#obvious from my prev posts

[liamthemailman]

As ordinary things often do

Russian dumplings for @sgtyaraya's Jay

Man i hope i did her justice here

[t4tails]

listening to my mom and sister and the rest of my family misgender and deadname my cousin over and over and over im going to kill myself this is pure torture

[reyalvr]

SHE’S MINE | 02

-SO I HOPE AND PRAY YOU MAKE IT WORTH IT.

synopsis ┊ thrust into the spotlight, ken sato had easily become the next big thing tokyo had seen in decades. alongside his fame came the inevitable string of rumors, of which sprung forth scandals and discrediting information against his image. of course the obvious and most rational solution would be to address them like every other celebrity, but this was ken sato; nothing would ever be rational with him, which is how you wound up with a ring on your finger and the sato name in your papers. 

genre ┊ fake dating, fake marriage, idiots-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, slight angst, chaotic fluff, mild smut

pairing ┊ ken sato x fem-PA!reader, ken sato x fake-wife!reader

warnings ┊ mild cursing, eventual smut, mentions of alcohol, all events in ultraman: rising take place a year after kenji moves back to japan

word count ┊ 3.2k

author’s note ┊ YAPPEE! part two officially out- so sorry for the wait EUEUEU… hehe hope the things that happen in this chapter make up for it being a few days late :p also, i will not be accepting anymore tag list requests! this is due to the amount of users that i can tag per post T^T … nonetheless, i hope you guys enjoy the chap! happy reading :D 

p.s. i will be blocking the people who message me (rudely) to “hurry up” with the next chapters. i understand most, if not, all of you are excited to read the next chapters, but please do understand that i have my own schedule too :,)

prev. | next

YOU HELD YOUR HEAD IN YOUR HANDS, GROANING INTO YOUR PALMS. In front of you sat the thorn at your side, Ken Sato. He had just finished reading- or rather, skimming through the files you had stayed up compiling. You peeked at him through your fingers before standing up to erase yet another column of pros and cons from the board. 

Taking a swig from the energy drink he had brought you, you shake your head as you try to figure out what to do next. Truth be told, you were just eager to leave. You had two weeks left until you could finally let these burdensome tasks go, all you wanted was for Ken to go along with your last few instructions so as to make your exit easier. 

“I don’t get what’s so hard about this, Ken.” You say, turning back around to face him. “You pick a girl, you ‘date’ her for a bit, and then you ‘split up’ amicably. Simple as that.” 

He tilted his head at you, a sarcastic smile on his lips. “Oh sure, yeah. Let me just go out with a random girl and act like I’m head over heels in love with her.”

“Yes, exactly that.” You reply with the same tone, going back to your seat. “Now you’re getting it!”

He rolls his eyes, placing the stapled papers back on your desk. “I get it, I fucked up. But I still don’t get why you’re so…” He pauses, pressing his lips into a thin line and gesturing with his hands. “Persistent in actually trying to get me to date someone for the sake of my screw up.”

“And I don’t get why I have to keep reminding you of why I need to do this.” You lean back into your chair while pinching the bridge of your nose. “You were the one who-”

“-’Told the entire world you were in love’, yes I know! You’ve only said that like, what, a hundred times over?” He cuts you off, crossing his arms. “I know what I did. But I also know that I have a choice in this matter, don’t I?”

You go to reply but stop when you register his words. You knew that, obviously, which is why you had multiple plans. You were giving him the chance to choose, were you not? The various notes and drafted project plans were proof of that. They were all laid out right in front of him, what more could he possibly want? You look at him briefly, your eyes scanning his expression before darting back to the things scattered atop your desk. 

“I’m giving you choices.” You say flatly, slowly looking back up at him. 

“No, you’re giving me options and expecting me to choose.” He counters, his hand gesturing towards the papers. “I’m talking about my choice. My plan, suggestion, whatever you want to call it.”

“So what is your plan? Because as far as I’m concerned, you don’t seem to actually have one.” You reply, brows slightly furrowing at his stubbornness. 

“And that’s the point. I don’t need a plan,” He pauses, pointing his finger directly onto one of the outlines and it towards you. “I just need to ride it out.”

You let out a scoff, stunned at how Ken was still treating this so lightly. The corners of your lips tug up a bit, and you end up letting out a soft laugh in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Am I, though?” He leans back, maintaining eye contact with you. “It’s the choice that takes the least effort. And besides, I thought you liked it when I kept things private.”

“Oh, don’t circle this back to me.” You say, pointing a finger at him. “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to address your little mishaps?” 

“Yes, I do. Which is why I’m trying to help you.” He says a-matter-of-factly, his eyebrows raising as if to emphasize how much he understands what your job entails. 

“No, you don’t.” You argue back, mimicking his crossed arms.

“Were you always this stubborn?” Ken says, catching you off guard. 

You feel your features scrunch up in confusion and annoyance, narrowed eyes slanting even more as this back-and-forth of yours keeps going. “You’re one to talk.” 

At that he smirks slightly, rolling his eyes as he pokes a tongue into his cheek. The audacity of this man to act annoyed. You think, all the while you continue to glare at him. You close your eyes for the umpteenth time that morning, taking in a deep breath as your nails dig into your palms. Despite wanting to calm yourself down, his words rang in your head like an unwanted mantra.

His choice.

Would it be so bad to give Ken free reign on this? Granted, he was the one who caused it. Why be the one to clean up his mess- again, for that matter? You pinch the bridge of your nose, shaking your head once more. You could never understand how his mind worked, and you figured you probably never would. You tapped against the desk with your pen, bouncing your leg as you pondered on what to do. 

Your plan? Everything sets sail smoothly, with only the liability being either party slips up. Which, in your defense, you could cover up in the blink of an eye. His plan? No plotline with room for spontaneous detail sharing whenever he pleased. More work for you, more freedom for him. You stopped tapping then, clicking your pen into place. In your moment of contemplation, you had realized then this entire thing was useless. His plan, your plan, all the plans. None of them mattered, not if the end result was going to be the same. 

Goddamnit, you hated Ken Sato. 

You flip one of the stapled pieces of paper over, drawing over the blank side. “The start of your first full season with the Giants is in less than fourteen days. By then we would need to have already released another press release- ideally before your conference.” 

Ken jumps slightly, caught off guard by your sudden return to work mode. He watches as you line up different keywords with boxy arrows, all of which lead up to the ‘end’ of his lie. “What exactly am I looking at?”

You flash him a smile, albeit a fake one, and slide the paper to him. “Your plan.” Leaning back in your chair, you make a show of stretching your arms. “You’re right, we should go with your plan.” 

He laughs then, noting the lingering hints of sarcasm in your tone. “[Y/N], what are you doing?”

“Giving you your choice.” You reply with a small shrug. 

“Yeah, I can see that.” He says, his smile slightly faltering. “But… why?”

“It’s your life, isn’t it?” You tilt your head to the side, your lips pressed into a thin line. 

Now it’s his turn to be confused and annoyed. The way he understood this, you were letting him win. You were waving a white flag, surrendering to his incessant pleading. He scrunched his brows, still trying to process your words. You continued to sit there, waiting eerily patiently for him to respond. 

“And you’re serious about this?” He questions once more, hesitant to believe that you of all people would back down so quickly. 

“Mhm,” You hum, fiddling with your thumbs. “I’m just your assistant. Well, for two more weeks, that is.” 

He felt like he was being played. He blinked at you, mouth slightly agape. The you that was sitting in front of him now was different from the you thirty-six hours ago. Yesterday, you were desperate for him to follow your plans. He recalled your words, ‘If you're actually as sorry as you say you are, you’ll do as I say.’ But now that you’re telling him to do exactly what he wants, he’s nervous. 

Nervous that he finally caused you to hate him for good. 

“If you’re done sitting there like I said something stupid, you can go. Coach wants to see the team, it’d be in your best favor not to be on his bad side two weeks before playoffs.” You say, not even looking at him directly. 

He clears his throat, licking his lips. “Right, well, okay.” He stands up, sliding himself into his jacket before walking towards the door. “See you, then.”

You only hum in response, still not looking at him as you continue fixing all of the papers on your desk. Just before he’s fully out of your office though, you call out to him. 

“Yeah?” He answers immediately, peeking his head through the door. 

“Have fun riding it out.” You say, flashing him a smile. A real one, this time.

A WEEK HAD GONE BY JUST LIKE THAT. Surprisingly, Ken had been able to keep things under control. Even his comments to street paparazzis were concise, almost as if you were the one who coached him his lines. While you had expected him to do nothing, just as he suggested, you hadn’t expected him to last this long without an intervention from you. 

You sat by your window as your body sunk into your armchair, your eyes threatening to close. The early blue hues of the morning had started to break through the night sky, the clouds slowly parting to clear the sky. You typed vigorously against the keys of your laptop, eyes following the blinking cursor to prevent yourself from falling asleep right then and there. 

You had been up for hours constructing your updated résumé, keeping all your needed information concise and in one page. Despite having a well-rounded history in regards to jobs, the lingering fear of keeping yourself afloat was an inevitable burden you were scared of accidentally fulfilling. You had family, yes, but relying on them did something to your pride. Most especially since you had been low-contact ever since you abruptly moved to the city. 

Seeking help from friends was another option that was off the table. In all your years of working in the entertainment industry, the amount of people you had let into your life dwindled as you realized people’s true intentions. You had merely three people left in your life, and that was by far more than enough to keep you sane throughout the rest of your life.

You sighed heavily, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. Truth be told, despite the factor of having to deal with Ken, this job has been the best in terms of your benefits. He was much like you- little circle, low-contact. Even his own team was a limited number, leaving you to deal with other jobs and tasks that would otherwise be done by different people. Yes, the workload was tiring, but the pay was enough to keep you alive ten times over. You could only say a silent prayer to whoever was listening to bless you once more once you let go of this for good. 

You sat back, finally satisfied with the way your page was laid out. You faced towards your window, closing your eyes as your breathing steadied. The birds were starting to chirp, the sun casting a foggy glow through the clouds. In this moment of solitude, you allowed yourself to relax; it was more than deserved. Not like anything could happen in your sleep, right?

WRONG, SO VERY WRONG. You groaned as you were awakened by the continuous buzzing of your phone. At first you had thought it was an alarm you had accidentally forgotten to shut off, but when it continued on, you eventually had to force yourself to wake up.

The sun was high up now, bright rays peeking through your blinds. You squinted, uncurling yourself from your chair as you got up and stretched. You yawned, scratching your head as you finally unlocked your phone. You were greeted with an endless stream of notifications, your mail app and other social media platforms pinging by the second. There was also the factor of the loud noise outside, though you made it out to be some kind of commotion or parade. 

Your screen then flashed the caller ID of an unknown number, followed by another sea of notifications. You blink yourself awake, now slightly worried at just how much texts and emails you had been receiving. Did Ken do something? Did someone die? Did Ken die?

Before you could even open any of the messages, you hear the familiar ringtone of one of your closest friends. You slide to answer, pressing your phone up to your ear. “Ami? What’s up, what’s wrong?”

She laughed, and you could practically see her shaking her head at you. “I’m guessing you just woke up? Check literally any news outlet right now, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

What the hell was going on? You mumbled something in reply, putting her on speaker as you did what she asked. 

You wished you hadn’t. In bold, bright red letters, the article’s headline read:

Extra Innings in the Press Box: Ken Sato’s Hidden Romance with Assistant Revealed! 

What you saw next nearly had you chucking your phone into the nearest wall. Attached right under the headline was you and Ken. You and Ken. You let out a curse, and you could hear the sighs coming from Ami on the other line. The picture was clearly shot from a hidden vantage point, the branches from the trees blocking the camera proof of it. Despite the distance, though, yours and Ken’s faces were clearly visible. 

“What the fuck!” You yell, now fully awake eyes wide in confusion. “When was this released? H-How did-”

“Two hours ago. Apparently some passerby sold the picture to the press, and said passerby just happened to be paparazzi.” Ami cuts you off, her tone serious yet concerned. “Trust me, if I had known something like this was going to be released, I would’ve done something about it.”

You left your phone on the kitchen counter as you paced back and forth, your hand glued to your forehead as you tried to wrap your mind around what was happening. Obviously it wasn’t true, you of all people knew that. But nobody else did, and that was the problem. 

“Ami what the hell is happening?” You manage to breathe out, still pacing. “This is all so-”

“Much? Yeah, I know.” She cuts you off again, and you can hear the bustling sounds from her office. “My own publisher is on my neck for this, God only knows what you’re going through. Are you okay? If you need help this could technically be classified as invasion of-”

“I do need help because this whole thing isn’t-” You start, but are ultimately cut off again when you hear the sounds grow louder outside. 

“[Y/N]? ‘You there?” Ami’s muffled voice calls out as you walk towards your window, peeking down to where the commotion was coming from. 

“Oh shit.” You gasp out, eyes widening even more as you realize the noises were coming from the sea of reporters and photographers waiting outside your townhouse. 

You swallowed hard, stepping back from the window with a hand to your mouth. This cannot be happening, this had to be some sick nightmare. Stumbling towards your phone, you mumbled some reply about needing to go before abruptly hanging up the call. Rude, perhaps, but Ami would understand. 

In the span of two hours of that damn article being released, eager and greedy gossip outlets had found your address and swarmed your only safe space. You held your phone close to your chest, running up to your room as you tried to catch your breath. You closed your eyes once more, breathing in and out heavily. The more you tried to convince yourself that this wasn’t happening, the more you slowly realized that it actually was. 

You opened your phone once more, muting all your socials and other messaging apps. You needed to think, and you needed to act fast. By memory, your fingers automatically scroll for Ken’s legal team. Having gotten him out of falsified defamations multiple times, acting during these types of situations was almost a second habit. But this didn’t involve just him, it involved you. You were a part of this mess, you couldn’t be the one to solve it.

A mantra of curses conjured up in your head, and you delete the previous number you had dialed in. Think, damnit. Think, think, think. You thought to yourself, nervously chewing on your bottom lip as you prayed for a solution to be presented to you. An alternative popped up into your brain then. Albeit that alternative was stupid, but it was something. 

You dialed his number, anxiously waiting as it rang. 

KEN WAS ON HIS BREAK, SITTING ON THE BENCH AS HE WIPED THE SWEAT OFF HIS FOREHEAD. Playoffs were about to start, and Shimura was working them to the bone to make sure everyone had their head in the game. He let out a deep breath through his nose, arms resting on his knees as tried to calm down after a few laps around the stadium. The rest of his teammates seemed to be reacting obnoxiously over something, though he didn’t have the energy to feign enthusiasm. 

One of his teammates teasingly nudged him then, giving him a playful grin. “Your secret’s out, huh? All this time you were with her.”

Ken laughed it off, still oblivious to the fact that nearly all of Japan now knew the face of his supposed girlfriend. He noted the specification in his tone, as if he were referring to a mutual friend of theirs. Which, again, was impossible- nobody but you knew the secret he was hiding. He gave them a nod before returning back to his own space. 

He felt his watch buzz against his wrist, and he was all but surprised to see you calling him on your day off. He sat up straight then, grabbing his phone to answer the call. He had to admit, he answered a little too excitedly. Or nervously. He couldn’t differentiate the two, not when it involved you. Ever since the start of this stunt, something in him shifts whenever you or anything related to you gets mentioned. He brushed it off as some sort of familiarity attachment, the weight of your sudden resignation still heavy on his shoulders.

Was he sad to let you go? Maybe, he wasn’t entirely sure. Aside from the fact that he had Mina, you did your job well. You knew the ins and outs of everything he liked and disliked, you kept him organized and on track. Sure, losing you would be another hurdle he would have to get over, but that doesn’t mean he would be… impotent without you. He clears his throat before he finally brings the phone up to his ear.

“Hey-” He starts, but stops when he notices the frantic panic in your voice. “Woah, hey slow down. What happened?”

“You happened.” You reply then, albeit through a shaky breath. 

“What?” He questions, brows furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s exactly as I said. You happened,” You paused, taking in a deep breath. “And now I need your help. Please.”

reyalvr © 2024 … do not repost, alter, or steal my work.

tags┊@mochminnie, @rreasonablydumbb, @sincerest-one, @fruticake, @lunaryasha, @lovingyeet, @sugacor3, @arrozyfrijoles23, @fennecspage, @mmeerraa, @azryaa, @akiradailylifes, @montybooks, @mmv-ymvm, @hore4ken, @greeniegreengreen, @meikoo, @random-3455, @todaywasafairytale07, @mythicalmoa, @imafangirlofeverything, @astylos, @vynwan-cbq, @rosegiyanabing, @icedberrytea, @ken-zah, @letharue, @chi222, @flooftoof, @c4ttheart, @ymrai, @stxrrielle, @alpha-mommy69, @ewitscat, @lightsinmycity, @furblrwurblr, @ayamago, @sugururawr, @secretlyapartofthisfandom @shellspider, @oh-kurva, @noraimp

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 15 - La Vie En Rose

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, romantic vaginal sex, a brief reference to oral sex. Also features time jumps and the war coming to England.

Word Count: 2.4k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This is the last chapter, and our pair finally have their idyllic home together in Wiltshire. There will also be an epilogue for this story that will be posted shortly after this chapter. Thanks as always to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Wiltshire, UK, December 1939 - December 1940

The early December chill creeping under the hem of your wool coat instantly evaporates as your husband carries you over the threshold into your new home, warmth radiating from the roaring fires that blaze in each room.

“Welcome home, Mrs Bridgerton,” Benedict smiles, placing you gently onto your feet in the hallway, even as you do not relinquish the loop of your hands around his neck.

“Kiss me, Mr Bridgerton,” you appeal, pushing up onto your tiptoes and capturing his lips with yours.

Living in Aubrey Hall for the autumn was lovely, but a challenge to find privacy. Yes, time well spent as you were able to triage your friendship with Eloise, but tempered by a yearning to be with Benedict alone in your own home, impatient for the purchase to go through. It is three weeks before Christmas when you are finally able to take the last drive down to Wiltshire—this time for good rather than just a fleeting visit.

“I can't believe we are finally home,” you breathe happily over his lips, both of you breaking into matching grins.

“We are indeed,” he assures, withdrawing from your embrace to shuck his coat and help you out of yours. 

“Are we alone?” you whisper as he hangs both in the hallway cupboard.

“I told the two staff we have here to take the night off once we arrived, to return in the morning. They are in the little cottage down the lane, so yes, we are indeed alone, darling wife. What on earth do you have in mind?” He teases, sauntering back to you, that beguiling crooked grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I would like to christen our house,” you declare, raising an eyebrow suggestively as you slide your hands up his biceps and hook them around his shoulders, pushing your body into his, your intent more than obvious.

“Which room, my love?” his voice is like velvet.

“All of them, husband,” you declare, loving the way his pupils dilate and his breath hitches. “Absolutely every single one…”

—

Refracted flames dance across his glassy pupils as he moves over you, taking you with him, dewy skin from the heat of the fireplace you lay next to. The rug is a slight burn under your shoulder blades, not that you would ever ask him to stop, wanting marks on your body from this magical night, so long overdue.

“What are you thinking of, my darling?” 

His voice resonant as your nails scratch lightly along his spine, your toes running down his calf muscles, squeezing him between your thighs as he gently thrusts into your body.

“I am thinking…. I am thinking how free I feel,” you confess breathily, pushing your breasts into his broad chest, undulating your hips to meet his, wanting him so deep inside you are altered in some way. “I can scream your name like I have wanted to for months…”

He groans loudly, capturing your lips in an artless, open-mouthed, desperate kiss, his hands hooked around your shoulders, using his forearms as leverage to pull you into his rhythm. “Please do, my love, please do…. I have longed to hear you let go completely….” he admits stutteringly.

