising someone normal).

“I hope that’s all it is.”

Some of the other kids have been watching them. Georgie’s noticed this. Watching as they play, as they hang out with Jon. Maybe it’s just jealousy, maybe it’s not. It makes her hold him closer. Protective anger like acid on her tongue, ready to burn if they try to hurt her boy.

One of them walks closer now, and narrows his eyes at them. He looks to be older, maybe eight or so. “Why would you choose him? He’s weird.”

Melanie scoffs, and Georgie takes her hand, to keep her from fighting an eight-year-old. “Maybe we like him because he’s weird. A better question is why you want to be mean to a three year old, kid.”

“Listen. You don’t have to like him, but we do,” Georgie says, glancing up at him. Skinny, fists clenched and shaking. Scared because every time someone else gets out, he must stay. “Just… Don’t be mad at him, because he’s going to leave and you aren’t. Maybe someone else will like you the way we like him, some day. Being mean to him isn’t going to make that happen sooner.”

It’s a long process, of course. Adoption is complicated. But they manage to pass the inspection, and bring him home. Home to a newly-bought house with three bedrooms, right next door to Daisy, Basira, and Martin.

The look on Jon’s face when he sees his own room, with a ceiling-high bookshelf stocked to the brim, and toys aplenty, is one Georgie will treasure forever.

(She’s made sure that there weren’t any Leitners.)

___  

Martin sits at the cafe, fingers tapping against his leg, grin on his face. The setting sun is shining in from the window to his right, and the soft scent of coffee fills the air.

He’d just seen Jon.

It had been eleven years, and Jon had remembered him.

He sips at his tea as he waits, anxious nerves swelling in his stomach. Which was ridiculous, because this is Jon. They’d been friends ever since Jon had moved in with his moms. Three year olds sitting together and playing with Legos. Jon reading books to him all the time. Going on adventures through their backyards.

They’d both had to move when they were twelve, though, and, in the chaos, had lost contact with each other. Martin hadn’t stopped missing him, even as lonely fog rolled in.

His moms did their best. But it was hard to make friends at school, when his anchor wasn’t there at his side. Cast adrift in a sea of unknown people.

(The pride club in high school helped a lot, but he still felt out of place. Alone even as he had friends to laugh and chat with, even as he started figuring out who he really was).

With his pencil to the paper in front of him, he tries to focus on some of his homework, and not think about Jon.

He ends up with lines of poetry written in the margins of his textbook instead.

When the bell to the cafe rings, he perks up, and grins as Jon walks in. He gives a wave, and Jon smiles and waves back. Once he’s retrieved his own drink, he walks to the table.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey yourself,” Martin replies.

Silence settles around them, and suddenly it dawns on Martin that he has no idea what to say to someone he hasn’t seen in over a decade. Sure, they’d been friends, but that doesn’t mean their interests are the same.

“So… What’s your major?” Jon asks, and Martin lets out a sigh of relief.

“I’m studying literature right now, actually! All the classics, poetry, you know. I’m considering a few different options, but I figured I might as well study what I’m interested in while I ponder career choices.” He could ramble for hours about some of the things he’s studying, but not right now. “What about you?”

Jon leans back in his chair, and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m actually in a grad program right now. Working on a degree in information sciences with a focus on archival work. I double-majored in the History and English course, along with parapsychology.”

“Parapsychology? That’s the study of weird stuff, yeah? Paranormal events?” Martin asks, leaning forward.

Jon nods, and some of the awkward air slides away. “ESP, ghosts, near-death experiences, and reincarnation. All that fun stuff. It’s really interesting, actually. I did a lot of research on the apocalypse, the one that didn’t happen?” He waits for Martin to nod, before continuing.

“There’s bunches about it. Stories are still being collected. Everyone’s got something to say. I mean, an entire year’s worth of memories? Of events that didn’t happen? I don’t know why more people aren’t fascinated by this!” His hands dance through the air, punctuating his sentences with a flourish. Poetry in motion.

Martin smiles, watching Jon as he starts to ramble, sipping his tea. Jon has always been so full of words and energy, if given some encouragement. Infodumping about whatever has caught his interest now. It used to be books and stories, regaling Martin with the plot.

“I’m not in statement collection, of course,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I don’t really get to manage those, though I do read them sometimes. Wrote a paper about all the different ways to classify some of the weirder aspects, because events seem to fall into certain categories.”

