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wearywinchester · 3 years

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Been Loving You

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: After never having the nerve to tell each other how you feel, an opportunity presents itself even if it takes a little work.

Requested by Anonymous: Hi! Since your requests are on. Can you write a fluff/angst dean and reader fic, they both have feelings for each other and they're too insecure to admit it. And dean flirts with another girl and introduces her to the reader, reader acts like she's fine but then cries??

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: angst, flirting, mild heartbreak, jealousy, arguing, little bit of swearing, fluff, kissing

July, 2005

The day was breezy and warm, the clouds having lessened the heat that came with being in the midst of the summer season. Even if the clouds did nothing to stave off the effect of the sun you’d like to believe it actually had been, and you refused to think otherwise or else you just might break another sweat. You were tucked away in the middle of Bobby’s property amongst a lot full of cars ranging from totaled to rusty to salvageable should he feel like getting his hands dirty that day. He didn’t.

But one person that did was Dean Winchester.

You stood with your arms crossed over your chest, staring out over the dozens of car roofs, each one holding their own story as to just how it was they got there in the first place.

“Wrench,” Dean called out at some point, an instruction you only half heard. It was growing increasingly obvious that your mind was elsewhere, that your attention was directed at the puffy gray clouds in the distance. He’d noticed, peeking his head around the Impala from where’d he’d been working under the hood for an amount of time you lost track of. “Sweetheart, wrench.”

You turned your head at the nickname, a brief look of confusion crossing your face before you realized what it was he’d said. You rolled your eyes at the look on his face, one that softened to a smile as you handed over the wrench grasped in your hand. He took it with a shake of his head and a laugh not quiet enough for you to miss, and you breathed out a sigh.

“You’re a terrible helper, you know,” he jests, voice muffled from where he stood.

“Pretty sure I didn’t ask to help you, De,” you say, leaning back against an old truck.

“Too bad,” he says, flashing you a smile all while you furrowed your brows and pursed your lips at his words.

“Why not have Sam help you? I’m sure he knows more about cars than me.”

You heard him laugh again, head shaking at your assumption that Sam had any form of a clue on how to fix a car, let alone Dean’s car. The thought of Sam under a hood had him chuckling, the idea all too humorous. He pulled back to look at you. “First of all, he definitely wouldn’t. Second of all…”

He trails off, looking at you with a half smirk on his lips.

“What?” You inquire, amused curiosity in your tone.

“Sammy’s just not you,” he shrugs, a glimmer in his eyes as he leans back over the engine.

Your smile falls for just a moment as your heart skips a beat, that very smile returning once you realize just what it was that he had said. He’s just not you. You turned away and looked over your shoulder, a pitiful attempt to hide the way you couldn’t stifle your smile, your cheeks burning at what it was that could mean. Maybe it meant something and maybe it didn’t. But either way it’d surely be stuck on your mind for a ridiculous amount of time.

But soon your attention turns back to the very person that it’s always been on, and you were bound to be teased if he’d caught you staring but the thought didn’t sound quite so bad at that moment. In your defense, it was hard not to think about much else other than the way his brows furrow when he’s stumped on just what he wants to fix next, or the way his cheeks flushed ever so lightly under the sun, his freckles all the more prominent across the bridge of his nose. Smudges of grease had stained his t-shirt, painted across his knuckles and smeared on his forehead each and every time he’d wiped the sweat off with the back of his hand.

Maybe it was that, or maybe it was the way his necklace had dangled down and swung there until he finally got irritated enough to tuck it in his shirt with a mumble of a swear and a clench of his jaw. That was something, though—no matter how frustrated repairing this beloved car of his made him, no matter how much he huffed and puffed and tossed his tools down with a bit more force than necessary. It was the way his anger seemed to melt each time he’d looked at you, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile before he turned to try again with a better attitude.

Yeah, that was it.

You hadn’t realized just how distracted you’d been until you felt a hand on your cheek, calloused and warm, and when you looked up your eyes met the taunting green gaze of the older Winchester staring down at you. Your breath caught in your throat as the pad of his thumb brushed along your cheek, cheeks that burned under his palm and the way he’d been gazing had your heart pounding in your chest. Racing until you saw the familiar quirk pulling at his lips.

“Got a little somethin’ on your face,” he says, smiling an all too knowing smile.

You roll your eyes, turning away from him with a huff as you begin to walk away. “I’m eating the last slice of pie for that.”

You heard the metallic clink of a tool leave his hand and hit the ground, “no—no you’re not! That has my name on it and you know it.”

You shake your head as you quicken your pace, a smile on your lips as the butterflies in your stomach remain.

October, 2005

You stood in the small, one person bathroom, back to the mirror as you leaned against the small porcelain sink. The tears were already rimming your eyes as you stood there, having been at that same restaurant for forty-five minutes waiting for your date to show up even though you knew it’d been a bust after you’d waited the first fifteen minutes. You were miserable and embarrassed, and this was the exact reason you didn’t like going on dates in the first place.

Your hand was shaky as you pressed Dean’s name, holding your phone up to your ear as it rang all but two times.

He’d make a joke when he answered the phone, something you more than expected by that point each and every time you called him, especially when he knew you were on a date with a guy he’d been poking fun at the whole ride to the restaurant until he’d dropped you off. You couldn’t blame him, maybe you could, but that was just in his nature and there was no changing that.

“Was brown eyes that boring?”

His laugh sounded on the other end, lighthearted and upbeat in a way that had a soft huff leaving your lips as you rolled your eyes at his words.

“Dean,” you grumble, letting your eyes fall closed for a moment.

“Oh, come on. You know I’m not wrong. I just—”

“Dean.”

The simple use of his name that time had effectively cut him and his teasing short, leaving a beat of silence as you swallowed thickly now that you had his full attention. You didn’t even need to see him to be able to picture just what kind of expression he’d been wearing at the moment.

“Can you come pick me up?”

You hated how fragile your voice sounded, something you immediately cover up as you clear your throat in a pitiful attempt to distract him from it. You knew it wouldn’t but it was worth the effort anyway, anything to ease the fact that it must have been obvious that you were hurting.

It’d been all of ten minutes before the rumble of an engine came into earshot as you sat on the curb that bordered the restaurant, gathering more than a few stares of people showing up with their dates in tow. You knew it must have been obvious what you were moping about. The headlights were near blinding as he pulled up next to you, and you were on your feet in an instant as you sulked to the car and slumped in your rightful seat. Your misery was more than evident to him as he sat in the parking lot for a minute much to your dismay.

“Are you okay?” He asks, louder than he meant to be as he gave you a once over.

“Peachy.”

He rolls his eyes. “Are you hurt?”

“Just my ego,” you mumble with a huff, though you soften at the concern sounding in his voice. “‘M fine, Dean.”

His jaw tensed as he looked at you, lingering on the glimmer on your cheeks from the fresh tears you’d tried to wipe away. At the way your bottom lip quivered in a way that was all too telling that you weren’t peachy, you couldn’t be farther from it.

He hadn’t even wanted you to go on that date in the first place, jealousy having simmered in the pit of his stomach since the moment you told him about it. He didn’t even need to see the guy to know he wasn’t good enough for you, that he was up to no good. He hated the tone of your voice when you called him, he hated that he was right. Not that he thought he was good enough for you, not even remotely did he think that, but when you told him about brown eyes, he wanted to be selfish and have you to himself for the night. He wanted to be the one to take you out on that date.

“He’s a dick,” he said quietly, anger woven around his words as he looked at you. “And he damn sure doesn’t deserve you.”

You looked down at your lap, picking at the loose string of your dress. “Can we please go?”

He looked at you as you went and looked out of the window, jaw clenching even tighter as he gave you one more glance. He put the car in drive without another word, tires squealing as he sped out of the parking lot, headed back towards the motel.

March, 2006

The sticks cracked beneath two pairs of muddied boots, the sound near deafening in contrast to the silence amongst the woods you and Dean had found yourself in. It wouldn’t have been quite so bad if you knew where you’d been going even just a little bit, and it wouldn’t have been quite so bad if the sun wasn’t dipping lower and lower into the sky. Not to mention the fact that Dean was simmering in his own anger, and you were fairly certain that you were the cause. In fact, you knew you were.

The light rain that sprinkled over you ever so slightly through the trees hadn’t done very much to work in your favor, though you don’t think anything could at this point. Especially not the scrape grazing your cheek.

“Would you quit huffing? We’ll find a way out of here,” you finally say, nearly smacking into his back when he stops in front of you.

“Right, because we’re totally not stuck in the middle of freakin’ nowhere. If it weren’t for you we’d be out of here by now,” he snaps, brows furrowed deeply as he looks down at you.

“Oh, so this is my fault now?”

He laughed then, humorless as he looked away and shook his head, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. You knew he was dangerously close to snapping, more than he already did, but even then you couldn’t find it in yourself to tread lightly.

“If I recall correctly, it was your brilliant plan to go and run off and chase a werewolf all by yourself in the woods. You went and got yourself hurt and you nearly got yourself killed. That seems a lot to me like how we got into this mess, doesn’t it, Y/n?”

“Dean—”

“You’re lucky you only came out of there with a scrape on your cheek and a busted lip.”

Your brows knit together and your fists clench, nearly on the verge of tears with how frustrated you’d been at the green eyed Winchester fuming in front of you. “Why are you so mad? I’m here aren’t I?”

He looked as if you’d asked the most ridiculous question he’s ever heard in his life. “Mad? Why am I so mad? You went out there today like you’re invincible. I’m angry because I—”

He cut himself short then, shaking his head as he looked away from you. Those three words were so close on the tip of his tongue he nearly made a fool of himself, his heart pounding and a huff puffing through flared nostrils as you nearly watched him unravel in front of you. The crease between your brows deepens as you watch his inner turmoil, fists relaxing at your sides.

“Forget it,” he says, just as frustrated as he plays it off and looks down at you just briefly. His jaw clenches once more before he hikes his bags up further in his shoulder, grabbing your hand and turning his back to you. “Can’t have you getting lost on me again.”

You roll your eyes but not once did you pull your hand from his.

July, 2006

Your eyes rolled for what had to be the millionth time that night as you slumped further down in your seat, your eyes lingering on the older Winchester and the girl he’d been flirting with at the bar counter for the last half an hour. Sam had caught on to the source of your misery not long after it began, but between the pout you tried so desperately to hide and the way it started right around the time his brother started talking to the pretty girl serving drinks just a few feet away, it wasn’t hard to figure out.

“Am I boring you?” Sam jests, closing the book of notes and newspaper clippings he’d been working from for the next hunt. Your gaze lifts from the table to meet his gaze, unamused by his teasing. “You know, instead of sulking, you could tell him how you feel.”

You snort as you sit up in your seat, dragging your hand down your face. “Sam, that might be the stupidest idea you’ve ever had.”

“Oh, come on. Would it be so bad?”

One glance over your shoulder had your stomach churning and twisting in knots, your gaze moving back to the brunette with the bad ideas. “Yes Sam, it would be terrible.”

The more you sat at that table the less you wanted to be there, the music having grown far too loud for your liking as a headache began to form. This wasn’t the first or the second time you’d been to this bar, it was the third because Dean had eyes for the beautiful bartender. Your food was nearly completely untouched and your drink the same, though you were starting to think it might be a good idea to go ahead and down it but there wasn’t nearly enough time to do that and get another argument in with Sam before that ever familiar voice got your attention.

“Everyone,” he starts, smiling ear to ear as his arm wrapped around her. “I’d like you to meet Julie.”

His grin was beaming as she laughed into his neck, whispering something in his ear that you surely didn’t want to know. Sam’s smile in your direction was as empathetic as ever, your heart sinking down to your stomach as you swirl your straw in your drink. The room was rapidly becoming more suffocating and stuffy, the commotion near nauseating as the pressure behind your eyes deepened. You couldn’t be there another moment.

“I’m feeling a little tired, I—I think I’m gonna go,” you say as you swallow down the lump in your throat, sudden as you rise from your seat and grab your bag.

The smile on Dean’s face fell slightly, brows furrowing. “You okay?”

“‘M fine,” you say, offering a smile as you brush past the pair in favor of making your way to the door.

The outside air, though not very much cooler than the bar, felt better on your skin as you clutched the strap of your bag. The tears that welled in your eyes wasted no time in spilling over your cheeks now that you were alone, lip quivering pitifully as the hurt in your heart seeped out in waves and made your tears fall faster. They rolled down your heated cheeks and raced along the length of your neck, gathering on the collar of your shirt one after another.

Falling in love with your best friend doesn’t seem so bad until it breaks your heart.

September, 2006

Of all the people to be trapped in a storm with, Dean Winchester isn’t one you’d wanted it to be. The rain had been coming down so hard you could barely see the Impala parked outside the motel room. The wind whipping around had cut the power, effectively stealing your chances of busying yourself with some tv to take your mind off of anything other than the man you shared a room with.

Locking yourself in the bathroom would certainly be an option you’d weighed over more than once in your mind, but the thought of sitting alone in a small room with absolutely no source of light hadn’t been something that enticing to you. The only light in the motel room was the frequent flash of lightning and Dean’s flashlight before the batteries died.

“When’s this storm supposed to die down?” He asked from his bed, getting up to peek out through the blinds.

“Why? You late for a date with Julie?”

It’s quiet for a few moments, the blinds snapping back once he lets go of them and you could feel his stare on you as you looked up at the ceiling from your spot on your bed. Your jaw clenched as another flash of lightning illuminated the room, a booming crack of thunder soon to follow it. You were just waiting for what he had to say.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” There it was.

“I think it’s pretty clear,” you say, tone as witty as it’d been for the last who-knows-how-long.

“We broke up a month ago, Y/n. ‘M surprised you don’t already know that. You know, since you’re the know it all of the friendship.”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see you, a huff falling past your lips. “Quit it, Dean.”

“What is your problem, Y/n? You’ve been actin’ funny for weeks and it’s driving me crazy. You’re taking every chance you get to get away from me,” he says, anger woven around his every word as his voice raises over the thunder.

“I can’t exactly do that right now,” you say, rolling over on your side as you avoid his question and turn your back to him instead.

You heard him laugh to himself, one void of humor as the springs of his mattress squeak under his weight as he sat down. Your jaw tenses once more as you huff through your nose, loud enough for him to hear as you tried your best to make yourself comfortable for the night.

The emotions clouding your mind were bound to boil over at some point before the night is over now that you’d been stuck with the source of your heartache and you weren’t sure if you’d rather stay or walk through the downpour coming down outside. The more you thought on it, the more you thought better of it despite how tempting it may have been.

The simple sight of him had tugged at your heart, making you think of just how foolish it was to fall for your best friend, or perhaps even more so that you hadn’t told him before. You couldn’t get Sam’s words out of your head no matter how hard you tried. If Sam of all people thinks you should have then maybe it wouldn’t have been a bad idea to put your heart on the line. Maybe you should’ve said it, you certainly had plenty of opportunities to do it. But it didn’t matter anymore, not really, your heart was heavy and your mind was heavier as you sulked and moped in your own misery.

You pushed away your own best friend and it was time you’d never get back, all because you had feelings you couldn’t swallow down. But they were always there, and now they’d gone and boiled over.

“You wanna know why it didn’t work out between us?” He asks, sudden as his question cuts through the quiet in the room save for the ongoing storm. You don’t say a word, laying still as your gaze is fixed on the wall and your back remains to him. You don’t know what he could possibly say or what it was supposed to make you feel but you couldn’t find it in yourself to press for an answer. If he told you, fine, but if he didn’t—

“It didn’t work because she wasn’t you.”

You stilled even more if that was possible, your heart skipping more than a few beats as your brows furrow. You were utterly baffled, unsure if you’d even heard him correctly or if it was some dream you’d been having that you were bound to wake up from. Your movement was sudden as you sat up and turned around, the faint bit of light illuminating the expression you held.

“What?”

He sat across from you on the edge of his bed, brows knit together in the dim lighting. He laughed softly as he looked at his hands, shaking his head. He stood to his feet and ran his hands through his hair, pacing a bit before he stood still.

“You’re my best friend, Y/n. You’re a pain in the ass, sure, but you’re my best friend,” he starts, your lips pursing as he cracked a smile. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it lately, I really don’t. But I’ve been lovin’ you since I was sixteen and it took me ten years and a month full of you ignoring me to see it. She’s not you, Y/n.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He laughed softly, rubbing his face and releasing a sigh.

“Because, my life isn’t exactly a chick flick where the guy gets the girl of his dreams, is it, sweetheart? It’s more of a tragic Lifetime movie where the guy’s best friend falls for someone else,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he looked at his feet.

You swallowed thickly as you looked at him, cheeks burning and stomach filled with butterflies that raged in your stomach. You were at a loss for words as you sat there, starting to wonder for the second time that night if what you were hearing was a dream. Dean Winchester, your best friend, the one you’d spend the better part of ten years pining after, was in love with you. You couldn’t grasp that thought. Not that you had much time to before he spoke up.

“Sweetheart, please say something. I know you’re mad at me but right now I’m starting to feel a little bit like a complete idiot and I—”

Before he could finish you’d already stood to your feet and grabbed the collar to his leather jacket, your lips on his without second thought. It took him by surprise for just a moment before his hands settled on your face, his smile pressing into your lips. You pulled away for just a second, his lips lingering over yours in hopes you wouldn’t stray too far. You wouldn’t, just enough for you to say one more thing.

“You are an idiot.”

He huffed out a soft laugh as his breath brushed warmly against your lips, hands dropping from your face in favor of pulling you closer before he dipped down and kissed you again.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes

#dean winchester #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst

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midnightwinterhawk · 3 years

Text

I put together a little collection of Sterek and Steter fics for funsies. “Just a few fics”, I thought, “nothing too crazy.” Thirty fics later I had to cut myself off and finalize the list. You can thank @the-cookie-of-doom for the inspiration.

These primarily fall under the Hurt Stiles Stilinski category because I apparently like to see my comfort characters suffer. Most of these have hopeful/happy endings but mind the tags. For reals.

Placed under a cut since I have no self control and this turned into a long post.

Sterek

adore to see your eyes fly by @1001cranes

(11,309 l E)

stiles is a pyromaniac, derek is a sociopath. a match made in some kind of heaven. teen wolf kink meme fill.

take my heart from me by @areiton

(23,188 l NR)

He didn't really mean to adopt Derek's pack of puppies. He didn't mean to make himself important to them.

To Derek.

He just wanted to keep them all safe.

That's all Stiles ever wanted.

"Why Can't You?" by @asterekmess

(3,602 l T)

Now. This was happening now, and he couldn’t be less prepared.

After a long night, things between Stiles and his father come to a head.

And You Say You're Alone by bi_leigh_bi

(30,314 l E)

Between the kanima, the Argents, and Peter's untimely return from the dead, everything has fallen apart. Stiles and Derek try to put their lives back together once the crisis has passed. Stiles deals with the aftermath of being tortured, and the distance growing between he and Scott. Derek attempts to become a stronger alpha and keep his pack safe, and that includes Stiles.

A Victory March by @churkey

(2,688 l T)

When Stiles is eight he learns that nothing will be the same. His dad comes home one day after work and sits Stiles down for a talk. He explains that werewolves and all the monsters are real.

They're real and not hiding under anyone's bed.

Bury the Moon by darthjamtart

(16,592 l M)

First things get bad. Then they get worse. Stiles doesn’t know what he’s sacrificed until it’s too late.

Dying is the easy part.

Love's Violent Delights by @dexterous-sinistrous

(10,685 l E)

Derek caught the way the man’s eyes looked over Stiles before lingering on his ass. He waited for the clerk to place the key on the counter before he reacted.

Stiles startled at the loud noise, turning away from the pamphlets in the display box to see Derek pinning the clerk’s head against the counter. He drew in an even breath, looking between the struggling man and Derek.

Derek briefly looked at Stiles, hesitating before he saw the gleam of excitement in Stiles’ eyes and the hint of lust in his scent. “Ever look at him, or any other Omega, like that again, and I’ll slice your eyes out with my claws.” He shoved the man back, not caring of the commotion that was made as he snatched up the key from the counter.

Empty by @discontentedwinter

(48,034 l M)

Jordan Parrish is the new sheriff of Beacon Hills, a town haunted by its past.

Your Vision Borrows Mine by hazyascent

(188,781 l E)

Stiles has encountered a fair share of monsters before, way out of his league - the kinds that children are afraid are hiding in their closets and under the bed.

He’d even become one himself when he was void. The nogitsune was in his house, his body, and his mind.

But the worst monster he’s ever faced took even more from him and got away with it.

It’s why Stiles has never really been as terrified of werewolves and kanimas and darachs as he should have been. They’re really not that scary, relatively speaking, and he has a whole team on his side. They always found a way to win - until they lost someone they really loved.

Stiles doesn’t know how to be normal, not after everything he’s done and everyone he’s hurt. The nogitsune is gone, but another monster is on its heels.

His uncle is back. And Stiles has never felt more alone.

It Was a Wednesday by @isthatbloodonhisshirt

(80,129 l M)

“What happened? Where are you? What’s that sound?”

Derek jumped, having momentarily forgotten Scott was on the phone with him because Stiles had started moving. He’d stalked over to the other side of the cave, still eying Derek warily and growling, then settled protectively over a mass of clothes, leaves and animal innards. It was probably where he was sleeping.

Lovely. No wonder he smelled like death.

“Stiles,” Derek said, answering Scott’s question. Or, one of them, at least.

“Stiles? What do you—Stiles is making that noise?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“How fast do you think you can make it to the south lot of the Preserve?”

Tiny Houses by @ohmyjetsabel-blog

(77,183 l E)

"So this is what Stiles does. He lies in Scott’s bed and waits for Melissa to say she’s found someone to get it out of him, to cure him of the wrongness and the bad, and he dreams.