“I cannot believe I had to sneak around for weeks with the man I was married to,” you giggle, recalling those heady weeks in summer when all was a secret.

He huffs a laugh into your throat, kissing there. “And I cannot believe my wife had to sleep in a separate bed from me for so long…” After his proposal, admittedly, you had moved to sharing his bedroom, but seeing as it was right next to Eloise’s, it has been many months of quiet intimacy. The autumn night being too cold to spend in the unheated summer house by the lake. 

Your hands grab his shapely bottom and encourage his movements, harsher now, chasing that moment of bliss for you both.

“Never again….” you counter emphatically, twining yourself around him like a vine, never wanting to be separated from his naked body, for him to be inside you always, always….

“Never indeed….” he concurs, his voice gravelly and cracked with emotion as he spears deeper and makes you cry his name, the sound echoing up your living room walls.

—

As the winter months slip by, The Cottage, as you have both taken to calling it, is your constant refuge. And thanks to its smallholding farm, Anthony is able to pull strings and secure Benedict's status as exempt from military conscription, a relief you are thankful for every day.

Your home is a welcoming embrace when you step in from a rewarding but chilly day working in the drafty local village library—your insistence on wanting a job something Benedict never disputed. And his artistic career blossoms, too, each piece he completes becoming a hotly contested item at auction in London. A small conservatory attached to the back of the house transforms into his art studio, where he works most days crafting beautiful, lyrical landscapes that steal your breath with their scope and beauty.

And as much as your home is a place of peace, tranquillity and creativity, it is also filled with passion; many hours are spent in joyous lovemaking in any and every room of the house, the novelty still not wearing off for either of you, even months later. 

Indeed, your staff, a benevolent, older married couple who become more akin to family, soon learn to turn a blind eye to any amorous activities they may unintentionally encounter. Including one unseasonably mild and memorable evening when they returned from dinner to find you upon the lawn, screaming at the dome of stars above—your nails scraping across Benedict’s scalp as he feasted between your legs.

—

It is a cold February morning when you blink awake to the melodic trill of a robin outside the dining room window. Benedict is fast asleep as you lay cocooned in his embrace under a blanket, embers glowing ashy white in the fireplace beside you. You must have fallen asleep here after a rather vigorous late-night session on your sturdy dining table—a nightcap becoming so much more, two drained whiskey tumblers still sitting upon the gleaming mahogany.

You smile at the memory, then turn your attention to the man wrapped around you, following your compulsion to map the raised veins on the back of his hand in front of your face. Your tongue trails those contours to the constellation of freckles on his forearm that you kiss. He is so fast asleep that he does not even seem to stir…

“Maam, a telegram has just come for you,” a tentative voice calls from the doorway as you startle.

You look up to see Mrs Crabtree, sweetly averting her eyes.

“Thank you, Mrs Crabtree,” you breeze, trying to conceal your slight embarrassment at having been caught red-handed kissing your slumbering husband’s arm rather covetously first thing in the morning.

She politely bustles over and drops the envelope next to you before making herself scarce. You peel open the message, then emit a wracking sigh as a warm pair of lips slide across your shoulder.

“What’s the matter, my love?” Benedict queries, voice rough from sleep.

Wordlessly, you hand him the telegram, his eyes scrunching slightly, attempting to read it without his glasses. 

In it, your parents tersely remind you of the money outstanding to the vendors for your cancelled nuptials to Stanley and request you to send additional funds as soon as possible.

“You have been sending them money?” Benedict looks appalled.

“Yes,” you sigh, sheepish to confess to the one thing you have been keeping from him for a while now. “I have been using my income to wire back money in instalments.” 

“Darling, they should not be asking you to do such a thing!” he argues, getting slightly agitated. “They were plenty rich enough to pay for their daughter to travel to Paris a few months ago! This feels rather too close to extortion…”

“I do not wish to be beholden to them, Benedict,” you answer fiercely, “for anything.”

He sees the fire in your eyes, and his face softens, nodding in understanding, always your greatest advocate. “May I at least pay them instead?” he offers. “I am the reason you are not marrying that man after all,” he reminds you with a dry chuckle, nuzzling your cheek before twisting to discard the telegram into the fireplace.

“I knew I was not marrying that man the moment I dropped that damn shoe,” a light-hearted giggle bubbling up as you push onto your hands to hover over Benedict, recalling with perfect clarity the moment you first clapped eyes on the man lying beneath you now.

“You did?” he lilts, a demure smile claiming his handsome features, a hand landing warm on the curve of your bottom under the blanket, encouraging you to settle on top of him.

“Even if nothing had ever happened between us, I suddenly knew what desire truly was,” you concede, a nostalgic pang to return to Paris with him, to experience its beauty mirrored in his hazy eyes again.

He chuckles warmly, looking up at you with gentle, hooded eyes as you feel something swelling between your bodies. “It was love at first sight for me,” he confesses tenderly. 

“It was?” you gasp softly, smiling broadly, staring down at the man you cannot imagine your life without, touching his cheek reverentially. 

“As I said when I proposed, I would marry you a hundred times over,” he enunciates slowly, assuredly, every cell of his being radiating his sincerity and desire. 

“And I would to you, Mr Bridgerton,” you grin, leaning down to capture his lips and claim him for yourself, his breath a shocked staccato as he slides into your body for the first time without protection, so much heat and skin.

“Mrs Bridgerton,” he moans, his voice a symphony of wrecked and potent desire.

“Call me your wife,” you say breathlessly, pushing up to sit upon him, the blanket falling away from your back, your naked bodies glowing in the early morning light as you begin to move.

“Wife,” he calls, hands clamping firmly around your hips as you rise and sink upon him.

“Husband…” you call back and pull his left hand up to your face, sucking his wedding ring finger into his mouth as you stare down at him challengingly, knowing how aroused he gets when you use that word, the metal clinking against the ivory of your teeth as you shudder lightly around his stretching invasion.

This. This is all I want.

—

The following spring, May 1940, Paris is invaded. 

You manage to reach Solène and are grateful to hear she is well, the occupation for the most part peaceful, if not odd and jarring. Life for you in rural Wiltshire, on the other hand, is idyllic, spring bringing life to your gardens, a riot of flowers, herbs and vegetables growing, beehives buzzing with life—a wondrous time that is indelible in your mind, even in your later years.

But, as with all things that are perhaps a shade too good, that temporary peace is shattered a couple of months later, an air and sea blockade beginning in July, followed shortly after by the Luftwaffe bombing military targets on the mainland. A resolute but stoic fear gripping the nation as summer drew on, knowing civilian targets would inevitably be next.

At the end of August, Anthony commands the rest of his family to evacuate Aubrey Hall, the location far too close to the French coast for his liking, knowing as an insider that matters could escalate within a matter of days rather than weeks. You receive word that the family are moving to stay with Daphne and Simon further north in Yorkshire. Well, all except one key person. Eloise. 

Ever the rebel, she telegrams to tell you she has eloped with Phillip to Gretna Green, much to Anthony and Colin's (and now Benedict’s) chagrin, moving in with him defiantly, his home not far from Aubrey Hall. Instantly becoming a stepmother, too.

“Eloise, are you certain?” you implore into the telephone, September 4th, sitting in the office of the village library.

“About Phillip? Of course I am, you idiot!”

“Not that,” you wave an unseen dismissive hand. “I knew from that first night in Portsmouth you were as gone for him as I was for your brother…” you argue, her sneer at that evident even down the phone. “I meant remaining in Kent. It seems dangerous. Why don't you and Phillip come here to Wiltshire? At least for now? We have spare rooms, and you are most welcome to stay…” you appeal, chewing your cuticle nervously. 

Last night, you and Benedict had agreed she would more likely take up an invitation extended by you than him.

“I’ll talk to Phillip,” she sniffs, which is the closest you will get to a thank you for the offer.

Two days later, Eloise, Phillip and his twins are at your doorstep, and not a moment too soon as the period, latterly known as The Blitz, begins the following night. Their home in Kent is spared, but the village school suffers some damage the following week and even without her saying a word, you can see the gratitude on her face as she watches the twins play safely in your back garden.

—

“Here you go, Amanda,” you smile down at the little girl, handing her a shiny metal star to hang on the Christmas tree.

Her toothy grin is adorable as she places it on a branch, giving herself a round of applause before running off to crawl into Eloise’s lap, who is busy making festive paper chains.

It is early December 1940, and the Cranes have been living with you for four months now; you imploring them to stay as the Blitz drags on. There has been bombing all over the country, primarily larger cities, but rural Wiltshire feels as safe of a bet as anywhere, not under the Nazi flight path to London in the same way that Kent is. 

Strong, warm arms wrap around your waist from behind, and you smile to yourself as Benedict crowds into you, admiring your handiwork on the tree.

“It looks beautiful, y/n,” he opines sweetly, bussing a kiss onto your temple. 

“Thank you, my love,” you reply, swaying gently in his arms, watching the children giggle as they throw strands of paper in the air; Eloise’s appeal to them not to do so falling on deaf ears, her expression one of fond exasperation.

“I never thought I would see the day…. Eloise Bridgerton, a mother,” you chuckle quietly as he joins in.

“Believe me, as her brother, I feel sorry for those children every day,” he jests. “But even I have to admit she has taken to it better than any of my other siblings, to be honest,” pausing before pulling you tighter into his embrace. “And what say you to children, Mrs Bridgerton?” he queries, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice suddenly silky, that tone that has a frisson running down your spine.

“I say maybe, Mr Bridgerton, just maybe…” you respond breezily over the strain of carol singers from the wireless Phillips flips on, feeling the lightness of hope in your being - that one day, just one day, this war will be over, and the world will be free again.

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[kunisdiary]

15 . hanging out ! (🦢)

cw: brief mentions of weed, pictures used were all found on pinterest and only supposed to be reference photos

scaramouche texted you he’d be there in around 10 minutes, whiiicchh… those 10 minutes has passed, and he called you to get your attention, but hung up after saying i’m here, not letting you get a single word in.

so, you made your way out of your apartment and to his car, opening the passenger seat door, getting in then shutting the door after you got comfortable and buckled your seat belt.

blah blah blah, moving on. he didn’t live too far away from you, so it was a quick drive to your place, then back to his, since you were already there and hanging out with the others in what felt like 3 seconds.

you were sure yoimiya and hu tao decided to go together, since scaramouche said he wasn’t gonna pick them up, which is kinda very funny, sorry, rude. but, to be fair, they did live farther out and he would have to go completely out of his way to pick them up, so it was only logical.

now, around 15 ish minutes later, an annoying amount of doorbell ringing could be heard, it was clearly hu tao, since it was followed by her evil giggling since she knew she was probably gonna piss scaramouche off.

xiao was the one to let them in, then heizou followed, taking some of the firework & sparkler loads from yoimiya, then signaled them to follow to the back, where everything would be set off.

the night progressed really well! the groups mutually liked eachother, it was obvious despite having some clear personality differences, but nevertheless, everyone still surprisingly got along.

kazuha, being himself, had brought weed pens & actual supplies to roll blunts, so those were being passed around to the people who wanted a hit like it was show and tell day in kindergarten.

but, currently, yoimiya was setting off a mini firework show while you sat outside on the cool grass next to kuni, your head resting on his shoulder as you two kind of huddled up next to each other. it was an undeniably cute sight to anyone fortunate enough to be glancing at the pair.

“yoimiya’s firework shows are always super pretty, don’t you agree?” you spoke quietly to scaramouche, making him turn his head to look at you.

“mhm,” he didn’t say anything else, just looked at you for a few more seconds, scanning over your facial features, then tore his gaze off you and turned his head back to the firework filled sky.

in ventis post at the end, that’s you and scaramouche infront of him

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[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 9.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 4.0k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

so sorry for the long wait. ):

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, decapitation, death

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The sound of paper furling and unfurling were the only ones heard. Then the slam of a fist on a wooden desk. Then a sigh. 

“This is ridiculous,” Rhaenyra hissed, reading over the missive stamped with the Velaryon sigil for the near hundredth time. “Absolutely ridiculous— borderline treasonous.” 

The letter spelled out, in so many words, that Vaemond Velaryon was contesting Lucerys’ inheritance claim to Driftmark. Lord Corlys had apparently fallen ill in the Stepstones— damn that accursed place— which brought up the question of succession. There had been whispers over the years of Rhaenyra’s first three sons’ true parentage belied in the seed of a certain late Commander of the City’s watch. Such accusations have been unfounded and swatted away like flies if the argument was ever brought up in the small council chamber or throne room. 

Upon looking at them, the three Velaryon boys were only such in name– that much was obvious. Their brown eyes and curled brown hair struck a decided resemblance to someone that was not Ser Laenor Velaryon. 

Even if the rumors, as they may be, were plain as day truths, such things couldn’t be acted upon, much less said about the heir to the iron throne, could they? 

“How can Alicent even entertain this… this mummer’s farce?” she continued to seethe, resorting to pacing now, twisting the rings on her fingers. Her throat felt a bit dry at the situation. Her and Alicent had struck a comfortable balance since returning. This felt… it felt akin to a slap in the face.

“‘Tis not just Alicent entertaining it,” Daemon muttered, swirling wine in his cup. He was lazed in the chaise, one leg over the other. He seemed particularly laissez-faire about the situation at hand, as if it were nothing more than a mere annoyance to him, like a leg cramp or an annoying bug. “That snake of a father she has has his fangs in every pot. Whatever suits him— and this would seem to be one of those things.” he glanced to his wife, wanting to say more about the queen, but thought better of it. Daemon Targaryen was, in all accounts, a man who spoke his mind– but he didn’t wish to ruffle his pregnant wife’s feathers by calling her ‘girlhood friend’ a cunt like her father. 

“Otto Hightower is a conniving man, that much is true. What could he hope to gain by currying favor with Vaemond?” 

“The Velaryon fleet. The Velaryon coin. The Velaryon connections. The well of opportunities for conniving cunts like Otto are endless.” he punctuated each point with a wave of his glass.

Rhaenyra’s mouth snapped shut. She was silent for a long while before finally speaking again. “Well, Lord Corlys is not dead yet. This will be fought and we will be heard.”

—

The morning after the gala was… eventful, to say the least. She hardly remembered going back to her room, it all felt like a hazy, dizzy dream. 

Aemond had escorted her back to her chambers in (comfortable) silence, giving her another goodnight kiss before leaving her for the night. She had been reeling from it all, the adrenaline of their interaction.

She could feel his lips on hers and a delightful buzz on her face and… another unfamiliar sensation deep in her body, nestled behind her navel. It felt like a pulling sensation, like a thread connecting her and Aemond. Just the slightest tug on the string had her feeling warm and fuzzy— she wanted him. The implication of wanting him could mean a myriad of things. She was fond of him, of course, she always had been. His possessive declaration, to any normal person, could be deduced into one thing. But in Shera’s mind, there were many interpretations of such an action, it couldn’t be assumed to mean one thing! 

He said she belonged to him— that didn’t necessarily mean he… loved her, he just wanted her near him. The kiss… she had started it, of course! It was merely… something of comfort between them, like a soft blanket or a favorite smell, right? Nothing so deep as… as one might assume.

 But it was also… melding into one another with ease, like their lips coming together had been second nature, their feelings inevitable. 

She kicked her legs in bed, spooking Moongeist slightly. Burying her face in her pillow, she gave an uncharacteristically loud squeal— to personify her current feelings. This was girlish and so very silly! Her face was red, she knew, feeling the heat radiating off of it.

No, no— ‘twas not love. It… Aemond didn’t love her, he couldn’t, it was a passing fancy. Yes, he was possessive and had mentioned marrying her twice. But that didn’t… mean… 

She glanced over at the dozens of drawings and sketches they’d done over the past few weeks on her side table. Her eye immediately caught on the portrait she did of him in blue and purple pastels, fingers wrought over the etching as she thought back to when she presented it to him. 

“I do not look like this, Shera,” he scoffed as he rolled his eye at her depiction of him. “You made me look like a child getting their portrait done for the first time. I look like I am being held at swordpoint.” 

Her mouth opened, brows flying to her hairline. “What do you mean? This is what you look like to me,” she snatched the paper from his hand and put it up next to his face to compare. “And you wouldn’t sit still, you basically were a child. I thought you had more discipline than that– Ser Criston would be disappointed.” she tutted.

Of course, it was a stylized portrait– mayhaps overly stylized. It was lines and angles and he did look quite pointy in it. But it felt like him, harsh around the edges but there was a glint in his eye that was soft, something few people could catch in Aemond Targaryen. He had been agitated when she made him stand still and it was surprising that she didn’t capture that overbearing emotion– rather, she caught the softness reserved only for her that hung in the back light of his eye.

“You are blind.” Aemond huffed, turning away.

“Yes, we have established that,” she pushed his shoulder playfully.

Love. Love? Love!

She screamed herself hoarse again into her pillow until Moongeist tugged it away from her. 

She loved him. She was in love with Aemond Targaryen and had been for a very, very long time. 

She was still giddy about it, getting out of bed with a spring in her step, as if she were some sort of sprightly hare. She peppered Moongeist’s face in kisses, to which he returned sleepy chuffs and whines, cooing soft noises to him in lieu of words— her throat hurt from her girlish squealing.

She had almost forgotten about the incident. The warging. She wasn’t even sure it had been real, if not for the bruises where Aemond held her so tightly to stop her from falling to the floor, she thought it would’ve been a dream. 

Shera knew of warging– every Stark did, every Northman did. It was a seemingly supernatural phenomenon told by stewardesses to children. It was a thing of wonder and utter horror. She remembers her own stewardess, the very fleeting memories she had before King’s Landing of Winterfell, keeping her afraid with the threat that if a skinchanger died while inhabiting another being, they would be trapped in said being’s skin forever. 

“Some skinchangers are more beast than man, Shera,” the older woman said, wagging a finger in the little girl’s face, who was no more than four at the time. “If you keep up your antics, don’t be surprised if you wake up as a beast, you little hellion.”

Shera promptly bit the offending wagging finger.

Unfurling the paper left with her breakfast, a hearty plate of hot eggs and bangers (which looked ravenously appetizing), she skimmed it. The message was clear in its intent: the move back to Dragonstone was delayed. Biting into the sausage, she threw Moongeist some eggs.

One more thing to be delighted about– she felt like everything between her and… those who resided in King’s Landing was on borrowed time. 

‘Twas a pity about the hearing for Lucerys’ inheritance. She didn’t care much for Lucerys– but she didn’t really know him. She wonders if he even remembers taking Aemond’s eye, and Shera subsequently shoving him into a wall where he hit his head.

She ponders it more over breakfast, even asking for a second helping of sausage before reporting to the throne hall. The maids that dressed her had brought a separate garment, one unfamiliar and most certainly not something she brought with her.

“Princess Rhaenyra wishes for you to wear this at the hearing,” one of them murmured. 

Shera eyed the dress– it was deep, blood red with black and gold trim. There were embellishments of dragons and wolves across the chest and a sash belt that looked like it had wolf claws embedded into it. It was… nice in its own way, except for the ghastly color. The maids were relentless in the cinching of her waist and she shifted uneasily from foot to foot as she regretted her second helping of breakfast. The women didn’t say anything to her, really, but exchanged looks that said more than words. 