“That’s really cool! It sounds like you’ve done a lot of research into it, and I’d love to hear more later. You could send me your paper, if you want?” He asks, a tingle running up his spine at the idea of being able to contact Jon whenever.

“O-oh, sure! What’s your email? Or phone number? We should exchange those, yeah?” Jon starts taking out his phone, and Martin does too.

“Sounds like a plan. I’d like to stay in contact this time,” he says with a snort. “No more disappearing for eleven years on me, mister.”

“It’s hardly my fault both our parents decided to move at the same time,” Jon mutters, mock-offended as he plugs his number into Martin’s phone.

“I know. I’m more annoyed that our moms didn’t help us keep in contact. It’s weird, I swear they kept in contact, but I guess I didn’t think to try and get your number, and I know we pretty much ended up on opposite sides of the country.” He shrugs, handing Jon’s phone to him and taking his own back.

He smiles when the text of ^Hello, this is Jon.^ comes through.

“I asked mom once. She told me no. Said it’d be hard, or that it was complicated for some reason. I let the matter drop.” Jon fidgets with one of the napkins, folding and refolding it.

“Maybe I’ll ask my mum about it sometime,” Martin says. “Mom is still kinda busy.”

“She’s still a professional gamer, yeah? I’ve kept up with Miss Daisy’s career.” Jon laughs. “It’s still great watching a fifty? Sixty? Year old lady destroying all the other competitors.”

He laughs, nodding. “Yeah, she’s sixty four now, and still absolutely crushing them. She’s brutal. She’s told me some stories from when she and mum were police, and I gotta say, I think I prefer the gaming.”

“I’ll have to get these stories out of you sometime, I’d be very interested in hearing them.” A grin lights up Jon’s face, and Martin has no doubt that he’ll be able to pull those stories out of Daisy and Basira.

“I’m sure they’d both love to regale you with them.”

All the tension of the room has eased now, as they laugh and joke. Falling back into old patterns so easily. Martin hadn’t been aware of how much he’d missed this until he had it back. Years of withdrawal making it easier to adapt to the empty ache in his chest when Jon wasn’t by his side. Like he didn’t know he’d been living without oxygen, until he could breathe again.

But now Jon’s here. For the first time since he was twelve, his lungs work, and the pain is gone. Gone somewhere, a burden lifted from him.

Maybe he’ll be able to keep it at bay, and keep Jon close, in the coming years.

___

Gertrude Robinson sits in her office, looking over the edge of her computer at the boy who has just walked in. Glasses sit sharp on her face, as she scans him.

Still in his goth phase, with black on black on black, dyed hair, and tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves. Oh-so-familiar, but she doesn’t know if her face is familiar to him yet.

“Can I help you?” she asks, steady and ungiving of an inch.

Gerard stares back at her. No doubt about it then. She’d changed her last name back to what it should properly be, as a signal, just for this. It’d be nice, maybe, to be a woman not so alone with her memories.

“Gertrude?” He raises an eyebrow at her, arms crossed over his chest. “Don’t play dumb with me. Your crotchety old grandma trick doesn’t work as well when you’re barely over thirty.”

She laughs, and leans back. “You’ve caught on then, I see. Good ole’ Gerard Keay.”

“Gerry Delano. I’m not using her last name,” he bites out. “Tell me, what have you been up to here?”

“Oh, this and that. Not much to do in the way of battling the Fears, these days. I hear your friend Jon took care of that for me.” She’d listened to the tapes. Found them hidden away in the ruins of the Institute. The rise and fall of the apocalypse, and Jonah being such a fool. As if he really thought Jonathan Sims wouldn’t find a way to undo the hellscape. The mark of the Lonely was brilliant, but it gave him the key to becoming a savior, not confined to be an Archive.

“They’re still out there, though,” Gerry replies.

She gestures for him to take a seat across from her, and he does. Less stubborn, this life. “Yes, I know. Don’t think I’m unaware of their movements. I’ve been keeping a close eye on the remaining Avatars. I’m not a fool. Jude is still on the move, looking for those two. Mike Crew is still throwing people off buildings–in France, right now I believe. But they’re all weak. Low on power and morals, and there’s not going to be another ritual–not in my lifetime.”

With a shrug, he seems to relent. “I guess. Are you really content, then? To just sit here and work as an–an actual head archivist? For an actual, not-spooky institution?” His words are clipped, not harsh, but pointed.