God, he dreams.

He dreams of fire and swollen bellies and that scene in Alien, of giving birth to jackals through his urethra, the whole horrific nine yards. His head is a terrible place to be, he can’t imagine his stomach is much better, why anyone would want to put a thing inside of it."

I'm There in the Water by @spaceprincessem

(15,878 l T)

“But it’s—” Derek paused, his words unsure, “it’s not like us,” he swallows hard, chin dipping to his chest in frustration, “it’s like a…”

“An abomination,” Stiles finished, nodding his head as he finally lets his gaze really look at Derek since Scott had pulled them from the water.

He suddenly wished he hadn’t because the way Derek looks at him makes Stiles feel like he is ten years old again. Like Derek is seeing him for the first time since they accidentally fell into each other’s orbit all those years ago. Like Stiles isn’t a burden or invisible.

Like he is enough.

Or five times Stiles felt like he was drowning and the one time he finally caught his breath

Gunplay is Not Really Our Kink by theroguesgambit

(2,577 l M)

“The rules to the game are simple. One bullet, six chances. You pick it up and take turns pulling the trigger on the other man, or we gun you both down right now. You play along, only one of you has to die. Fun game, huh?”

Derek and Stiles are captured by a group of hunters and forced to play a twisted game that only one of them might walk away from.

The Price by theroguesgambit

(18,452 l M)

Stiles must surrender the most important thing in his life to protect the town… and no one can figure out what it was.

Nieważny by Zethsaire

(2,037 l E)

The pack is gone, everything they've ever cared for destroyed. Now Stiles and Derek hunt the hunters, taking revenge in the only way they know how; blood.

Steter

Make Me Bleed by @asarcasticwitch

(2,304 l E)

Peter’s expression contorts, impressed or surprised, Stiles can't decipher, but the grin on his face proves he’s not exactly disappointed with the unexpected turn of events.

“Which bite exactly were you hoping for, hm?” The older man curls one hand around the back of Stiles’s neck, trailing his thumb along his pale, fragile throat.

Stiles tilts his head back in unyielding submission, giving the wolf no room to debate his sincerity. “I’m sure you can figure it out, Alpha.

Two Roads Converge in a Graveyard Town by @cywscross

(15,645 l T)

The Deadpool brings one more assassin to Beacon Hills. A man's gotta eat after all.

when you're going through hell (keep going for me) by cywscross

(57,022 l T)

Peter is abandoned in the aftermath of the fire, and Eichen House takes ruthless advantage. Six years later, when he's finally able to move again, he finds himself in a cell with a boy in a straitjacket.

(Kate’s biggest mistake was letting Peter live. Eichen House’s biggest mistake was letting Peter meet Stiles.)

Don't Fail Me Now by @discontentedwinter

(36,315 l E)

Stiles goes to Derek looking for help.

He finds Peter instead.

Peter takes what he's wanted for a very long time.

Sanctuary by DiscontentedWinter

(56,525 l M)

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

Bite Down by EclipseWing (@shadow-of-the-eclipse)

(27,586 l M)

In which Stiles is forced to survive the zombie apocalypse with a sociopathic murdering werewolf for company.

Into Eden by @graciebirdie

(12,232 l M)

Stiles deciding to bring home the stray alpha he'd hit with his jeep probably made him certifiable, if it hadn't turned out Peter was as crazy as he was.

Before you let go (and the light takes you in) by Issay

(4,032 l E)

Stiles makes one last errand - goes to leave flowers on all the other graves. Fuck, so many graves. The grief is as endless and as inescapable as the sky.

He goes home and there is a thing wearing his father's face, waiting for him in the kitchen.

Call My Name by KouriArashi ( @gingersnapwolves )

(81,370 l M)

After moving to Beacon Hills, Stiles starts having recurring dreams of a man in some kind of prison, who needs his help. Things get so bad that he ends up in Eichen House, where he finds out that the man is real.

Hide my tears in the rain. by MrsRidcully

(6,865 l M)

After years spent successfully dodging werewolves, evil spirits and wendigos, it was a drunk driver who stole his Dad, a drunk driver with a suspended license and a record sheet as long as Stiles’s arm. Stiles would have laughed at the irony if he hadn’t been so busy screaming.

In My Veins Like Disease by romanoffbarton

(1,140 l T)

He tries to leave once.

Foreshock by @twothumbsandnostakeincanon

(22,816 l E)

The day Stiles’ mom died, he almost leveled his house.

Not on purpose. Not even by mistake, really. More by instinct.

Since then he's dug his fingers into everything his has left, holding on with desperation.

Desperation never stopped an earthquake.

Your Touch is My Choice by twothumbsandnostakeincanon

(2,171 l T)

The first time John does it, Stiles is two years old and about to run into the road.

“Mieczysław!” Heart pounding, John grabbed him by the back of his neck and got a hand around his tummy, snatching him back. “No, you have to stay away from the road,” he said firmly.

Shameful Company by Whispering_Sumire (@whispering-sumire755)

(38,779 l E)

"Did I turn into a unicorn?" Peter asks dryly, and Stiles glares at him for a moment before the laughter bubbles up, unbidden, nearly unwilling, and he looks so surprised at the sound, his shock dimming it for a moment before it bursts through with even more trembling ferocity. A long, thin, willowy hand curls into a soft fist over his mouth, and he's shaking, frail, more tears falling, but the copper of his eyes are glowing, crinkling around the edges and scrunched with mirth.

"No," Stiles chokes, chuckling wetly. "No, fuck you, a unicorn? What, like, Rainbowcreep? Zombiesparkle?"

[About a year before the fated Hale fire, Peter starts having nightmares that involve a woman with red hair. The nightmares lead to a spell that brings a man back through time, and, eventually, though the time-traveler is traumatized in the most horrific ways, and Peter's never been good with or for people, in general, they develop a bond that neither of them expects.]

Would You Forgive Me If I Called You Hope, Peter Hale? (Hope, By Any Other Name) by Whispering_Sumire

(10,099 l T)

Stiles has scars. He owns that, he accepts it, he's cataloged and memorized every single one, he's hyper fucking aware of them all.

"What do you want, Peter?" Having the more untrustworthy of the Pack getting protective weirds him the fuck out, leaves an odd fluttering in his chest, like moths, waiting perilously and suicidally to be burned.

He doesn't like it.

"You're injured," the man says, "and whatever it is, it's put you in enough pain that I nearly fainted when I-"

"- Used your werewolf mojo on me without my permission?" Stiles smirks, and Peter gives him a black look, crossing a leg over his knee and smoothing out some invisible wrinkle on his pants.

"Tell me the truth Stiles, how bad is it?"

[Or: The one where Stiles has scars, is more than a little fucked up, and Peter notices. He helps.]

#hurt/comfort #angst #dark #hurt/no comfort #angst with a happy ending #fic rec #be kind to yourself and mind the tags #Sterek #Steter #Stiles Stilinski #Derek Hale #Peter Hale #hurt Stiles Stilinski #Sterek fic #Steter fic #to the pain

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dameronology · 4 years

Text

insomnia {poe dameron} - 5

summary: as you & finn go about finding secrets on your commander, you have to decide what’s more important - your loyalty to the resistance, or your loyalty to poe {series masterlist}

warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of injury

enjoy!! i shall be going back to do the taglist in the morning because i am ✨exhausted✨

- jazz

Poe’s faced out to the front of the base, which meant they were often flooded with light. Being woken up by the golden sun beating down on your face quickly became one of your favourite parts of spending the night with him - aside from the obvious of his presence, of course. With your limbs tangled together under the sheets, his arms around your waist and face pressed into your shoulder, it was hard not to smile immediately after stirring. It might have been the first time in months that either of you actually got some sleep and not stayed up all night working. Things had a funny way of working out.

You woke up on Friday morning with a few butterflies in your tummy - not because of Poe, but rather because you were about to lie to him.

After confirming the plan for your little mission with Finn the night before, you were supposed to be leaving the base just after noon. The pilot in question hadn’t seemed too phased when his best friend and...well, whatever you were were both suddenly available at the same time. You’d said that you had a team meeting with the rest of Trident Squadron, and Finn had made up something about having plans with Rey. You felt beyond guilty at the prospect of keeping the truth from Poe but there was too much at risk. If he found out, he’d want to act on it immediately - too quickly and too irrationally. Of course, there was no guarantee of that, but if anyone could predict his behaviour, it was you and Finn. The even bigger if was lying in how much was at risk; Winslow being a double-agent to an external organisation could have proven to be the downfall of the Resistance. You had a duty and a loyalty.

‘Good morning.’ Poe pressed a soft kiss to the back of your neck, his grip on your waist tightening as he hugged you to his chest. ‘D’you sleep okay?’

You turned around to press to face him, a sleepy smile on your features. ‘Better than usual.’

‘Who woulda thought?’ He said. ‘So many sleepless nights, and all we needed was each other.’

‘The fact you have a bigger bed and nicer quarters sure helps as well.’ You teased.

‘So you’re using me for my status?’ Poe over-dramatically clutched his chest.

‘Even the notion is insulting, Dameron.’ You grinned. ‘Anyways, I hate to ruin the moment but I have to get ready for that...meeting’

‘I hate that Winslow makes you have meetings on Fridays.’ He grumbled. ‘It’s the one morning I have off.’

Okay, that hurt your chest a little bit. It was hard enough as it was to find moments alone with Poe, hence why you’d taken to staying in his quarters pretty much every night since you’d first kissed. It was literally the only time you had to yourselves, especially since you’d both started to fall into a normal sleeping pattern. Part of you missed the long nights you’d spent together in the hangar, when it had just been you and him and several cups of caff, or when you’d sneak into the Falcon and head out to Yavin-4. That’s not to say they were gone completely, but your relationship had changed, and so had the things you did together.

Still, you wouldn’t have changed how things had progressed for the world. He was starting to become everything to you.

‘It’s only this week.’ You ran a comforting hand through his hair. ‘Next week, I’m all yours.’

‘Every day?’

‘Every day that I can be.’ You smiled. ‘Depends on how badly you ruin your fleet on that mission on Monday. The less damage, the less time I spend fixing the fucking things.’

‘Then I suppose we just shouldn’t go.’ Poe heartily sighed. ‘I’ll message Snap and get him to pass the message on-’

‘- Poe.’ You groaned. His brown eyes creased into a smile, clearly entertained by the whole thing.

‘So you’re saying I shouldn’t ditch an important mission to spend more time with you?’ He teased. ‘Maybe I’m not such a bad influence on you after all.’

‘Considering that I’m laying in bed with you at 10AM when we know full well that the General wanted us in the hangar two hours ago is proof that you very much are.’ You reminded him.

‘Leia doesn’t care.’ He murmured, nuzzling his head into your shoulder. ‘She’s so here for young love.’

‘At the expense of us being late to everything?’ You raised an eyebrow.

‘I’m sure her and Han Solo did the same.’

‘Have you seen a young Han Solo?’ You teased. ‘I would have left the entire Rebellion if that man asked me to.’

Poe let out an oof, raising his head to glare at you. ‘So your type must be cocky, handsome pilots?’

‘You might be into something.’

‘I don’t blame you.’ He replied. ‘He was very good looking.’

‘I know - and I do really need to get going.’ You pressed a kiss to his jaw.

‘When will your meeting be done?’

‘It’s Winslow, so probably hours.’ You lied with ease. Maybe too much. ‘I’ll drop you a message when I’m done.’

Kijimi wasn’t that far out - you and Finn could have been back in a matter of hours. It all It all came down to what Winslow was up to and how long you’d have to follow her for. Perhaps choosing to use a meeting as your alibi hadn’t been the brightest idea, especially if you were going to be out all day. You already hated lying to Poe and the prospect of digging the deception even further made your chest tight. Things between you were good but they were still so fresh. So fragile. You didn’t want to fuck it up - but you couldn’t let this go.

You promised yourself that you would tell him if you found anything out. In fact, he’d probably be the first person. You were only keeping it from him for now because you had his best interests at heart, right?

‘Or, you could stay for ten more minutes.’ Poe pressed a kiss to your cheek.

‘Five.’

‘Fifteen?’

‘Fine.’

Finn didn’t look all too pleased that you were late - especially when you skidded round the corner of the air hangar, hair still dripping wet from the shower and boot laces untied. He was leant against the side of a jet, eyes glued to his watch and his brows furrowed. You were only twenty minutes late; Poe was very convincing, and when you paired that with the guilt you were already feeling, it hadn’t been hard to keep you trapped for the better part of thirty minutes. Trapped was a strong word, actually, because staying glued to him and partaking in some kind of bogus teenage makeout session had very much been a choice.

‘Sorry, sorry, sorry!’ You almost tripped over a strewn wire as you bolted towards him. ‘I lost track of time!’

Finn jumped at your voice, taking you by the shoulders as you neared him. ‘We need to move quickly. There’s a training session in here in fifteen minutes-’’

‘- how did you even get the jet?’ You asked, almost stumbling as he dragged you up the walkway of a semi-decent freighter. It was no Falcon, but it would do. ‘And what is he doing here?’

Threepio turned to look at you, as if to say I beg your fucking pardon?

‘We need someone to get Winslow on record if she says anything dodgy.’ Finn murmured to you. ‘But he thinks this is an official mission, so don’t say anything.’

‘Right.’ You muttered back. ‘How you doing, Threepio?’

‘My joints are rusting-’

‘- we don’t have time for this.’ Finn cut him off. ‘We gotta get going. You okay doing comms?’

‘Yes, sir.’

You both scurried onto the jet, taking your respective seats; you in the pilot’s seat (naturally) and Finn to your left, ready to take the gunner’s seat if necessary - though you both hoped it wouldn’t be. It normally would have taken two pilots to fly a ship this big but you had enough experience to manage, even if your heart hurt a little at the fact it would have been perfect to have Poe right next to you. The guilt of leaving him out - not only of your little adventure, but the knowledge of it too - had been slowly eating at you since you’d left his room. How bad was it to lie so early on in the relationship? Fuck, was that even what this was? The feeling of dread in your stomach had grown now, lingering in your gut and leaving your hands shaking and heart pounding.

Dropping your hands into your lap with defeat, you fell back against the pilot’s seat with a hefty sigh. The Resistance meant a lot to you, but maybe Poe meant more.

‘Finn, I don’t think I can do this.’ You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to fight back the tears that were forming in your eyes.

‘Hey, it’s okay.’ He put a comforting hand on your shoulder. ‘I know going against Winslow is hard but-’

‘- it’s not Winslow.’ You spun your chair to face him. ‘It’s Poe. I can’t lie to him.’

‘We’re not lying.’ Finn replied. ‘I mean...yeah, we are but only to protect him throwing himself into something that we don’t know is for certain. Once Poe has an idea in his head, that’s it. We need to be patient with this and that’s one thing he can’t do.’

It was a little harsh, but Finn was right. Poe was a brilliant pilot and an excellent commander but he sometimes short-wired between thinking and acting. It was a whole lot of the second without much of the first. Sometimes, it worked out - high risk and high reward and all that - but this time, you couldn’t risk it.

‘You’re right.’ You nodded. ‘Thank you - and sorry, I guess.’

‘Don’t be.’ Finn shook his head. ‘We should get this in the air before someone sees us.’

Knocking the engines to full blast, you pulled back on the yoke. There was a split second of nothing, before the jet suddenly shot forward, leering away from the docking station and out of the hangar entrance. It was shaky for a minute - after all, you hadn’t flown it before - but you managed to balance out the thrusters by the time the base was but a dot in the distance. Most of it was second nature to you, and you barely even had to think about it. You could have flown in your sleep.

‘Right.’ You murmured to yourself, tapping in the coordinates that Finn had messily scrawled down. ‘Jumping to hyperspace in 3...2..1…’

You were both thrown backwards as the ship leapt forward, the passing stars in front of you vortexing into a blur of black and white as it spun into a maelstrom of time and space. It was pretty smooth, aside from Threepio complaining about how much he hated flying. You wouldn’t have expected anything else.

‘Kijimi isn’t too far.’ You said. ‘Forty minutes tops, maybe. I know the routes to avoid First Order fleets but I need you to be vigilant.’

‘Did the General not provide a list of First Order schedules?’ Threepio asked. ‘It’s a requirement for all missions. She wouldn’t have approved the mission without - oh no.’

‘You’re onto something, Threepio.’ You tried to fight back a smile. It wasn’t funny...but it kind of was. ‘But don’t worry. Nobody needs to know, okay?’

‘The General needs to know!’ He cried. ‘We’re doomed! Oh, we’re doomed!’

‘Finn.’ You groaned. ‘Can you shut him up?’

‘Shut me up?! I have a right to voice my opinion, especially on matters concerning illegal missions!’

‘I’m the captain of the ship, right? Technically?’ You glanced over your shoulder at him. ‘Is it not within your protocol to do as I say?’

‘Yes, but-’

‘- then it’s settled.’ You said. ‘Just man the comms system and everything will be fine.’

Threepio didn’t say anything after that, instead settling down into his seat, wired up to the comms system. Your main focus was on speed; on getting the jet to Kijimi as quick as possible and getting out as quick as possible. That was pretty much your main purpose, since Finn had sorted out the rest. Obviously, you were going to help him, but your main heist title was getaway driver. He was the brains, and by default, that must have left Threepio as the brawns. Maker.

‘Oh, we have incoming communication!’ The droid spoke up after a few minutes.

‘From who?’ You frowned.

‘Commander Dameron. I’ll pass you over.’

‘Threepi - oh, shit.’

You froze, immediately losing your words when Poe’s voice came over your headset. Maybe informing the droid of Poe’s ignorance to the entire fucking situation would have been a good idea, in hindsight. Heck, seeing who was manning the air traffic control back at base would have been even brighter. The one person you didn’t want to see you leave was the one person whose job was to do that literal thing. Weren’t you and Finn supposed to be good strategists?

‘What do I do?’ You mouthed to Finn with wide eyes. ‘What do I say?’

His eyes were like dinner plates too. ‘I don’t know!’

‘This is Commander Dameron. I need your I.D number and purpose for leaving the base, because I don’t have you on file as authorised.’

‘Shit.’ You hissed. Clamping a hand over the mouthpiece, you looked over at your comrade again, as if he’d come up with a magical plan in the three seconds since you’d last asked. ‘A little help?’

‘Lie!’

‘Right, thanks.’ You hissed.

What choice did you have now? Poe would recognise your voice. You had no option other than to come clean. You took a deep breath, before removing your hand from the mic.

‘My I.D number is 102156 and...we don’t have authorisation.’

‘Babe?’ Poe’s immediate confusion was like a tiny little knife in your chest, which went perfectly with all the ones that were already there. ‘Who’s we?’

‘Heeeeey, honey.’ You couldn’t help but cringe at your own words. ‘We is me, Finn and Threepio.’

‘What’s going on? I thought you were in a meeting-’

‘- I lied.’ You didn’t bother trying to come up with an excuse. ‘It’s a long story. I can’t explain it right now.’

‘You lied?’ The words rolled off his tongue with a tone of disbelief. ‘The hell is going on?’

Finn was sitting beside you, teeth clamped onto his fist as he cringed at the conversation. Easy for him. He wasn’t the one who’d just been thrown head first into piercing cold water by a clueless droid. You were the one who had to explain the deceit to a kicked puppy.

‘Like I said, I can’t explain it right now.’ You let out a heavy sigh.

‘You’ve stolen a jet without authorization and left base for the outer rim without asking. Do you know how serious that is?’ Poe’s tone was harsh.

You couldn’t help but scoff at that. ‘Poe Dameron, do not lecture me on breaking the rules.’

‘Fine - let’s look at it from this angle: you and my best friend both lied to me so that you could sneak out without telling me.’

Yeah, he had you there.

‘You’re making that sound like something way worse than it is.’ You shot back. ‘I will tell you everything as soon as we land, okay? Can you trust me on that?’

‘I don’t think I can.’

‘Look, Finn...knows something. He overheard something. We’re just going to check it out to find out if the thing we think we know is really the thing we think we know.’ You explained, grip on the yoke tightening. ‘We didn’t want to tell you in case it turned out to be nothing.’

‘You...you didn’t want to tell me?’ He sounded completely deflated.

‘Shit.’ You murmured. ‘Can you just trust me on this, please?’

‘The same way that you trusted me?’

‘It’s not that.’ You snapped. ‘It’s just...we didn’t want you to go running head first into an uncertain situation where you could get hurt.’

‘It’s funny, because you just described exactly what’s happened between you and me.’

With that, his line cut to silence.

So, in some ways the mission was a success.

To keep a long story short: Winslow was a rat. A huge, fucking rat. She’d been selling secrets to Finn’s former commander (who had some pretty cool armour) for months. With the right amount of bullying coaxing, Threepio had caved and recorded a conversation between them - you’d had to hide behind some crates to get within proximity to pick it up, but the audio was good enough to prove her guilt. That was the main thing. You’d done what you’d gone to do.

But at what cost?

Thanks to a shootout with some stormtroopers, Threepio was now missing his left arm and you’d lost your blaster in the escape. Finn had managed to sustain a blaster graze on his right shoulder, and you were probably in need of stitches on your forehead. All in a day’s work, really.

‘I’m gonna take Threepio down to mechanics then head down to medical.’ Finn gently said; he stuck out his hand to help you leap off the ship, shutting the door behind you. ‘D’you wanna come?’

‘Uh, no thanks.’ You shook your head. ‘I have work to do in here. The Y-Wings are still out, and Winslow will be on my ass once she’s also back.’

‘So...same time tomorrow to talk about what the fuck we’re gonna do about this whole thing?’

‘Sure thing.’ You said. ‘I’m gonna give Poe some space for tonight, but do me a favour...don’t tell him about what we found out. It’s better if it comes from me.’