As she slips into the throne room, she feels a whoosh of air beside her. “You look garish in that color,” a familiar voice sneered. Aegon blocked her way, brows raised. “Some little birdie told me that you prefer blue.”

“... mayhaps I do,” she murmured. “And how exactly do you know that?” 

“Again, my little birdie. But also, I was at the gala and saw you and my brother eye-fucking each other. You two are seriously shameless, debaucherous almost.”

“That is truly rich coming from you, Aegon,” Shera cracked a small smile. 

Continuing her walk, Jacaerys sweeps her up into his arm and leads them over to… their side. Rhaenyra, Daemon, Lucerys and Rhaena are waiting. Across the opposite side of the room are Aemond, Aegon, Helaena, Alicent and Otto. In the center, stands Vaemond, swaying ever so slightly to the Queen’s side. The room is so clearly divided that it's almost sickening. Just the previous night, they had been making merry without all of this division. She sees Aemond, who gives her dress a onceover– his expression is reserved and she can’t tell what he is thinking. He looks at her for half a second, nostrils flared, before looking away from her. 

While the proceedings are happening, she swims within her own mind. She stands near Jace, who has his arm looped in hers in a protective manner. Scattered words of Vaemond come through her muddled thoughts, ‘Velaryon’, ‘Blood’, ‘Survival’, ‘House’. Her eyes were glazed over as she counted the cracks in the stones of the floor.

One, two, three… four… 

She doesn’t really pay attention to what’s going on until the heavy doors of the throne room open with almost silencing impunity, quiet chatter and shocked whispers pulling her from her reverie.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!” the Kingsguard announced as His Grace, who still looked all the part of a royal corpse, hobbled into the room. He declined any assistance to walk and take his seat.

She gets a sinking feeling in her gut– something telling her that everything is about to explode. 

“I must… admit… my confusion,” he wheezes, winded by the small walk. Shera feels a small twinge of sympathy at that, understanding the feeling. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession.”

“You are of sound mind in that, father,” Rhaenyra bowed her head, unfurling another paper, walking to the King to present it. “This is a whit and declaration of betrothal between my son, Lucerys Velaryon, and Lord Corlys’ granddaughter, Rhaena Targaryen. It is signed and stamped by Lady Rhaenys, who upholds her husband’s declaration that Laenor’s son shall inherit Driftmark. This betrothal shall only strengthen his claim.” 

Viserys gave a small smile. “Thank you, my daughter,” he skimmed the paper, obviously with some struggle. “The matter… is settled, Ser Vaemond. It has been and it will… stay affirmed… that Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon is heir to Driftmark… the Driftwood Throne… and the next Lord of the Tides… and the children… of him and Lady Rhaena… will inherit it after him.” 

She feels the intensity in the air, it’s almost palpable. She feels sick as the voices raise, the blood in the room rises. 

Vaemond looks like he is about to burst, his body shaking in clear anger. “You break law… and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me… who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon,” he pauses for a moment as if to consider his next words, “No.I will not allow it.”

“‘Allow it’? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond,” Viserys struggled to sit up, returning Vaemond’s vitriol with his own– as labored and unthreatening as it was.

“That,” Vaemond pointed to Lucerys, with a look that could raze an army. “is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine.”

“Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you… are no more than the second son of Driftmark.” 

“You… may run your house as you see fit… but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned… I will not see it ended on the account of this…” Vaemond looked back to Lucerys and Jacaerys. The rage in his eyes were palpable as a humid day, the anger emanating from him sticking in the room like cloying smoke.

“Say it.” Daemon whispered, eyes trained on the second son of Driftmark. The rogue prince was disarmingly calm, his voice like Caraxes’ hiss. 

“Her children… are bastards!” Vaemond boomed, stomping his foot and pointing again at Rhaenyra’s sons. 

Shera’s breath left her lungs. She remembered what happened the last time someone called them bastards. She glanced to Aemond, who was looking right back at her. 

“And she…” Ser Vaemond turned his damning finger to Rhaenyra, “is… a… whore.” 

The swing of a sword was all she heard. 

It is silent, save for the hushed and shocked breathing of everyone watching. One would think that people would scream, would gasp. But no, it was quiet as a mouse, quiet as Vaemond’s head was removed from his body and the gentle seep of blood staining the stone floor. 

Shera had never seen anyone die before– not like this. She can see into the passages of his skull, his eyes still open. Shocked, she looks at Daemon, who is wiping his blade against his doublet. Her eyes were glued to the ground, to the cracks she was counting before. They were soaked in his blood, the divots and fissures of the stone opening way for the blood to fall into, branching out into jagged rivers.

One, two, three… f-four…

This is what is he capable of, isn’t it? No one came to truly seize him, to arrest him for killing a man in broad daylight, in front of the King, in front of the Hand, in front of courtiers, in front of the Kingsguard. 

Alicent’s mouth was opened, her eyes wide. Even Otto was shocked, his fist clenched. It was as much emotion as Shera had ever seen the Hand express.

Her saliva feels cloying in her mouth as she glances across the room. Helaena has her ears covered and Shera wishes she had done the same. Aegon was staring off into space, pupils dilated. The scuffle of blades and minds beginning to come to a sense of what just really happened.

Aemond’s face finally held some emotion: enamorment. For the power that Daemon held, the prowess, the act of brutality itself– Shera couldn’t parse which. All she knew is that it scared her. That darkness lying just beneath the surface that she’d tried so hard to ignore–

Her extremities feel numb, the sharp sting of icy needles crawling up her arms and legs. She began to sway, unknowingly clasping onto Jacaerys. The room was spinning and shaking, the intense smell of copper— Vaemond’s blood— tainting her senses. 

A high pitched ringing overwhelmed her hearing as she slipped from consciousness into darkness. 

—

Alicent held Rhaenyra’s arm, hand over the length of the scar she gave her so many years ago. It seemed like a fever dream; that night. Her thumb traced the raised skin as the two women shared a moment in silence.

“I— I will return, Alicent,” the princess murmured, her hand over her belly. “I will take the children home and return for Shera. We… we have overstayed our welcome.” her throat bobbed as they spoke softly in the corner of the maester’s room. 

The queen’s eyes roved over Shera’s sleeping form. Her chest rose and fell softly and she seemed… troubled in her unconsciousness, soft whines emitting from her every so often. Her wolf stayed at the foot of the bed, standing at attention. Amber eyes vigilant, guarding. 

“How… how shall you transport her? She hasn’t woken up yet, Nyra,” Alicent asked, tilting her head. “The maesters say she is fragile.” 

“Syrax is a smooth flier— a makeshift cot is being constructed on her saddle as we speak. The flight wouldn’t be long and it would be much less taxing than a wheelhouse or horse.” 

Alicent nibbled on her lip anxiously. She had never been fond of dragons, despite most of those closest to her connected to one in some way. 

Targaryens and their queer customs. 

“Is… is that wise?” she pressed, brow knitting. “They do not even know if she will wake.” 

“I made an oath to her brother that I would keep her under my care, Alicent— we must go back to Dragonstone, our affairs cannot be put off any longer. I do not wish to birth my babe here, nor do I wish for Jacaerys to marry here.” 

But I wish for you to stay. I wish for you to leave that ingrate of a husband. She punctuated her unheard thought with a meaningful squeeze to Rhaenyra’s arm. A silent plea— it was the first time in years that something had felt right. 

But it wasn’t her place to say anything about it, the words were better left unsaid. “If you think that is wise, Rhaenyra,” the queen responded, her hand dropping from her skin as if it burned her. Mayhaps it did. “At least let our maesters monitor her for a few days— then you may take her.” 

Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched as she recused both hands to her belly as if to defend herself. “Very well, my queen.” 

They were so close, yet so far. 

—

It was hazy. Hazy and dreary— silent but all too loud. Her steps were calm and measured as her heart thumped in her chest. Shera felt light in her steps without any inhibition or reproach. Feeling no pain or vertigo, she flew down the staircase, skipping two or three at a time, giggling. This had to be a dream, didn’t it?

Descending, down… down… 

She was in the Red Keep, she knew. But it felt different, somehow. Younger in its stones, in the bones of its foundation, there was still some give. 

And yet, despite the airiness of the walls, there was a shadow looming

Two somewhat familiar figures were conversing near the skull of Balerion. She recognized them from portraits– young Rhaenyra and a much healthier, much more alive version of Viserys. 

She had always been fascinated by him, Balerion. Despite her heritage being very non-dragonesque, she always felt a childlike wonder whenever someone would speak of Balerion. It was hardly fathomable to her to imagine a dragon that would blot out the sun– one that even rivaled Vhagar’s gargantuan size. 

Viserys spoke softly but firmly to Rhaenyra, who was so young. She had just lost her mother and brother— the claim to the Iron Throne and named heir were up in the air. 

“Aegon saw absolute darkness riding on those winds. And whatever dwells within will destroy the world of the living. When this Great Winter comes, Rhaenyra… all of Westeros must stand against it,” Viserys urged softly as the candlelight flickered against his features, fingers skimming atop the flames

“And if the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne. A king,” he paused, looking at Rhaenyra once more, “or queen, strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the dark. Aegon called his dream ‘The Song of Ice and Fire.’ This secret… it’s been passed from king to heir since Aegon’s time. Now you must promise to carry it… and protect it. Promise me this, Rhaenyra,” the king looked directly to where Shera was standing, looking right into her eyes, as if he could see her, see into her. “Promise me.”

The metal of the Catspaw blade heated up atop the coals to a bright and almost fluorescent orange. Goosebumps prickled on Shera’s skin in tandem with the rising heat of the room. It was so warm, no, it was hot, scorching. The air vacated her lungs, replaced by flames licking at her insides, burning, consuming.

Young Rhaenyra had left the room, leaving Viserys to look at the skull of Balerion. He picked up a single candle, peering into the flame like it held the secrets of the world. 

He spoke again, but his voice wasn’t that of the era of King that Shera was looking upon. It was old, weezing– just like in the throne room from earlier in the day. The form of Viserys slumped, hair falling out and skin graying as he held the candle like a lifeline. He fell to his knees and the sound of his bones shattering could be heard, breaking and splintering into nothing but dust. 

But the candle was still lit. His hand, now nothing but bone and sinew, was fused to the wax. 

“No… more,” he coughed and sputtered, blood leaking from his lips onto the stone. Wax dripped, mingling with the blood. Finally, he focused on the flame of the candle. “My… love.” 

He blew out the candle with his last breath. With that, all of the candles in the room blew out.

Shera was left alone in the darkness and swirling smoke. 

It was cold.

–

She awoke with a start, drenched in sweat. But she was still cold, shivering. The smell of smoke was still lingering. 

Her chest was heaving as she sat up and tried to walk, wanting that same flighty weightlessness she felt before. Her body failed her and she crumbled to the floor, a broken doll once again. Arms wrapped around her and helped her up. The familiarity of sandalwood lulled her frantic nerves as she wholeheartedly buried her face into Aemond’s chest. She knew it was him. His arms laced behind her as he lifted her up easily as if not to taint her with having to stand on the ground. His nose buried into her hair, holding onto her as if he was afraid she would slip away.

There was the sound of a throat clearing near the corner of the room. The two of them were not alone– but she didn’t care. She clung to Aemond like her life depended on it, peering behind him slowly. 

Aegon was sitting behind them, knee bobbing nervously. He looked… disheveled, more than usual. Even more so, he was wearing… the crown of the conqueror. He was wearing the crown of his namesake. “You’ve missed a lot, Shera,” he muttered, eyes dark.

“Aegon?” she croaked, voice sounding hoarse and broken from disuse.

“‘Tis ‘your grace’ now.” Aegon said bitterly.

[lovers-tucked-into-a-quiet-cafe]

4th of July Special [IKYLHT]

~2.9k Words | Series Masterlist | Prev | Next Chapter [Coming Soon]

Hope you enjoy this very very overdue special chapter. It's part of the larger timeline of the story but considering we just had the 4th not too long ago I figured I'd post what I had so far just to keep you held over until chapter 8 is finished. It will very much be expanded upon in due time. Much love

-

There are three holidays you force yourself to celebrate as an active member of the military.

Veterans Day, the obvious.

Memorial Day, also obvious.

And the great ol’ 4th of July. Independence Day, a celebration of our great freedoms, our national pride.

More importantly- a day filled with beer, fireworks, and a rack of ribs, all without the threat of having to clock in that morning.

The boys had called you a yank when you’d first suggested it, mentioned something about the ridiculousness of the American desire to clog your arteries while lighting shit on fire.

The sweat of the 98° day dripping down Johnny's back, soon to be washed away by cool pool water. An ice cooler filled with Coronas, freshly cut limes on the table. Slow cooked rack of ribs on each plate while the burgers sizzle on the grill. These were things you’d pitched to the boys only moments before they’d laughed in your face.

The idea of leaving the Queen’s land to shack it up with a bunch of blue-coats celebrating the day they’d left the commonwealth felt blasphemous, especially for Simon and Price, the true patriots they are. Kyle didn’t care much, he’d actually been quite excited to visit the US again. The west coast was unexplored to him, and he’d be lying if the prospect of seeing a few celebrities during his stay in California didn’t excite him. Truthfully, Johnny would take any chance to subtly spite the Brits. He’s a proper Scot, after all.

But you’d pushed the idea hard.

It was Sparks’ annual 4th of July barbeque and there was no way in hell you were going to run the risk of missing him lose a finger trying to light the extra explosive fireworks he’d bought after a mission in Texas.

You’d gone that route first- having Shane call Price to personally invite the task force to his home in San Diego with the promise of good food and drinks. When the invitation didn’t seem to make it to the group chat, you’d stepped up your game. You thought maybe a polite Captain-to-Captain request from Griggs would suffice. It did not.

Fortunately, you were in the perfect position to seal the deal.

“You know, I just think it’d be a great team bonding activity.”

You hear his groan as your movement stops, feel the way his hands fly up to grasp at your waist, but you ignore him entirely.

“I don’t understand why you insist on impeding my job, John. I thought it was a captain’s duty to assist his subordinates?”

His fingers dig into your hips, trying their best to move you but you keep yourself steadily perched atop his lap.

“I think this is team bonding enough, love.”

You look around the room, turning your head as far as you can in each direction, before you settle your eyes on his form once more.

“I don’t see the rest of them. Seems like it’s just you and me here, Price.”

A small moan he clearly tried to conceal slips out as you lean forward, planting your hands on his sweaty chest and feeling the way his heart quickly patters. The bed shifts under you, sheets molten hot with your combined heat.

“Want me to go get them? I can roam the base in search of them. Would be faster if I skipped getting redressed-”

“-Alright, alright. I’m listening.”

You go to speak but shoot him a stern glance as you feel him attempt to move from under you.

The coy smile he lets out feeds your soul, his cheeks flushed from exertion, eyes hungry with want.

“We’re going.”

He laughs, eyes glancing down to where he throbs inside you.

“You think this is the best time to bring this back up, sweetheart?”

Shifting enough to make his breath hitch, you flash your own big smile.

“I do.”

Glancing at his watch, he quietly huffs as he mulls over his options.

“California?”

“Yes”

“During peak travel season…”

“Yup”

“For a holiday only you celebrate?”

“In a country you don't wanna revisit. I know, it’s not ideal.”

“So we’re doing it because?”

“Because it’s for me, John. We’re doing it for me. So I can go home.” Your smile is pleading.

He gives a small nod, lifting your hand off his chest and kissing the back of it.

“Okay. I’ll call Sparks and let him know we’re coming.”

“It’s okay! I’ll just text him-” You can’t control your smile, damn near flying off the bed to grab your phone if it weren’t for Price hooking an arm around you and flipping you beneath him.

“-You can text him once we’re done here. I still have another fifteen minutes with you.”

Admittedly, you didn’t call Shane until the following morning.

With Price on your side, it was easy getting everything in order. He dealt with the logistics- plane tickets, hotels, rental cars- while you did the fun part.

Helping the boys pack.

Kyle was by far the easiest. He naturally had good style, all you’d needed to do was inform him of the typical San Diego weather and how to transition those outfits into something a little cooler for when you’d venture up to Los Angeles.

Simon and Price came next. Simon’s was physically easier, just more mental gymnastics. Despite being in many’a hot biome before, he refused to admit his all black ensemble just wouldn’t do. Cargo pants and combat boots weren’t adequate pool party attire, especially when you knew he’d want to prove his usefulness attending to anything he possibly could (you prayed Shane had fixed the dishwasher leak or you knew you wouldn’t be seeing Simon until well past sunset). Price was more physically demanding. He didn’t care much what you dressed him in, he trusted you enough to ensure he stepped outside looking handsome- you’re 99% sure someone had told him about the ‘girlfriend effect’ and he just ran with it. The difficult part was actually buying the clothes. He had no problem handing his card over, but he didn’t seem to want to send sizes, measurements, color preferences, anything of use. You’d resorted to taking a measuring tape to his biceps as he oversaw drill exercises, the width of his shoulders as he sat doing paperwork, the length of each limb as he stood at the gym’s cable machine.

Johnny was quite a bit more difficult. Having been to your home in LA a few times before, he knew how hot it’d get in the dead of summer and thus decided it was prime time to dress in nothing but swim trunks and his favorite pair of vans. Despite being told numerous times that he’d need to pack at least one shirt, every time you checked his suitcase that shirt seemed to have vanished. Your only saving grace was Price’s scolding when he’d gone over the group’s tax write offs and seen the recurring £5.25 Tesco charge for a single men’s t-shirt.

Still, somehow you’d all managed to make it in one piece. And best of all, without a single complaint.

Price stood at the grill chatting with Griggs about various meat charring techniques while Ghost supervised refereed the game of chicken Soap and Gaz were playing with the rest of the Demon Dogs.

The liquor was free flowing and gave you the opportunity to utilize this annual event for what it truly was- a chance to check up on everyone.

And who better to do it with than your closest confidant and his therapist wife.

Convenient, really.

“How’ve you been, kid?”

Nodding as you glance over at Johnny balancing Kyle upon his shoulders, you can’t help but smile.

“We’ve had our moments. Can’t complain, though.”

Alison nods, and you see her head tilt ever so slightly. She’s going into work mode as best she can without raising your suspicions. She’s well trained, probably what’s saved her marriage with Shane. To her dismay, you are also well trained.

“How do you see your future together?"

“Alison, you'd know better than most that people like us don’t get futures.”

“You can spare her the melodramatic self loathing, she’ll just whack you upside the head.”

She glares at Shane’s retort, gives him that ‘stop joking I’m trying to fix shit’ look you’ve seen so many times before.

“I guess I haven’t thought about it. Genuinely. I think it’ll be good though. I love him… and all that mushy shit you’re dying to hear me say.”

“Okay. Well, that’s a start. What about the rest of the task force? Do you think you work well as a team?”

“Oh yeah, we’re a well oiled machine. My doing, of course. Successful or not, our missions can always be described as top tier.”

“And how about off-mission? Do you get along with everyone?”

You fight the urge to glance over at the four men whose hands you’d put your entire life into in more ways than one.

“Uh, yeah. We’re good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah.” You shrug.

Her response is cut off before she could even start it, two shorts car honks bouncing off the wood of the open side gate leading to the front of the property. She cranes her neck to see the car from her position in the backyard, just catching the conversation between Raines and his wife as they begin to unload the car.

Alison turns back to you after waving hello, pointing a finger and making a stern face.

“We’re not done here.”

“Aye Aye ma’am.” You jokingly salute her as you internally thank Raines’ kids for making him late to every event he’s ever been invited to.

You and Shane wave to the couple as she walks up to say her greetings, Shane walking towards the cooler to grab two beers.