“Don’t you think I’ve quite earned my rest?” she fires back. “I’m not caught in the Beholding this life, and I’m not involved. Not yet, at least.  Perhaps if the Web decides I need to be pulled back in, I will, but not now.” The Mother of Puppets is not one she can predict, but dancing to its strings is hard to resist. “Besides, it’s not like all my work here is boring. We’re still working on collecting statements from the apocalypse and filing them away.”

“The thing most people still think was a mass hallucination?” He laughs, and steals one of her pens to fiddle with. She’ll let him keep it. This is better than him using her desk as a footrest.

“Everyone wants to tell their story, and it allows me to travel around as much as I like to collect them. It’ll be a whole genre, I expect. A thousand years from now, and everyone will have their favorite stories. There will be fiction invented about it. Maybe some will even get it right.” She smiles, that smile of hers which he’s called bland but terrifying. Equal disinterest in everything, but with her own plot at play. It’s fitting, in a way.

“Well, you have fun with that. I’ll be keeping a lookout for trouble, and I’ll let you know if I see any. But I’m not here to help you with this,” he says, equally blasé.

“No, you’re here because you’ve said you can get Mr. Jonathan Barker-King, your roommate, an in to the archives here. Because you know me. You placed a lot of stakes on the fact that I remembered, didn’t you?” She chuckles. “You were right, for what it’s worth, but that was quite the gamble.”

“Well, if anyone were to remember, it’d be you, Gertrude.” Gerard shrugs, and she has to concede that he makes a point. “You’ll let him have the job, then?”

“Of course. Tell your friend that if he submits and application, he’ll likely get in. It’d be nice to have someone else around with an Eye for the finer details. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

Gertrude turns her attention back to the files on her desk, and expects Gerard to show himself out soon.

He lingers at the door, but says nothing more.

[krreader]

forever together.

pairing: min yoongi x reader fandom: bts warnings: teenage pregnancy ; unwanted pregnancy ; mentions of abortion ; language  genre: angst ; fluff

summary: you thought the beginning was hard, but at least back then, you still had a husband you could rely on.

a/n: I almost didn’t give this one a happy ending, but then I was like: ‘people are going to kill me and I will have to write a part 2. but I actually really don’t have time for a part 2′ so I guess thank you university, you are the reason people get a happy ending for this story hahaha. I hope you like this, I actually really enjoyed writing it and I kinda like the outcome so.. yeah! enjoy!

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Having a baby when you're young is hard. Having a baby when you don’t have a degree, money or any kind of other support from anyone else is even harder.

Well, there was one that supported you..

Yoongi and you hadn't been together for too long when it had happened, maybe four months.

Four months and one stupid night that the condom ripped and you were both too stupid to think it wouldn't have consequences. Because let's be real, how often did pregnancies because of a ripped condom actually happen in real life?

Well, maybe you should have looked up a statistic, because two months later, you found yourself crying in the doctors office, Yoongi sitting next to you as he stared at the monitor where a small baby was currently moving around.

His baby. Your baby.

You both knew that the only two options you had were getting rid of it or raising it. It was either all or nothing.

Your families would be furious and you also knew that the possibility of them not supporting you in any way would be high, especially because you knew you would have to drop out of school to have the baby. You would not have a degree, you would not go to college, while Yoongi probably had to drop out as well if he wanted to earn money and support you two.

Truth be told, everything screamed to get rid of the baby.

Everything but that ultrasound picture Yoongi had been holding in his fingers as your head was resting on his shoulder.

“Everyone around us is telling us to get rid of it..”

“I know,” you had said, your voice laced with sadness as you thought back to the conversation you’ve had with your guidance councilor earlier that day.

She had straight up told you to get an abortion because your education was more important than a baby you wouldn’t be able to raise anyways. However this decision wasn't as easy as just 'getting rid of it and then it's done'. This decision would change your life forever, no matter what you'd do. Keep it and you’d be a mother. Get rid of it, you’d probably always be plagued with guilt.

“But.. there is this audition next month for an idol company.. if I could get in there.. if I could become an idol, I could easily support us. The three of us.”

There was the next problem. His dream of becoming a producer. His dream of becoming a rapper. His dream of making it big in the music industry and sharing his music with the world.

You had slowly sat up straight, Yoongi turning his head right away, “If you become an idol.. then there is going to be a point where me and the baby will become a burden, Yoongi. Maybe you'll even leave us when you actually do make it big..”

“Hey, stop this,” he put his hand on your cheek and turned your head back to look at him when you wanted to look away, “I will never leave you. You hear me? Never!”