‘Of course.’ He nodded with a smile. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘See ya, Finn.’

Him and Threepio headed for the door, leaving you alone with nothing but your thoughts and a few broken jets. The wound on your forehead had stopped bleeding enough, so you could leave it for a few hours. It wasn’t exactly wise, but it felt a little too late in the day for that. You’d been looking at wise in the rear view mirror a long, long time ago.

Sighing to yourself, you shrugged off your orange flight suit, tossing it in the cupboard and exchanging it for your tool box. It was coming up to midnight, so you’d been gone the entire day. Tired was simply the tip of the iceberg, and yet the idea of sleeping alluded you completely. You were used to working like this, and it would at least keep your mind off of Poe for a few hours.

He just needed time, right? That’s what you kept telling yourself, even though there was a feeling of dread in your gut that told you otherwise, that you’d fucked it up completely. You weren’t sure you could even handle that idea. Poe had become so important to you in such a short period of time that your brain - and your heart - couldn’t quite handle it. It was rare that you found somebody so special.

Tossing a rag over your shoulder, you pulled open the fuse box, barely masking a sigh at how fried they were. Maybe it was karmic punishment for what you’d done. Yeah, that was definitely it. You’d lied, and now the universe was coming back to bite you in the ass. On the bright side, Winslow’s days at the Resistance were limited now, which meant the same applied to the restrictions she’d placed on you. That was a nice thought; working with Finn, working with Rey, working with Poe.

Y’know, if he ever spoke to you again.

‘Caff?’

You glanced up from the fuse box, turning around to see the pilot, two cups of coffee in hand. Speak of the Dameron and thou shall appear.

‘Hey.’ You quietly greeted him.

‘How long have you been back?’ He asked, taking a seat on an upturned crate.

‘Couple hours, maybe.’ You took the cup from his hand. ‘I wanted to give you a couple hours to...stew.’

‘There’s nothing to stew about. You lied to me.’

‘I didn’t want to.’ You stressed, taking a seat beside him. ‘Can I at least try to explain?’

‘I...I don’t know if I want to hear it.’ His brown eyes moved up from the floor, holding you in a strangling gaze. ‘You broke my trust. You went behind my back with my best friend-’

‘- maker, Poe!’ You cut him off. ‘You’re making it sound like I slept with him!’

He grimaced, before dusting off his legs and standing up. ‘It’s the fact you lied to me with such fucking ease. About the meeting, about being busy-’

‘- if you would let me explain-’

‘- there’s nothing to explain.’ He snapped. ‘Lies are lies.’

‘Don’t act so high and mighty!’ You shot back. ‘It’s not like you’ve never lied before!’

‘Not to people I love!’

‘I - you fucking what?’

You both froze.

Had Poe just confessed his love for you? It sure sounded like it, but...it wasn’t a big deal, right? You were fine. He was fine. This was fine. Well, not really, because neither of you were sure if you were exchanging heartfelt feelings right now or y’know, breaking up, but...he loved you. Poe Dameron loved you.

On second thoughts, maybe you weren’t fine.

‘Winslow is dirty.’ You suddenly blurted. ‘That’s why Finn and I followed her. We wanted to be sure it was certain before we told anyone and now we have solid evidence on her.’

‘Winslow is dirty?’

‘Yeah. Selling secrets to the First Order.’ You nodded breathlessly. ‘Also, I love you too.’

‘You do?’

‘I do.’

‘Cool.’

Before you could say anything else, Poe grabbed you by the arm and yanked you towards him, knocking your caff to the ground. With an arm around your waist and the other on the back of your neck, he crashed his lips onto yours in a breathless kiss. You tangled a hand in his hair, smiling at the feel of the soft curls and the taste of peppermint and coffee. It was a little hard not to be obsessed with him.

‘I’m sorry I lied.’ You murmured, resting your forehead against his.

‘Just..promise me you’ll drag me along on all illegal expeditions in future?’ He whispered, breath tickling your lips.

‘Absolutely.’ You smiled. ‘I promise.’

He didn’t normally let go of things like that so easily - being lied to, in his book, was one of the worst things a person could do. But, now he knew the context, he was a little more inclined to understand your reasoning. And your declaration of love probably had something to do with it too, because with it had come the realisation that nothing else in the world mattered. There wasn’t a single thing more important than you.

‘Finn and I are meeting here in the morning to talk about what we’re gonna do.’ You said. ‘You’ll come, right?’

‘I think I need to be mad at Finn a little longer-’

‘- Poe.’ You groaned. ‘We’re good, right?’

‘We are.’

‘So you two should be as well!’

‘You just declared your love for me, followed by one of the greatest kisses of my life.’ He reminded you. ‘How could we not be good?’

‘I’ll get Finn to do the same!’ You grinned.

‘He did it long before you did.’ Poe teased. ‘But fine. I understand where you’re coming from, and I guess he’s in the same place.’

‘Exactly.’ You beamed.

‘I just have one condition.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Say it again.’

You bit your lip, before smiling wider. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

{taglist: @interwebseriesfan24 @agent-catfish-kenobi @multifandomlife22 @thescarletknight2014 @aesthetically-bii @chr0nicbackpain @princessxkenobi @lostgirlheather @aliciaxglasgow @ohhellokenobi @cherrykenobi @asaucecoveredsomething @witchyavenger @softly-sad @smiithys @goblins-writing @dameronstyles}

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x y/n #star wars x you #star wars imagine #star wars x y/n #star wars imagines #star wars x reader #poe dameron angst #poe dameron fluff #star wars angst #star wars fluff

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respectablesentiment · 4 years

Link

Her arm itches, a deep graze stretching from her elbow to her wrist and smarting in a way that makes Ellie examine it closely, as though she may be bitten. She wasn’t though. Riley had saved her and she didn’t save Riley. It was a blur after that. -- prompt: family, day 4 of elliedina week Ellie's mother doesn't die but Ellie still grows up alone. Ellie was never bitten but she still goes on a journey. Alternative Universe where I ignore two specific parts of canon.

(day 1: ache) | (day 2: dawn) | (day 3: trouble)

or you can read it here:

Warmth

Family is a complicated word until it isn’t.

She’s never known it until she does.

Marlene is the one who finds her after Riley.

Ellie is a bundle of raw nerves, cheeks stained with tears and speckled with blood. She doesn’t think she has anything left to give.

It was meant to be a special night and for a blissful moment it was.

And then it wasn’t.

Riley had been bitten. She saved Ellie’s life and Ellie wasn’t able to save hers.

Riley was her best friend, her person, her something. Her someone with one foot out the door who just agreed to stay.

And now it would be Ellie clinging to Marlene, considering pledging to the Fireflies in her place because one more moment in Boston would make her heart hurt too much.

There must be something extra special in the air, perhaps a shared sense of mourning or grief, maybe Marlene had been more attached to Riley or Ellie than she let on, but she shares something new with Ellie. She knows her mother, a Firefly who was stationed in a lab out west. Still alive.

Ellie isn’t sure if its rage or tears building inside of her, too exhausted to form words or find her way through her emotions.

Mothers were meant to protect and hers clearly hadn’t.

Abandonment was hard to rationalise, but it felt very much like her grief was due to her mother and if she’d never known Riley then Riley would’ve never known her. They’d both be fine and Riley would be alive and her chest wouldn’t hurt like this.

The realisation couldn’t have been recent, it didn’t make sense that Marlene hadn’t told her before. She admits to keeping tabs on Ellie but doesn’t specify why she stayed away.

The offer to journey west with Marlene feels like a form of salvation. She had considered returning to the military school but couldn’t go through with it.

She had cycled rapidly through the first four stages of grief without ever touching acceptance, pacing and screaming and crying for hours. Riley sat resigned in a corner, staring at the gun in her lap as sweat began to build on her brow.

She gave Ellie the gun for protection, kissed her one last time and asked her to walk away.

It was a blur after that.

Marlene gets hurt, Ellie gets lumped with two smugglers and the Capitol building is full of dead Fireflies.

Ellie is fairly certain that either Joel or Tess used to a be parent. Potentially both. Potentially together? She isn’t sure. She overhears bits and pieces of hushed conversations, arguments about how far they are taking her and whether its worth finding the Fireflies and her mother.

Ellie isn’t entirely sure to be honest, the road is gruelling but she’s moving somewhere. Forward, onwards. It’s not like she can move back, and its not like she can stay with Joel or Tess. So onwards it is.

Bill’s town is a shit hole, Pittsburgh is a nightmare, and the suburbs outside of Pittsburgh sends her spiralling. Did Riley turn that way? Fall asleep and wake into oblivion? Was Riley still in there?

Her last conversation with Sam loops over and over in her brain, interrupted occasionally by Tess checking in. Asking and caring in a way that Ellie doesn’t deserve.

“Joel doesn’t handle grief well,” Tess says openly.

Ellie’s eyes flick over to watch Joel ahead of them.

“He pushes it down and refuses to speak about it, but you don’t have to do that,” Tess says, squeezing Ellie in a side hug as they walk. “I’m here whenever you need to speak, or whenever you wanna be silent.”

Ellie nods along but keeps it inside.

Joel shows care differently. He’s gruff and matter of fact and if there’s nothing that needs to be said then he says nothing. It takes Ellie a while to pick up on it because he’s Joel but he always makes sure she eats enough, that she’s between him and Tess, and he makes her put on a jacket when the weather changes.

The first time they meet Tommy is a turning point. They have power and a town and its nothing like the Boston QZ. Or Bill’s town. Or Pittsburgh.

It’s tempting.

Why rush after an unknown entity? A mother in the distance who abandoned her? Who she’d never known? Would their shared blood just make things click? The destination, the conclusion, the end. And what then? Would they get along?

Would Tess and Joel leave?

They wouldn’t stay.

Would Ellie stay?

Ellie’s lost in thought when the attack happens. Tess is immediately on her, making her crouch down under a table as Maria guards the door.

It happens and then it’s over.

They stay one night in Jackson and then they continue.

Ellie tries to call things off. It seems like a safe place to stay, Tommy and Maria said they could come back if the university labs in Eastern Colorado didn’t pan out.

“We’ve come this far, Ellie,” Joel says resolutely.

“You should be with your family, Ellie,” Tess affirms. “It’s rare to have that in this world.”

Ellie clenches her jaw. She’s never known family, never felt it… so how would she know?

“We should at least go to this university.”

And so they do.

It’s another bust.

In a long string of bad luck, nothing changes.

The buildings are deserted, there’s some fucked up infected monkeys, a dead scientist and another location to trek to.

And then there’s FEDRA soldiers.

She’s never been more thankful for Tess in her life.

“There’s three in the building across from us, they’ll head this way soon,” Tess says curtly. “Let’s head two rooms back, wait for them in the hallway. Gunfire will bring more so we’ll hold our positions. Agreed?” Her voice is gruff, almost an imitation of Joel’s and despite the adrenaline rushing through Ellie’s veins, Ellie smiles.

Times moves slowly, the gun is Ellie’s hand is solid and she’s got five bullets which is more than normal so she feels confident.

The soldiers slowly drop.

They wait five minutes at each floor, slowly advancing forward.

Joel bounces his knee as they hide, and Tess divides her time between scanning the entryways and windows and glaring at Joel to ensure he plays by her rules.

They escape relatively unscathed. Joel is bleeding from the temple, his face a mess of red that Tess reassures Ellie is fine. Tess has a bullet graze on her upper arm, a worn grey bandage tied haphazardly over it to stop the blood flow but Ellie thinks it might just make the wound infected. Ellie’s tired, shallow cuts and grazes line her right side from falling onto shattered glass, her head is pounding and she’s over it.

She cries that night. Feeling alone and scared and stupid.

Family is dumb and overrated.

It’s clearly not for her.

Her mother had decided long again.

If her mother didn’t want her then she didn’t want her mother.

She curls into a ball in her sleeping bag, safe elsewhere but feeling unsafe. She presses her fists to her eyes as though it’ll stop her tears and she just shakes, her body wracked with sobs.

A warm hand falls on her back. It’s large and solid and just resting there.

She knows its Joel but can’t bear to look at him.

Tess strokes her hair where it meets the nape of her neck, and Ellie wants to sink into the ground just as much as she doesn’t want them to stop.

She doesn’t speak and neither do they.

From where they are in eastern Colorado, Jackson is northwest, and Salt Lake City is west. Its only a few days travel from Salt Lake City to Jackson on horseback. Tess takes the time the following morning to show Ellie on a map.

“If we’re heading back that way anyway, then it’s worth it to check,” Tess tells Ellie, tracing the route they’d take and informing her of their decision more than anything else.

“It’s not worth anything,” Ellie replies, scuffing her shoes on the ground.

“It’s your mum,” Joel says simply.

“Has someone told her that?” Ellie mutters.

Joel and Tess both grimace, sharing a look. Ellie knows family is complicated, she’s been told this and now she’s experiencing it.

“Ellie, she’s your-”

The rage bubbles up inside her before she can stop it. “Everyone I’ve ever loved has either died or left me,” Ellie says with a raised voice, her hands shaking jerkily in front of her. She’s tense and full of energy and she wants to punch something. She can feel tears coming and her throat is dry and it’s too much.

“Ellie-”

“So why should I run after someone who’s already left me?” Ellie yells. “Why should it be this hard? Why do we have to risk this much? Why do you have to risk anything at all?”

They say nothing. Ellie can see pity in their eyes, and before she can stop herself, she punches a tree.

It doesn’t make her feel better.

Joel bandages her hand, three of her knuckles split. He’s gentler than she’s ever seen him and it makes her feel small for some reason.

“Kiddo, we don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Joel says in a low tone. “You can- You can choose, it should be your choice.”

“It can’t be for nothing,” Ellie says bitterly, emotions swirling inside of her.

“If it doesn’t work,” Tess says, patting Ellie’s knee. “Then you don’t have to stay.”

“Where else can I go?” Ellie asks, squeezing her eyes shut, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“There’s always Jackson,” Tess offers.

“But- I-”

“With us,” Joel says awkwardly. “If- if you wanted.”

Ellie’s throat is tight.

“I could teach you how to play guitar,” he offers. “I reckon you’d like that.”

“Maybe,” Ellie says softly.

And they continue on.

The journey from Colorado to Salt Lake City isn’t an easy one. Nothing was ever easy.

The weather gets colder which makes it harder to navigate, harder to find food, and harder to sleep.

She feels more as they get closer. More scared, more nervous, more anxious.

Just more.

She struggles to make sense of it, not sure what she’s looking for or what they’ll find. What she’s already found.

They’re on form. Heading through a bus depot, exiting the last highway and clearing through an underground tunnel.

They’re almost there and then there’s rushing water and straining lungs and darkness.

Ellie wakes in a hospital with a stranger beside her bed.

The woman’s eyes are green, her expression is soft, and she tuts over Ellie sitting up too early.

“Easy, easy,” the strangers says, hands reaching out to help Ellie sits up.

Ellie’s body freezes, jerking away from her. “Where are Joel and Tess?”

“I asked them to give us some time alone,” the woman says. “I’m your- I’m Anna.”

Ellie takes her in with wide eyes, waking into an anticipated moment was hard to process. “Can- where’s- I don’t-”

Anna hushes her and draws Ellie into a tight hug that she doesn’t relax into.

Meeting Anna doesn’t make things easier for Ellie.

There’s a sense of warmth there, honey in Anna’s voice, a soft touch and an excited expression.

Anna rushes through excuses, building a narrative of a complicated birth, a missing father and a sense of duty to the Firefly cause. She didn’t want Ellie to come out here, she was safer in a QZ until her mother had figured out the cure she’d devoted her life to. Her words are sure and well-spoken, she pauses in places like she anticipates Ellie reassuring her, and then she continues painting her picture of abandoning Ellie for noble reasons.

Ellie nods along.

It ticks so many boxes, but something is off and Ellie cannot place it. There’s a hardness behind Anna’s eyes, something she’s sometimes seen in her own, and it feels off.

“Do you have any questions, my love?” Anna asks, tone saccharine.

“Where’s- where’s Joel and Tess?” Ellie asks awkwardly.

Anna’s smile turns a little bitter at her words but she takes Ellie to them nonetheless.

“We’ve got it from here,” Marlene says, her voice is muffled but Ellie picks up the words as they approach. “You can take the guns as agreed.”

“We’re not leaving without checking on her,” Tess’s voice says firmly.

Anna’s steps turn heavy, as though to announce her approach.

Marlene changes the conversation quickly as they enter.

“Ellie!”

Ellie throws herself at Tess, initiating a hug for the first time in their long journey. She clings to her, relaxing in the safety of her arms.

“It’s good to see you up, kiddo,” Joel says, a protective hand on Ellie’s shoulder.

She hugs him as well, relieved to be reunited and to see Joel in one piece after the tunnels.

“You’re welcome to stay for a couple of days,” Marlene says curtly.

It’s clear she doesn’t mean it.

Joel and Tess stay anyway.

Anna is involved in testing to find a ‘cure’ for the infection. She works with some doctor. Talks about how she used to be a nurse and had diversified her skills over the last 14 years in immunology, pathology and mycology.

Anna seems to want to share everything, tell Ellie everything and nothing, unable to sit in the silence that Ellie offers.

Ellie doesn’t particularly care, too focused on the way that the Fireflies hover over Joel and Tess like they aren’t allowed to go to certain parts of their hospital or their base. The way that whispers cease when she turns a corner, the blood splatter on doctor’s coats, and the weird feeling that Infected are nearby.

It feels off.

There’s something out of place.

It doesn’t take long to click.

Or at least, it doesn’t take Ellie long to venture where she’s not allowed to go. She uses every trick Joel and Tess taught her about being stealthy, sneaking passed Fireflies to reach the upper floors of the hospital in the middle of the night.

There’s Infected in cages. Dozens of them.

She supposes it makes sense if you’re studying immunology to find a vaccine.

Cages are marked with numbers and dates.

#259, vaccine 23, injected: 20/04/34, infected: 21/04/34, turned: 22/04/34

#260, vaccine 23, injected: 20/04/34, infected: 21/04/34, turned: 23/04/34

Her eyes linger on the dates, only days prior, comparing those around her.

Someone passes the room she’s in, footsteps audible between the groaning of the Infected and Ellie is terrified.

She hides under a desk, flashlight off, in the total darkness of a room filled with nightmares.

Once she’s certain they are gone, she gets up, hands shaky as she searches through paperwork.

It confirms what she thinks.

She drops the notebook in shock, the sound alerting several of the runners. Within seconds they are snarling, baring their teeth, and pounding on the doors of their cages.

They’re locked away and yet she’s never been more terrified, stuck in place and trembling.

She hears guards shouting, footsteps rushing closer.

The room is flooded with light when they arrive, and Ellie finally moves. She rushes forward, ducking passed them in the doorway.

She runs and she doesn’t stop.

They don’t shoot and they don’t chase her.

She finds comfort when she finds Joel and Tess. Too overwhelmed and too worked up to be able to explain what she saw and what she now knows.

Her mother is experimenting on humans to find a cure.

Injecting them with a trial vaccine, infecting them with the virus, studying them as they turn, and then dissecting them.

Hundreds.

#260.

The knock at the door that goes ignored so Marlene and Anna enter anyway.

Joel stands in front of them, partially shielding Ellie and Tess from view.

“What can I help you with?” Joel asks, crossing his arms. His tone is serious and its impossible to tell that Ellie has shared nothing with him.

“I just wanted to explain what Ellie saw,” Anna says, holding her hands up. “Sometimes sacrifice is needed for the greater good, I’m sure you understand that.”

Tess stiffens against Ellie, holding her tighter. “Are you okay?” She whispers in Ellie’s ear.

Ellie nods but she’s uncertain, she pulls away to watch, eyes studying Anna.

“In order to create a vaccine,” Anna continues. “There’s a need for trials. There are- we’ve had-” She falters, clenching her hands into fists by her sides. “Immunology is complex and working tirelessly in order to create a vaccine for animals which do not ordinarily get Infected does not necessarily help to create a vaccine for animals that do.”

Ellie narrows her eyes. “So you test on humans instead?” She offers plainly. “You make up a vaccine, you give it to someone and you infect them and you just take notes as they suffer.”

Anna’s nostrils flare.

“We’re learning a lot,” Marlene says. “We don’t like it either but it needs to be done.”

“Two hundred and sixty times?” Ellie asks.

Tess swears.

“Where are you finding two hundred and sixty people to experiment on?” Joel says threateningly.

“We have to think about the future,” Anna says coldly.

“You’re monsters,” Ellie snarls.

Anna’s jaw tightens, she shakes her head as though she’s deciding the argument isn’t worth it and she walks away.

“They’re not good people, Joel,” Marlene says, rubbing her eyes. “Most of them are hunters and- and think of how many people we could save if we get this right.”

“We’re leaving in the morning,” Joel tells her. “Please go.”

And Marlene does.

Ellie sits stiffly on the bed, fidgeting with her hands as Joel and Tess talk circles around her.

“Human testing?”

“Hundreds of people.”

“What if they never find a vaccine? How many more will they go through?”

“I always knew the Fireflies were misguided but fuck.”

She zones out, disassociating more than anything else as she thinks about Riley and Sam, about hundreds of Rileys and Sams, about being cold and feverish and knowing what’s coming and not knowing how it would come.

She must fall asleep at some point because she wakes up to Tess stroking her hair and smiling sadly.

Joel and Tess have packed and they’re ready to leave.

It takes Ellie several sluggish moments, heartbroken and half asleep, to register than they mean to take her too.

“Really?” Ellie asks.

“Of course,” Tess says, like its nothing.

“We’re family,” Joel says, like its everything.

Ellie leaves with them.