“I warned her against interrogating you. But we all know how she feels about listening to me.”

“She’s lucky. She’s the only one that can ignore you and call you a dumbass without repercussion. Sometimes I envy her.”

Popping off the cap, he makes his way to two lounger seats off in the corner of the fenced backyard, plopping down with a sigh.

“Gonna have to retire soon. Or take up being a desk jockey. Whatever keeps my knees from going out.”

“Not showing up to your PT appointments, Sparks? I do recall you scolding me for doing the same.”

“I’ve been showing up, that’s the problem. Ain’t bouncing back like I used to.”

You nod in understanding. You’re not even that old and the aches had already settled in. The military really does take your best years.

“Alright, kid. Enough stalling. How’ve you really been doing?”

“I told you, Johnny and I have been good-”

“-I don’t mean your relationship. I know you two are doing good. God knows I’d be getting a call from MacTavish asking how to fix it if y’all weren’t. I mean about the mission.”

“Oh. Yeah, no. It was fine. It’s over.”

“Heard it was a rough one up top.”

“Uh, yeah. Always is, I guess. We would’ve loved to have traded places with you.”

“Don’t underestimate the stairs, kid. Was damn near out of breath by the time we’d gotten up there.”

You let out a hum, more of an acknowledgement than an agreement.

“I know it’s hard for you to sit and watch. But you gotta remember your roots, Water.”

A snort escapes you, humor and nostalgia behind it.

“Haven’t heard you call me that in what, five years?”

“You retired it. You may call me an asshole but I do have a heart.”

“Well-”

“-Don’t change the subject, Carrots.”

“You know I’m still mad you told Kyle-”

“-Rabbit. Come on. Talk to me, kid.”

He stares you down, gives that same stern look you’d always seen after cracking a joke a little too soon after a mission gone awry.

“Nightmares?”

“A couple.” You murmured with a shrug.

“Just a couple?”

“A few.” You manage another murmur.

He studies your side profile a moment longer before trailing his eyes towards your line of vision.

Kyle sits on the pool ledge right where the deep end becomes standable again, using his dry hand to feed Johnny chips from the paper plate he teeters on his thigh. Every time Soap gestures as he speaks, pool water flings from his position standing in front of Kyle’s shins and onto the plate.

Shane thinks back to the first time you’d shown up to an event like this. He watched you, a newly-appointed baby-faced private first class awkwardly clutching a plate with a burger you had no intention of eating, and was reminded of how out of place you had felt in this small sliver of normalcy.

He thinks back to how utterly determined you seemed to not make friends, to not form attachments.

He thinks back to how, despite your reservations, you found yourself slowly easing into the environment.

Despite being so quick to adapt, you’d never been fond of change. And you couldn’t be more different now from the person you were before.

He thinks about how embarrassing it was for you to admit you'd even been having nightmares, let alone what they were about.

“Ok kid. I’ll let you avoid interrogation for now. No use in ruinin’ a good barbeque.”

You pat his knee with an appreciative smile before you heave yourself out of the low chair, setting your sights back onto Kyle as he rejoins Johnny in the pool.

“Hey Rabbit?” You hear Sparks call out after you.

You look back at him over your shoulder.

“Yeah?”

You look at his blank face. You’ve known Shane long enough to tell he doesn’t want to spook you off but is begging for answers. He's giving you the opportunity to tell him on your own volition, no questions asked.

There’s a small demon resting in the back of your throat. He decides now’s a good time to carve at your esophagus. He urges you to spit it out so he can escape his imprisonment in your windpipe. To say what can’t be retracted, to just get it out there.

You stay silent, facing forward again and walking up to Price. He scrubs char off the grill rack, seemingly abandoned by Griggs.

That answers who lost the coin toss.

“Hey Cap,” You bump shoulders with him, tugging on the string of his boonie hat that rests against the back of his neck.

“Hey sweetheart” He mumbles back.

“You look handsome” You whisper with a giddy smile.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm”

“Hungry yet?”

“Only for you, big daddy” You manage to get out between a laugh and an over the top wink, just narrowly missing the way he goes to swat at you.

“Behave, Rabbit.”

“I always do, sir” You nearly purr.

As the earlier heat of the day began to cool, the sky painted itself in hues of orange and pink. You were finally feeling contentment settle deep into your bones. Your favorite part was soon and very much worth skipping your main meal, even if Price disagreed.

You and Soap had helped set up a small fire pit in the center of the yard- marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate bars all laid out for s’mores. Kyle, still somewhat in subdued awe of the whole spectacle, watches from your left as the others talked around the fire, their faces illuminated by the steady flame. You watched the way his eyes constantly bounced around, so deeply invested in the stories of your comrades.

Johnny sits between you and Ghost, his usual spot for the last nine months or so since Las Almas. You go to search for Price but are almost startled out of your seat as his arm misses your face by about two inches, draping over your lap a red checkered blanket he’d found thrown over one of the lawn chairs.

You grab his shirt by the collar before he gets the chance to pull away, pulling him down to kiss his cheek.

It was risky, there was no guarantee everyone outside of you five had been distracted by the sudden start of the neighbors fireworks, but you couldn’t really find it in yourself to care at that moment.

Grabbing the metal rod Johnny holds out for you, you shove the marshmallow on the prongs and lick the stickiness off your fingertips. You’d always hated the residue, but the practicality of Johnny hand feeding you the squishy candy didn’t negate how sickeningly adorable it was to witness.

“Care for a s’more, Ghost?” you asked, leaning forward and holding out a stick with a perfectly roasted marshmallow.

He looked at the stick, then at you, and finally at the fire. It was a simple, almost childlike gesture, but there was something undeniably comforting about it. He took the stick from you with a small nod.

Johnny was already assembling the graham crackers and chocolate for him, adding an additional little chocolate square in the center.

Simon holds the dessert, examining it on all sides before looking up at the group before him. No one is paying any attention to the three of you, something you’d requested from both your old team and Price and Gaz.

You nod as encouragingly as you can when he scans the group once more, whispering just enough to be heard by him.

“It’s alright Simon. Go ahead.”

His black surgical mask is only down for a second before half his face is covered again, now with significantly more graham cracker crumbs settling at the bottom of it then before.

He hands the s’more back over to Johnny as he nods his head.

“See? Not so bad, right?”

Ghost looked over at you, your face illuminated by the soft glow of the firelight, and nods once more. “Not bad at all.”

Soap, munching on the last of the s’more, looks over with a smirk.

“Told ya. Next time, we’ll get you on karaoke.”

Simon goes completely deadpan but chuckles softly.

“We’ll see about that.”

-

<3

Taglist:

@voodoo-writer @wonderswritings @loving-milkskake-coffee @mothcelestial @hindi-si-ikay @poohkie90 @berrysealsblog @anniblindfischi @autrizzm @megansheila @aldis-nuts @gentlegiant @johnwickthethird @dante-mightdie @forever-hero-trash @330bpm-whiplash @addison-james @l0velyy-xmll @secretsthathauntus @angstismydrug @mo-i-ra @wh0rethoughtz @trulytiredboi @pengwen14 @craxy-person @mrmountainman @galacticgrump @kiritokunuwu @luvvnightingalee @cosychick @jollyjumpsfrog @sn0w72897 @urfavsunkissedleo @erothickthefemboy @perpetual-fandom-brainrot @bossva @missmidnight-writes @supernaturalstilinski @certainkittenpeach @alcinas-darling-side @jinxxangel13 @jewelbby @rhaenryawhore @murdersheghostwrote @leothescorpio @michilpyay @cassiecasluciluce @browtfyoudoing @savagemickey03 @xxqueensneverdie @lovelyeau @kimbeans90 @notcrazynotoldbutcatlady @nessaasstuff @sadg3 @thriving-n-jiving @ghost-with-a-teacup @bbyfimmie

[wikiangela]

fuck it friday

tagged by @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @giddyupbuck @fortheloveofbuddie 💖

so I'm currently all over the place with my wips, and had a few bad days when I didn't write at all lol - but last night I made some progress on the natalia fic (that finally has a title, I think lol) - I just need one more scene, with Eddie, and it's gonna be done haha (also need some editing to buck's internal monologue during his realization bc it's a mess lol)

prev snippet (and also posted another snippet for a wip tag game here)

___

But, shit. He thinks Natalia was right – he’s in love with Eddie. And Eddie might just love him back. 

He looks at Natalia with wide eyes, and is met with a gentle, understanding smile.

“Shit.” he exhales. “Natalia, I’m so sorry-”

“Buck.” she interrupts with a small headshake, then waves him off. “Don’t worry, it’s fine. I promise.” she adds, sounding so genuine and sweet. She’s really so nice and so cool, and maybe in another lifetime she could be it for him, really. As it is, Buck’s heart belongs to someone else, apparently. “I really hope you two are happy together.” she adds, and from anyone else it might’ve sounded a little bit bitter, but not from her. She’s as earnest as she’s always been. 

“If he even feels the same.” Buck says quietly, though there’s a part of him that really thinks that won’t be a problem.

“He does. He looks at you the way you look at him, Buck. Trust me, he loves you.” Natalia says with a smile, then chuckles. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it for so long, it seems so obvious now.”

“That you didn’t see it for so long?” Buck raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know I was head over heels in love.” laughter bubbles out of him, as he feels lighter than air, this new realization making everything slot into place, it’s like everything suddenly makes sense.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @911onabc @housewifebuck @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @pirrusstuff @wildlife4life @nmcggg @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @king-buckley @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @hoodie-buck @jeeyuns @puppyboybuckley @weewootruck @honestlydarkprincess @buckaroosheart @spagheddiediaz @disasterbuckdiaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @exhuastedpigeon @jesuisici33 @theotherbuckley @hippolotamus @rainbow-nerdss @malewifediaz @spotsandsocks

[ronwestbreeze]

TO YOU , WORLDS AWAY : PART TWO : CHAPTER TWELVE

pairing: jake sully x fem!reader

summary: in which it is the year 2159

word count: 2.4k

author's note: hello hello! TYWA part two has arrived! now updating is going to be a bit different for this. i'm thinking posting each chapter once a week will be what I will do from here on out that way I can have time to write future chapters whilst you all read the one's I have already written! just remember, don't demand me to post, it doesn't help with motivation or make me want to keep writing it! anyways, thank you for the patience! and without further ado, part two!

AO3 | prev | next

“I keep having these dreams. About this girl. Every time I saw her, it felt like I knew her for years. Like she was my best friend in the whole world. And I couldn’t imagine a life without her.”

“Tell me about these dreams.”

“Well…they always start with fire and…”

“What’s wrong? Baby girl, what is it?”

“You’ll think I’m weird, Daddy.”

“I won’t, I won’t. I promise.”

“When I wake up, I’m sad. Like I’ve lost someone. And it feels so heavy…Daddy, I hate it!”

“Sssh, ssh, it’s okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you, alright? I’ve got you.”

“I miss her, Daddy. I miss her so much.”

“Miss who, baby girl?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t even know her name…”

Year 2159

It had been five years since the RDA were exiled off of Pandora and Dr. Chloe Parker was still trying to find her footing on this planet. 

Before the battle, she had been well into the late Dr. Augustine’s Avatar Program. Trained and studied learning to control her own avatar and then using her time to explore all of Pandora’s plants and herbs. And it was interesting, learning about all the medicines here, the potential use for them.

Then the battle at the Tree of Souls happened. Killing dozens of wildlife, many humans and Na’vi alike. It was a sad day to say the least. But after Jake Sully took over as the clan leader for the Omatikaya Clan and exiled the RDA off of Pandora, things began to change for the better.

Dr. Chloe had been one of the humans allowed to stay on Pandora, mostly because she didn’t contribute to the war that struck the planet and because Dr. Max Patel vouched for her and some of the other scientists and avatar volunteers. Now she had spent her time continuing to explore all of Pandora, working with the Na’vi in different clans to study their ways of medicine and perhaps teach them some of the stuff humans do, even though she knew they would probably never use it.

For the past few months, Dr. Chloe, and her small research team, took their avatars and their next journey to the Olangi Clan. A very nomadic clan that worked very closely with the Omatikaya so their home wasn’t too far from the former’s. Their clan leader, Akwey, had allowed them to stay and start their research there as long as they didn’t pose a threat to his people and were respectful of the lands and their ways. Which wasn't a difficult task, especially when there were no more military men flanking the planet anymore.

But as of recently, Dr. Chloe had been requested to retrieve the Tsahik of the Omatikaya Clan, Mo’at since the Olangi’s Tsahik had died in the battle against the RDA. So, instead of researching like the rest of her team, she had been made into a messenger, going back and forth from each clan speaking of something called Eywa…Dr. Chloe wasn’t really too spiritual to care much of who this Eywa was. But if it made the people happy and content, and kept them from shutting down her research, then Dr. Chloe would take one for the team for now.

On the other hand, she wasn’t entirely too comfortable leaving her very first patient alone so much. A patient very important to her research.

When Dr. Chloe found Mo’at, she was with her daughter, Neytiri if she could recall correctly. Dr. Chloe never really had a conversation with the woman—mostly because of her obvious distaste of Dr. Chloe’s presence—and today was no different. Once she arrived in her avatar form, Neytiri hissed and walked away. One of her children, a young boy, followed after her closely.

“Why has Akwey sent you now, Chloeparker?” Mo’at greeted her while crushing up what looked like herbs in a small wooden bowl. Dr. Chloe’s Na’vi wasn’t perfect but she could understand a lot of it after years of listening to both Dr. Augustine and the people talk expertly in it.

“An elder died yesterday.” Dr. Chloe informed her, stuffing her hands into her shorts. “Akwey wishes for you to perform the ceremony.”

Mo’at hummed, not looking up from her work. “One day, he will have to come to my daughter as she will be the next Tsahik of the People. And I will finally rest.”

“Let’s hope that day isn’t soon then.” Dr. Chloe commented with a thin smile. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your daughter doesn’t seem to like me much.”

“You are Sky People. Of course she doesn't like you.” Mo’at stood with the bowl and finally looked at Dr. Chloe. “I am not too fond of your people either.”

Dr. Chloe could understand that in a way. But she was a bit tired of being grouped with the people that tried to destroy Pandora and take it over. Then again, she really couldn’t blame them. If she were in their shoes, she’d hold a grudge too. It didn’t matter if they were the same or not. That anger, that resent, it was uncontrollable and rightful. Dr. Chloe could do nothing but shrug.

“Touché.”

“Mmph.” Mo’at then handed her the bowl. Dr. Chloe took it, surprised at the sudden gesture. “I understand you are a doctor among your people. This can be more useful than whatever technology you Sky People insist on using.”

Chloe held the little bowl delicately but frowned, “The technology is not all useless, you know. It does help sometimes.”

“Sometimes.” Mo’at pointed out. Dr. Chloe tried not to roll her eyes.

There was small movement behind Mo’at and Dr. Chloe did a double take. She hadn’t realized they weren’t alone until Mo’at had stood. It was a little girl that didn’t really look like Na’vi. Actually, when Dr. Chloe looked at her closely, she realized the little girl looked awfully similar to someone.

Before she could wonder just who the little girl reminded her of, her earpiece suddenly beeped, alerting her that one of her team members was calling her from back at the Olangi Clan.

Dr. Chloe excused herself before answering her earpiece, “This is Dr. Chloe—”

“You need to get back here fast!”

She blinked in confusion at the urgency in her fellow researcher, Simon's voice, “Why, what’s happening?”

There was a pause, “…Okay, don’t get mad but we decided to take her out of cryosleep—”

“WHAT?!” Dr. Chloe covered her mouth when Mo’at gave her a disapproving scowl and the little girl watched her curiously. She cleared her throat and lowered her voice before continuing, “Why the hell would you do something like that—she’s not even stable enough to take her out—”

“Just let me explain!” Simon interrupted with an exhausted sigh. “We connected her to the machines we’ve been working on for months ever since we first started working on her, remember?”

“Those aren’t even ready yet!” Chloe hissed into the earpiece, walking out of the tent where Mo’at and the little girl still were. “Simon, what the hell were you thinking—”

“It worked, Chloe.”

She went quiet. Her eyes wandered aimlessly around the forest, unsure if she had heard him correctly. When Simon called her name again she finally responded in a hushed whisper, “You’re not shitting me, are you? Y-Your saying—”

“It worked, Chloe, it worked.” She could practically imagine the growing smile on his face as he said this. “She could wake up at any moment now. But with her condition, it’s not exactly permanent and I don’t imagine she herself would be happy with the results, but they are supporting her. They're keeping her alive until we know how to deal with the heavier wounds.”

This was definitely a development. This had been something she had been working on for two years now, hearing that it worked, on a person no less? Chloe couldn’t help but start packing up her things and leave.

“I’ll be right there! Don’t do anything without me!”

And with that, Chloe rushed back toward the Samson she had arrived in, ordering the pilot to take her back to plains.

There was a lab within the tall trees the Olangi Clan lived in. Chloe had it built when she first arrived in the plains. Even though she technically wanted to build one in one of the trees, having a lab hanging from a tree wasn’t exactly the safest position. So, they went with having it on the ground.

Plus, if they had done it in the tree, then the lab wouldn’t be as spacious as they needed it to be.

When Chloe arrived back, she came out of her link bed with Simon waiting for her.

“How is she?”

The two walked side by side with each other, leaving the link room and walking down the long hallway. Simon carried a holographic pad in his hands as he spoke, “She’s stable, still has yet to wake up, but things are looking good so far. The doctors want to start on the severe wounds right away.”

“How exactly bad are these injuries?” Chloe found herself asking. Really, when they first saw the patient, they had already decided to quickly put her in cryosleep with how badly injured she was and freeze her wounds before it became any more lethal to her body. Chloe hadn’t exactly seen it for herself but she’d always kept hearing about how bad it was.

Simon frowned, “Third and second degree burns, a broken rib, and a her lungs might've collapsed, I'm not entirely sure.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, I hear she was a lot worse and the doctors managed to work on some of the less lethal burns, but she’s not exactly out of the woods yet.” Simon sighed as they stopped in front of the closed door. “We have twenty minutes with her before the doctors get to work.”

Chloe frowned, staring at him incredulously, “What should we say to her if she does wake up?”

Simon shrugged, “Tell of the situation, maybe fill her in since she’s missed basically five years of her life, and…I don’t know, comfort her the best we know how?”

“Comfort is not either of our strong suits, Simon.”

Simon rolled his eyes before finally opening the door.

What did death feel like? Was it this bright? This cold? Were you supposed to feel so heavy, so numb as if you couldn’t feel your body. Maybe your consciousness was floating above your body. There were stories like that, you remember reading about people who have died for a few seconds and were able to see their body outside of themselves.

Okay, maybe you weren’t actually dead. You may not have known what it felt like but you were pretty sure you weren’t supposed to be able to recall a memory as if it were another day. Then again, your body didn’t feel like a ton of anvils had fallen onto it and was pinning it down, preventing you from moving.

You hadn’t realized your eyes had been open until a shadow came into view, blocking some of the light above. Your vision was blurred, really you didn’t know when you had woken up or how long you had been staring up at the ceiling. Yes, that was definitely a ceiling.

Either hell was some bright room or you were somehow still alive.

Muffled voices echoed into your ears. You hadn’t realized, at first, that the voices were coming from the shadowed heads above you. It was like using your ears for the first time, like you were a newborn baby. Hell, your eyes felt like they hadn’t been used before.

Soon, you started registering the voices.

“You think she fell into some sort of vegetative state?” This voice belonged to a woman.