“Maybe you should.. I'm the one that's pregnant after all, not you. We still haven't told our parents so.. they don't have to know about this baby. That it’s yours, I mean..”

“You think I'm just going to leave you, even though you're pregnant with my child? I'm young and I'm definitely not mature enough to be a dad, but I'm owning up to it. I would never leave you,” and to make it more clear to you that he actually meant every word he had said, he had come up with a glorious plan that also made the decision on what to do regarding the baby an easier one, “Come on.. let's go to the mall.”

“Why?”

But he had simply pulled you up with him and had walked with you hand in hand to the mall, walking into a jewelry store that looked way too expensive for two teenagers.

The employee had seemed to think so as well, looking Yoongi up and down, before he approached you with a fake smile.

“Can I help you?”

“Uh.. yeah.. what's the cheapest ring you have?”

“What are you doing?” you had asked with furrowed eyebrows as he had followed the employee, showing him the cheapest ring they had to offer (which was still fucking expensive, to be honest).

However, Yoongi had saved a bit of money. Initially he had wanted to spend it on music equipment but he knew that from now on he needed to put other things first. Other people..

..starting with you.

“No, Yoongi, this is too expensive..”

“Here,” he handed the employee the money with a small smile, before he got down on one knee without thinking twice about it, the entire store going absolutely mental over how cute it was, “I'm not going to leave you, (Y/N). Instead, I'm going to marry you. And I don't care what the rest of the world says, I want to be the father of your baby, of our baby.. and your husband,” he grabbed your right hand with a small smile, suddenly becoming a bit bashful, “So, I guess what I’m trying to say is, do you..-”

“I do,” you said before he could even finish the sentence, having made your decision the second he had dropped to his knee.

It would be hard, but it would be worth it. You just knew it.

All of that was almost seven years ago now.

Seven years ago since Min Yoongi, a teenager who had no money, no influence and no idea of what he was doing in life, proposed to the girl he had accidentally knocked up, because he hadn’t wanted her to be alone.

Seven years ago, since you, a teenager who, also, had no money, no support and not the faintest idea of what was required to be a mother, said yes to the guy that would be the father of her child, because despite all, she actually did fall in love with him.

And looking back at it, the problems you two had in the beginning were horrible.

Not only did you have parents that didn't support you, but you had no place to live anymore after they had thrown you out, no money and no idea on how you were supposed to raise a baby when having none of these things.

It was when you were almost due, that Yoongi managed to make it into BTS. And even if he wasn't big in the beginning, he at least managed to provide a roof over your heads.

And let me tell you, having the smallest apartment in the universe and having so many people share a room with each other, while a woman with an infant was living there as well was not cool at all.

The boys were surprisingly chill about it, they actually loved your daughter and even the BigHit staff did. True, they hadn't been too excited when they had found out that Yoongi had been hiding a secret wife and kid from them, but your little bean was an angel and she managed to charm them all in the end.

Nowadays, the struggles you were having wasn't about money anymore. It wasn't your living situation anymore and it wasn't your non-existing parenting knowledge that worried you.

It was the fact that with BTS' gaining popularity, you, nor your daughter, had seen Yoongi for over a week. And this wasn’t the first time. This was happening more and more.

And while you could deal with it, Soojin was still a little girl. She didn't understand why her father didn't kiss her goodnight anymore. She didn't understand why he didn't wake her up anymore or why he didn't watch her favorite shows with her anymore. To her, it seemed like her father didn’t love her anymore. Like she had been bad and now he was punishing her..

And so after you had dropped her off at school, you had finally had enough and entered his studio unannounced.

Yoongi turned around, a surprised and worried look on his face, “Is Soojin okay?”

“Apart from the fact that she's been crying for five days straight because you haven't been at home once? Sure. Fantastic,” you crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“It's comeback time,” he turned back around to his computer, “I told you it's busy.”

“Yeah, but you have a kid waiting for you at home, Yoongi. Do you know what she does every single day? She sits in front of the door and waits for you to come home. And every time you don't, she ends up crying..”

He brushed his hands over his face, but quickly shook his head, trying not to think about his crying daughter and instead try to focus on what was in front of him.

“I'll try to come back soon, I promise,” but when he wanted to put his headphones back on, you completely lost it and grabbed them out of his head, nearly throwing them against the wall. Luckily, you had only hit the couch backrest and it had a soft landing.