Anna doesn’t really say goodbye and neither does Ellie.

It had felt like Anna was trying to build something between them, but she was really pretending something was already there. But there was nothing. No spark, no connection, no meaning. The journey had been worthless.

Ellie shouldn’t have run after someone who already left her.

Family was both complicated and simple.

Out of reach and sneaking up on her.

Her mother was nothing and no one, and the smugglers were now something and someone.

“It’s kinda pretty, ain’t it?” Joel says, gesturing to the snow-capped mountains surrounding them.

“Yeah, it’s gorgeous in Spring, Texas,” Tess grins, helping Ellie over a fence. “This whole area is covered in wildflowers.”

They’re on the outskirts of Jackson, almost back to where they were months previously. Months of danger and sleeplessness and darkness.

Risks and close calls.

For nothing.

“Sarah and I used to take hikes like this all the time,” Joel says easily. “I reckon the two of you would’ve been friends.”

Ellie nods along, thoughts elsewhere.

“Just a little bit further now,” Tess says eagerly, giving Ellie a boost onto a higher bit of ground.

Joel lends a hand to stabilise her and then pulls up Tess.

“Hey, wait,” Ellie says, looking out toward Jackson and then down at her hands. She sighs as she tries to find her words. “I’ve been meaning to tell you but, back in Boston… before I left, I was- I was somewhere I shouldn’t be with my friend. My best friend. She got bit and we didn’t know what to do so we tried to wait it out and she made me leave before she turned.”

“I’m sorry, Ellie,” Tess says quietly. “I know how hard that can be.”

“Do you think they-” Ellie rubs the back of her neck. “Do you think they’re still inside? Like they’re stuck?”

“No. No, Ellie I don’t,” Tess says. “I think they’ve moved on. They’re at peace.”

Joel is silent and awkward, but his eyes are kind.

“I’m sorry we went all that way for nothing, I-” Ellie falters, biting her lip. “You both risked so much and I don’t think I could have handled someone else dying or- or turning because of me.”

“Your friend’s death wasn’t your fault,” Tess says.

“I feel like it should have been me and not her,” Ellie admits.

“Ellie, I’ve struggled a long time with surviving,” Joel says. “But no matter what, you keep finding something to fight for.”

Ellie fidgets with her fingers, scratching at her arm. “I just-” She huffs. “I just feel like we fought through all of that for nothing. We came all this way and for what?”

“For you,” Joel says plainly.

Ellie tears up, nodding and sniffing and doing her best to keep it together.

Family is a complicated word until it isn’t, she’s never known it until she does, and she feels it constantly in Jackson.

In their meals together, in learning how to play guitar, in movie nights, in sharing books, learning how to swim, and to grow and move forward.

She tells them she loves them on her sixteenth birthday in an abandoned museum.

She tells Tess and Joel she likes girls the day that she decks someone for taunting her about Cat.

She goes hiking with Joel when she and Cat inevitably break up, finding peace in the open air.

She cries on Tess’s shoulder when Dina and Jesse get back together for the third time. A mess of complicated feelings loud in her chest.

Joel helps her practice playing her song for the end of harvest bonfire and Tess helps her pick out a shirt to wear to the town’s winter dance.

“I’m just a girl, not a threat,” Ellie says softly.

“Oh, Ellie, I think they should be terrified of you,” Dina murmurs. Her eyes are bright, she feels warm and perfect in Ellie’s arms, and she steals Ellie’s breath long before she kisses her.

She distantly hears someone calling out, too lost in the tenderness of the moment to register it properly.

“God, I-” Ellie laughs at herself and her breathlessness, eyes lingering on Dina’s affectionate smile before she kisses Dina again.

Once. Twice. Soundly and enthusiastically.

When she pulls back the second time, she notices Joel and Tess having words with Seth. They look angry and Maria seems to have put herself in the middle, mediating and ushering Seth outside.

Dina’s hand on her cheek makes her refocus.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” Dina whispers playfully.

Ellie’s cheeks flush pink, smiling in disbelief, her fingers flexing on Dina’s lower back. “Me too,” Ellie admits shyly.

Dina leans her forehead against Ellie’s again, swaying them together slowly under the twinkling lights.

#i'm kinda both proud and self-conscious about this one #it was both a challenging and fascinating idea #my next fic is a continuation in the same world #don't think about that too hard #tlou2 fanfic #elliedina week #my writing

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slytherinnbitch · 4 years

Text

Prompt #17

Prompt #17- Wedding

Pairing- Drarry

Asked by @textrovert-01. Thank you for asking <3

Background- It’s been ten years since the war. Draco and Harry had been dating for the past five. They have been living together for the three of them.

...............................................................................

His hand groped at the bedding beside him, in search of the familiar warmth of his beautiful lover only to find it cold. He had left hours ago, it seemed. But that wasn’t what woke him, someone was pounding at the door, yelling his name at the top of their lungs. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and looking around for his wand and found them at their rightful place on the bedside table as usual. He swished his wand to open the door while he put on his glasses.

Ron came barrelling inside, wearing proper wizard robes, looking like he had on his own wedding day albeit less nervous but happy all the same.

“Blimey, Harry! Did you just wake up? The wedding starts in an hour and half!” he practically shouted, giving him a headache.

“An hour and half? Why that is more than enough time I need to get dressed, isn’t it?” He knew it wasn’t--not on his own wedding day but he might as well try.

“Draco would have killed you. He has been up for almost three hours now, double checking then triple checking the quadruple checking everything. He was then stolen by Mione, Pansy and Blaise to get him dressed properly. Bloody hell, mate but now I’m going to be in trouble if you aren’t ready.” He looked terrified at that idea as anyone who knew Mione and Draco’s wrath should be and well, thinking of them combined made him shudder as well.

“Alright fine! Let me get my robes and then we’ll see what to do with this thing called my hair, sound good?”

“Right now, that is all that I would get so it’s great! Rush now!” he exclaimed as he left to get Harry something to eat while he showered and got dressed, because there was no way he could get away with not showering even though he was late as hell.

He shaved as quickly he could, using the muggle way; even after all these years that was the better and more comfortable way for him.

As he brushed his teeth, he reflected back to last night and how both of them had been forced to sleep separately. It’s the tradition Harry Molly had said, and he couldn’t have argued with her, anyone but her. Narcissa had said the same words as well and he was forced to oblige both of his mother figures.

That was until Draco had slipped into bed, just after midnight when everyone had already gone to bed. He had shushed Harry when Harry told him that it might be bad as per the traditions, he had then proceeded to cuddle him from behind, peppering small kisses all over his neck as he fell asleep.

They had woken up early morning, sharing some more languid kisses before Draco slipped back to his own room to get another hour or so of sleep, while Harry slept like the dead.

Merlin, he still couldn’t believe he was going to marry Draco fucking Malfoy at last.

Although he knew Ron would surely have his head, he took his time in the shower, soaping his body meticulously and just being. He won’t get another slow moment in the whole day so he cherished it.

.......

“Where are my cuffs?” he asked Ron as he buttoned up his dress shirt. He was wearing a silver dress shirt with black trousers and a black tie. They had after many many arguments decided upon wearing robes complimenting their own eye colours. He had been teased mercilessly by Draco for wearing Slytherin colours on his wedding. He had told him about his sorting ceremony and that made Draco shut up real quick. They had also made their wedding theme upon those two colours as well, although Ron’s hair clashed hideously with both colours, still he had somehow used black outer robes to make him look slightly less-strange.

“Uh...well....” he looked sheepishly at Harry as he brushed his hand over his hair.

“Ron Weasley, tell me where my cuffs are? My soon-to-be husband will leave the altar when he sees that I’m without cuffs so tell me now!” Ron had told him that he would take care of the cuffs and he had left it to him but now he didn’t know what to do!

“Alright mate, don’t get so much worked up.”

“Don’t get so much worked up, my arse. Tell me now! I’m supposed to meet him before the wedding anytime now!” Harry knew his voice was octave up but he didn’t care, not now.

Just then, Hermione entered the room, wearing a silver dress which made her look ethereal, what with her bushy hair-somewhat sleaked up and complexion.

“Wow Mione, you look amazing!” he exclaimed as he took in her outfit properly.

“Why Harry, you don’t look bad yourself.”

“Except the fact that someone was supposed to take care of my cufflinks for me.” He looks pointedly at Ron but Hermione just laughs.

“Mione!!! You are supposed to scold him.” he whines.

“Oh love. It’s alright. The cuffs are in perfect condition but they are with someone else.”

“So tell them to bring it here. I’m to meet Draco any moment now.”

“That’s why I’m here to take you to him. Now come on!”

“But the cuffs!”

“Harry, don’t you understand?” “Understand exactly what Mione?”

“What are you gifting Draco now?”

“Cufflinks for the wedding, you know this Mione.”

“And does he know about them?”

“No”

“Don’t you think he is frantic about the fact that he doesn’t have his cuffs?”

“You can hold him off. Mione, how is this even relate--” he stops mid-sentence as Mione fixes him with her how-can-someone-be-this-oblivious stare, and after a moment it finally clicks, “Oh.....ohhhhh.”

“Yes, exactly now let’s go and leave the outer robe for later, just come with what you’re wearing right now.”

So that’s how he finds himself, standing before another unknown door of the Manor where the wedding is being held. Mione and Ron by his side; just as he is about to open the door Hermione makes a disapproving noise and he stops. She produces a green blindfold and much to Harry’s reluctance covers his eyes.

“Is this really necessary?” “Yes it is, now get inside, here hold my hand.”

He hears gasps as he gets inside, followed by numerous compliments from all their friends because of course everyone is present.

“Potter” He hears the familiar drawl from somewhere infront of him and then Hermione is dragging him to the.....center of the room?

She makes him stand a couple of inches away from Draco so his hands wander in front of him in search of the warmth he had been searching since he left in the morning and then just like that, they both are clasping their hands together.

Draco’s hands feel just about right in his own, he draws him closer so they touching. He leans forward and sure enough a pair of eager lips are waiting there to be kissed. So he kisses him thoroughly, ignoring the snickers and cat-calls of their friends. He smiles slowly, as they break apart even though their lips are still touching.

“Hey, Malfoy.”

“Miss me, Potter?”

“More than you would ever know.”

“I think I know, because I missed you all the same.” Draco leans forward to peck him once more, then leans against his forehead. They don’t need words, just being in each other’s presence speaks a thousand sentences for them.

But they are brought back to reality as someone coughs loudly and they break apart, not exactly because there is at max a inch between between them.

“In case you both are done, we do have an wedding to attend. May I bring it to your attention that it is your wedding?”

“Yes we know that Granger. It is our wedding, we are allowed to be late.”

“Absolutely not, Draco.” It’s Pansy who speaks this time, “Also don’t you both have something to give.”

He had completely forgotten about the cuffs, he takes them out of his pocket and presents it to Draco, who gives him a similar box in his other hand.

“Can’t we see them?” he asks, eager to find out what Draco had given him.

“Not now, you can look when you get back to your respective rooms.” Ginny replies.

They both mutter ‘fine’ respectively as they shove them inside their pockets. They are going to be late but this feels right, so much right that Harry doesn’t want to leave, even though he knows he will again be with him in fifteen minutes. He just likes this moment so so much. He shuffles forwards and hugs him tightly, placing his head in the crook of Draco’s neck and feels Draco do the same.

They stand like that for an eternity before Hermione hesitantly tells them that it would be really late now. So he leaves, he lets Hermione drag him out of the room and when he opens the blindfold he realises he has tears in his eyes.

“Oh Harry.” Hermione whispers as she sees the tears.

Ron just silently whips away the tears and squeezes Harry’s hand. He knows how it feels like, after everything they are finally finally going to be together and no one can come in between them now. No one. Not the Wizarding World. Not Lucius Malfoy. No one.

......

He walked down the aisle with Molly, looking at all his friends and family standing there with the flower girl, Victoire and ring bearer, Teddy just in front of them.

He kissed Molly’s cheek and stood just in front of the officiant who in their case was Andromeda, on both of their mutual request and decision.

He looked up just in time to see Draco enter with Narcissa. Narcissa must have looked great as well but his eyes were just for Draco now. He looked absolutely ethereal. His hair was styled back with a bit of gel, but still wavy somehow. He was wearing silver dress robes which upon looking properly had intricate designing with a emerald green silk dress shirt him inside and a silk black tie.

He then, finally looked into his eyes and he was lost. They held so much emotion that his smile couldn’t convey. They held so so much love and happiness and content. He was looking into his eyes and he was smiling at him in that sweet manner that was reserved just for him. It made him feel giddy with happiness as Draco mouthed a silent ‘I love you’ and grinned---

“Avada Kedavra.”

It was loud among the otherwise silent room. They locked eyes for one last time before he collapsed. Almost instantaneous wands were drawn out and people started starting shouting but he couldn’t focus on that, on anything.

Because his world had just fallen apart.

#i am sorry not sorry #please #dont kill me #drarry #harry x draco #draco malfoy #harry/draco #drarry established relationship #drarry wedding #harry potter #hermione granger #ron wealsey #teddy lupin #victoire weasley #pansy parkinson #blaise zabini #ginny weasley #after war #after hogwarts

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i-drink-and-i-write-fics · 3 years

Text

Family Man

Chapter 3: The New Family

Summary: Reader is hit by an important holiday.

Your room was getting darker by the hour, but you made no move to turn on a light. It almost seemed fitting to sit in the dark. Matched your mood.

How did you not know? You were always so good at tracking time. Always so careful. The holidays had been your job when it was just you and Josh. He would work like crazy and you would do the shopping and cooking. You preferred it that way. When your parents were alive, your mom always had tried to help you in the kitchen. And while you love her and missed her, it had always felt claustrophobic having someone else in there with you. As if they were always in your way no matter how hard they tried.

So Josh would work and you would cook.

You sighed as you leaned against your bed, your butt slowly becoming numb from sitting on the floor. It was the missions that had done it: made you lost track of the days. And sure, you were slowly starting to see the Avengers as friends. But holidays were different. The holidays were family affairs.

“No need to rush with the equipment, kid.” Tony had told you earlier that day. “Evil may not take a day off, but we do.”

“What are you talking about? We always have a few days off between missions, Stark.”

He stopped and blinked at you. “Are you- are you serious?”

You paused in your actions, taking in Tony’s shocked look. “What?”

Sam had popped up behind you and stuck a balloon to your head. This had been a running gag for the Three Stooges every since you had confessed to helping Nat and Clint that one fateful night.

“It’s Thanksgiving tomorrow, Balloon Bandit!” He said with his signature laugh.

“Wait, it is?” Your jaw dropped.

“Yeah, didn’t you get the email?” Bucky joked as he walked in with Steve.

With that small exchange came the tightness in your chest. You put your equipment bag down and excused yourself, running to your room.

And there you had hidden since that morning, trying not to cry over your first holiday without Josh.

There was a knock on the door followed by the voice of your best friend. “Hey, Kiddo. We’re almost done here. Do you need a ride into town?”

You forced yourself to keep a steady voice. “No thanks, Hawkbutt. I’m staying here.”

There was a long pause. “You’re going to what?”

A sigh. “Stay here. I got rid of my apartment once your circus convinced me to stay.”

“Oh hell no. Nat!” His footsteps quickly ran from your door. You had no idea what thoughts sprouted in Clint’s head, but you didn’t think anything good would come from it.

You weren’t given long to contemplate before there was angry pounding on your door. “Get packed, Kiddo! We’re leaving in five!”

“Nat, I already told Birdbrain I’m staying here.”

“Like hell you are. Be out here in five minutes or I’m breaking the door down! And I won’t need Tin Man’s tools! So get packed! And bring a jacket!”

Of course, you weren’t stupid enough to argue with Nat once she got in one of these moods. So you quickly packed a weekend bag and grabbed your brown leather jacket. You had no idea where you were going, but you guessed it beat sitting in an empty compound for the rest of the week.

In the common room, it was clear everyone else on the team had left except Nat and Clint. “Alright, what’s this all about?”

Nat ignored your question. “Nice jacket. Very Indian Jones vibe.”

“Thanks. It was Josh’s.”

Clint and Nat exchanged a look before Clint spoke up. “Yup, this is the right choice. Let’s go, Kiddo. The Quinjet awaits.”

“Wait, what?”

No further explanation was given as the two dragged you onto the jet. The two remained cryptic during the entire flight, asking what types of food and drinks you liked, ignoring any questions you had on where you were going. And outside the jet, the scenery changed from busy cities to smaller towns, until finally giving away to farmlands.

Clint landed the plane in a field by a farmhouse that seemed cut off from everything else. “Ok, all you hitchhikers. We’re here!”

“And where the hell is here, Barton?” You stood up from your seat and grabbed your bag.

“You’ll see,” he winked as he and Nat exited the jet.

Sighing, you followed after them. Outside the air was crisp with the promise of autumn air, the trees surrounding the field halfway between orange, brown, red leaves, and some completely bare of any leaves. There was a barn off to one side where you could hear a few animals stirring, no doubt being kept inside to keep warm. The farmhouse was a faded yellow with a huge wrap around porch, with a porch swing on one end.

Clint was already at the door and Nat looked back at you from the porch steps. “Better hurry up, ____. Or there won’t be any food left.”

You furrowed your eyes in confusion but followed after. Inside the house was a chaos of kids running up to greet Clint and Nat as they stepped further into the house. You hung back as they got their hugs in before a woman stepped in to hug Nat and kiss Clint. This must be his wife, Laura. Which would make the brood his.

The room became awkwardly quiet as everyone finally noticed your presence. You cleared your throat and waved. “Hi. Sorry to intrude. I had no idea where I was being dragged to.”

Recognition flashed in Laura’s eyes. “Oh, you must be ____! I’m glad you were able to join us after all!”

You looked at Clint and raised an eyebrow. He looked away sheepishly. “They, uh, weren’t given an option. But I couldn’t leave them to spend the week alone.”

Laura just nodded her head and came over, her hand reaching out. “I’m Laura. I usually hug when I greet people, but Clint told me you may not be ready yet.”

You shook her hand as your face grew warm. “Um, yeah. Sorry again to intrude on your family time.”

Laura smiled. “Honey, you are family now. Nat comes to every holiday since she also doesn’t have any family and now you’ve been welcomed in. Clint told me everything and I can’t stand the idea of someone not enjoying any homemade food or family time.”

Your face grew hot and your eyes shot down to your shoes. “Uh, thanks. I wasn’t expecting that.”

Laura gently reached over and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Why don’t you come with me into the kitchen? We’ll get you a drink and maybe you can lend a hand with dessert?”

“Uh, yeah. That would be great.” In the kitchen, she handed you a glass of wine. “Thank you. What, uh, what did you need help with?”

Laura blushed. “I’m embarrassed to say, but I forgot to make dessert. Would you possibly make something?”

“Yeah, sure. I love to cook. Is there anything I should know?”

“Only one thing. Our youngest, Nathan, is allergic to pumpkin so as long as it doesn’t have that you’re fine.”

You smiled at Laura. “I think I have an idea.”

As you slowly moved around the Barton’s kitchen taking inventory and grabbing equipment, Clint sat at the table to have a quiet conversation with Nat and Laura.

“Sorry this was so last minute, Laura. We had no idea they didn’t have any plans until today. They still has a hard time opening up about Josh in regards to certain things.”

“It’s quite alright, Clint. With what you’ve told me about them, they needs all the love we can give.”

Nat smiled over her glass of wine. “Whatcha making over there, KIddo?”

You glanced up with a smile. “Sorry, you’ll have to wait for Thanksgiving tomorrow to find out.”

Clint’s jaw dropped. “Oh, that’s just cruel.”

That night, Laura lead you upstairs and into one of the bedrooms. “Sorry, we don’t have more guest rooms, but I promise the bed is very comfortable.”

The room was nice with one bed in the middle and a dresser across the room. A rocker sat next to the closet. It was very quaint.

“Where will Nat sleep?”

“In Cooper’s room. We’re having the boys double up.”

“Oh,” you put your bag down by the bed and felt embarrassed that you had caused one of the kids to move rooms. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to misplace anyone by being here.”

Laura looked at you, her eyes softening. She slowly approached and placed her hands on your shoulders. “It’s nothing the boys can’t handle for one weekend. You’re family now and we want to give you the space you need to feel comfortable here at your own pace. Because this home is yours as well. Anytime you need space from the team, our door is open. No questions asked.”

Your face cracked and Laura instantly pulled you in as you cried. “But why? You don’t even know me.”

“I do. Because Clint does. He told me everything and if you hadn’t been an adult, I would have told him we were adopting you. I will not have a sweet person like you out there on your own. We can’t ever be Josh, but we hope we can fill the hole a little bit.”

You pulled back and Laura gently wiped your tears away. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Now get some rest. We have a big day of eating tomorrow.”

You laughed and then sniffed away the last of your tears. “Will do.”

The next day, Laura was busy in the kitchen and wouldn’t let you help, insisting you had done enough by making the dessert for later. So you wandered around the house until you ended up outside where Clint was teaching his daughter how to use a bow and arrow while his boys were chasing each other all over the vast field.

“Sleep well?”

You looked over to find Nat on the porch swing. Nodding your head, you sat down next to her. “Laura was right: that bed was really comfortable.”

Nat handed you a glass. “Eggnog?”

You raised an eyebrow but took the glass. “Isn’t it a little early?”

She laughed quietly. “First of all, there are no rules on a holiday. Second, this is the kid-friendly kind. We safe the bourbon one for after the kids go down.”

“Good call.”

Clint looked over to watch you both laugh. “Hey, is that the glass Laura brought out for me?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” You took a deliberate sip as you looked at him.

He narrowed his eyes as you and Nat busted out laughing.