“I don’t know. It’s a possibility. Coming out of a cryosleep can be a little much.” This voice belonged to a man. Neither of them were familiar to your groggy mind. “We might need to get the doctors.”

Soon your vision began to clear.

“Wait, hold on…” The woman above you whispered. She was staring directly down at you, eyes wide with wonder. “I think she’s…”

Your eyes then moved to the second head, the man, when he came back over and appeared in your vision. And like their voices, they were both unfamiliar to you. Even in your foggy mind, you could not recall a single memory where it included these two strangers. Wait, maybe the woman. Back before you had stopped going to Hell’s Gate, you might’ve seen her a few times in passing.

Wait.

Hell’s Gate.

The bombs.

The ship crashed.

You should’ve been dead.

“Dr. L/N?”

The woman’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, you refocused your gaze on her and she grinned excitedly. “You can hear me? Understand me?”

With great difficulty, you nodded. Or maybe your head shifted slightly similar to a nod, you didn’t really know.

“Holy shit.” The male muttered in amazement.

The woman continued grinning, “Welcome back, Doc.”

Before you could ask her where you were, before you could question who these people were, it suddenly hit you.

And it really hit you. Worse than a pile of anvils. More like an out of control train that crashed right into your body and dragged you along the way.

That was the type of pain that struck your body once your senses had begun coming back. This pain was unimaginable. It was unlike anything, unlike any pain you had ever felt in your short life.

This was worse. This was what death felt like.

You didn’t remember much of what happened after your chest jolted forward from the shock of the pain. All you saw was the two that had been standing over you, rushing away, shouting for what sounded like help. And in the next few seconds you kept blacking out a few times. The world went in and out. Every sound clashed together around you. Most of the pain, you realized, was coming from your waist, hell, just your entire upper body.

You wanted to scream. But all that came out of your mouth was choked gasps, barely any words or cries. You were crying. You were crying. Yes, you were sure of it.

There was a sharp prick against your neck.

And in the next second, it was like you were falling out of the world and back into the blackness.

Falling.

Falling.

Eventually, you would hit the ground…

And Jake Sully would wake up.

[fanby-fckry]

What’s the Deal With the Five Foot Rule?

Day 2 of Ace Alastor Week: No Touch Tuesday

Word Count: 1,868

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon)

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Warnings: Threats of Violence, References to Alastor-Typical Cannibalism/Violence, Implied/Referenced Abuse

Relationships: Alastor & Angel Dust & Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor & Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor & Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust & Husk (Hazbin Hotel)

Characters: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Mentioned Mimzy (Hazbin Hotel), Mentioned Hazbin Hotel Ensemble, Mentioned Valentino (Hazbin Hotel)

Additional Tags: Canon Compliant (mostly), Post-Episode: s01e05 Dad Beat Dad, Humor, Attempt at Humor, Light Angst, Developing Friendships, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Aromantic Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Touch-Averse Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Touch-Starved Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), (both tags are relevant trust me), Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Being a Jerk (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Being Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust Being Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Protective Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Husk is So Done (Hazbin Hotel), Drinking, Drinking & Talking, The Five Foot Rule (Hazbin Hotel), Hunicast References, you can pry the hunicast platonic radiodust dynamic from my cold dead hands

Series: Part 2 of Fanby’s Ace Alastor Week 2024 ( <- Prev || Next -> )

Summary:

“So, smiles,” Angel said, leaning against the bar and nursing a drink. “What’s your deal?”

Radio feedback crackled in the air while Husk frantically made ‘cut it out’ gestures from over Alastor’s shoulder.

“My Deal?” Alastor repeated in a tone that made Angel suspect he’d touched a nerve in a way he hadn’t even been trying to.

“Uh yeah, the whole ‘five foot rule’ thing,” Angel clarified, and watched as Alastor and Husk both visibly relaxed. “What’s up with that?”

*

A cat, a deer, and a spider walk into a hotel bar, get drunk, and discuss the finer points of Alastor’s famous ‘five foot rule’.

Better on AO3

“So, smiles,” Angel said, leaning against the bar and nursing a drink. “What’s your deal?”

Radio feedback crackled in the air while Husk frantically made ‘cut it out’ gestures from over Alastor’s shoulder.

“My Deal?” Alastor repeated in a tone that made Angel suspect he’d touched a nerve in a way he hadn’t even been trying to.

“Uh yeah, the whole ‘five foot rule’ thing,” Angel clarified, and watched as Alastor and Husk both visibly relaxed. “What’s up with that?”

“Oh, it’s quite simple, really!” Alastor said, brightly. “Don’t touch me, and you keep your hands!”

“Right, but…” Angel hesitated. For a split second, he wondered if maybe he should just leave well enough alone.

But between the liquid courage and Angel’s already small threshold when it came to regard for his own safety, he decided to just fucking go for it.

“You’re always all up in everyone else’s personal space,” he said.

Alastor tilted his head in that cute, deer-like way of his. “I don’t follow.”

“Well, take Husky, for instance-”

“Uh-uh,” Husk interrupted. “Leave me outta this, legs.”

“Nonsense!” Alastor said, interrupting Husk’s interruption by physically covering his mouth. “Let the man speak!”

“The five foot rule applies to Husk, right?” Angel asked.

“Why, of course!” Alastor answered. “And dear Husker knows better than to break it!”

Alastor wrapped his arm around a very disgruntled Husk’s shoulders, tugging him half-way over the bar. Husk hissed and squirmed, but Alastor’s grip was evidently a vice.

Which was exactly Angel’s point.

“But you’re all over him right now!” Angel said, gesturing to Alastor’s obvious breach of both his own rule and Husk’s comfort zone.

“Hmm,” Alastor hummed. Alastor pushed Husk down onto the bar and used him as an armrest as he tucked a fist under his chin. “I suppose I am!”

“And it ain’t just Husk, neither!” Angel said. “I mean, Charlie, Vaggie, fuckin’ Lucifer,” he listed. “Me, on occasion…” Although that’d mostly stopped since Angel had a panic attack that one time. Small mercies.

“I’m not countin’ Niffty and Mimzy, ‘cause it kinda seems like they’re exceptions to whatever the fuck this rule actually is, anyway,” Angel continued. “But that’s still a whole lotta people you’re gettin’ handsy with on a regular basis, Al.”

“You do have a point there, my friend,” Alastor mused, while Angel silently noted the upgrade from ‘fellow’ to ‘friend.’ He had no idea whether or not it actually indicated friendship – Alastor called Husk ‘friend’ too – but it was good to keep track of all the same.

Alastor released Husk in favor of polishing off the rest of his rye. Husk’s fur and feathers both stood on end, and he flipped Alastor off on the way to get him a refill. Angel mouthed an apology, which earned him a middle finger as well – but one that had less venom to it than the one Husk had given his boss.

“I suppose the difference lies in who’s doing the touching,” Alastor said, drawing Angel’s attention back to him.

For a moment, the Alastor looked… contemplative. That was the word. Not ‘mischievous’ or ‘vengeful.’ Not like he was plotting the downfall of Lucifer or imagining tearing apart Sinners with his teeth or whatever the fuck Alastor normally thought about that gave his resting face that inherent creep factor.

It reminded Angel of what Mimzy had said. He wouldn’t exactly call Alastor a kitten, but like this, the fucking Radio Demon seemed almost human.

“You were right about Niffty and Mimzy,” Alastor admitted. “They, along with Rosie, are very much exceptions to the rule. But the thought of anyone else touching me makes my skin crawl.”

Angel knew the feeling. It wasn’t one he had 24/7 the way Alastor seemed to, but when it hit, it hit hard.

“It doesn’t affect me if I’m the one doing the touching,” Alastor said, staring into the glass Husk had wordlessly refilled. “In fact, I think it helps… It helps to be in control of things.”

“And you get that control by pushin’ everybody else’s boundaries about touch.” Angel took a drink. “Do you ever think about how that makes them feel?” he asked.

Alastor laughed. And not a showman’s laugh or an awkward chuckle either; full-force, uproarious laughter. Like it was the funniest shit he’d heard in years.

Alastor placed a hand on Angel’s shoulder. “My dear, empathy is not an affliction I suffer from.”

“So you’re a hypocrite,” Angel said without thinking.

Three things happened in such quick succession that it took Angel getting sobered up the next morning to finally puzzle out the order of events.

One: Alastor let his hand drop from Angel’s shoulder.

Two: Husk vaulted over the bar with speed Angel hadn’t known he was capable of and wedged himself in between Alastor and Angel, wings flared in a protective stance.

Three: Alastor started laughing again.

That third thing threw both Husk and Angel for a loop.

“Calm down, Husker!” Alastor said, half breathless with laughter. “He’s right!”

“I’m right?” Angel echoed. Because, yeah, he was. But insulting an Overlord to his face was a stupid thing to do regardless of how accurate said insult was. If he’d said that to Valentino…

“Oh, don’t give in, now!” Alastor said. His radio tinned voice was a welcome interruption to a train of thought Angel really didn’t want to go down tonight. “You were onto something there!”

“Rules for thee, not for me, as they say!” Alastor threw his head back with enough force to break his own neck and fell into a fit of laughter once again.

Angel froze, barely breathing as his mind went a mile a minute trying to make sense of the absolute madness in front of him.

“Oh, stop looking at me like I’m going to bite your head off!” said Alastor, the Overlord famous for eating demons alive.

“You too, Husker.” Alastor punched Husk in the arm in a way that would probably register as playful under different circumstances. “Your attempt at playing white knight is very amusing, but we all know that if I truly wanted to harm Angel, there would be nothing you could do to stop me.”

“I’d die trying,” Husk said so softly that Angel thought he might’ve imagined it until Alastor responded.

“And you would!” Alastor agreed, far too enthusiastically. “You’d make for a delightfully tragic martyr, but there’s no need because this whole thing is hilarious!”

“It is?” Angel asked. Honestly, he didn’t feel like he was in on the joke.

“Of course it is!” Alastor insisted. “Reality has an entertainment value like no other medium! And this” – Alastor gestured to Angel and Husk – “is reality in its purest form!”

“In a drunken bout of honesty and complete disregard for the risk of a painful second death, you’ve given me insight that I never would’ve bothered to seek on my own – and you’ve done it in the funniest way imaginable!”

Angel forced a laugh. “Ya know, I gotta say, smiles, you’re givin’ off some real mixed messages on the whole ‘bitin’ my head off’ front.”

Husk huffed out what appeared to be a genuine laugh. His stance had also gotten more relaxed, and his fur and feathers were no longer puffed up.

“Yeah,” Husk said. “He does that.”

“I do!” Alastor chipped in. “And that bit is on purpose!”

Alastor downed his drink. “It’s been great chatting with you, pals!” he announced, and wrapped Angel and Husk in a disproportionate group hug.

For the first time since meeting Alastor, Angel noticed the way he pinned their arms in place so that neither of them could hug him back.

Alastor released Angel and Husk from his iron grip and immediately darted out of reach – something Angel also hadn’t taken note of before now.

“If either of you foolishly attempt to use this information against me, I’ll flay the skin from your hands, cut out your tongues, and eat your livers!” Alastor said in the same cheery tone you might use to tell a friend to enjoy their weekend plans.

And then he was gone.

“What.” Angel paused for dramatic effect. “The fuck.”

Husk – who hadn’t moved from his spot as the barrier between Angel and Alastor – took a seat in the next barstool over.

Husk shook his head. “Forty-odd years of that crazy bastard holding my leash and I still don’t know what the fuck he’s talkin’ about half the damn time.”

Husk leaned over the bar and reached blindly underneath it. He came back out with a bottle of something strong, so either he found what he was looking for from memory and touch alone, or he got stupidly lucky. Knowing Husk, either seemed likely.

“So,” Angel said, fidgeting with his lower set of hands and talking with his upper ones. “Should I be worried about him changin’ his tune about this little heart-to-heart once he sobers up tomorrow?”

Husk took a swig from the bottle he’d found. “Nah,” he said. “Just stick to his hypocritical five foot rule and act like tonight never happened.”

“Ya know, I meant to ask about that too,” Angel said. “Why does he call it the ‘five foot rule’ if he barely ever enforces the distance part? Why not the ‘hands off rule’ or the ‘no touch rule’?”

“Legs, I just told you I don’t always know what’s goin’ on in that fucked up head of his.”

“Aww,” Angel cooed. “Has the wise old bartender finally met his match?”

Husk scoffed. “I know more about Alastor than I ever wanted to. And it’s still just the tip” – Angel snickered at the phrasing. Husk rolled his eyes before reiterating – “the tip of the iceberg.”

“Honestly, I don’t know if he even knows what’s goin’ on in his own head sometimes,” Husk said quietly. “Until tonight, I thought he liked it better that way.”

Alastor made his way back to his room the old fashioned way – by physically walking there – humming along to a jaunty tune he’d plucked from the airwaves.

He’d learned something about himself! What an interesting turn of events!

You learn something new every day, but after over a century of combined life and Afterlife, Alastor had begun to believe he knew all there was to know about himself.

And this particular insight came with the added benefit of a rather dramatic reveal! Husker – the old has-been – could still put on a show when given the right motivation, and Angel Dust had been a wonderful wildcard to add into the mix!

Alastor wondered if he should examine the information they’d brought to light any further. If he should be asking questions about why he felt so comfortable in his hypocrisy. Why he both craved and despised touch. Why he was more than willing to put others’ comfort aside in order to maintain his own.

But the very existence of those questions brought an itch under his skin. That same crawling feeling that struck him when he felt someone else’s hands on him, like maggots wriggling inside a corpse.

Alastor melted into the shadows, the lack of physical form easing the feeling somewhat.

No, he decided. I think that’s quite enough self-discovery for one day.

[legiblyloathed]

Ain’t He Darling? (Chapter 3)

Yandere! Wally Darling x Reader

TW: brief gaslighting in this chapter

A/N: And now, back by unpopular demand, me! It took me a bit longer than usual to brain out this chapter, mainly because I’ve been replaying Breath of the Wild to prepare for Tears of the Kingdom. Fun fact, for one innocuous paragraph in this chapter, I had to google very basic knowledge just to get by. Extra credit if you can guess which one it was. /j And now, without further ado, I present: chapter 3.

Tag list: @tikosan @itsyellow @twerkingnutella18 @azoart @elegantkidfansoul @cutsieskull @delvira-only-baby @anaki-kuroshi @jellyfish-fish

Prev

The first thought in my mind when I wake up in a heap on the floor of my foyer is something along the lines of “My bones feel like rusty springs.” Who would have thought falling asleep against a door after a long, stressful day would cause every bone in your body to creak in protest with every bend and stretch? Not even a minute of consciousness and it’s apparent that leaving the house is gonna be a pain in more ways than one today.

The second thought is “Whoever just knocked on my door is dead to me.” Which, I will admit, is a bit harsh, but the headache that rears up from the sound compounded by the burn of every joint in my body would make anyone just a tad grouchy.

Against my body’s wishes, I force myself up off the ground, the sound of joints popping ringing in my ears. Some of the pain subsides with the release of pressure, but it’s clear that a good long soak in a hot bath will be necessary later. I allow myself a good, long stretch to wring out any remaining bubbles before relaxing with a heaving breath and opening the door.

The large stranger is smiling with an air of patience, as if he already knew of my predicament. He’s dressed rather simply: a button up shirt, a multicolored tie, and plain slacks. The emblem on his hat and bag signifies that he’s the mailman, which in hindsight should have been obvious considering the two letters clutched in his hands.

“Well, hey there, neighbor!” His voice holds the heavy twang of a southern accent that’s imbedded itself deep into his soul. “Don’t reckon we’ve met yet, have we?” His empty hand extends itself towards me as he proclaims, “Name’s Eddie.”

You’d think I’d be more accustomed to the sheer friendliness of the people around here, and yet I still have to take a moment to register the greeting and introduce myself. After a firm handshake, he offers me the mail in his other hand. “Got a couple letters for ya. You sure made friends fast!”

I let out a chuckle as I take the envelopes. “Guess I did, huh?” I respond as I take a quick glance at the two letters. One is a bright shade of pink, the other a cool blue. I look back up at the friendly man. “I’m kind of embarrassed to admit I didn’t know there was a post office here,” I say sheepishly.

To my relief, Eddie laughs. “Guess we are a pretty small neighborhood, but every town needs a mailman.” He pats his mailbag for emphasis, and I hear the light crinkling of paper rustling around inside. “Letters ain’t gonna deliver themselves, you know.” He spares a glance at his watch to check the time. “Speaking of, I still got a few more stops on the route, so I’d best be leaving.”

“Oh, alright!” I say with a smile. “Wouldn’t want to keep you. Have a nice day!”

“I will, you have a nice day, too, neighbor!” With a grin and a wave, Eddie sets off while whistling a tune. I watch him walk away for a moment before ducking back into my house and shutting the door. I debate reading the letters right there in the foyer, but my decision to skip dinner the night prior seems to have upset my weary body, which lets out a growl of hunger. The sudden realization of just how starving I was propelled me into my kitchen, where I haphazardly tossed the letters onto the table. Breakfast first, then social life.

As I start to prepare a simple meal, I happen to catch of whiff of myself.

…a bath. Breakfast, a bath, then social life.

—————————

It’s a little past midday when I finally wander back into my dining room, the worst of the muscle pain having dissolved in hot, soapy water. The feeling left me sleepy, and I only came back to grab a quick snack from the fridge before taking a nap. However, the garish colors of the envelopes lying askew on the table are a reminder that I forgot to get around to reading them.

With a vague feeling of guilt for having functionally ignored my neighbors, I grab the envelope on top first, which happens to be the pink one. A scan of the address reveals the sender to be none other than Julie. I huff out a laugh. I should’ve guessed. After a trip to the junk drawer to locate my letter opener, I unfold the paper (Why does it smell like flowers? Does she put perfume on her parchment?) and lean against the table as I read.

Dear Neighbor,

Hope you’ve been feeling better! You seemed a little anxious at the picnic and I’ve been rather worried. I talked to Frank and he said you just weren’t adjusted to the neighborhood yet. So, I had an idea! I’d like you to come over to my house today to play with me and Frank! We still have plenty of treats leftover and a ton of games we didn’t get to play. I think we’ll all be the best of friends!

Lots of Love,

Julie Joyful <3

The whole paper is covered in doodles of hearts and smiley faces and it brings a smile to my face. I smooth the letter out as best I can. When the wrinkles are all gone, I grab a few magnets and hang it up on my fridge. My first letter! I really do make friends fast. As I beam at the page, picking up the other letter, a sense of calm washes over me. A fun day with two of my lovely neighbors. Just what I need to take my mind off-

I don’t move for a second. My eyes stay glued down to the deep blue envelope held in my hands. I know it’s a bit silly to be so scared of a simple name neatly printed on a piece of paper, but that acknowledgment does little to comfort me. All I can do is stare at the letter.

The letter from Wally.

I breathe in. I breathe out. In. Out. In. Out. I let my hand drift back down, setting the envelope and whatever it might hold within back onto the table. It almost feels dangerous to let my eyes linger on it. I walk away, leaving the kitchen without the snacks I once intended to grab.

I’m not hungry anymore.

—————————

Julie’s house is every bit as bright and cheery as the woman who lives there. The colors border on overwhelming, both the exterior and interior being so vibrant you could make out all the furniture in the dead of night. The smell of grass, flowers, and a hint of sugar waft through the air. It’s the kind of place you can enter and know deep down you’re gonna be safe. But the single most stunning feature of her home has to be the flower garden.