“You've been promising things for the last month and you’ve never kept them! Not once! What about the performance she had at school that you missed because of comeback? What about the parents evening that you promised me you'd come with me, but didn't because of comeback? What about the fucking weekend trip you've promised Soojin for months, but didn't deliver, because of fucking comeback?”

“So you want to do this, huh?” fine, he had bottled up feelings too, if you wanted to scream at him, so could he, “Do I have to remind you who feeds you two? Who literally built everything for this family, so that you and our child can live comfortably?! Do I have to remind you that it was me that always made sure you and our daughter went to bed with a full stomach? And now this is what you say to me? That I'm the villain, because I'm working my ass off for this family?!” he had since gotten up, staring into your eyes as angrily as you stared into his.

“That's not the fucking point, Yoongi. The point is that you keep making our daughter promises that you can’t keep. That you're her hero, and yet you continuously let her down! She cries every fucking night, because you're not there with us. She cries every damn time I come and pick her up from school, because you're too busy playing superstar, while you have a wife and kid sitting at home waiting for you. She cries every time that I cry, because I can't do this fucking bullshit anymore,” you ended up sobbing halfway through, one hand at your waist while the other was rubbing over your forehead, “I told you this was going to happen.. I told you, one day you wouldn't want us anymore.”

Yoongi had been angry before, genuinely, but seeing you break down because of this.. because of him.. it made him hate himself. Because as much stress as he had, what he hated the most was not being able to be the father and husband you deserved. The father and husband he once used to be.

He knew he had once said he had to get his priorities straight, but now his priorities had shifted and you and his daughter were not his number one priority anymore.

And that broke his heart as much as it broke yours.

He wanted to reach out to you, touch you, comfort you and tell you how sorry he was, but the second he raised his hand, the door got opened and none other than the boss man himself walked in, who had decided that Yoongi should be a part of BTS.

“Yoongi, did you..- Oh. (Y/N).”

You turned your head to the side and quickly wiped away the tears, before you faked a smile at Bang, “Sorry. I didn't mean to distract him from his important work. I'll just get going.”

“(Y/N),” he tried to reason with you, but you had already grabbed your bag and walked back out, leaving a sighing Yoongi behind that fell back down onto his chair.

“What was that about?” Bang asked, concern clear in his voice.

“Remember when you once told me that there would be a day when I wouldn't be able to handle it anymore? Having a family and being an idol?” he turned his head and looked at the picture of you and his daughter on his desk, both of you smiling happily back at him, “That day has come.”

“Soojin.. dinner's ready,” no answer, “Soojin..,” again, no answer. So with an annoyed sigh, you walked into the living room, looking around for a bit before finding her where?

Exactly where you had expected her to be.

“Sweetheart, your father won't be coming home today.”

“But he promised, mommy. He promised when we talked on the phone earlier.”

Yeah, he's making a lot of promises these days. You doubted he’d keep this one.

“Come on, the food will turn cold, otherwise,” you walked over to her and wanted to pull her up, but that was the second that the door unexpectedly got opened and the one you had not thought to show up today really did show up.

“I KNEW IT!” Soojin beamed from ear to ear as she jumped into her father's arms, Yoongi immediately dropping everything to pick her up and cradle her head against his chest, “I knew you'd come, daddy!”

“Sorry I'm so late.. traffic was horrible..”

But you weren't as excited as your daughter was, he could see that.

It wasn't that you weren't happy, it was just that you had this feeling he would leave again in an hour and your daughter would be disappointed again. That was your biggest fear nowadays. Seeing her disappointed and sad. There was only so much you could handle..

You couldn't remember when the last time was that you all had dinner together, but apparently it's been a while, because Soojin did not stop talking. Not even for a second. Not even when you started clearing the table after dinner was over.

As soon as you were in the kitchen, she lowered her voice, so that you wouldn't overhear her, “Mommy cried a lot last week, daddy..”

“She did?”

“I think it was because of you.. she called grandma over and then she just cried.. and then I cried too, because I don't like to see mommy cry.”

Yoongi turned his head, looking at you doing the dishes.

He couldn't remember the last time he kissed you, or even just hugged you.

Why couldn't he remember?

Why had it been so long?

You were his wife, for god's sake. The one that gave him the most precious thing in the world, who was sitting next to him right now.

When was the last time he thanked you for that? Told you how much he loved you?

“Did.. mommy say something to grandma?” like, did they talk about getting a divorce? But he didn’t want to ask her that directly. He didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily.