The morning went quickly and soon you were back inside gathering around the kitchen and the dining table. You made your way over to Clint and handing him a glass of eggnog.

“Peace offering.”

He chuckled. “Accepted.”

“Thanks for dragging me out of the compound. I’d probably be sulking in my room right now, wondering if it was worth it to steal Bucky’s snacks.”

Clint belly laughed at that. “Not gonna lie, that would have been hilarious to hear about from Nat. And see the pictures of you running from him.”

“Traitor.”

“Seriously though, kid. I’m glad you came. You’ve become like a sibling to me and Nat and I would never forgive myself if we had left you alone.”

There was a pause from you. “I’m still not telling you what the dessert is.”

“Damnit!”

The meal went quicker than you expected and soon you were bringing out your contribution.

“A pie?” Clint looked at you incredulously. “You hid a pie from us?”

“Not just any pie.” You plopped a slice onto a plate and handed it to him. “Caramel apple. Our mother’s recipe. She would make this every year for us.”

It was quiet around the table before Clint spoke up. “Thank you for sharing this with us.”

You gave him a soft smile. “It’s like you said: we’re family now.”

#fanfic #fan fic #requests #request list #anon request #family man #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #platonic #clint barton #clint barton x gn!reader #gn!reader #gender neutral reader

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calligraphist-artemisia · 4 years

Text

Soul of a Lion (Chapter 5)

Sequel to The Smallest Blade.

Summary: After the Red Lion steals them away from the Marmora base and takes them through a wormhole, Shiro, Keith, Katla, and Lance find themselves in front of a majestic castle with nowhere to go but inside. The events that unfold while they’re there will change the fate of the universe.

Also posted on AO3 under the username “kishirokitsune”.

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5 | One Step Forward

Katla woke with a harsh gasp, nearly choking on air, her heart pounding so hard in her chest that she could hear it in her ears. She sat up and frantically looked around the unfamiliar room, her panic rising when she didn't see anyone else. She was on her feet and out the door before she could stop and think about what she was doing and she only stopped once she reached Keith's door and had her hand poised to knock.

She slowly lowered her hand.

“What am I doing?” Katla whispered to herself, backing away. She didn't really want to wake him after their late night up on the holo-deck just because she suffered from a little nightmare.

Instead of bothering Keith, Katla turned to the other person who had been there for her through the years.

She didn't bother knocking on the door and instead opened it right up before stepping just inside the doorway. “Shiro?” she whispered, hoping to gently wake him. “Shiro, can I sleep in here?”

Shiro made a groaning sound. “Katla, wha...? Yeah. Of course you can.”

Katla crossed the room and slid under the blankets next to Shiro, cuddling in close and breathing in his soothing scent as she closed her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Mmm hmm... S'everything alright?” he slurred.

“Just a nightmare,” Katla admitted, seeing no point in hiding it. “I'm okay. Just didn't want to be alone.”

Shiro didn't ask why she didn't go to Keith. He simply wrapped an arm around her, silently offering the comfort she sought, which helped her drift peacefully back to sleep.

Her dreams, if she had any, were peaceful after that and when Katla woke again it was with the slow awareness that she was wrapped up in Shiro's warm embrace. Rather than feel embarrassed about running to him like a lost cub, Katla purred and snuggled against him, eliciting a chuckle from her mentor.

“Sleep well?” he asked.

Katla nodded. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

“I meant it when I said that I'm here whenever you need me,” Shiro told her. “Do you want to talk about your nightmare?”

“Nah, I can't even remember what it was about. Probably nothing important,” Katla said. She breathed in deeply and then extracted herself from the blankets and Shiro's hold, shivering as she got out into the chillier air of the room despite the long sleeves of her borrowed nightgown. “It did help me work up an appetite though. I'm starving.”

“Oh? Are you sure it isn't because of your late night adventure to the holo-deck?” Shiro teased.

Katla sputtered in surprise. “Wha- but how did you know about that?!”

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “You grew up in a secretive organization whose primary focus is covertly gathering information and you're really going to ask me how I found out?”

“Fair point,” Katla muttered, looking away from him. She left before he could tease her anymore and retreated to her room where she dressed in a clean set of clothing that she found in the drawers. It was too soft and too bright for her tastes, but she supposed it was preferable to wearing her sweat-soaked uniform for a third day. (She'd have to make sure and ask Hunk how they handled laundry in the castle.)

She ran a brush through her hair before leaving her room. Once she was back in the hall, she found that Shiro had rounded up Keith and Lance, who were also dressed and ready for a new day.

Keith bent over and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek, wishing her a good morning before straightening back up. “Ready to go play nice with the Alteans?”

Katla crinkled her nose at the reminder.

After his lunch with Allura the day before, Shiro returned with news that they would have breakfast with their hosts to try and get to know each other better.

To say that they were not looking forward to it was an understatement.

“I think I'd rather eat more food goo,” Lance said with a loud groan.

Shiro gave him an unimpressed look. “They're willing to make an effort for us and I'd like it if we did the same for them. Listen, Allura said she wants to talk to us about the Lions today, so please be on your best behavior. If you don't have anything nice to say, then just don't say anything.”

“Now you sound like mom,” Katla teased him.

“Does that mean you'll listen to me?” Shiro asked.

“It means I'll think about it,” Katla cheekily responded.

Keith coughed to try and cover up his laugh, but he couldn't fool Katla. He was well aware of how often she listened to what her mom told her to do, mostly because he was right there by her side whenever it happened.

Shiro didn't bother trying to wrangle a promise out of any of them and settled for getting them over to the dining room without Lance feigning illness to try and get out of it.

Katla wasn't going to pretend like she knew what was going through Lance's head. She would have thought he'd be excited to be around other Alteans, but instead, he was taking even longer to warm up to them than he did on a base surrounded by those he had grown up calling the enemy. She'd call it a puzzle except he'd been pretty vocal about his reasons for not liking them.

“Hey,” she said quietly, nudging his arm as they approached the dining room. “You can handle this.”

Lance managed a smile just for her. “I think I deserve a reward after this.”

“When we go down to the holo-deck I'll let you make fun of Keith when I trip him up.”

“Hey!” Keith protested.

All of their joking subsided once they were standing in front of the door to the dining room and Katla immediately found herself missing the playful atmosphere they had cultivated on their walk over.

Maybe Shiro had a good point about learning to get along and work together. (Something that would be no problem with Hunk, who was friendly enough that she wanted to get along with him.) Being angry and annoyed wasn't only exhausting, it also meant they were no closer to figuring out a way to get home.

If only the Red Lion were a little less stubborn.

The door slid open and Allura rose from her seat at the head of the table to welcome them to breakfast, which was already laid out. Coran, who sat at her left, nodded in greeting, while Hunk, who was on her right, lifted a hand and waved cheerfully.

Breakfast went well, all things considered, though Lance didn't say a word to anyone the entire meal, and Allura struggled to get Coran involved in any conversation for more than a few ticks. Allura, Shiro, and Hunk were the ones who kept things flowing, but even with that Katla was thankful when they all finished eating and the kitchen robots arrived to clear the table.

“I've given it some thought and I believe that the first thing we need to do is locate the other Lions,” Allura stated. “It's only when all five of them are together that Voltron can be formed.”

“Voltron?” Katla murmured the question to Keith, who shrugged.

Apparently, she wasn't quiet enough, because Allura turned to Hunk with a look of surprise. “I thought you said that you told them!”

“Didn't I?” Hunk asked, sounding confused. “I thought... I must have only told them about the Lions and how I think they're the new paladins.”

Allura sighed. “It's alright, Hunk. Voltron is, well, it's what happens when the five Lions combine into one. The original paladins used him to keep peace throughout the galaxy. The four of you will use him to defeat Zarkon and return peace to the universe.”

Katla had a question dancing on the tip of her tongue (or rather, many questions), but Keith beat her to it.

“Shouldn't there be five of us? One for each Lion?”

“You are correct,” Allura acknowledged. “Currently, we're going on the assumption that the four of you are chosen because the Red Lion brought you here. It either means that we have yet to meet the fifth or that there is something preventing them from being here with us.”

The second Allura was done speaking, Katla jumped in with a round of rapid-fire questions and only stopped because Shiro pointedly cleared his throat. She would have slumped back and pouted if not for the fact that Allura began to carefully address each of her questions.

Katla didn't fully know what Shiro and the princess had talked about the day before, but whatever it was had put Allura in a more agreeable mood.

“We do not currently know where the three missing Lions are, however, I believe I have a way of locating them. You see, each Lion has their own unique energy signature and their method of choosing their paladin involves finding someone whose quintessence closely mirrors their own. Once they do that, it creates a bond between Lion and paladin. Using that bond, I should be able to locate the missing three and discover who has been chosen by which Lion.”

It all sounded a little far-fetched to Katla. Quintessence was just energy. Some forms of it could be traced, but she'd never heard of it forming connections or bonds that could be followed over long distances.

Allura took a moment to look around at them all. “I will need to sit with each of you but only one at a time. It's a process that could take vargas before I can see any kind of connection, so it would be best to only do one per day.”

Lance scowled.

“I don't mean to be rude, but I don't see how any of what you're saying is possible. I mean, the Empire has had all of this time to track down the Lions and they've only come close to one of them, as far as we know. So how is it that you can track their energy without knowing which direction to look?” Katla asked.

To her surprise (and likely to Shiro's relief) Allura didn't appear at all bothered by the question.

“It's because I won't be using technology to track them, but a gift passed down from my mother,” Allura said with a smile.

Coran made a small noise of protest.

Allura held up a hand to stop whatever he was about to say. “It's alright, Coran. The Aspects that are gifted to Alteans are hardly a secret that needs to be kept and I am proud to speak of mine.”

What followed was a crash course in what Allura called Altean “aspects”, which Katla eagerly listened to and absorbed. It had never occurred to her to ask Lance about how he was able to shape-shift and being handed the information was an eye-opener. (Just how strong was Lance if he was able to hold his shift for as long as he did?) But what sounded the most interesting by far was the Aspect of Spirit, which allowed Allura to manipulate quintessence and use it in a way that sounded like magic.

“Every living thing leaves behind a trace amount of quintessence wherever it goes, and that includes the Lions,” Allura explained. “When the Red Lion responded to you, Keith, it formed a connection between the two of you. Theoretically, since each of you has had contact with her and because we're going by the assumption that the Red Lion brought you all here because you're meant to be the new paladins, that means you each now have a connection with the Lion who most closely mirrors your quintessence.”

“But if the Red Lion also has a bond with the others, couldn't you just use her to find them?” Keith asked.

Allura nodded. “You raise an excellent point, Keith. We currently have two of the Lions here at the Castle and I could use either of them, provided that they allow me to get close. I'd prefer keeping that option as a back-up plan. The real question is: who would like to go first?”

Keith and Katla exchanged a quick look. There was no question in their minds as to who would volunteer.

Sure enough, Shiro told her that he would go first. He stood and quietly reminded Katla, Keith, and Lance to be on their best behavior while he was away, and then followed Allura out of the dining room.

She didn't speak as she led him through the halls and up several staircases, but Shiro found that the silence didn't bother him. Instead, it allowed him time to get his thoughts in order. It didn't take him long to land on a somewhat important question that none of them thought to ask.

“Princess, you said that the Lions choose their pilots based on who best mirrors their quintessence, but what does that mean, exactly?” Shiro asked politely.

Allura slowed a little as she responded. “An easier way to put it would be to say that there are certain... qualities that the Lions seem to be drawn to. For example, the Red Lion is the fastest of the five and is known for being stubborn and a little temperamental. She needs a paladin who can keep up. Someone who relies on instinct more than skill.”

That did sound like Keith, though Shiro didn't dare say that out loud.

“The Black Lion, as the head of Voltron, needs someone with exemplary leadership skills. Someone able to make the right decisions in the heat of battle and who has the respect of their fellow paladins,” Allura said. There was an odd tone to her voice as she spoke of the Black Lion and she narrowed her eyes into an almost glare as she stared down the hall.

Shiro eyed her curiously but didn't say a word, hoping she would tell him more on her own, but she didn't get the chance to as they came to a door and Allura stopped walking.

“This is the Serenity Garden. It was designed by my mother to aid with my training when I was young. I find it helps me center myself whenever I need to focus and that makes it perfect for what needs done today,” she explained.

“So, it's for meditation?” Shiro guessed.

Allura nodded and opened the door.

The Serenity Garden lived up to its name, though it looked nothing like what Shiro expected it to. He'd imagined a literal garden full of green, growing things, but instead, there were white walls made of a stone that bore some resemblance to the material used in the rest of the castle, but far more water-resistant as it had to withstand the constant flow of a fountain, which sent water cascading down three of the walls of the room. It gathered in a shallow pool that ran the length of the walls and extended no more than a foot from the base of them.

The lights were embedded into the walls and refracted through the water to create an effect that made Shiro feel as though they were underwater. He held up his hand as he stepped inside and watched it play across his skin with some fascination.

“We should get comfortable. It's hard to say how long this will take,” Allura suggested, gesturing toward the pile of large, squishy pillows in the center of the room.

☆ - ☆ - ☆ - ☆ - ☆

They didn't stay in the dining room for very long after Shiro and Allura left. Lance had barely paid attention to what was said between the time the pair left to the rest of them getting up, but as he tried to follow Keith and Katla, who he assumed were going back to the holo-deck, Keith stopped him and gestured toward Hunk.

“Weren't you listening? Hunk wants your help looking over the shuttles down in the hangar while we go with Coran to check on that teludav thing,” Keith said.

“I didn't agree to that!” Lance yelped.

“We know. We volunteered you to go while you were daydreaming,” Keith said, making a sort of 'go on' gesture. “It'll be fine, Lance. We'll see you in a few vargas.”

Lance's jaw dropped as Katla and Keith walked away, leaving him completely alone with Hunk. It felt like he was waking into a nightmare and he didn't know how to get out of it.

He didn't know the first thing about Altean shuttles! It wasn't like they had any back home and even if they did, he still doubted that he would know anything about them. That honor would be reserved for those with the skills to properly understand how to fly and make repairs to them.

And besides that, he wanted nothing to do with the other Alteans.

Lance knew he was supposed to be trying to get along with them and he didn't want to disappoint Shiro, but he just couldn't bring himself to try.

He didn't want to get along with them.

He didn't want to like them.

And if not for the fact that knowing which shuttles were in working condition would benefit him, Lance would have gone back to his room and locked the door. Was it childish? Sure. But ultimately it would be better than losing his temper and screwing everything up.

Lance counted himself lucky when he saw that there were only three shuttles in the hangar. They were significantly smaller than the Red Lion and were also bulky, which led him to assume that they were solely for transport rather than defending the castle. He could be wrong. It could always be a case of appearances being deceiving, they just didn't look maneuverable to him.

“Alright, let's pop one of these open and see what we're doing with!” Hunk said enthusiastically, rubbing his hands together.

Lance silently followed him to the first shuttle and watched with mild interest as Hunk opened the access plate that protected the engine. He couldn't make heads or tails of any of the wires or tubes or other components that were inside, so instead, he paid more attention to Hunk and tried to judge what state it was in based on the expressions on his face.

“Looks like some stress damage along this support beam. It never got fixed after the last time it flew, so we'll have to replace that. Also looks like the cooling system will need flushed, but I kind of expected that. All of them will need a good thorough cleaning,” Hunk said, swiping a finger across the surface of one of the tubes. “And, of course, everything will need to be recharged. The crystals will be so drained that we'll be lucky if any of them have the smallest amount of power left for Allura to spark. We may need to find a Balmera, though I'd hate to set off without any of these working, even if we have all of the Lions.”

Lance wondered if he was supposed to respond.

Hunk hummed as he leaned in deeper, trying to see a little farther back. “I'll need a scanner to give it a proper check up. Could you grab it for me? It's the smallest device with the orange handle hanging on that wall over there.”

Lance turned his attention to the wall Hunk gestured at. There were all kinds of tools hanging on pegs, but he easily spotted a small one with its handle entirely wrapped in orange. He retrieved it and took it back to Hunk, who thanked him with a beaming smile.

“I always like to look it over myself first to see what I can spot, then I use the scanner to catch what I've missed or can't see from this angle,” Hunk explained as he turned it on and pointed it into the engine. “It probably sounds like I'm making more work for myself, but this is about testing myself and the scanner. If there's something obvious that I've missed then that means I need to work on my skills. If the scanner misses something that I noticed, then it needs to be re-calibrated.”

Lance made a sort of agreeing sound just because it seemed like the right thing to do.

Hunk turned on the scanner and waited a few ticks before launching a set of discs from the top of it. They hovered in the air and beeped as they lit up blue before zipping into the compartment to take readings.

Hunk turned the scanner so that Lance could see the screen as well. “See? It picked up on the stress damage I mentioned, but there are also hairline fractures along that same piece.”

Once the scanner was through with its evaluation, Hunk printed out a list of repairs that needed done and stuck it to the side of the shuttle right next to the engine panel. “Coran will want to take a look before we start any major repairs. This is his area of expertise, after all. All I can do right now is remove the power crystal and take it to Allura. Did I already say she'd be able to recharge them? Her strongest gift is Spirit, so she can use her own energy to refuel these small crystals.”

They moved onto the next one, which was alright aside from a bit of dust and another crystal in need of power. Hunk slapped a label on it anyway and then there was only one shuttle left to examine.

Lance started to make his way over to it, but only got a few steps before he realized Hunk wasn't following him. He slowed to a stop and looked back to see the other Altean was bent over the housing chamber for the crystal and carefully disconnecting it. Lance stifled a groan and instead crossed his arms over his chest.

“You know, there's something that's been bothering me,” Hunk said conversationally. “I can't explain what it is, exactly. It's more of a feeling.” He yanked the crystal free from its compartment and held it out towards Lance. “Come here and hold this for me?”

Lance hesitantly walked forward and took it from Hunk. It was a pretty thing, roughly the size of his fist and shaped sort of like an obelisk with a wider and broken base. As he looked at it, he started to see a soft glow in the center.

“I kept thinking about that first night when I gave you and Katla the crystal that powered your device, even though it shouldn't have been able to. But no matter how many times I went through that memory, something wasn't adding up,” Hunk said quietly.

When Lance tore his gaze away from the crystal in his hands, it was to find Hunk watching him with a sad look in his eyes.

“Lance, only an Altean has the ability to recharge these crystals once they're removed from the Balmera.”

Lance's stomach swooped unpleasantly. He took a step back in alarm as his heart-rate accelerated, his words catching in his throat along with his breath as panic began to take hold.

“It's true, isn't it? You're Altean?” Hunk asked, his voice cracking. “We're not the last ones?”

“No.”

Hunk took a step forward. “Lance, it's okay. You don't need to hide who you are. You're safe here!”

Lance shook his head and shoved the crystal against Hunk's chest, barely giving him time to grab it before he let go. “No, you're wrong,” he said before turning on his heel and fleeing the hangar, leaving Hunk even more confused than before.

☆ - ☆ - ☆ - ☆ - ☆

Keith was pretty sure that Lance was going to try and smother both him and Katla in their sleep after the stunt they pulled. He couldn't bring himself to feel too apologetic about it, since splitting up any other way would mean that he would have to be apart from Katla and he still didn't trust the Alteans enough to leave her alone with them. (Not that Katla couldn't take care of herself – she was trained by Shiro, after all.)

And since she was interested in learning more about something called a teludav, Keith was going along with her.

“This is so cool!” Katla enthused as Coran opened the door for them. “Keith, we're the first people in ten-thousand years who have the opportunity to learn how Alteans used to travel across vast expanses of space in a short amount of time! This is technology that even Slav hasn't figured out and he's been working towards this for decaphoebs!”

Keith smiled fondly as she continued to ramble on about how it was theorized to work. Even Coran chuckled in amusement at some of the ideas that had been proposed over the years.

“I think you'll find that it is both more simple and infinitely more complicated than any of that,” Coran said as the door slid open. “May I present to you: the teludav chamber!”

It was a smaller room than Keith expected, with consoles to the left and right along the walls. Directly across from the entrance was a circular opening that led into a long tube lined with odd-looking discs.

“Amazing,” Katla breathed in soft awe. “How does it all work? Do you put those discs into your ships and that's how you travel?”

Coran shook his head. “Each and every one of those lenses is precisely where it needs to be. Their placement is carefully calculated down to the very last detail so that the teludav works with the optimal power needed to create wormholes.”

“Like the one that brought us here?” Keith asked.

Coran looked a little startled by the question. “You came here by wormhole? I suppose if there was residual power left over...” He shook his head. “Yes, I imagine that it's exactly like the one that brought you here.”

Keith glanced over at Katla, who was practically vibrating, she was so excited. “So, what do you need us to do? I mean, we've never encountered tech like this, so how can we help?”

“It's quite simple, really. Our job tonight is to clean each and every one of those lenses and make sure there are no cracks or chips in them. That way, once we're ready to lift off and leave Arus, the castle will be in tip-top shape and ready to fly wherever we need!”

Wait.

Fly?

Katla reacted to what Coran was saying a split second before Keith could.

“This castle is a ship!?”

As Katla began to ask a whole round of new questions, Keith mentally crossed off going back to the holo-deck on his list of plans for the day. There was zero chance of convincing Katla to train when there was even more new technology for her to explore than they'd initially thought and he was going to be by her side every step of the way.