I enter under a beautiful picket fence arch which has long been overtaken by interwoven pink roses. Those same roses line the garden, weaving around each other and the white stakes in the ground. Bushes of multicolored hydrangeas line the back of the house, and stepping stones made of pebbles and small glass stones forge paths through the flowerbeds. In the middle of it all is a clearing in which a yellow blanket lies covered with tea cakes and sandwiches.

I’m so wrapped up in the scenery that I bump into Frank as he carries a small tea set to the blanket. The two of us both jump in surprise, and the cups wobble on the tray for a moment before they level it out to keep them balanced. I put a hand on my chest to calm myself. “I’m so sorry!” I exclaim. “I got distracted, are you alright?”

Frank huffs a bit as he continues to make his way toward the blanket. “I’m fine, neighbor. No harm, no foul.” They lower the set to the ground, careful to keep it steady. Once he seems sure of its integrity, he looks up at me, a hint of exasperation on his face. “Just, please pay a bit more attention to where you’re going.”

With a wave of anxiety, my hands move to tuck near to my chest and tug at each other, eyes averted to a patch of daffodils. “Yeah, I’ll try. It’s just…” My sentence trails off as I admire the intricacies of the garden around us. I manage to turn back to him. “This place is incredible, isn’t it?”

Frank stands up and takes a look around too, an air of peace overtaking his grumpy exterior for a moment. “It really is. Julie works hard to keep it like this, and it really pays off.” I murmur an agreement, and we both take in our surroundings in silence for a minute or two.

The sound of the back door swinging open appears in my periphery, and a familiar, chipper voice follows it shortly. “Oh, you’re early!” Julie steps out and joins us, the small plate of warm sugar cookies in her grasp sending steam into the air. “I didn’t think you’d show up for another half hour. I’m so happy to see you!” She moves the plate to her left hand, wrapping her right arm around me in a half hug. I’m ushered back towards the blanket, and the three of us all settle down in the middle of the garden. I don’t waste a moment before picking up a sandwich and taking a bite.

We don’t chat much while we eat, though Frank does have to remind Julie not to talk with her mouth full a time or two. She seems eager for us to finish eating so we can get to the games, the buzzing energy around her so infectious that I find myself rushing to finish my lunch so I can find out what she has planned. She’s done within minutes, and it doesn’t take long before I’m also licking the errant sugar sprinkles from my fingers. We chatter about everything and nothing as Frank works their way through their meal, seeming immune to Julie’s impatience.

After a good long while, Frank finally wipes his mouth and begins to pile up our dirty dishes onto the tea tray. It doesn’t even take a second for Julie to already be on her feet, bouncing in excitement. “Are we ready? Can we play now? What should we do first?”

“First, we should clean up.” Frank seems to be struggling to balance everything as he stands up, and I hurry to my feet to take the tray from him. They murmur out a brief thank you as they push themself off the blanket. “It’s not a good idea to start running around with glass on the ground. We don’t want anyone getting hurt.” Once he regains his bearings, he kneels down to pick up the remaining few plates and a few scattered pieces of trash. “We should probably take the blanket in, too, so we don’t trip over it.”

Taking the cue, Julie bends down to pull the yellow blanket from the grass, folding it into a messy pile in her arms. “Good idea, Frank! Come on!” Not seeming concerned with waiting for Frank and me, she disappears in a flash of pink into her house. The two of us glance at each other, chuckling as we follow behind, the clinking of china marking our footsteps.

The dishes have only just touched the kitchen counter when Julie darts back into the room. She notices my looking towards the sink and rushes to say “Don’t worry about it, I’ll clean all of them later. Let’s just go!” I match her smile as I follow her back outside with Frank tailing behind.

The next couple of hours seem to soar by, the boundless energy given off by the pastel woman so contagious that I don’t even realize how exhausted I am until I stumble and fall during a game of shadow tag and find that I don’t feel like getting up. I instead stay flopped over panting in the grass, arms outstretched, staring at the sky as the shades of blue begin to fade to soft arrays of green, orange, and pink. A grey face pops into my view, peering at me from the side with their eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Are you alright? That was a pretty rough fall.” Still trying to catch my breath, I offer a thumbs up in lieu of a verbal response. Frank seems satisfied with that, and lowers himself to the ground far more gently than I had.

He’s at once nearly bowled over by Julie, who if I didn’t know better almost seems a little winded herself. With residual giggles, she says, “Wow, I haven’t gotten to play for so long in ages! I knew we were gonna get along great!”

It’s a tad awkward being the only person fully lying on the ground. I funnel all my self discipline into propping myself up, opting to lean back on my hands to continue taking in the scenery above my head. My eyes sweep over it all, noting telltale specks of stars as the sun slips away to reveal them from behind the blue. I don’t think I’ve ever such a beautiful view of the sky before.

“I agree, it’s incredible.” Frank’s voice nearly makes me jump out of my skin. It takes a second to register that I must’ve let that last sentence stray from my mind to my tongue. I keep my focus upwards, hoping no one noticed my embarrassment. It appears to have worked as he continues, “It almost looks like a painting.”

A painting. A simple, commonplace thing that shouldn’t churn my stomach, but I still feel my heart drop at the words. In my periphery, Julie leans in with a giddy look on her face. “Speaking of, you and Wally seemed to have fun yesterday. Why, you two were out by the woods so long, Poppy almost sent out a search party!” She laughs, and I deem myself lucky that she didn’t notice the blood drain away from my head.

A pale imitation of a laugh comes out with the words, “Yeah, I guess we did…” The silence in the air grows thick, for me if not for the others. The rational and empathetic sides of my brain are waging war once more, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Does… does he ever make you guys feel…” I trail off, struggling to find the words with two sets of eyes now focused on me. “…nervous?”

Frank’s head tilts, and he appears puzzled. “What do you mean? Why would he?”

My head begins to sink into my neck, like a turtle hiding from danger. “It’s just, I always feel like he’s staring at me, and some of the things he says while he does it come across a bit… off. Y’know?”

“Oh, that’s just how Wally is!” Julie bats at the air as if to dismiss the notion. “You’re worrying over nothing.”

As I begin to stutter out my disagreement, Frank asserts, “She’s right. He doesn’t mean any harm. You just haven’t gotten used to him yet.”

“I mean, I guess.” I push myself off my hands, the need to articulate my emotions taking over in my flustered state. “But, I got used to you guys and Poppy and Eddie within minutes. Wally just makes me feel uncomfortable.” The words are tumbling out now, and there’s nothing I can do to stop them.

When I force my eyes upward, Julie’s are already meeting them, and my gut wrenches at the uncharacteristic dour edge to her appearance. “It’s rude to talk about people like that behind their back, neighbor. He’s been nothing but lovely to you since you got here, and it’s not nice for you to treat him like some kind of threat.” A glance at Frank reveals a similar sentiment in his appraisal of me, and shame builds up within my heart. Against my will, tears begin to burn my eyes and mist my vision.

Unable to take it any longer, I push myself up. “I think I should go.” Neither of them tries to stop me. I pass through the magnificent greenery, knowing that the memory of it is going to have a permanent black mark tied to it. My hand settles on the garden gate, and I hesitate for a brief moment before deciding on “Thank you for the lunch, and for the games.” A mutter akin to that of ‘you’re welcome’ is heard behind me, and with that, I set off for my home.

The sky continues its transition to the night, and I solemnly await for the colors to fade so I can no longer see the brushstrokes in the heavens.

[kangshxrtie]

23 . photos . written

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you opened the door to see xinyu standing there with a faint smile, “took you long enough.”

raising an eyebrow, you leaned against the doorframe. “i can close the door and make you go back home.”

xinyu, always quick, slipped inside before you could even finish. “i was just selling the whole ‘crazy in love’ thing. gotta be convincing, right?”

you scoffed, but a smile was already tugging at your lips. “yeah, sure. well, you definitely convinced my neighbors i’m dating a psycho.”

xinyu put her bag down and threw herself onto your couch like she owned the place, stretching out. “still better than your last ex-girlfriend.”

rolling your eyes, you sat down next to her, shaking your head. “you’re way too comfortable here for a fake girlfriend.”

xinyu leaned closer, smirking as she dropped her voice. “who says it’s all fake?”

her words hung in the air for a second too long, making your heart skip a beat. you blinked, quickly brushing it off with a roll of your eyes. “don’t joke like that.”

xinyu chuckled, leaning back casually. “i’m just playing, practicing for later.”

“right...” you muttered, glancing away to avoid her gaze. “so, should we take photos while you’re here? for the plan?”

xinyu’s eyes lit up. “yes! nakyoung’s gonna lose her mind, and sohyun’s definitely watching too.”

you shot her a sideways glance. “and what about you? all this for sohyun, huh?”

for the briefest moment, xinyu hesitated, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place passing through her eyes. “i mean, that’s the point, right? to get our exes back?”

you nodded slowly, though something in her voice made you feel... off. “yeah... right.”

an awkward silence settled between you for a few seconds before xinyu, never one to let things stay quiet for too long, grinned playfully. “so, since i’m already here… what’s for dinner, girlfriend?”

without missing a beat, you grabbed a pillow from the couch and tossed it at her. “you can order takeout yourself. i’m not your servant.”

xinyu caught the pillow mid-air, laughing. “that’s not what you were saying in that post you ‘totally’ didn’t mean.”

you groaned, half-laughing despite yourself. “shut up!”

you watched as xinyu toyed with the pillow she’d caught. her laugh still lingered in the air, a sound you’d gotten used to but one that never failed to catch you off guard. it was almost too natural, the way she was here, sprawled out like she belonged.

“stop staring at me,” xinyu teased without looking up, tossing the pillow back onto the couch. “i know i’m hot, but you don’t need to make it obvious.”

you rolled your eyes, the sarcasm in her voice dragging you out of your thoughts. “literally nobody was staring at you.”

“mhm, sure,” she hummed, grabbing her phone and scrolling through her feed. “but seriously, we should take some photos.”

you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “what do you have in mind? like, the usual cute couple stuff?”

xinyu grinned, her eyes darting up to meet yours with a mischievous gleam. “obviously. we gotta go all out this time.”

you could feel your heart skip at her suggestions, but you did your best to play it off. “yeah, yeah, i get it. but let’s keep it... reasonable, okay?”

xinyu raised an eyebrow. “reasonable? where’s the fun in that?”

you shot her a look. “xinyu i can still kick you out.”

xinyu chuckled, “don’t be mean”

you groaned, picking up your phone to avoid her gaze. “just take the pictures already.”

xinyu sat up, moving closer until her leg was touching yours. “okay, okay, i’ll keep them family friendly.”

you wanted to respond, but the way xinyu was looking at you made you want to fold. she was too close, and the teasing tone in her voice was getting harder to ignore.

she positioned herself beside you, adjusting so that her head was closer to yours. “ready?”

you nodded, holding up your phone to snap a selfie. xinyu leaned in, resting her chin on your shoulder, her eyes soft as she smiled for the camera. you took a few more, each one more convincing than the last as xinyu snuck in close, her hand brushing against your arm, her presence filling up every inch of space next to you.

as you sat side by side on the couch, xinyu suddenly leaned in with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “let’s take one where i kiss your cheek,” she suggested, her grin widening.

“wait, what?!” you blurted out.

xinyu grabbed her bag took some bright red lipstick from her bag and put some on her lips before grabbing your chin, “can i?”

you nodded still in confusion about what was happening. she lightly put some lipstick on your lipstick before wiping it a little bit. she recapped the lipstick and then grabbed your chin again and her lips brushed against your cheek lightly as she held the pose for the camera.

the phone clicked multiple times, capturing the moments just as her lipstick smeared onto your skin, leaving a bold red mark. you could feel the warmth of her lips still lingering as you pulled back, blinking in surprise.

xinyu pulled away and laughed, glancing at the photo with satisfaction. “this is the one.”

you wiped at your cheek, noticing the bright smear of her lipstick now smudged across your face. glancing over at her, you saw xinyu’s lips were equally a mess, with the deep red smudging slightly from where she’d leaned in.

as you clicked through the photos, you couldn’t help but notice how natural they looked.

“look good?” xinyu asked, peeking over your shoulder.

“yeah, they’re fine,” you muttered, scrolling through them again.

xinyu smiled, her eyes lingering on yours for just a second longer than necessary before she pulled back, grabbing the tv remote. “now that we’re done with that, what are we watching?”

“you pick.”

as the tv turned on, you leaned back into the couch, trying to focus on anything but the strange feelings creeping up inside you. because if this was all fake... then why did it feel so real?

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[apolloscastellan]

Never quite buried | loss of my life chapter 4

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan x Patrick Zweig x FemaleTennisPlayer!reader

Summary: Your life had always been divided in two: before you met Tashi and after you met Tashi. The second you had laid eyes on her for the first time you knew you had been changed. You were soulmates, meant for each other Nothing could ever tear you two apart, or so you had thought. You could've pinpointed the junior U.S. Open as the night that changed everything. Now you have to juggle your hate-love relationship with tennis with your love-love relationship with Tashi and the two guys who you can't seem to stay away from. Tennis, after all, was only one of the most fucked up relationships of your life.

Warnings: challengers spoiler, challengers content warnings, super minor character death, terrible mother figure, use of y/n, polyamory.

Word count: 6.5K

A/N: Please let me know what you think bc my motivation is severely lacking rn, i feel like i'm writing into the void

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Tashi remembers perfectly the day your retirement from singles hit the news. It was all everyone could talk about. First, it was the statement on your social media. A well thought out paragraph about your struggles with continuing to enjoy tennis the way you used to and deciding to take a new route, it ended with a promise for more and better news soon. Then it was the teasing posts from Adidas, the “she is not done just yet” and the “love conquers all”. It all came to a peak with the release of the pictures of you and Patrick. Both of you wearing matching Adidas apparel, practicing in the private court you had in your backyard. The chemistry between the two of you was obvious to everyone who saw them. There was a glint in your eyes that no one had seen since you went pro. She knew the smile you were giving Patrick all too well, it used to be reserved for her. 

Her and Art, who had just very recently reconnected, sat on his couch for hours watching the tennis channel, waiting for updates. The relief they felt when it was announced that you were not quitting because you were fatally injured, as everyone had originally thought, was short lived. Neither of them spoke as the commentators showed the images of you and Patrick. Practicing, giggling, getting closer, him giving you that teasing smirk they both knew, you throwing your head back laughing, him beaming at you when you weren’t even looking, both of you focused on the ball, kissing… They both thought about turning off the TV, hitting some balls to work out how they were feeling, but then you were introduced into the set, a vibrant smile as you walked in, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt too big to be yours. The Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy logo only confirmed the obvious. You shook hands with everyone, sitting on the sofa they had reserved for you.

“Y/n Y/l/n, thank you for being here” the older man said, over the clapping of the crowd.

“Thanks for having me!”

“What a day it’s been for all of us, tennis fans. You’ve had us on the edge of our seats! First we mourned, now we’re celebrating… Please tell us why did you do this to us?”

“I am so sorry! I am, I really am” you laughed as the man teased you, God how they missed that laugh. “I have a flair for the dramatic, I must admit, and I am, in a way, saying goodbye to my career as I know it. It’s the start of a new chapter, and it’s really exciting, but it is also a goodbye and it felt right to give it its proper moment. I didn’t realize so many people were going to be so upset about it.”

“Why the switch? Why decide to give up singles completely?”

“I wasn’t enjoying it anymore, it was painful and I had started dreading every second of it. Fortunately, I am in a position where I can decide I don’t want to keep doing something that is bringing me down, so I took advantage of it. I didn’t want my stubbornness to completely ruin my love for tennis. I thought I could step back, maybe take up teaching and try to find that passion again. I was going to quit regardless, so this playing doubles thing happened at just the right time.”

“Yeah, let’s talk about that! You’ve decided to become a full time mixed doubles player with Patrick Zweig, who is a challengers player, somewhere in the two-hundreds. You are currently ranked number one in the world, how does this happen?”

“I think rankings and numbers can be misleading sometimes. Sometimes a player is not playing their best because of external reasons, or simply because they are not meant to be where they are. I think me and Patrick are meant to play together, I really do. And if you can’t trust anything else, trust this: I am really competitive and I hate losing, I would not put myself in a situation like this if I really thought we couldn’t win.”

“From what I’ve heard Zweig and you are committed to each other both on and off the court. You’ve never been open about your private life in the media, and he is the first boyfriend you’ve ever made public, what’s different about him?”

They couldn’t take their eyes off you as you let a bashful smile spread on your face.

“I mean…  Everything. I am pretty possessive of my privacy and we still don’t plan to share everything we do, but the truth is that I have never been open about any boyfriends because I have not had any serious relationships since I went pro. Patrick and I will be playing and training together so I thought it was bound to come out, so to me, I'd rather have that happen on my terms. And I do think Patrick is very different to all relationships I’ve had before, in the best way possible”

Art swallowed, refusing to look at Tashi when she turned to watch him. He didn’t deserve to be jealous. He knew that, if he had treated you right, you would still be together. That knowledge didn’t change how he felt.

“How does that happen? How does one manage to make the Y/n Y/l/n fall in love with them?”

“Well, me and Patrick met each other a while ago, at the U.S Junior Open, actually. He won it, I got second, we hit it off instantly. But it was one of those situations where it’s never the right time, you know? We kept missing each other, we were in relationships with other people, and we ended up drifting apart when I went pro. And then, funnily enough, we bumped into each other at an Adidas party about a year ago, and the rest is history.”

Art couldn’t bring himself to be angry when the TV shut off. He turned to look at Tashi who stood there with the remote in her hand, not looking at him. 

“I’ll see you in ten in the court. We need to work on your serve.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, grateful for the excuse to take his feelings out on the ball. To think about anything that wasn’t your smile as you talked about Patrick. He didn’t say it out loud, but he knew Tashi felt the same way, the sudden urge to train had not come out of nowhere. 

New Rochelle, New York. August 24, 2019:

You look down, shaking your head as Patrick crashes his racquet repeatedly against the floor. The umpire’s voice ominously announcing the score. You raise your face back up when Patrick gets given a penalty. Art walks nonchalantly back to the bench, you can feel Tashi’s smug grin beside you. You make eye contact with your husband and shake your head, he rubs his face with both hands, then nods. As much as you both don’t really care to win this tournament, he knows you’ll be angry if he just lets it go, gets angry and in his head and lets Art have it on conduct alone. So he sits back and waits, ready to be better, to prove himself to you once again, like every time he steps on the court.

Earlier that week. New Rochelle, New York. August 18, 2019:

Tashi is working, writing stats on her computer when she sees Patrick walking towards her from the corner of her eye. She rolls her eyes as he stops behind her, pointing at her screen before he speaks:

“He’s not bad, I played him at a few of these things when I did singles.”

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be practicing to not humiliate your wife before she carries you through the U.S. Open?”

“I just finished, thanks for caring.”

“Wonderful” she says, not a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Hey, come have a cigarette with me, I have to talk to you.”

“Yeah I don’t smoke, and I’m not talking to you.”

“Neither do I. It was just an excuse.”

She looks back at him, unimpressed, but he doesn’t let up. He stands there, staring at her until she gives in, closing her computer and standing up. Patrick is not sure what he is doing. He probably shouldn’t be doing anything at all, if he’s honest with himself. But he has dug a hole too deep to jump out of now, so he is going to follow through. He is doing this for you, he reminds himself, no matter how angry you’ll be with him at first, he is doing this for you. They find an empty alley and look back at each other, Tashi waits for him to speak, he takes his time collecting his thoughts before he does.