“No.. but grandma said that you don't love her anymore. And then I told grandma that that's not true, because I know you love mommy and me.. and I know you can't be here because you have fans that are like family to you.”

Like family.

But not actual family, like his daughter and wife were.

Why did he not prioritize you anymore? He used to..

“Love, why don't you pick out a book that I can read to you and I'll talk to mommy for a second?”

She nodded and got up, but midway to her room, she turned back around and smiled at her father, “Daddy?”

“Hm?”

“I'm still proud of you. Every day,” and with that, she happily ran into her room to do what her father asked her to do and he only felt ten times worse now.

She shouldn't be proud of him when he was neglecting her so much.

She deserved so much better.

She deserved the father he was in the beginning, when he still had time for her. When he tucked her in every night and held her when she needed him. When he could easily drop everything and just be there for her.. but now.. god, it was just so hard now to be that man for his beautiful girl.

Nevertheless, quite slowly, he walked into the kitchen and carefully wrapped his arms around you, as if he was scared you would push him away.

Which you did.

“(Y/N), I don't know what to say besides I'm sorry..”

“Then don't say anything,” you closed the dishwasher and put the kitchen towel onto the counter.

“This isn't easy for me either, you know? Knowing that I have you two waiting for me at home. It makes me want to rush my work and then it ends up being shitty and..-”

“So you're blaming your family for it, is that it?” you turned around to look at him, an unimpressed look on your face.

“I'm blaming myself for it,” he said honestly, trying another attempt at being close to you, but this time, only by taking two steps towards you and closing the distance just a tiny bit. Baby steps, “Nobody expected Bangtan to come this far. Nobody. And we're doing things that nobody before us has done and we're reaching for stars that nobody has reached for before us. We have so many dreams that we want to achieve.. we have so many things we want to accomplish and you and I both know if just one of us goes, then it's over for BTS.”

“Every day you walk out of this door is a day closer to the one you're fully going to leave us, Yoongi. And I know you don't see that yet, but I do.. I can feel it..-” you tried blinking away the tears, “I once told you that you would leave me and that feeling never left. In fact, it's now stronger than ever. And the worst thing is, I don't know if I want to fight for something that's already broken..”

That hit him hard..

..to hear you say that you thought your family was broken. But probably only because he knew, deep down, that what you were saying was true.

But even if you wanted to give up and not fight for it, he wanted to. He wanted to fix this and convince you that it could be fixed.

“You always forget what I promised you once,” he hesitantly reached out for your hand and put it in his palm, pointing at the engagement ring on your finger, “I will never leave you. Because.. because despite all, I still love you.”

“I used to believe you when you said that,” you smiled sadly, “But now I know you're only saying that because this,” you raised your hand, meaning your engagement ring, “is the one promise you don't want to break..”

But before you could walk away, he grabbed your wrist and just.. kissed you.

He kissed you because he felt like he had to show you that he meant what he had said. That he still loved you with all his being and that he still wanted to be with you for the rest of his life. But he also kissed you because he just missed you so damn much. Just as much as you missed him. He wanted to be close to you again and feel you against him like this. He wanted to hold you in his arms again and feel your heart beating against his chest..

And you didn't know whether it was because of the heartbreak you had experienced these past weeks, or because you had just yearned so much for a kiss or a touch, but you let him, tears now streaming out of your eyes and ultimately being the cause for him stopping the kiss, his forehead still being pressed against yours though and his arms now being around your waist, holding you tight, as if he was afraid you’d go again.

“I will never let you go, (Y/N). I will never let our daughter go. And I will always be with you, even if I can't be here all the time. As soon as comeback is over, I'll be here, every single day. I don't care about dance practice or anything else, I will be with my family and I will stay with you for as long as they let me. And even though you already have one..-” he got down on his knee just like he had last time, opening up a box with a ring he had picked up on his way here that was way more expensive than the one you wore now, just because now he could afford good quality, “I'm promising you just like I promised you last time. This isn't a marriage proposal, but this is me telling you that I'll never leave you. Ever.”

You didn't say anything right away, not like last time.

But you still smiled a little and even more so when your daughter suddenly came rushing in and said: “IF YOU DON'T WANT TO MARRY DADDY, I WILL!”

Both you and Yoongi choked out a laugh that was mostly filled with tears by how emotional you both were.

But tonight was the first night in a long time, that all three of you were lying in your bed and holding each other.

And for the first time in ages, it felt like everything would be okay again.

Like you'd manage, somehow.

You always had and you always would.

As long as you were together.