#voltron #fanfiction #kidge #kidgemas #soul of a lion #galra shiro #half galra pidge #half galra keith #altean lance #altean hunk

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fitnesstimesblog · 3 years

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Disclaimer: There is no shortcut. If you have more to lose you will have to change your lifestyle drastically. If you only need to lose a couple of pounds you will still need to make some changes. Unless you have a very fast metabolism (which, if you are actively trying to lose weight, you most likely don’t) you will not lose 10 kg in 2 weeks. I am not creating this post as a weight loss programme, it is a guide to help you in making decisions on how you want to lose weight.You need to do this for yourself.

https://www.subscribepage.com/get_your_keto_diet_plan

Bad Habits that Make You Put on Weight

Mindless snacking: if you are going to eat snacks take a look at the serving sizes and stick to that. If you have a bag of popcorn actually weigh out the stated portion size into a bowl and only eat that. If you are dieting I would suggest not snacking or sticking to one snack a day.

https://www.subscribepage.com/get_your_keto_diet_plan

Low levels of activity, this is bad habit most people picked up during lockdown. People count steps for a reason - it is healthy to walk 10,000 steps a day and if you are trying to lose weight walking 10,000 - 15,000 will help a lot.

Takeaways. It is okay to get a fast food takeaway once or twice a week. A problem arises when people order takeaways almost everyday. I don’t have to tell you why that is not healthy. If you seriously want to lose weight stick to one takeaway a week or none at all. If you do buy takeaway make sure to purchase from the children’s menu as the portion sizes are smaller.

Lack of sleep. I am the biggest culprit of this, but you must get at least 8 hours of sleep a day. The negative effects lack of sleep has on your body seep into every aspect of your life. Turn off your phone at 10 pm and get some quality sleep

Not drinking enough water. Anyone successful weight loss journey involves a person up-ing their water intake. You should be drinking a minimum (and I mean bare minimum) of 2 litres of water everyday but when I am losing weight I like to up my intake to 3 litres +. On the opposite end of the spectrum don’t drink too much water (I know, contradictory right?). Drinking too much water is very dangerous so I would say slowly raise your uptake and never drink over 4 litres a day.

https://www.subscribepage.com/get_your_keto_diet_plan

Diet

Disclaimer: There are no shortcuts. When you have more to lose, you need to radically change your lifestyle. If all you need to do is lose a few pounds, there are still a few changes that you need to make. Unless you have a very fast metabolism (which you probably don't if you want to actively lose weight), you won't lose 10 kg in 2 weeks. I am not creating this article as a weight loss program, it is a guide to help you make decisions about how you want to lose weight. You have to do it yourself.

Bad habits that make you fat

Mindless Snacks: When you are snacking, watch your portion sizes and stick to them. If you have a bag of popcorn, weigh the serving size in a bowl and eat it. If you are on a diet, I recommend that you avoid or stick to one snack per day.

Low activity levels are a bad habit that most people develop while in detention. People count steps for a reason: it's healthy to take 10,000 steps a day, and if you're trying to lose weight, 10,000-15,000 steps will do you very well.

Take away. There's nothing wrong with buying takeaway fast food once or twice a week. A problem arises when people order takeaway food almost every day. I don't need to tell you why it's unhealthy. If you really want to lose weight, limit yourself to one or no intake per week. If you are buying to take away, be sure to buy from the children's menu as the portions are smaller.

Lack of sleep. I'm the biggest culprit for this, but you need to get at least 8 hours of sleep a day. The negative effects of insufficient sleep on your body permeate all aspects of your life. Turn off your phone at 10 p.m. and get a good night's sleep

Not Drinking Enough Water Any successful weight loss involves a person increasing their water intake. I should drink a minimum (and I mean the minimum) of 2 liters of water a day, but when I lose weight I happily increase my intake to 3+ liters. On the other side of the spectrum, you shouldn't be drinking too much water (I know, isn't that a contradiction in terms?). Drinking too much water is very dangerous so I would say increase your intake slowly and never drink more than 4 liters a day.

https://www.subscribepage.com/get_your_keto_diet_plan

Diet

Of course, calorie control is an important factor in dieting, but it has to be a healthy restriction. I would say never go under 1,500 calories. Very restrictive diets (<1500) are unsustainable, unhealthy, dangerous, and generally a bad idea.

Here are some of my diet "tips" that have helped me lose weight:

Drink soups. Creamy, stringy, veggie-filled, warm, and nutritious soups (can you say I love soups)? Soups are great for dieting because they are generally healthy, high in vitamins and nutrients, and more easily digested. I know that when I drink soups, I don't have gas and never feel that bloated. Serve with a slice or two of French baguette for a light dinner.

Eat five small meals throughout the day. If you limit your calories to 1,500, you can have five meals of 300 calories evenly throughout the day.

By stocking up on vegetables and fruits, you can eat more for fewer calories, such as: For example, eat a 250-calorie muffin or large banana, a bowl of raisins, and a can of raisins (230 calories). Try to get your nutrient sources from low fat options. Instead of getting your calcium from whole milk, go for skimmed milk, yogurt, sardines, beans, and lentils.

Cut down on carbohydrates. Not exactly, but you should try not to eat more than 2 slices of bread a day. Try not to eat more than 2 bowls of rice a day (choose brown rice, it's more nutritious). Eliminate juices, sodas, and other sources of unnecessary sugar. Prepare meals so you can make informed decisions about what to eat

Here is an example of how I ate while on my diet:

6:00 am - a large banana and oatmeal with soy milk 9:00 a.m. - a bowl of raisins and 1/2 sardine sandwich (1 slice of wholemeal bread) 12:00 - a plate of white rice with sauteed chicken breast and vegetables. 3:00 p.m. - Celery, cucumber and carrot sticks with hummus and grilled salmon 6:00 p.m. - Carrot soup with coconut milk and a slice of French baguette

https://www.subscribepage.com/get_your_keto_diet_plan

Exercise

The scourge of my existence. Sorry I didn't come here with advice on the gym and lifting for a six pack. I do not know how. I can only say that if you want to lose weight, cardio helps a lot (in my experience).

Just do cardio every day. Here are some examples:

Swimming (30 minutes) Walking (more than 10,000 steps) Jogging (30 minutes) Skipping rope (15 minutes) Elliptical trainer (30 minutes) Stationary bike (30 minutes) Rowing (20 minutes) Sprint intervals (30 minutes) HIIT, high-intensity interval training I've lost most of my weight through jogging and rowing, and I used to jog for 30-60 minutes three times a week and go to the rowing club twice a week. Remember that every route to weight loss and to the body is different. Find out what works for you.

The key point is that you try to start cardiovascular exercise at least 30 minutes a day, 5 days a week, and when you can increase the frequency and duration of the workouts.

General information

As I said, your journey is your journey. Do not compare your weight loss to anyone else's or try to rush the process. Think of it as a lifestyle change. A way to restore all of the unhealthy habits you have developed since you were born. Let it motivate you. Buy a goalkeeper you want to fit into and try on them regularly when you lose weight

That will be controversial. Weigh yourself once a month. Trust me. If you see this number drop after a month of hard work, you will feel a lot better. People who weigh themselves daily can base their diets and emotions on the number on the scales each day when weight loss is a combination of days and weeks of concerted effort.

https://www.subscribepage.com/get_your_keto_diet_plan

Be nice to yourself; Allow yourself to make a mistake and start over. You have to give yourself love, not hate and harsh words. Like telling a child who has fallen off a bicycle that everything is okay and needs to try again, the same grace and understanding should be shown. Join a weight loss support group or a neighborhood walking group - having support can be very uplifting and can make friends Occupy. When you're busy, don't eat. The way I maintain my weight loss and not fall into bad habits is to keep busy. Horseback riding, ballet, reading, bowling, gardening, work. Do whatever you can, don't sit idle and you will subconsciously increase your activity and end up eating without thinking.

#weightloss #weightlossdiet #loss #losingweight #weightlosss #weightlossblog #keto #ketodiet #ketorecipes #ketosoulfood #ketomeals #ketoconnect #ketofriendly #ketones

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a-smile-hides · 4 years

Text

A WISH FOR FORGIVENESS (P.6) - U.R.

Warnings: descriptions of a storm, imprisonment (and its consequences), wounds, blood, and this is like super long

Series masterlist can be found here

===

Dark clouds blocked the moon’s effort of giving light to the world beneath her. The raging sea climbed higher and higher around them, forming great mountains to conquer. The harsh and cold wind capable of throwing a man overboard made the boat roll from side to side and promised nothing but devastation.

It was as if the sea wanted to emphasize his awful feeling and play with the awful feeling that was eating him up from the inside. Like the sea wanted to be another source of trouble.

But no matter how dangerous the sea was tonight, the boat refused to turn around and find safety. Ubbe was crouching behind the side of the boat, his hand clutching the wood in a desperate way to keep himself from falling into the water. Behind him, he heard the men that agreed to come with him on this journey. Their words blocked by the sounds of the storm, but he knew that they were crying out for help. His name, his splendid reputation as a warrior and the story of his brother’s betrayal had convinced them all to follow him blindly in search of his lost love. All of them eager to be part of history, at the side of Ubbe Ragnarsson. All of them eager to be rewarded once they set foot in Kattegat again.

It appeared that the Gods wanted to punish their greedy motives. And as Thor continued to beat his hammer, the men fought with all their power against the forces of nature around them.

Shivering in his wet clothes, as the waves climbed over the edge of the boat, sat Hvitserk. He was sitting beside his older brother, bound to the side in hope of not losing him to the waves. He was still weakened by the wound on his chest and almost unable to stand up. And although the prince had changed clothes and smeared the best ointment the healers could come up with on his wound, the five cuts refused to heal. The cold sea water stung his eyes, but he kept them wide open, focused on his older brother whose gaze remained in front of him. There where, back when the sun still lightened their way, they saw a coastline.

With the small beads of light that somehow escaped the thick clouds above, Ubbe was able to figure out the shape of houses at the edge of – what he figured must be – the coast. The soft light produces by lanterns that could lead people through the streets flickered on each one of them.

“Do not give up!” His voice boomed out. His eyes remained on the lights as his hands clutched the wooden side of the boat hard. It seemed as if all conscious thought about the storm was erased from his mind. And Hvitserk wondered if his brother wasn’t gambling with their lives. “We are almost there.”

Ubbe’s screams were lost in the storm. No man could hear him. Even if they did, his words could no longer fuel their beliefs. Fear had struck their bodies and turned them one for one in scarred and tiny men. Even Hvitserk, who fought hard to be on this boat was doubting his own sanity at this point. But Ubbe had no fear or doubt inside his body. He simply kept on staring in front of him at the small lights. Confident that he would, somehow, be able to get there.

---

A gentle wind blew over the beach. Together with the sun, it warmed the sand and the small houses that stood at random along the coastline. The day had just begun, but a surprisingly large group of people had been awake already. All of them running around frantically, trying their best to fix the damage to their houses.

One girl, carrying a large basket with her seemed unaware of the frantic state of the people around her. Her long braid danced behind her as she contently hopped over rocks and puddles of mud on her way to the beach. The sun kissed the apples of her cheek and gave them a rosy colour. Just like everyone else in town, the girl had experienced an extremely short night. With every strike of lightning and every thunderstruck, the girl had shot awake, looking around and praying that her house had not lit up in flames, as had happened in her dreams.

The townsfolk watched her with annoying eyes as she passed them, snorting at her cheerful pass. She was lucky to live in a home big and strong enough to withstand a storm without failure. It was the smith’s wife that dared to open her mouth and question the young girl.

“Tove… Dear.” Her tone was as light and gentle as she could get it to be, but even with her best efforts the woman could not hide her anger. “What are you up to today?”

“Why good morning, Hilda. I am off to the beach. The storm that passed might have brought some gifts for me!”

Without waiting for an answer, she turned around and continued her path. The smith’s wife shook her head at the child, muttering about her ignorance under her breath. Secretly, she hoped that the rumours were untrue, and that the girl’s house was damaged, just like any other home.

Before she realized it, Tove arrived at the beach. Her smile only widened when her eyes fell on some wood.

Maybe I am the one who can find something big today!

It had been a long tradition for Tove and her father to come to beach each time a storm had passed. Her father believed that storms were the way the sea cleansed itself. All kinds of objects could be found scattered over the sand for everyone to find, at least if they looked closely enough. Her father had a gift for working with his hands. He had a keen eye for valuables and made his living as a merchant. Aside from that, he had the gift of somehow coming up with answers to every question he was presented with.

However, the storm that had passed yesterday had been unusually disastrous and the damage to the village could not be ignored. Thus, Tove decided to scout the beach alone as her father walked through the village to see how other people were doing.

The young girl ran eagerly towards the pile of wood in front her. She did not know why, but it called her name. Kneeling beside the pile, she started rummaging through it. The want to prove herself growing stronger now that it was actually happening. Quickly, the young girl became impatient and she started throwing the most broken pieces all around her. Her smile faltered as she saw nothing. She had to find something! She had to return home with a real treasure and make her father proud. As she lifted one of the last pieces of wood, a glimmer made her freeze.

A treasure!

With big eyes, she took the object of the sand. It was wrapped up in a piece of old cloth, but whatever was inside seemed to shine through the fabric. Very carefully, she took out the object. It was grey and long, still it fitted perfectly in her hand.

“Odd. I have never seen something like this…” She mumbled.

The girl narrowed her eyes and held it closer to her eyes. It was a sword! Only a very, very tiny one! With one of her fingers, she brushed lightly over the back of the dragon that slithered around it. It was beautiful.

Tove giggled. She knew that her father would be so proud. Her giggle soon became louder and turned into a fit of laughter. She could not help herself and twirled around. Her skirt waved around her and created a big circle. This was the kind of treasure that she hoped to find.

Her laughter died down once she looked up. Only now did she look around and noticed the wreckage that the sea had left behind on the sand. With one glance at the small object in her hands the girl understood that this must have belonged to someone on that ship.

Curiously, she stepped closer towards the remains. The sand crunched underneath her feet as she slowly got closer. Her heart was pounding against her chest and nervous giggles kept escaping her mouth. As she neared the ship, her eyes fell on four people lying amongst the wooden leftovers. Three men lay underneath pieces of wood. Blood and sand stained their wet, ripped clothes. Their eyes were closed, and their faces relaxed. It looked like they were sleeping peacefully, but the girl knew better. The sea had claimed their lives.

A bit further from them, near the sea lay another man on his back. His eyes were closed as well, but as she walked towards him, she saw how his chest went up and down in time with his breathing.

He was still alive!

The man’s dirty blond locks were filthy due the sand and his braids were loose. His clothes were stained with blood and sand, just like his companions, but his seemed to be more expensive. As Tove hovered above him, she held her breath. Fear and curiosity ran through her body. Never before had she discovered a man that was fortune enough to have survived a storm. She did not know what to do.

She reached out her hand to touch the man’s forehead. She had seen some women to this to their children as they coughed or were in pain, so it must be something that helped. But before her skin could make contact with his, the man coughed loudly. He spat out water and scrunched up his face. Startled, the girl ran away. Not noticing how the blond-haired man fell limp right after she disappeared behind the corner.

---

Hvitserk groaned as his eyes opened and he was met by the blinding light of the sun. Little pained gasps left his mouth as he tried with all his might to push himself upwards. With teary red eyes, Hvitserk looked around. He did not know where he was. He could only hope that this was the place they were looking for. He let out a long breath as his eyes fell on the ship. The four men that had come with him and his brother on this journey lay death in front of him and made him quickly look away again. The sight of their resting bodies made him feel vulnerable.

A light caught his eyes and made him blink. Beside him as if tossed there so he would be the one to find it, was the silver-grey pin Ubbe had found in the forest. This little thing had made his brother decide to jump on the first ship available and find his lost love. Hvitserk’s breathing fastened once he remembered his brother. He was not among the man lying dead in the sand. But as his eyes scanned the whole area, he saw nothing that could lead him to his older brother.

“Brother…” Hvitserk’s low and hoarse voice was almost unintelligible. “Ubbe?”

There was no response. Hvitserk called out again, louder this time. But still, no response.

Slowly, Hvitserk turned towards the sea. His heart hammered against his chest. Until a few seconds ago, the wound on his chest burned with every breath he took, and his muscles ached with every move, but now he felt numb. Their ship had lost its battle against the raging sea. The men that seemed honoured to go with his brother on this mission lay dead on the sand in front of him. And his brother wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Hvitserk never felt so lost.

Hvitserk’s arms gave out and he let himself fall down on the sand. His eyes stared up at the clear blue sky above him. The sea was calm, there were no clouds and the wind was nothing but a soft breeze. A perfect time to set sail.

He remembered Ubbe’s dedication. It had taken them days to collect everything to go on this journey. Yet Ubbe never faltered. He wanted to come here and save his mermaid, his friend. On the way to their rushed departure, both men bumped into many obstacles, the biggest one without doubt their own brother Björn, who wanted to warn Ubbe on his ‘impulsive’ ways. Ubbe had still immense respect for all the things his older brother had accomplished, but his words meant nothing to him anymore. He only hoped that one day they would be able to look each other in the eye, without being reminded of the wrongs that were done.

Hvitserk’s bleeding chest did not bother him anymore. The young prince just lay there. His breathing slowed down as he felt himself getting tired. And slowly, he gave in to the darkness that overcame him.

The two arms that sneaked under his woke Hvitserk up. Startled but unable to fight back, he shouted out. The strangled scream echoed around him. He tried kicking his legs, but his movements were weak. The intruder simply laughed tiredly and continued to drag the wounded prince in the direction of the houses. Hvitserk heard his abductor let out a deep breath and then the two arms disappeared. Hvitserk had no idea where he was brought to. He tried to push himself up with his elbows and look around, but the wound on his chest prevented him from doing so.

“Stop it. You’re making it worse”

The words gave new power to Hvitserk who suddenly found himself able to sit up straight. Before him, was his older brother Ubbe.

“Ubbe?”

Ubbe looked up for a second. His clothes were drenched, and his eyes were red. The man looked as if he had not slept in weeks. He had a large gash on his temple, his lip and eyebrow were cut, and a bruise had turned a dark purple on his jaw.

“It seems like after all Björn was right. This journey was cursed.”

Hvitserk frowned at Ubbe’s tone. He sounded broken, defeated. At his younger brother’s silence, Ubbe smiled bitterly. He was going to save you from the hell you got thrown into. And instead, he only condemned others to the exact same fate.

“You cannot hate yourself for all of this, brother.”

Ubbe laughed dryly, not believing one bit of Hvitserk’s words.

Ubbe shook his head. He had failed himself. He had failed those men. And above all, he had failed you. His eyes were cold and dull as he looked back at the place where those poor men lay. Hvitserk followed his gaze and felt that awful feeling in his stomach return. He knew his brother was blaming himself for all of this. He knew that the hope he had parted with was shattered into pieces.

Hvitserk cleared his throat, successfully getting Ubbe’s attention. With a shaky hand, he took something out of his pocket and laid it in the hands of his older brother. Ubbe’s eyebrows shot up as he stared down at the silver pin.

His thumb stroked softly over the dragon’s head. Ubbe thought he had lost it to the sea. Now, here it lay. He had carefully chosen this pin above others. The other pins the old lady sold were all beautiful one by one. But only this one gave Ubbe the right feeling. It was the only one that showed how he felt. Ubbe’s knuckle turned white as he clenched his fingers around the small object. The tail of the dragon slowly cut into his flesh. The stinging pain brought only a short relief from the voices inside his head, but like true monsters they kept repeating how he destroyed your only change at freedom.

The silence was deafening. A cold figure sitting in between them and making Hvitserk feel beaten. Ubbe’s body betrayed himself and a sob passed his lips. His stone-cold expression broke down and Hvitserk watched how his brother turned into a defeated man.

“And… Now?” He said softly, afraid that his words could hurt his brother more.

Hvitserk was lost. He did not know what to do. But the sight of his older and wiser brother sitting there in the sand scared him to death.

“Now… we pray that she will forgive me and that her faith is not what I fear it is. If luck is on our side, we may find a boat leaving this place soon. In that way, we can return home.”

The words passed his lips slowly, as if it burned him to say them out loud. Hvitserk frowned at his brother. Confusion written all over his face. This was not the brother he parted with. The words he just said sounded like a lame and pathetic effort in finding comfort in this situation. Ubbe did not even believe his own words, but for once found it was better to try and live with that lie.

“You’re leaving her behind?” Hvitserk could not wrap his head around it. With pained grunts, he placed his hands behind him and pushed himself until he leaned forward. Ubbe tilted his head at him, a look of concern painted his features.

“Do not give me that look” Hvitserk snarled. “You wanted to be here. We are here now. Look at these,” he panted, pointing at his chest. The moment his hand left the ground, the young prince almost lost his balance, his muscles still too weak to support himself. Ubbe lifted one hand, a gesture to offer some help, but Hvitserk roughly slapped it away. “This is the prove that she is not to be here. She knew what would happen to her. She fought with all her might. She- “Hvitserk looked down, broken as he remembered your screams and pleads.

Ubbe shook his head and shuffled closer to his brother. With both his hands, he supported the young man in front of him. Hvitserk stared up at him, almost forcing him to say something. But Ubbe kept his lips stubbornly shut tight.

“Let me help you fix this. This is also my fault. You are the one she needs now.”

His last words broke the everlasting scowl on Ubbe’s face. The wall that he had put around himself crumbled and Hvitserk saw the light reappear in his brother’s eyes. A ghost of a smile grew on Ubbe’s lips as he pressed his forehead against his brother’s. The two sat there in their brotherly embrace, until Hvitserk broke the moment.

“So… Now?”

“You must rest now. We will break in at sunset.”

---

The dry grass crackled underneath their feet as the two men slowly sneaked their way past the different houses. The sun had set over the small village and most residents had abandoned the streets to find comfort in their homes. Hvitserk’s breathing was harsh and deep, but the man was for once able to stand up tall. The facts that he had been able to encourage his older brother to not lose faith restored some of his energy. His feet often lost their grip on the ground, but thankfully he never fell.