“I’m gonna propose something to you and it’s going to make you angry. It’s going to make you very angry,” he can’t help the smirk growing on his face, her expression doesn’t let up. “I want you to be our coach next season.”

“What?”

“Our coach is retiring, we need someone else. I want you to be our coach from next season on.”

“Does she know you’re offering me this position?”

“No, not yet. But she will, and she’ll agree with me.”

“You know that’s bullshit. Plus, why would I want to coach you guys? I already have a highly successful athlete under my wing.”

“Yeah, but even if he wins the Open and completes his career grand slam, Art’s still gonna retire as someone who was really, really good. That’s what you guys will have done together. But imagine if you could get your hands on us. Imagine if you could make us great. You’d go down in history. We have a couple more seasons. We still have a couple more good seasons and I need you to bring it out of us. What do you think?”

He doesn’t expect Tashi to slap him, turning his face completely, although he really should have. He mumbles a curse under his breath.

“How fucking dare you?” she sounds angry, too angry for his stupid proposition. “You want me to give you my best piece of advice? To coach you? Ok, quit.”

Patrick can’t even begin to think of a response, the murderous gaze Tashi gives him fixes him to the spot.

“Quit right now, right fucking now, quit.”

“What are you talking about?” he is too shocked to be offended.

“You’re dragging her down. She should’ve gone down in history as the best ever player. She would have broken records. She should have been good enough to beat the men, and she is what? Going around playing mixed doubles with you? It’s pathetic. Quit, and maybe she’ll have a chance at being an ounce of what she should’ve been.”

“You’re fucking joking”

And now Patrick is angry too. Because he is tired. He is so tired of the endless comments and judgment. He is tired of being blamed for ruining you and your career as if it hadn’t been your decision. As if it hadn’t been your idea. As if he was capable of ever doing that to you. As if he hadn’t begged for you to think it over a million times before you took a step that you wouldn’t be able to come back from. As if he hadn’t been the sole reason the world of tennis hadn’t lost you completely. As if he didn’t try harder than he had ever tried to be enough for you and make sure you never resented him or regretted being with him in any way. The thing that makes him the most angry, though, is that it’s Tashi. And how dare Tashi, the woman who had abandoned you and ruined your love for tennis in the first place, blame him for something she had pushed you to do. Something that was nobody’s fault but hers.

“You must be fucking delusional if you think for just one second that I would ever, ever, ask her to give up on her career for me. You know whose idea it was to play mixed doubles only? Y/n’s. She thought of it, she asked me to do it, she orchestrated every single little detail. And you wanna know why she did it? Because she hated tennis. She was going to quit. She couldn’t stand the thing she loved the most anymore. And you wanna know what made her start to hate tennis, even though her love for it never wavered before, not even with her borderline abusive mum who only loved her for her talent in it? You, Tashi. You did. You ruined tennis for her. So get the fuck off that high horse you continue to ride everywhere, because if there’s one person here to blame for ruining her career, it’s the one I’m looking at.”

He is out of breath when he finishes speaking, and he doesn't know what to do. He has so much shit he wants to throw at her, so much resentment for all that she had put you, and him, through. But he can’t say anything else, the second Tashi’s expression falls, even if it is only for a moment, he can feel his heart shatter inside his chest. No matter how much he hates Tashi, how much he resents her, he loves her. He loves her so much it hurts deep inside his chest, like an ache that is so present he had almost forgotten it existed. But looking at her right now, he feels it, pulsating all through him, and he knows, with a certainty he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge before, that he will never not feel this way about her.

“You don’t know what you’re saying” her voice is stern, but Patrick knows her too well to believe her tone.

“You hate me” it’s not a question. “And you hate her too. Me, for having her. Her for having the career you deserved. And it’s driving you crazy, because as much as you hate us both, you also love us. And as much as you love Art, you hate him too.”

“Excuse me?”

“You hate him because he is just Art, that’s all he can ever be. He will never be me, and he will never be her. And as much as you love him, just Art will never be enough for you.”

“I don’t know what gives you the right to speak about my marriage…”

“The same thing that gives you the right to speak about mine. Does Art know about Atlanta?” he cuts her off.

The pure, unfiltered shock on her face lets him know he has caught her off guard. She did not expect him to know about it. She collects herself quickly, but she doesn’t say anything.

“You keep saying you came here because Art needed matches, but I think you came for something else.”

“You think I came here for you?”

“And for her” he says nodding. “I’ve been signed up for this tournament for months, there’s no way you didn’t see my name in the participants list.”

“You think I came here, to throw it all away for you?”

“Maybe you just wanted to see us…”

“I don’t need to see you to know that you look like shit, and she should get as far away from you as soon as possible.”

She starts to walk away, decisively.

“I’m going to beat him,” he says, it stops her in her tracks, she turns her face to look at him. “If we both make it to the final I’m going to beat him.”

“Even if you did, it wouldn’t change anything.”

“It would break him, you know it would.”

She shakes her head and starts to walk away, too exasperated to come up with another hurtful retort about his failed career. She jogs after her, catching up with her pace almost effortlessly. He grabs her arm, makes her stop walking. He pulls up a piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans.

“My number, in case you change your mind about the coaching… Or about seeing us again.”

“I won’t.”

He nods, shrugs his shoulders. Then, he watches her put the note in her pocket. He smiles.

New Rochelle, New York. August 24, 2019:

Patrick hasn’t looked away from you even once. You know even though you are looking into your lap. You are hyper aware of every single person around you. Most accurately, you are hyper aware of the woman next to you and the two men playing against each other. You play with your ring as you feel Tashi tell Art to focus. When you finally meet Patrick’s eyes he doesn’t smile. He raises his left hand and kisses the ring on his finger without breaking eye contact as the umpire announces the start of the next set. He crosses paths with Art as he makes his way to the other side of the net but he doesn’t move his eyes from you until he is getting ready to serve. You know then, with absolute certainty, that he is doing this for you.

Atlanta Open, Atlanta. July 18, 2011:

Even though Patrick and you both know why you are sitting in the stands during practice time instead of walking around the venue, or actually practicing, you are still shocked when you see Tashi and Art walk into the court. Your hand reaches for Patrick, holding on to his thigh as if on a rollercoaster that is suddenly going down. You both try to look composed and careless, but you don’t know if you are doing a good job. Art and Tashi do the same, pretending they can’t see you, even though you are the only other ones there and you stick out like a sore thumb. Patrick and you talk to each other, although neither of you would be able to recall anything said during your conversation, and share the fries you had bought before walking over. You pretend you just casually stumbled to sit there for a snack, that you hadn’t checked the schedule to figure out what time and what court Art Donaldson had for pre-match practice. Art hits the ball like he hasn’t been able to hit it in a while, grunting as his racket made contact with it. Tashi looks at you for a second, then back at Art. She nods, satisfied. You want to run away, want to erase that satisfied smirk from her face and your memory. But you stay glued to your seat, hand in your boyfriend’s thigh, heart pounding, and you take the way they ignore you like a punishment.

New Rochelle, New York. August 23, 2019:

The wind is relentless, the trees hitting against the window making repetitive thwack noises that remind Patrick of the sound of the ball hitting the racket. You have been answering emails and making calls to finish preparing things for tomorrow, the U.S. Open, and whatever lies in store for you both after that. Patrick knows that you’ve been messaging potential coaches and though the guilt pit on his stomach keeps growing, he can’t bring himself to say anything to you. He hopes you haven’t set in stone anything, because he is still delusionally confident that Tashi will accept his offer. He knows he should help, whatever you are doing affects him too, but he is too nervous to do anything productive so he just lays around, throwing a ball against the ceiling, or the wall, or whatever he can find. After the third time the ball slips from his hand too early or too late and hits you, you stand up and point to the door.

“Leave, right now” he makes no attempt to move. “Patrick, I mean it. I’m working and I know that you are nervous but you’re stressing me out so go down to the sauna, or get a drink or something that’s not going to make me ask you for a divorce or have to spend the rest of the night finding a place to hide your body.”

Patrick smiles as he stands up. He picks one of the keys from your bedside table and walks over to you, kissing your head before making his way to the door.

“I love you.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, love you too. Leave now, please.”

He giggles all the way down the elevator. He doesn’t feel like drinking, which means he doesn’t feel like making a fool of himself tomorrow for getting drunk the night before a match, especially not in front of Art and Tashi. So he walks around until he finds the sauna, maybe that will help him calm down. But as he gets naked and opens the door he can’t believe his bad luck. Although there is a white towel covering his face, there is no denying the naked man sitting right in front of him is Art Donaldson. Patrick doesn’t think there’s a world where he wouldn’t recognize him, no matter how much he’s changed from that scrawny blonde boy he once knew like the back of his hand. He thinks about turning around, walking out, pretending he never saw him, and finding something else to do for the night. But there’s no way Art hasn’t heard the door opening, and Patrick has never been one to run from conflict, not really. So he steps forward, lets his mind get a little bit caught up in the past, sue him he hasn’t seen this guy in years, and opens his mouth:

“Can you do me a favor? Can you not like, demolish me tomorrow?” He says it with the inflection of a pick up line, and before he can even finish his sentence Art is pulling the towel away from his face and looking at him like he already knew that it was him standing at the door, even before he said anything.

They are both smiling as Patrick pulls the sauna door closed and walks toward Art. He is acting far more comfortably than he feels, but if he stops to think about what is actually happening he might start shaking and poop his pants, which would be a terrible thing seeing as he isn’t wearing any. He gets way too close to him, and raises one of his legs on the bench, dick fully on display. Art makes a valiant attempt pretending he doesn’t look down.

“Hey, congrats on being a Phil Tire’s Town Challenger finalist.”

“Yeah, you too” Art says, looking forward to not have to look at Patrick, who is smiling far too wide for the situation they are in and the past that they have.

“Hopefully the wind dies down by tomorrow and we can have a fair fight” Patrick lets himself pretend this is normal, like they are two competitors getting ready for the final, maybe even pals catching up after not having seen each other in a while.

Art doesn’t let him have a second of the little fantasy he’s made up in his head, though. He slides down the bench, getting as far away from him as he can without looking like he is actually running away.

“C’mon, can we talk?” Patrick says, and his voice sounds pitiful even to his own ears.

“Can you put your dick away” Art’s voice is stern, but he looks him in the eye for the first time since he walked in, so he counts it as a win.

“This is a sauna,” Patrick scoffs, putting up a fight so Art won’t notice he’d do anything he told him to. “Look, we've been here for a week and we haven’t said two words to each other. It's just… it’s silly, man. It’s dramatic. I mean, really, why are you so angry with me?”

He sits down, obeying Art and covering his dick. Art is finally looking at him, really looking at him. It has the same effect it did back when they were kids, Art looking at him makes him feel brave. He can’t stop himself from rambling on.

“Look, I don’t buy that it’s because of Tashi, I don’t think it’s because of what happened to her. And I hope it’s not about Y/n, because you have no right… So, I think, maybe, you’re just really disturbed by the fact that they could’ve been into someone like me. Both of them”

“Tashi liked you when we were teenagers.”

“Sure, but I just got married to the girl you said was the love of your life.”

“I ended things with her.”

“And you regret it every single day of your life,” Patrick knew, because it was the same way you and him felt about him and Tashi, “and you know that Tashi does too.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“We both know that if Tashi had been a little more brave back then, she would’ve never taken either of our numbers. If she had been a little bit more honest with herself, she would’ve swept Y/n away and neither of us would’ve had a chance with either of them.”

“That still happened when they were teenagers. When we were teenagers.”

“Huh” Patrick looks thoughtful. “When they were teenagers…”

Atlanta Open, Atlanta. July 18, 2011:

You slip out of your room in a t-shirt that is definitely not yours and the first shorts you stumble across on your way to the door. You can’t sleep and Patrick’s soft snores, which you often find endearing, are getting on your nerves. He doesn’t stir, even as you close the door softly behind you. You don’t know what you are doing, or where you’re going. You take the stairs down, needing to move your body for a little bit. You walk outside, feeling like no matter how hard you breathe in there’s not enough air in your lungs. You lay your weight against the brick wall of the hotel. You get your breathing under control after a couple minutes of staring at the sky trying to look for constellations you don’t know the name of anyways. When you turn around, to go back inside the hotel, you realize that right next to where you were standing there’s a window to the hotel’s bar. There, sitting down, nursing a glass that you can only assume contains something strong, already staring at you, is Tashi Duncan. You don’t know what you’re doing, but you let your feet guide you inside. Then, instead of going up the stairs like you should, you take a right turn and walk right into the bar. Tashi finds you immediately, having been looking at the door. You don’t understand what you’re doing, but before you can think about it you are sitting right in front of her. You haven’t looked at her this up close in years. You search, but you can’t find many differences. She looks exactly like the girl you knew with her hair a little shorter. You wonder if it’s the same on the inside, if the million secrets you knew about her still hold true. If you could still tell which of her smiles were fake, or when she was about to cry but was trying to hold it down.

“I heard you gave up,” she whispers after a minute of staring into each other’s eyes.

“I quit singles, I didn’t give up,” but you can tell she doesn’t really believe you, so you scan her, trying to find something else to talk about. Your eyes lock on the ring in her finger. “That’s a gorgeous ring.”

Your fingers find your own ring instinctively. You don’t know if you’re trying to make sure it’s still there, or if you are trying to ask your dad for strength. Her gaze lowers, first to your ring, then to her own.

“It’s his grandmother’s.”

You nod, you know what that means. Art had always talked about wanting to propose to his future wife with his grandmother’s ring. Back when he fantasized with you about it, it was your hand that ring ended up on. He always talked about taking you to the residency so you could meet his grandmother, completely sure she would love you and give you her blessing immediately. You think of your own sentimental family ring, unsure you would ever be able to trust anyone enough to carry it, no matter how much you loved them.

“How is she?” you ask, more out of politeness than anything else, you never got to meet her, after all.

“She died. Stroke”

You grimace, knowing the feeling of losing the one person who truly believes in you too well.  You look around, trying desperately to find something to say, you will your brain to remember the million icebreakers and conversation starters you had been forced to memorize for the awfully boring networking parties your mum used to throw for you. You come up with nothing, so you look back at her and lean over the table and she imitates you. Your faces inches away from each other. You feel drunk even though you haven’t had a single sip of alcohol all day. You don’t question it, Tashi always made you feel like you were going crazy and a little bit drunk. It must be that what pushes you to say what comes out of your mouth next:

“I miss you.”

She doesn’t say anything, but she leans further over the table, getting impossible close to your face without touching it. Then, when you are completely sure she is going to tell you to go fuck yourself and leave her alone, her hand makes her way to the back of your neck pushing you towards her until your eyes meet. There might be a million things that have changed since the last time you did this, but kissing Tashi Duncan feels exactly the same as the first time you did it. It feels like coming home.

New Rochelle, New York. August 23, 2019:

“You’re right” Art says finally, leaning his back against the wall. “I do find it disturbing.”

“There’s no need, man. Lots of girls were into me, but only one of them wanted to marry me. I’ve always thought that was not what I was for, so I don’t know how I did it.”

“Yeah, neither do I.”

Patrick feels his entire skin burn with the way Art looks him up and down. He curses in his head the years they’ve spent apart and the secretive, mature person Art has become, he can’t read him like he could. He can’t tell if he is teasing, or trying to humiliate him. He can’t tell if he’s angry, or just as desperately sad as he is.

Atlanta Open, Atlanta. July 18, 2011:

You don’t know how but you and Tashi have stumbled onto a hotel room that you don’t recognize. It’s much bigger and fancier than yours so you assume it’s hers. You want to ask where Art is, if he is about to walk in on the two of you making out on his bed, but the way she is kissing you makes you forget about everything. You roll onto the bed, hands on either side of her face as hers roam your body freely. It’s too much and not enough simultaneously and you moan and pant on her lips. It’s everything you’ve always dreamt of and you can’t help wanting more. More of her and her body, of her lips, more of her heart. You try to not be greedy, take what she gives you, and soon you’re seeing stars and rolling over, breathing with difficulty.

“That was…” 

“Yeah” she mumbles.

“So… What happens now?”

“What do you mean what happens now?” she seems confused as she stands from the bed, walking around until she finds your clothes.

“We just had sex,” you say, obviously.

“Look, we shouldn’t have done this. It was a mistake.” She throws your t-shirt at you, you put it on slowly.

“A mistake?” you’re getting angrier by the second, but you don’t want to yell and alert whoever is sleeping in the room next to this one.

“Yeah, we will act as if nothing happened.”

“What about Art?

“He doesn’t need to know,” you shake your head as you finish putting on your clothes.

“That’s fucked up.”

“Do not act as if I was the only one who cheated! Aren’t you and Patrick dating?”

“I never said that! You can’t just run away from everything you refuse to accept. You haven’t talked to me in years!”

“Yeah, and it should have stayed that way.”

“One day you’re going to wake up and realize that everything you’ve refused to accept all your life is catching up to you, and by then, it might be too late.”

“Get out” she says, instead of replying to what you said, you don’t need to be told twice.

You manage to hold back your tears until you are standing in front of the elevator. You’re fully sobbing when the doors open, revealing a very confused Art. You see him step towards you, but you refuse to let either of them continue breaking your heart. You step backwards, then turn around. You run until you find the stairs. By the time you make it back to your room you look like a mess. You knock on the door, you must have left your key in Tashi’s room but you are too upset to care about that or waking Patrick up. His entire face changes when he opens the door. Worry taking over his expression.

“Y/n, what happened? Where were you?

You fall onto his arms, sobbing. He leads you in, closing the door behind you. You don’t speak until you’re both seating in bed.

“I saw Tashi… And I… We…” you don’t say anything else, but you don’t need to, he understands.

He holds you through the night. The next morning, you forfeit the tournament and go home.

New Rochelle, New York. August 23, 2019:

“Honestly, I thought you’d be happy I was in the draw” Patrick is not ready to let it go, to shut up and walk away from Art, he doesn’t know when’s the next time he’ll be able to talk to him again, so he runs his mouth. “I mean, you’ve always wanted to beat me in a tournament, and two weeks before the open… It’s the perfect confidence booster.

He settles on cocky because he doesn’t know what else to do. He has never been very good at being vulnerable, not with Art, and no amount of therapy is going to make him start now, when he can see how done he is with him from a mile away.

“I know what you’re trying to do right now,” Art smiles.

“I’m not trying to do anything, Art,” but he doesn’t know if he’s telling the truth. “This is a challenger, I don’t need to play mind games with you.”

“Right, you don’t give a shit.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that…”

“We both know that you have a considerably higher stake here than I do.”

“Do I?”

Art laughs, but there’s no real humor to it. Patrick does too, trying to conceal the way he is sure his entire body is shaking.

“Oh, fuck… Where do you get your swagger from, man?” Patrick can tell, from the way Art is looking at him, that this is the part that’s going to hurt, he doesn’t try to stop it. “I mean you come in here swinging your dick around like I’m supposed to be afraid of it but do you realize how embarrassing it is that you are here right now?”

“Not quite as embarrassing as you being here,” Patrick has never known a way to back down, so he stirs the pot.

He’d rather have Art yelling at him or humiliating him than not talking to him at all. His therapist would not be very proud.

“I’m just stopping by, man. You would live here if it wasn’t for her” there’s a pause, suddenly Patrick wants to take everything back, run away with his tail between his legs, but it’s too late. “You know, I’ve always tried to figure out what happened to you, but the more I thought about it the more I realized… It’s what didn’t happen. You never grew up. You still think you can talk to me like you’re my peer because we came from the same place, because you’ve managed to stumble into some of the same competitions. But it’s not about where you came from in tennis, Patrick, it’s about winning. And I do, a lot. And you only do because you tricked Y/n into playing with you. But one day, she’s going to wake up and realize she wasted her entire fucking life in a pathetic man who thinks he’s the shit because he won the junior U.S Open a trillion years ago. And then, you’ll be left with what you deserve: nothing.”

“You’ve never beaten me,” he says, as if it’s what matters out of everything he said.

He says it because if he focuses on what Art said about you, he might cry. He doesn’t want to cry, not in front of Art, not right now. He doesn’t have enough willpower to fight him, like he knows he should, like he did with Tashi.

“So what? I haven’t beaten most of the guys who play in these things, or the ones who only make it into the big tournaments playing doubles. This is a game about winning the points that matter.”

“I don’t matter?” he doesn’t know why he says it, or what he is expecting to get in return.

“Not even to the most obsessive tennis fan in the entire world,” his voice is monotone, tired, Patrick wants to crawl out of his skin.

“We’re not talking about tennis.”

“What the fuck else do I have to talk to you about?”

“I wanted to come in here to wish you good luck, Art,” he says, and he means it.

“That makes no sense,” Art scoffs, looking away, he’s talking to himself more than Patrick.

“I wanted to say that I’m looking forward to it, I miss playing with you,” he is being vulnerable, but he knows Art won’t believe him, which is probably why he says it in the first place.

“Yeah,” he nods his head and he looks amused, but Patrick can see right through him, he’s about to finish him off. “Well, I don’t miss playing with you, man. I’m too old for it.”

As soon as the door is closed behind Art, Patrick lets himself drop onto the bench. He tells himself he is not going to cry. There’s tears running down his face by the time you open the door of your room to him. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t need to, you understand.

[hippolotamus]

Fuck it Friday 🪩

Tagged by the lovely and talented @spotsandsocks @buckaroosheart @wikiangela @fortheloveofbuddie @giddyupbuck @tizniz @daffi-990 @diazsdimples (do go check their snippets, creations and fics posted today!) 😘 Some more mirrorball from Eddie's POV (prev snippet here)

Eddie feels his cheeks flush and can only hope the dim lighting makes it less obvious. Because now he is wondering about Arsen. What he would look like on his knees, knelt between Eddie’s legs. What his hair would feel like with Eddie’s fingers threaded through it, tugging and guiding. Eddie needs to leave. Right fucking now.  “Gonna call it a night, guys.” He downs the last of his beer, hastily placing it on the table with an awkward thunk. “See you Monday.”  He’s met with a chorus of goodbyes, as well as a few pleas to hang out longer. It’s flattering, but he really has to get out of there before the semi he’s sporting becomes obvious. Well, more obvious. Eddie doesn’t look back as he exits the club. He forces himself to keep moving forward, to resist any urge to glance at the stage. He refuses to acknowledge anything other than the dark stretch of road until he pulls into a parking spot at Athena’s.  Once he’s inside the diner, he finally lets his defenses drop. “A little late for you to be out.” Bobby, the owner’s husband, teases, greeting him with a smile. “No Christopher tonight?” “Nah, he’s home with my sisters, but I’ll be sure to bring him next time. How are Athena and the kids?” If Bobby notices him changing the subject so as not to have to answer anymore questions about his night, he thankfully doesn't mention it. “Well, May and Harry are spending the weekend with Michael and David. And Athena-” Bobby looks fondly in the direction of the diner’s small office. “You know her, nose to the grindstone with paperwork. I’m hoping to make her take tomorrow off.” “Good luck with that,” Eddie says with a chuckle.  “Thanks.” Bobby playfully sighs, as if he knows he’s fighting a losing battle. “Need a menu?” Even if he wasn’t already worked up about earlier, already decided on his comfort food, Eddie wouldn’t need one. He’s got the offerings memorized by now.  “I’m good. Just a coffee and a peach cobbler, if you don’t mind.” Bobby gives him a knowing look, as if Eddie’s order speaks volumes about why he’s here. Like Bobby knows he's about to zone out, while pretending he's fine, as he absentmindedly drinks his coffee and shovels dessert in his mouth. “Sure thing. Coming right up.”

no pressure tagging (if you wanna) @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @loserdiaz @wildlife4life @eddiebabygirldiaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @elvensorceress @honestlydarkprincess @spaceprincessem my love @disasterbuckdiaz @shortsighted-owl @chaosandwolves @eowon @buddierights @stereopticons @heartshapedvows @hoodie-buck @jesuisici33 @ladydorian05 @lemonzestywrites @monsterrae1 @statueinthestone @barbiediaz @singlethread @the-likesofus @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @watchyourbuck @your-catfish-friend @gayedmundodiaz and anyone else who wants to share 💖

[bangtaninborderland]

Risk It All (27)- Temporary Goodbyes

Genre: Chishiya X F!reader | eventual smut | angst

Warning: none for this!

A/N: ignore me spam posting these 😭

Prev | Masterlist | Next

It had been four days since AN  and Kuina had arrived, you'd spent the first catching up, the second discussing the borderlands, and the third making a run to the closest store which went surprisingly well considering  Chishiya had to explain the way from home and the fourth dragging Chishiya from bed to join the land of the living once again.

His wounds had healed enough to walk around, barely....

"I said no Chishiya." You slammed the cupboard door. "It's too dangerous."

"If I don't go my visit is going to run out." He retorts. "There are no choices here."

You huff, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. "We don't even know if we need visas anymore."

"I'm not risking it and I know you won't either." You know Kuina and An can hear everything, it's not like the walls are thick but you're thankful they let you both have your privacy. "We don't know when the next game will start."

You pull out a packet of rice and pour it into a pot. "Don't use terms like 'we' when you decide this all on your own."

"I did but you shouldn't expect any different." You can practically hear him shrugging. "I have to leave today."

"You can't even walk let alone win a game!" You shout, the bag of rice ripping open and spilling everywhere. "Fuck."

"Let me help." Chishiya says, limping over to you. "Just sit do-

"Stop trying to baby me! I can handle a bag of spoilt rice Chishiya. You can't handle an adult conversation where you discuss something as important as joining another game yet you can help me clean up unimportant messes?"

He frowns. "That's not what you're mad about."

You know it's not. "Whatever just go away."

"I'm leaving to enter the game today." He reminds you.

"I know."

"Are you going to join?"

You shake your head. "I don't need to, not yet."

He nods. "How many days on your visa?"

It hadn't been something you'd begun to worry about, the time was more than enough. "I think 11"

"I'll be fine." He mumbles.

You hate that he seems to understand why you're upset. "I know you will."

"You're scared." He points out as though it's not obvious.

You forgo cleaning the rice in favour of pushing your way into his arms. "I'm terrified, what if you don't come back?"

"I will." He reassures you, his hand hesitantly brushing against your waist. "Don't think about pointless things like that, if I die you just keep going."

"Don't say stuff like that!" You smack his arm, tears threatening to fall. "You can't die Chishiya."

"Why?" He asks, pulling back a little to look at you.

The words are no more than a whisper but you knew he heard them considering how close your bodies were.  "Because I need you."

He laughs, shaking his head. "You don't need anyone, I don't need anyone, you want."

"Fine then I fucking want you okay. Is it so bad I want you to be safe?"

"I will be."

It's easy to ignore the way your nose grows stuffy as you shed a few tears. "You don't know that."

"I do."

"How." You mumble into his chest.

He looks the the ceiling as though genuinely considering his answer. "Because you don't know how to fix the power generator if it goes out and I'm pretty sure if it does you'll die which although seems great because I'll never have to hear you complain again is more trouble than it's worth considering the fact there's a great chance you'll follow me to the afterlife, which by the way I don't believe it, and you'll continue to be just as irritating there too."

You push him away in favour of going back to clean the rice. "I should have let you bleed out on the doorstep.

"You wouldn't do that." He laughs

You ask him. "Why are you so sure?"

"Because I fucking need you." He imitates you.

It's almost like a reflex when you throw the broom at him. "Fuck you."

"Can't, don't have condo-"

Kuina pushes past Chishiya, opening up the cupboard containing the canned food. "This looks fun but I'm hungry."

Chishiya glares at you whilst you hold back a laugh, your chest shaking as you try to be quiet.

"Can't wait to leave." You hear him mutter as he sits down at the table.

Kuina looks at him before pointing to the hall. "Door is right there."

"Great, now I won't get lost." He thanks sarcastically.

You watch them bicker as you tip the dirty rice into a bag, a smile on your face as you force yourself to forget the fact that in a few hours, the house that had become somewhat of a temporary home would be lacking one crucial person.

Lunch passes by as no more than a blur, the food you'd helped Kuina make sitting practically untouched on your plate by the time everyone else had finished. "You weren't hungry?" An asks, taking your plate as you'd asked.

"Not really." You force a smile. "I'm going to lay down for a little I think my head is starting to hurt."

You don't wait for a response from anyone before you pull yourself up, walking directly to the bedroom and closing the door behind you.

It turns out that forgetting Chishiya would be gone was harder to forget than you'd ever imagine.

You don't ask who it is when there's a knock on the door, your instincts know who it is before they walk inside. "You're being a crybaby."

"Fuck you." You know it is probably ineligible from the way your face is buried in the pillows that you and Chishiya share but you don't care. "Go away."

The bed dips as he sits down."I'm not going away, not until later."

"Stop making jokes." 

"Look you're right, I could die but I won't and if I do you'll be okay. I told you not to fall for me, not here but you didn't listen and this is what the outcome is. I won't baby you and tell you that it's going to be fine because we both know what could happen but I'd rather not leave here with you being sad and depressed." You force yourself to look at him despite how awful you must appear.

"Because you'd struggle in the game if I was sad?"

He snorts before schooling his face when he catches your expression. "I wouldn't let it affect me so no but afterwards it would be annoying."

"If there even is an afterwards." You say aloud with it thinking.

"I haven't lost a game up to now and I won't anytime soon so stop being ridiculous and come and show me how to play this stupid card game you kept mumbling about ." He pulls the blanket off you.

You manage to smile at the way he remembered the conversation you'd had two days ago. Chishiya, still unable to get out of bed, you'd wanted to try and keep him company, but despite your 30-minute pleading session for him to let you teach him a few of your favourite card games he had refused.

"Chishiya?" You grab his hand before he opens the door.

He spins on his heel to face you. "Yeah?"

"Please don't die on me."

"I won't." He smiles, pulling the door open.

Kuina and An are already sitting around the makeshift table, the deck of cards in the middle with various snacks dotted around the floor.

You take a seat on one of the pillows, Chishiya sitting beside you. Kuina catches your eye, mouthing an "Are you okay?"

You nod with a smile, despite knowing you looked sad. You wanted to enjoy today, even if it was for a short while you could pretend like everything was normal. "Isn't it morbid playing card games considering where we are?"

You laugh at the question An asks as she shuffles the cards. "Not really, I think it's kind of ironic."

"Idiotic more like." Chishiya scoffs.

You and Kuina both roll your eyes at the comment, An seemingly unbothered as she hands you the pack of cards to which you deal out equally.  "So the name of the game is called cheat but some people call it-"

"Bullshit." An finishes.

You raise your eyebrows at her. "You know it?"

"Of course I do." She laughs. "I'm the best at it."

"I doubt it."

You both laugh, as Kuina and Chishiya stare at you both in confusion. "The game also has another name, some people refer to it as "I doubt it."

"Ohhhhh!" Kuina claps. "Now I get it."

"Okay forget this im going to sleep." Chishiya makes to stand but you pull him back down by the pocket of his pants.

"Sit and shut up." He raises his eyebrows in something akin to shock before huffing and sliding back down into his previous position. "So as I was saying, the player to the left of the dealer, which would be Kuina, starts by placing between 1-4 cards face down in a discard pile in the centre. The player must state what the cards they have placed down are but they do not have to tell the truth. They do however have to keep the value the same. For example, I could say I have the 3 kings but place down 3 of the clubs... are you all following?"

You wait for all three of them to say yes before continuing. "The other players can call "cheat" or "bullshit if they think the player is lying about the value of their cards."

"So what happens then?" Chishiya asks, looking at his cards.

"Well, I'd say Kuina, for example, were to say that if you were to call cheat you would have to show your cards to everyone. If Kuina was right you would have to pick up all the cards in the centre, then it would be Kuina's turn to go. If Kuina is wrong, the person on the left of the player, which would be me, will go next."

"And if no one calls the bullshit thing?" You almost choke at hearing Chishiya cuss but you hold it back.

"Well I would take my turn but I must declare the value of my cards to be only one up or down from what you have said yours is." You answer him before turning back to Kuina and An. "For example, Chishiya says his cards were kings. I would have to say mine are queens, kings or aces."

Kuina nods enthusiastically, smiling at her cards. Her body angled away from the rest of the table. "I get it, so how do you know who the winner is."

"The person who gets rid of all their cards first is the winner."

Chishiya hums. "Who's going first?"

"An?" You offer.

"Sure." She smiles, placing down one card. "I have the 7 of diamonds."

"Bullshit." Chishiya spits with a grin the second she finishes her sentence.

You can't stop yourself from laughing at how his face falls when An turns over her card, the 7 of diamonds. "Don't forget to pick it up."

"Go away." He huffs, picking up the card as though it's tainted.

The game passes like that, thankfully no arguments arise despite a near miss when Kuina calls Chishiya a liar because "you're a bad liar your face looks weird when you lie." Only for him to respond with "Your face looks weird all the time but I still believe you when it's necessary."

You'd had so much fun playing, the memory of your sister beside you as you silently remember the way you used to help her cheat at the game against her friends. She would always call you her eyes.

"I have to leave soon." Chishiya whispered as he pulled you aside, Kuina and An still at the table packing up the cards. "I need to be there before I miss my opportunity."

"I know but can't you stay just a little longer?" You ask, fighting the urge to lock him in the bedroom and prevent him from leaving.

"I can't risk not getting a place in the game. I'll be back but I have to leave soon."

"How soon?" You don't need him to answer, the sickening feeling in your stomach tells you what you need to know.

He looks to the floor. "In the next thirty minutes."

You bite the inside of your cheek, not wanting to cry. "Okay."

"Fuck." He huffs, grabbing your wrist. "Come with me."

You let him pull you into the bedroom, waiting until he closes the door to speak. "What's wrong?"

"I'm going to come back but if I don't the generator won't hold out with all three of you using it for an extended period of time. If it comes between saving yourself, Kuina or An you know what to choose."

You ignore the subtlety of his message. "You'll come back it doesn't matter if the generator won't work."

"I will but if I don't."

"But you will." You insist.

"I will."

"Chishiya?" You whisper, taking a step closer.

"Hmm?"

"Can I kiss you?"

He takes a step closer, closing the already small gap between you. "Are you incapable of making your own decisions?"

"No?" You shake your head.

"Then don't ask."

If you could freeze a moment in time this would be it, his hand resting against your hip, albeit awkwardly. His lips pressed against yours, your body ignoring the need for oxygen by supplementing it with a need for him.

He is the one who breaks the kiss, his eyes mapping out your face before smiling a little. "You'll be fine."

"You have to come back."

His tone was definitive. "I will. I should leave now, don't come out until I leave. I'll tell Kuina to come in here." 

You so badly wanted to beg him to stay, the fear that he was walking into his death was almost crushing and despite how final the words felt you'd hate yourself forever if you missed an opportunity to say them. "I love you, please be safe."

"Tell me when this is all over." He places a light kiss on your forehead before extracting himself from your hold and leaving the room. You watch as the door closes behind him, the silence in the room is deafening without him.

You tried so hard to ignore the sound of the front door opening and closing, so so hard, but you couldn't, you couldn't stop yourself from hearing him leave nor stop the tears you'd been holding back since early morning.

He was gone and you, you were truly realising just how lonely the Borderlands were.

[elkian]

Something I noted while reading the manga that's still really interesting to me is how there's no Objectively Completely Good (or Evil) character in Dungeon Meshi. I think it interacts with Kui's really believable character dynamics, too.

Under the cut for major spoilers:

From Laios' party, we have no purely Good person. Laios is often the punchline/stooge/what have you, but he has his positive traits. The party trusts and follows him despite his foibles. Chilchuck is so resistant/bad at emotional communication that he tries to sabotage his own team (to protect them) and ended up divorced without knowing how, and almost dies because he was too embarrassed to admit this. Marcille is a mix of proud and brilliant that causes as many problems as it solves, including the whole Committing An International Felony thing and that's the START of it in some ways. Senshi's willingness to stick to his guns makes him inflexible towards his teammates in ways that can cause issues, like the Mandrake situation or driving Chilchuck to berserk rage in the trap room.

(Sidenote, I've realized Kabru and Laios are foils not just over the monster thing - an unquenchable passion that drives each in their own way - but because of their team leadership styles. Kabru is very personable, but as mentioned in my prev post linked above, Laios is knowledgeable about team synergy and skills. Also considering his interaction in Marcille's nightmare, Laios tries to take his team's emotions seriously, he just isn't always the best at it because he's assuming from himself as a baseline, and that's just not accurate to most non-Falin and non-Senshi interactions. (And even some of those.)

My point is that while charisma is the basis of Kabru's MO, Laios isn't incapable of caring about his team and understanding them, it's not not as obvious because he goes about it in a different way.)

It's been noted before, but both Thistle and the Winged Lion aren't totally evil. Not only are they sympathetic, but they have virtues in their own ways.

Thistle's greatest crime was loving his family too much, and it is a tragedy of literally epic proportions, kicking off the entire series. His methodology is suspect and involving the WL was doomed from the outset, but his intentions were legitimately good. The kingdom's citizens even begin sort of forgiving him or at least trying to accept him at the end of the series, which is really touching. There's a lot of debate over the concept of redemption arcs, and to be frank, I don't think it's possible to redeem Thistle's actions at this point, but that doesn't mean he's narratively required to die in isolation. If anything, that would contradict the communal elements repeated in the narrative. It's the citizens' choice to forgive him, not a requirement. It's not exactly a surprise as the series was closing on a happy ending for all involved (aside from WL ig) at that point, but it's still nice, and it wasn't a lock.

The Winged Lion may never have had the capacity to be Objectively Good, as an eldritch being with no basis in humanity or the physical world initially, but the manga takes the time to show the WL bemoaning the loss of followers, the loss of potential "flavors". Although the WL has immense power, that power is -not unlike the Genie in Disney's Aladdin now that I think of it lol- bent to the whims of creatures that WL simply doesn't and will never have the capacity to truly understand. WL also doesn't seem able to interact with the physical world on most levels until the ending, requiring a snowballing of power and the reaving of reality itself before the Winged Lion can really affect the "world", and arguably it can't be the purely physical world at that point in order to be interacted with. The Winged Lion is antagonist and overlord, yes, but also a victim in a sense. Like Thistle, redemption is impossible. Unlike Thistle, forgiveness and cohabitation is also impossible. It's not the WL's fault. I kind of think of the WL as like a bear or other wildlife that has developed such a taste for human food, garbage, etc. that they will keep breaking into houses and dumpsters no matter what. There's no infrastructure available to rehabilitate the WL, to return the Winged Lion to the eldritch plane it once inhabited. Only the WL could choose to do so, I think, and notably doesn't. Still, I can pity the Winged Lion like one does the bear that gets shot for breaking into dumpsters and biting humans in the process.

Anyways, many more examples abound, but it's a fascinating element to an already complex and fascinating story.