Ubbe’s heart was pounding against his chest while the nerves ran down his body. One by one they passed the houses, trying to get a glimpse inside to see where Sólir may be living. With every house he passed, Ubbe grew more restless. He did not know where he could find you, Björn was uncertain of Sólir’s exact location. And he did not know in what state you would be in. Days had gone by before Ubbe had arrived here. Time and the unknown had always intrigued Ubbe, but now they were his greatest enemy. With every step, the fear of what he would come across became larger. Every peak inside a home that resulted in a beautiful sight of a couple sitting together with their children, made the anger well up in his chest.

At last, Ubbe peeked through a window to be met with the sight of a strange tank made of glass. It rested on a big wooden block and was filled to the brink with water. It was clear the glass cage had not been cleaned ever since it had been made, for the water had turned a filthy shade of grey. Ubbe rumbled in rage as he saw you laying on the bottom of your cage, miserable, and severely injured. Ubbe tried to see if anyone was with you, but nobody seemed to be inside. There wasn’t an evidence of a fire burning and the only light that lit up the room was that from the setting sun. No sounds could be heard around them.

With a simple nod of his head he signalled his younger brother, who stood on the lookout a bit further away.

The door jammed as Ubbe tried to open it. With a hard push with his shoulder it eventually flew open. The door slammed harshly against the wall, making some pots fall of their shelf. The sound echoed through the room. Ubbe bit his lip as his eyes fell on you. Very softly, he called out your name, but the sound did not seem to have reached your ears. You just lay on the bottom of your glass cage, your arms crossed over each other with your eyes shut tight.

Ubbe swallowed and stepped closer. His little brother following him like a shadow. Just like Ubbe, his eyes were only focused on you. Your hair was cut short and it was clear that some pieces were missing. Cuts and burn marks covered your skin and your tail had lost some of its vibrant colour.

Still, you were alive.

Ubbe shook his head, the pin in his pocket felt heavier with the moment. Again, he whispered out your name as he crouched beside you. This time, you opened your eyes.

“Y/N. Why - Oh no…” Ubbe leaned forwards, his forehead resting against the glass as your eyes finally met his blue ones. The white of your eyes had turned a crimson red, together with the dark circles and hollowed cheeks, you looked like death was standing right next to you. Hvitserk watches with widened eyes, his arms remained at his sides as the young man stood there perplexed.

“I am getting you out of this mess I put you in.”

His promise was met by a deafening silence. The only sound heard was the water splashing against something as you moved to lay on your side. The task seemed almost impossible for you. The tank wasn’t very large, only just wide enough to fit you in, leaving barely any room for you to adjust your position. Ubbe pressed his fist against the glass, his eyes pleading with you.

“Please. Do not give up. I am here to help. Truly.”

Again, his pleads were met by silence. Ubbe grew nervous as he looked right into your eyes, but only saw them stare blankly back at him. His heart hammered, and a lump formed in his chest. Ubbe stepped back and raised his hand, letting it glide over his hair. The young man paced around the tank, not knowing what to do. It made him feel dizzy, yet nothing in his brain told him to stop. Hvitserk frowned at the scene in front of him. He had not expected you to be so cold towards him, so unresponsive. As his eyes fell on you again, he peered intently at your hand. You had raised it up as high as you could so now it was pressed against the top of your cage. Hvitserk looked at the fine wooden board that formed the roof of your cage. And only now he took notice of the objects strategically placed on it. Hvitserk inched forward as your eyes followed Ubbe in his pacing, your mouth opening and closing, but no sound left your lips.

“Air… You can’t breathe…” he murmured. “You can’t- She-Ubbe, she can’t breathe!” He yelled out, waving his hand to get his brother’s attention. Ubbe stopped his pacing and looking down at you. Immediately he fell down on his knees, pressing his hand against the glass as if he were able to touch you through it. He narrowed his eyes as he saw too that your captivator left no room for air in your cage. His eyes darted around the tank, looking for a way to help you out.

“Help me!” He screamed towards his brother when he noticed too how the fine wooden board kept you inside. “Help me lift this thing off!”

Together, they threw the objects on the ground. With a loud clatter, they fell on the ground and with your last power you pushed the board away, taking big chunks of air as you resurfaced.

Ubbe came closer to you again, lifting your face in his hands. His smile was large and beautiful. He was breathing unevenly, and small chuckles passed his lips. You could only look back at him woozily, but the sight of his relieved face warmed your heart. After a couple of seconds, he suddenly removed his hands from the side of your face. A faint blush covered his cheeks as he cleared his throat. The small giggle you presented him with filled him with joy and made him look up at you again.

“The Gods are with me… For they have kept you alive. I am so glad to see you once again.”

You simply grinned back at him, resting your head on your arms.

A cough mixed with a painful howl made the both of you look up. Hvitserk was leaning against the tank, his breathing very deep while his eyes were closed. The scowl on his face together with the blood that slowly dripped over his hand into the water told his older brother how the wound had opened once again.

“Please. Help him.” Ubbe’s panting made you turn towards him. Fear was evident in his eyes. Your arms started trembling as your muscles were still too weak to hold you up.

“I cannot. I am far too weak to fully heal him.”

“Then help him the best you can.”

“Why should I even try? He was amongst the men who doomed me with this fate.” You spat out; anger evident in your gaze as you stared up at the man beside the tank.

“I need him. He is my little brother. You do not need to forgive him. You do not need to like him.” Ubbe paused, his hand reaching for the pin in his pocket. You gasped as he presented you with it. You hadn’t seen it ever since you lost it, when Björn’s men took you away from the lake, dragging you through the forest. The small thing still looked as beautiful as the day you got it from him. “We- I have let you down. And now I ask you this… Please, help him. And I promise you will be free again.”

With those words, he carefully brushed some of your hair back and clipped it into place. The familiar feeling of the pin in your hair brought back a feeling of trust. Something you thought you would never feel again.

Sighing out, you looked up towards Hvitserk. His eyes met yours a few times, but every time they did, he cast them down again. Regretful of all that happened, ashamed of asking your help.

“It’s funny.” You began. “When I look into your eyes, it’s almost as if I see regret in them.”

Hvitserk nodded his head frantically. “I do… I do regret it.”

You hummed, raising a hand to lay it on Hvitserk’s. He watched curiously how the webbed fingers wrapped themselves around his hand. The cold touch burned his hand, but he did not retrieve it. The stern look on your face captivated him and for some reason, he trusted you to help him.

“Then forgive yourself. Forgive. And heal from the inside.”

“How… How will that help me?”

“You keep reminding yourself of the wrongs you’ve done, Hvitserk. The pain drains your power to heal. You may not believe me, but I do not have a lot of ways to protect myself.” You paused, looking at the confused man in front of you. “Once scratched you will be weakened more every time you are confronted with the mistake I pained you for. You, Hvitserk, have helped a corrupt man in kidnapping me and you let yourself be fooled by stories that contain lies. You fear being rejected because of your mistakes. You fear to make a choice that ends up being the wrong one. And with those thoughts, you hurt yourself. The scratches show only a physical consequence of your mental pain. Learn to live with the consequences, forgive and heal yourself.”

With that you let your hand fall down in the water. Hvitserk stared down at his hand. The cold sensation disappeared slowly, and he watched perplexed how the water you had left behind dried quickly on his hand, as if his skin was absorbing the greyish liquid.

A tingling feeling went up and down his chest, making him pull down his tunic as much as it let him. The edges of his wounds were still a vibrant red, but they were not bleeding anymore. Hvitserk breathed out, nodding his head at his worried brother, and bowed his head in gratitude at you.

“The wound is now closed, but not healed yet. As I said, you must do that for yourself.”

“And with how much of a crybaby you are, I think that will take a while.”

A low voice chuckled out his words, causing the two men jump up and a shiver run down your back.

Sólir had returned.

----

Thank you for reading xxx

Tag: @fairyofvoid

Tags AWFF: @pieces-by-me

#vikings #vikings imagine #vikings fanfic #ubbe ragnarsson imagine #ubbe ragnarsson imagines #ubbe the wolf #ubbe fanfiction #ubbe x you #ubbe x reader #a wish for forgiveness

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kingreywrites · 4 years

Text

Take every dare

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 1720

Summary: [Set in season 2]

Warning: A bit of hurt and blood mentions.

Note: A little scene I wrote for fun! Not my best work but I hope you’ll enjoy anyway!

Read on ao3

When Eugene had invited Rapunzel on a date today, he had expected them to go see some beautiful scenery, or maybe grab some fresh fruits to eat. There wasn't much to do on the road, but as long as they were with each other - and as long as Rapunzel found beauty in everything - he was sure that they would be fine and enjoy themselves. He should have known that, with their luck, it wouldn't happen quite like he had envisioned it. At least, this time, it was thieves and not a weird monkey supposed to predict their future - then again, there was a dozen of them, and only two of Rapunzel and him (well, Pascal might count, so three), so, perhaps, the monkey had been better…

Ha. Who was he kidding, he'd take attempted robbery over monkey hair on his face any day.

"You really couldn't have chosen a worse target," Eugene laughed, raising his sword as Rapunzel let down her hair with a smirk.

The thieves looked at each other, puzzled, then proceeded to attack them, foolishly thinking that their superior number would be enough to bring down the Princess of Corona and her - quite dashing - former thief of a boyfriend. Something they promptly learnt to be a mistake, as Rapunzel knocked out three of them in one swoop of her hair. Eugene laughed, paring his opponent's sword easily before knocking him out, going to his next target as his girlfriend was taking care of virtually everyone else without even breaking a sweat.

Boy, did he love that girl.

His new opponent was better with a sword than the first, for sure, but he was still no match for Eugene - one slick move from his hand and the goon was disarmed. Eugene grinned, ready to say something witty, when the guy had the crazy idea to simply… Run right into Eugene’s sword. Eugene yelped, and then tried to get the sword away, not too keen on actually stabbing anyone, but it meant that dear stupidly buffy thief - he’ll call him Steve for time related purposes - could throw his whole body weight at him with no obstacles.

With a yell, Eugene fell backward, crushed under Steve as a white hot pain in his back took his breath away.

His brain disconnected for a second or two, before a growl made him come back to himself. Above him, Steve was raising his fist, ready to strike down and Eugene squeaked - not the most heroic sound, for sure, but his amazing face was on the line. He didn’t have his sword anymore, had probably dropped it as he fell, and his other hand was pinned under Steve, so he was in for a real bad time... Until something blond obscured his vision.

"Eugene," Rapunzel called worriedly as she casually grabbed Steve with her hair and threw him to the side without a second thought, "you’re okay?"

"Yeah," he breathed, feeling lighter now that he wasn’t being squished under someone else, "thank you Sunshine!"

She smiled and grabbed someone else’s leg to destabilize them as Eugene got up. His ribs were pulsating in pain, and he nearly doubled over again as he stood up - the world swam around him for a few moments, but he bit his lips and powered through, hoping that Rapunzel didn't see the pain on his face. She would be worried. He also really hoped he hadn’t broken anything, because it would be a pain to deal with. Quite literally. Sighing, he went to collect his sword, trying not to bend down too much as it ignited the pain again, and seathed it right as Rapunzel took care of the last thief. She was beautiful like that, and he couldn’t help but smile as she pumped her fist in the air with a grin, Pascal clapping on her shoulder.

"Here goes our peaceful date, huh?" Eugene joked as he pushed an unconscious thief’s arm out of his way with his boot, wondering what they should do with them.

"Ah, it’s funnier that way," Rapunzel teased, before frowning. "Are you okay, though? That guy made you fall pretty hard."

Eugene hummed, and was happy to see that, despite the pain, his breathing was seemingly fine. That had to mean nothing was broken, no? Though, he still felt not quite right. The buzzing pain in his back felt as if it was seeping through his whole body like poison and, as he watched Rapunzel walk toward him while talking to Pascal, he couldn’t shake off the impression that sounds were becoming muted around him. His next step was wobblier than he expected, as if the ground under his foot was soft - but when he looked down, it was to see that it was as firm and solid as everything else.

He raised his head and noticed concern on Rapunzel's face - and noticed too that the world was tilting dizzyingly to the side.

"Uh, Sunshine?" he said, his voice sounding far away to his own ears. He took another step, swaying. "I think… I don't feel so well..."

His legs crumbled under him and his vision tunneled right as an intense pain exploded in his entire body. He thought he heard Rapunzel yelling his name, but he blacked out before even hitting the ground.

Eugene woke up to a hand softly stroking his hair, getting it out of his face. He wanted to smile, but his head was pounding, his mouth was dry, his cheek was stinging and- wait. His cheek was-

Something slapped him hard and his eyes popped open, indignation on his lips until his movement made him cringe in pain.

"Eugene! Are you okay?" Rapunzel cried out, relief evident in her voice as her hand cradled his head.

"You… You slapped me?" Eugene sputtered.

"Oh, yes, sorry, but you weren't waking up- hey, don't move," she said sternly, one of her hand holding him down, "you've been stabbed."

"I've been what?!" he screeched.

"Stab- no, I mean, not stabbed stabbed, but you fell on a piece of wood that was sticking out, and it's still in your back, which is probably why you passed out and- and-"

Rapunzel stopped herself, taking a deep breath and Eugene could feel his fear recede as he softened. Her hands were trembling in his hair. She was freaked out more than enough, he really shouldn't be panicking and pilling more stress on her. Especially since, despite the general pain coming from his back, Eugene didn't feel that bad. His hand sneaked its way into her empty one, and he drew a smile out of her, like he had wished to do. Gently, she helped him sit up fully and he had to bit the cry of pain that wanted to escape his lips - though, going by her frown, she had seen right through him.

"We need to get you back to the caravan," she said in a whisper, voice heavy. He couldn't see his own back, but he could guess that her gaze was focused on the blood oozing from his wound, and that it must be bringing back bad memories. He nodded, squeezed her hand and she focused back on his face - better.

"We'll have to go on three dates to make up for this one," he grinned, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Pascal levelled him with an unimpressed look, but Rapunzel's lips went up, and even the frog smiled.

"Hmm, we'll have to," Rapunzel said softly, helping him to his feet. His back still hurt, his ribs were protesting and the world still didn't seem as solid as it should be, but he managed to stay upright after a few minutes of Rapunzel supporting his weight.

They chatted along the way to the caravan, Eugene much more steady on his feet as time passed. His injuries weren't that bad, they had just been a shock to his system. He hadn't even been passed out for too long, really, but he had scared Rapunzel half to death going by the nervous glances she threw his way every five seconds. Eugene wasn't about to tease her for it, though - he understood where she was coming from better than anyone else, and could only wish to forget the cold panic that had washed over him when he had heard the word "stabbed".

They didn't have to say it outloud, but they both refused to let themselves think of Gothel, and both tried to distract the other from the memories.

Rapunzel's hand slipped back into his gently, and he squeezed, hoping to tell her that everything would be fine. Then he met her eyes again, and lost his breath at the way she was gazing up at him - like he was the most precious thing in the world. Eugene knew that she loved him. He knew that he was her dream, just like she was his. But right here, right now, he could see in her eyes all the love and the affection she couldn't always put into words, and any lingering pain from his injury seemed to fade away as he leant down to kiss her.

Then Eugene made a wrong move and pulled at the wound, and yeah, ow. The pain was still here, his bad.

"Come on," Rapunzel breathed out, her worried frown making a comeback - though her eyes were still shining and her shoulders seemed less tense after their kiss. "To the caravan."

"Aye ma'am," Eugene grinned.

Getting the piece of wood out was not a pleasant experience. Cass was the one to do it, grumbling about it all the way through while Rapunzel crushed his hand in hers, but Eugene was sure sure that, despite her words, Cassandra had tried to be gentle with him. He appreciated it. Appreciated it a whole lot less when she slapped a bandage over the wound without warning.

However, less than pleasant experience with a pointy thing meant a more than pleasant comfort offered by Rapunzel. His ribs were still aching and his back still hurting, and maybe they would for quite some time, but that night, Rapunzel cuddled closer to him and whispered in his ear how much she loved him, and kissed him, and slept in his arms - and he thought that it wasn't so bad in the end.

Eugene slept peacefully, knowing that they had three more dates to look forward to.

#tangled #Eugene Fitzherbert #Rapunzel #tangled the series

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stiltonbasket · 4 years

Text

chancellor of the morning sun: misunderstanding (youth)

In which Nie Mingjue has something to hide, and Lan Xichen is confused.

For the past five years, Lan Xichen has spent each one of Nie Huaisang’s birthdays at the Unclean Realm, taking part in the day’s celebrations and doting a little more on her future baby brother than she usually does—because heaven knows A-Sang is one of the sweetest little boys in the world, but if she spoils him too much he clings to her and cries when she has to return to the Cloud Recesses, which always elicits a scolding from Mingjue-xiong and then more tears than Xichen’s heart can bear.

But even so, Nie Huaisang is always spoiled on birthdays, even if Lan Xichen isn’t the one doing it—and his brother spoils him more than everyone else does, which is why Lan Huan finds herself so taken aback when she arrives in Qinghe on the morning of Huaisang’s thirteenth birthday to find her intended conspicuously absent.

“Zongzhu was called away on an emergency night-hunt,” Nie Zonghui says, bowing low at the waist as Lan Xichen emerges from her carriage and ushers Wangji out ahead of her. “He told me to pass on his regrets at having missed you, Sect Heir Lan.”

The title is still so new that Lan Xichen smiles despite herself, returning the bow with one of her own while A-Zhan fidgets at her side. “Mingjue-xiong is always swift and thorough with his hunts, as are his companions. I wish I could have seen him, but I suppose it can’t be helped. Is he expected back tonight?”

“Um—no, Sect Heir Lan, he isn’t. He and young master Meng were caught unaware, without any of the others, so he sent word telling me not to await his return until tomorrow.”

“An emergency night-hunt alone? With only A-Yao?” Lan Xichen worries, barely conscious of A-Zhan tugging at her hand as Nie Huaisang comes running into the courtyard to throw his arms around her waist. “Nie-gongzi, why did he—”

“Da-jie!” Huaisang squeals, squeezing her so tightly that Wangji clears his throat and glares at him. “Did you bring birthday presents?”

“Huaisang!” Nie Zonghui scolds, prying him away and chasing him back inside. “You ought not to say such things, Mingjue-xiong would send back all the gifts he gave you if he heard—”

And Lan Xichen laughs and follows them into the stronghold, pushing her worries about Mingjue and the night-hunt to the back of her mind as A-Sang drags her from place to place until his birthday feast begins.

___

Cloud Recesses, Gusu Lan to the Unclean Realm, Qinghe Nie

Mingjue-xiong,

When I was last in the Unclean Realm for A-Sang’s birthday, Zonghui told me that you and A-Yao were away on an emergency night-hunt, and that you dealt with the matter yourself instead of calling for your cultivators to join you. I hope it went all right, and I wish I could have seen you, since the last time we met was at New Year’s, but I left a package of your favorite buns with Huaisang for you to eat when you get back! There’s a bag of coconut pastries, too, though I don’t know if they’ll be as good as the red-bean buns. This was only my second time making them, and I couldn’t get Shufu to try them first because he doesn’t like peanuts.

Until Qixi,

Xichen.

___

The Unclean Realm, Qinghe Nie to the Cloud Recesses, Gusu Lan

Xichen,

You must stop bringing food whenever you visit, if you have any regard for your betrothed at all! The last batch of sweets you made at New Year’s was so delicious that I finished them all just two days after you left, and then I went out to the market in Tangshan and bought a whole boxful of buns in an attempt to find some that tasted like yours—but none of them were even half as good, even the ones from that confectioner’s shop in the second quarter you like so much. If you keep this up, I will be as round as the moon by the time we are married, and you shall have to roll me up to Lan-zongzhu’s tablet in the ancestral hall so we can make our wedding bows.

As for the buns you brought this time, Huaisang ate more than half of them before I came home, but the ones I did have propelled me straight up to the heavens and then brought me down again, so I could finish the rest. (Huaisang told me I had to write it that way, but they truly were divine, Xichen. My lips still taste of coconut, and the sweetness of the pastries made me thirsty, but I have not dared to drink any water since for fear of washing the taste away.) And the night-hunt went smoothly enough, though it was very sudden, and I was sorely disappointed when I knew I would not have the chance to see you even for a moment.

Faithfully yours,

Mingjue.

___

The Cloud Recesses, Gusu Lan to the Unclean Realm, Qinghe Nie

Nie-er-gongzi,

Will Nie-zongzhu be present at the crowd-hunt in Changlun next week? My sister will be leading the Lan disciples, and she has been greatly looking forward to fighting alongside your brother ever since we heard that a delegation from Qinghe is expected to attend. Please reply as soon as you can, so that I may relay your answer to A-Jie.

Yours sincerely,

Lan Wangji.

___

The Unclean Realm, Qinghe Nie to the Cloud Recesses, Gusu Lan

Wangji-xiong!

Da-ge is nearly pulling his hair out at the thought of missing Xichen-jie again, but he has three trials to preside over that day, so he can’t go. Perhaps he and your sister will have better luck next time!

Your favorite future brother-in-law,

Nie Huaisang.

P. S.—What does Xichen-jie think of the new list of eligible young masters? Da-ge came second, since half the ladies on the voting panel are from either Qishan or Lanling, but I refuse to believe Wen Xu is any better-looking even if he did come first.

___

The Cloud Recesses, Gusu Lan to the Unclean Realm, Qinghe Nie

Huaisang,

It does not matter what my sister might think of the list, since Nie-zongzhu ought not to have been on it at all. He is already spoken for, and it is the height of disrespect towards my A-Jie for the voting panel to put his name alongside Wen Xu’s as if he were unattached. And even if he were not betrothed, such lists are the height of foolishness and frivolity, and A-Jie would never look at them.

Your future classmate,

Lan Wangji.

___

The Unclean Realm, Qinghe Nie to the Cloud Recesses, Gusu Lan

Xichen,

Letters are a poor substitute for your presence, especially when Huaisang comes bringing news that you were looking forward to mine, and it grieves me endlessly that we have missed each other yet again. But as you said in your last missive, we will surely be together at the Qixi Festival at the end of summer, and then…

___

“He’s avoiding me,” Lan Wangji hears his sister say one night, after letting the latest note from Nie Mingjue slip down onto her desk. “I—I suppose I’ll stop writing about our future meetings, then.”

“What?” he demands, the blood already pounding in his veins at the sight of the sad, lost look on Lan Xichen’s face. “Nie-zongzhu’s avoiding you, Jie?”

“He went out alone during Huaisang’s birthday, but when the spring report for emergency night-hunts came to Shufu there was nothing marked for that date,” Lan Xichen says quietly. “And the hunt, when he said there were trials—there were, but it was only a case of some stolen grain, in one case, and a pair of delinquent kicking down marker stalls in the others. That isn’t something a sect leader usually tends to, is it? Mingjue-xiong has so much work to do, and he always leaves little matters like that to his council. Or to A-Yao, since he handles them all so well. And then two days ago, when we visited Lanling for Jin Ziyang’s formal naming ceremony...I know it isn’t the kind of thing someone of his rank must attend, since Jin Ziyang is Jin Zixuan’s second cousin, but he was invited, and still…”

Lan Wangji doesn’t have the slightest idea what might comfort his sister, or how to begin trying, so all he does is sit close to her side and help handle their own sect matters with her, until she shoos him away saying that growing boys of thirteen really ought to be in bed by eight o’clock, even if curfew isn’t until hai shi.

“Go on, A-Zhan. I’ll get the rest of it done within the hour, and then we can present it to Shufu together tomorrow.”

He protests, but A-Jie only presses a warm sweet bun into his hands (the same kind she always brings to Nie Mingjue whenever they visit the Unclean Realm, he thinks sourly) and sends him out the door with a tender kiss on his forehead, which makes him feel so much like a petted child that he falls asleep the moment his head hits his pillow with a crumb of sweet bean paste still clinging to his lips.

And in the morning, for want of anything better to do, he writes another letter to Qinghe.

___

The Cloud Recesses, Gusu Lan to the Unclean Realm, Qinghe Nie

Nie Huaisang:

Your brother has injured my A-Jie’s feelings. She even sent me to bed early last night so that I would not see how badly she was hurt by Nie-zongzhu's insistence on not attending any of the events where she might be present. Tell him to atone for his unkindness at once, and ensure that he does so, or I shall never help you with your recitation again.

Regretfully yours,

Lan Wangji.

___

The Unclean Realm, Qinghe Nie to the Cloud Recesses, Gusu Lan

Xichen,

Earlier this month, I wrote to you about the clan—Pingzhou Cheng, you remember?—that gave us boxes and boxes of rare scrolls when we cleared out the haunting in the forest they owned, since the trouble was too much for the Cheng disciples to manage alone. I finally had a chance to look at the scrolls this morning, and I think they might be to your liking—so if you will forgive my brashness in asking such a thing so suddenly, may I come and visit you with them tomorrow? I will not remain a second longer than you want me, but if you should by chance find joy in my rough company, wild dogs could not drag me away, sect matters be hanged.

Devotedly yours,

Mingjue.

___

On the morning of Nie Mingjue’s arrival in the Cloud Recesses—for the first time in nearly a year, since he last flew to Gusu in response to a plea from Xichen to help settle their marriage on his terms, now that he is Sect Leader Nie instead of his late father—Lan Xichen rises from her bed feeling somewhat washed out, greyer than the oddly foggy sky outside the house she shares with her brother and uncle as she takes a cool bath and arrays herself in the clothes she wears whenever she argues with the council.

She puts on her father’s old silver crown (not the one he had during his six brief months as sect leader, but the one he wore as Lan-da-gongzi more than twenty years ago) and then a set of his worn silk robes, before donning one of her mother’s lace overgowns and dressing her hair in the fashion common to young men about to come of age. Xichen has never once worn the soft, sweeping hair-styles that most highborn women do, simply because Shufu always says that the less softness there is about you, Lan Huan, the safer you will be, and the world seems determined to prove him right over and over again.

But she was always soft with her Shufu, worrying over his meals and how late he went to bed even when he told her that Sect Heir Lan ought not to concern herself with such things, and of course she was soft with A-Zhan. Lan Xichen—still Lan Huan, back then—promised her dying mother to look after him, and Mother had asked her to be Zhan’er’s muqin when she no longer could.

Mingjue has that last in common with her, after all.

“Xichen!” she hears him call, as she drifts through another courtyard and finds herself in the rock garden in front of the lanshi. “Xichen, you’re here!”

Lan Xichen feels her lips turn up in a smile despite herself, and she nods once in his direction before marching over to his side. “Mingjue-xiong. It’s good to see you, I—”

And then she stops short in her tracks, because Nie Mingjue is not smiling at her in return. Or at least, she can’t see it, even if he is; the lower half of his face is wrapped in a grey satin cloth, so that all Xichen can see of him is his eyes and the bridge of his nose, and neither of those two features look as if they might be hiding any signs of happiness.

“Mingjue-xiong?” she ventures, as the apples of his cheeks turn pink. “What’s the matter with your face?”

There has to be something wrong, she thinks anxiously, nearly reaching out to touch the veil before taking a step backwards. It is still only just after midsummer, and even the Cloud Recesses are hot, these days: so Mingjue must be wearing the cloth to cover something, or…

“Don’t laugh,” he says meekly, looking down at his shoes. “I—I haven’t been avoiding you, Xichen! I promise, I..I really haven’t.”

Xichen blinks at him. “What?”

“Wangji wrote Huaisang yesterday, and—I haven’t left the Unclean Realm in weeks! I’ve been shut up in my room, and I haven’t let anyone visit, because—”

“Why?” she asks, horrified. “Are you ill, A-Jue?”

The endearment slips out of its own accord, as so many things tend to do when it comes to Nie Mingjue, and she feels her own ears burn crimson as he gasps in surprise. “No, I’m not,” he stammers, suddenly looking all of thirteen again, even if he is a sect leader now. “I—promise you won’t laugh?”

“No, never,” Lan Xichen vows, suddenly aware that her pale hand is clasped in his larger, suntanned one, and that the flush in Mingjue’s cheeks has crept all the way up to his forehead. “How could I ever laugh at you? Tell me what is troubling you, and I’ll help.”

Nie Mingjue’s free hand comes up to the veil, pulling it down just enough so Xichen can see his face.

She blinks again.

“I—there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong,” she soothes, wondering what exactly he wanted to show her. “What is it?”

“This!” Mingjue cries, pointing to the straggling new moustache growing on his upper lip. “I’ve been trying to grow a moustache for the last month, and it’s taking so long—I thought it would just need a week, but it grows so slowly, and I couldn’t let anyone see me like that—especially not you, A-Huan! Huaisang told me that it looked like a mouse’s tail, and Zonghui said it wasn’t doing my face any favors, so I was going to shave it, but I only started growing it in the first place because—”

“Because…?”

“New year’s day,” he mumbles, refusing to meet her eyes. “At the firework festival. Remember?”

And Lan Xichen nearly breaks her promise on the spot and bursts into laughter, because she does remember; the two of them were watching the new years’ fireworks together in Tangshan that winter with A-Zhan and Huaisang, and Huaisang had asked her what Shufu looked like without his moustache. He then proceeded to say that he was sure her uncle would look much better clean-shaven, whereupon Lan Xichen interrupted and declared that she thought moustaches were quite handsome on the right sort of faces, and then—

“I think Mingjue-xiong would look very nice with one,” she said. “He has the right kind of face, doesn’t he?”

“Oh!” Lan Xichen cries now, smiling from ear to ear. “You’ve been hiding in your room all month for this, Mingjue-xiong?”

“It’s stupid, I know,” he says wretchedly. “And it’s the ugliest moustache I’ve ever seen, so it was all for nothing in the end.”

“I think it’s a beautiful moustache,” Lan Xichen beams. “Will you keep it? Just until it grows, so you can see how nice it is?”

Nie Mingjue fumbles with the scrolls under his arm and drops them all onto the pebbled path, and when the two of them kneel down to pick them up together, Lan Xichen finally gives in to temptation and snorts until her intended starts laughing, too.

___

“A-Jue.”

“Mm? What is it, beloved?”

“Remember the time you hid in your bedroom for a month because you didn’t want me to see your moustache before it was done growing?”

Lan Jueying lifts her fluffy head from Lan Xichen’s chest and blinks curiously at her father. “Story, A-Niang?”

“It’s a very good story, A-Ying,” their elder daughter says from Lan Xichen’s other side, sticking her tongue out at Nie Mingjue as he groans and flops down onto the bed beside his little family. “A-Die didn’t have any hair on his face when he was little, but one day A-Niang said she thought he would look pretty with a moustache, and then…”

#nielan #the untamed #my fic #mo dao zu shi #nielan arranged marriage au #chancellor of the morning sun

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michaelbogild · 3 years

Text

Quotes by Benjamin Franklin

A false friend and a shadow attend only while the sun shines.

A friend in need is a friend indeed!

A learned blockhead is a greater blockhead than an ignorant one.

A man of words and not of deeds, Is like a garden full of weeds

A man wrapped up in himself makes a very small bundle.

A Penny Saved is a Penny Earned

A place for everything, everything in its place.

A slip of the foot you may soon recover, but a slip of the tongue you may never get over.

Absence sharpens love, presence strengthens it.

After the signing of the Constitution, Benjamin Franklin was asked by a woman on the street, What have you given us, sir? Franklin Responded, A Republic, if you can keep it.

All mankind is divided into three classes: those that are immovable, those that are movable, and those that move.

All the little money that ever came into my hands was ever laid out in books.

An investment in knowledge always pays the best interest.

An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

Be at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let every new year find you a better man.

Be civil to all; sociable to many; familiar with few; friend to one; enemy to none.

Be studious in your profession, and you will be learned. Be industrious and frugal, and you will be rich. Be sober and temperate, and you will be healthy. Be in general virtuous, and you will be happy. At least you will, by such conduct, stand the be.

Being ignorant is not so much a shame, as being unwilling to learn.

Beware of little expenses; a small leak will sink a great ship.

but in this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.

But on the whole, though I never arrived at the perfection I had been so ambitious of obtaining, but fell far short of it, yet I was, by the endeavour, a better and happier man than I otherwise should have been had I not attempted it; as those who aim at perfect writing by imitating the engraved copies, their hand is mended by the endevour, and is tolerable while it continues fair and legible"

By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail.

Chess teaches foresight, by having to plan ahead; vigilance, by having to keep watch over the whole chess board; caution, by having to restrain ourselves from making hasty moves; and finally, we learn from chess the greatest maxim in life - that even when everything seems to be going badly for us we should not lose heart, but always hoping for a change for the better, steadfastly continue searching for the solutions to our problems.

Clean your Finger, before you point at my Spots.

Content makes poor men rich; discontent makes rich men poor.

Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that's the stuff life is made of.

Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.

Eat to live, don't live to eat.

Educate your children to self-control, to the habit of holding passion and prejudice and evil tendencies subject to an upright and reasoning will, and you have done much to abolish misery from their future and crimes from society.

Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.

Energy and persistence conquer all things.

Fools make feasts and wise men eat them.

For every minute spent in organizing, an hour is earned.

Genius is nothing but a greater aptitude for patience.

Genius without education is like silver in the mine.

God helps them that help themselves.

Great beauty, great strength, and great riches are really and truly of no great use; a right heart exceeds all

Happiness consists more in the small conveniences of pleasures that occur every day, than in great pieces of good fortune that happen but seldom to a man in the course of his life.

Happiness depends more on the inward disposition of mind than on outward circumstances.

Haste makes waste.

He that can have patience can have what he will.

He that falls in love with himself will have no rivals.

He that lieth down with Dogs, shall rise up with Fleas.

He that lives upon hope will die fasting.

He’s a Fool that cannot conceal his Wisdom

How few there are who have courage enough to own their faults, or resolution enough to mend them.

If a man could have half of his wishes, he would double his troubles.

If Jack's in love, he's no judge of Jill's beauty.

If Passion drives, let Reason hold the Reins.

If you would be loved, love, and be loveable.

In reality, there is, perhaps, no one of our natural passions so hard to subdue as pride. Disguise it, struggle with it, beat it down, stifle it, mortify it as much as one pleases, it is still alive, and will every now and then peep out and show itself; you will see it, perhaps, often in this history; for, even if I could conceive that I had compleatly overcome it, I should probably be proud of my humility.

It is the first responsibility of every citizen to question authority.

It takes many good deeds to build a good reputation, and only one bad one to lose it.

Life biggest tragedy is that we get old too soon and wise too late

Little strokes fell great oaks.

Lost Time is never found again.

Love your Enemies, for they tell you your Faults.

Make yourself sheep and the wolves will eat you.

Many a man thinks he is buying pleasure, when he is really selling himself to it.

Many people die at twenty five and aren't buried until they are seventy five.

Money has never made man happy, nor will it; There is nothing in its nature to produce happiness. The more of it one has, the more one wants.

Motivation is when your dreams put on work clothes

My refusing to eat flesh occasioned an inconveniency, and I was frequently chided for my singularity, but, with this lighter repast, I made the greater progress, for greater clearness of head and quicker comprehension. Flesh eating is unprovoked murder.

Never confuse Motion with Action.

Never leave till tomorrow that which you can do today.

No one cares what you know until they know that you care!

O powerful goodness! Bountiful Father! Merciful Guide! Increase in me that wisdom which discovers my truest interest. Strengthen my resolution to perform what that wisdom dictates. Accept my kind offices to thy other children as the only return in my power for thy continual favours to me.

One today is worth two tomorrows

Originality is the art of concealing your sources.

Reading makes a full man, meditation a profound man, discourse a clear man.

Savages we call them, because their manners differ from ours, which we think the perfection of civility; they think the same of theirs. "

Search others for their virtues, thyself for thy vices.

Serving God is doing good to man, but praying is thought an easier service and therefore more generally chosen.

Speak little, do much.

Tell me and I forget, teach me and I may remember, involve me and I learn.

The doorstep to the temple of wisdom is a knowledge of our own ignorance.

The only thing that is more expensive than education is ignorance.

The people heard it, and approved the doctrine, and immediately practiced the contrary.

The person who deserves most pity is a lonesome one on a rainy day who doesn't know how to read.

The Proud hate Pride – in others.

The way to see by faith is to shut the eye of reason.

There are three things extremely hard: steel, a diamond, and to know one's self.

there will be sleeping enough in the grave....

They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.

Thinking aloud is a habit which is responsible for most of mankind's misery.

Those things that hurt, instruct.

Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.

Tis a great confidence in a friend to tell him your faults; greater to tell him his.

Tis easier to suppress the first desire than to satisfy all that follow it.

To all apparent beauties blind, each blemish strikes an envious mind.

To cease to think creatively is to cease to live

To find out a girl's faults, praise her to her girlfriends.

To lengthen thy life, lessen thy meals.

To succeed, jump as quickly at opportunities as you do at conclusions.

Tricks and treachery are the practice of fools that don't have brains enough to be honest.

Trouble knocked at the door, but, hearing laughter, hurried away

We are all born ignorant, but one must work hard to remain stupid.

We do not stop playing because we grow old, we grow old because we stop playing!

Well done is better than well said.

What you would seem to be, be really.

Whatever is begun in anger, ends in shame.

When the well is dry, we know the worth of water.

When you are finished changing, you're finished.

Who is wise? He that learns from everyone. Who is powerful? He that governs his passions. Who is rich? He that is content. Who is that? Nobody.

Whoever would overthrow the liberty of a nation must begin by subduing the freeness of speech.

wine [is] a constant proof that God loves us, and loves to see us happy.

Wise men don't need advice. Fools won't take it.

Wise Men learn by other's harms; Fools by their own.

Without Freedom of thought there can be no such thing as wisdom;and no such thing as public liberty, without freedom of speech.

Women are books, and men the readers be

Write to Please Yourself. When You write to Please Others You end up Pleasing No one.

You may delay, but time will not.

Your net worth to the world is usually determined by what remains after your bad habits are subtracted from your good ones

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modestlyabsurd · 4 years

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Survival Pt. 4 (Loki x Reader)

"We've got approximately five minutes worth of a head start, that's enough to sort most everything out. ... Alright, we can afford to leave the blanket behind, although it would be helpful to have around ... hm. Maybe we could roll it up and tie it to the top of your backpack like a sleeping bag. Then it could also be a cushion if you were to fall backwards. Yes, that's what we'll do. Alright, give me your ... are you listening to me?"

The skin beside your thumbnail turns white and flaky, and your index finger cramps up in a hooked position. It draws your attention - the cuticle had been picked raw. Only at the sight and subsequent stinging of blood flow did you stop, and simultaneously hear Loki's voice. He was standing above you, clearly annoyed.

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?" you ask without looking up.

"Getting stuck in your mind. Stop it." He crouches to your criss cross applesauce post in the house's living room floor. Your gaze was glued to the loose board from the other night. Or was it last night? It doesn't make a difference now. From this point forward this place is just a memory. Like all the rest.

"We have to go," Loki insists. His tone surfaces a nasty resentfulness in you, and while you were partially aware that he was undeserving of it, that didn't override it. He grabs the hand that you're absently picking again and you jump, startled by the harsh touch. "What have you done? You're bleeding!"

"It's fine!" The nearing sound of inhuman croaks and moans drives your heart rate up. "It's not a big deal!"

"It is a big deal," Loki counters. "But we don't have time to discuss that right now." He snatches you to your feet by the same hand, plants his hands on your shoulders and stands directly in front of you. "We have to go."

"I heard you the first time."

His eyes darken. "I've said it thrice now."

You squirm, wishing he would understand. Wishing there was time to understand.

"Get out of your head," Loki demands, shaking your shoulders. You want to punch him, but he'd just counter it. What are you gonna do, argue for half an hour? Wait for the infected to get there and ask them why all of this is happening? You're not stupid.

You nod and feel your lip quiver, seething at your body's betrayal. Being made to feel like a child is enough, but then to look like one too. Why is everything so fleeting?

Why is it that even at just the thought of what humanity has come to, at the thought of the infected monsters coming to ruin everything you're fighting for, at the thought that those monsters were once people but are now closer to brainless rabid animals, why when faced with the inhuman reality do the most human feelings emerge? At the end of the day, you are the child that just wants to go home. But it's impossible. There is no home.

Loki hard set jaw softens. "Listen to me," he breathes, and places a cold hand on your bare neck. His big, round eyes are almost blue with worry. "Although it may not look like it, we're one step closer. We're going to be fine, I swear to you." With a gentle pull, Loki brought you to into him and rested your foreheads together.

It's moments like this that you wonder if he's been lying this whole time about not being able to read minds and see the future and such. In his words was conviction. It's a quality Loki rarely exhibits with his usual "any way the wind blows" perspective. It reminds you that at the end of the day you share a common goal. You breathe deeply, grounded by the weight of Loki's head against yours. The intimate gesture made you want to cry; it was a reminder for you to trust him.

You wonder how he always knows what to do, or what to say to give you the appropriate kick in the ass.

"We better go," you croak.

He pats your shoulder. "You know what to do."

The old routine kicks in. First and foremost: make sure your pistol and knife are on you. Save the rest of the weapons for last. Pack all the food. Sort what supplies you need and don't need. (Which, in this case, everything is a need.) Pack the supplies as neatly as possible. Distribute the weight. Put on dry socks. Boots. Dry gloves. Then you place your long rifle in your backpack holster that you'd crafted from a belt, and Loki does the same with his crossbow. Do a quick sweep of the area with your eyes for anything you may have missed. The two of you do this separately.

The place is wiped clean, save for those stocked bookshelves. If only you could take the entire beautiful collection with you. In two steps you cross the living room, removing your backpack. Quickly you scoop up a few books with the most enticing covers at a glance. A voice nagged your mind that the weight of the books would pose a challenge and maybe outweigh the idea altogether, but in your heart you felt otherwise. The paper could be used for a fire at the least. Of course, if possible, you wouldn't be burning any of them.

"They're coming," Loki says out of breath. "Hurry, we don't have time!"

"I got it," you call back, even though you're merely feet apart. You can feel the herd's stamping run through the floor boards, hear their widespread wails and screeching.

"Now!" Loki yells, opening the front door, squinting as he watched the oncoming infected. White light blinds you and cold wind bites your face. You wished you'd thought of putting on a bandana, but there wasn't time. You run out of the cabin, leaving it behind.

Everything is white. Your feet weigh a hundred pounds each as they carry you through inches - hell, more like feet of unforgiving snow. Freshly falling snowflakes dampen your clothes; the icy air draws hot tears from your eyes. Or at least that's the reason your brain convinced itself for crying. You ran towards the snowy hills, toward the frosted trees, toward nothing. You just ran. They were right on your heels. The ravenous sound of the herd was amplified in the wide open outside.

Your momentum got too fast - a leg jutted out too far for a running step and you almost lost it. The other leg quickly compensated, and you bent at the knees and kept running - but the thought of almost falling and being left behind makes you come to a screeching halt. Cheeks burning from the cold, eyes struggling to stay open.

Where'd he go?

"Loki!" you call his name into the air. The whirling wind whispers an empty reply.

Looking around, your aching, shrunken stomach twists into knots. You're blind. Nothing but white everywhere, and no Loki. Standing still allows the grueling weight of snow melt to set into your clothes. Desperately you scan the area, and turn to find a patch of tall evergreen trees nearby. At the moment you saw them, the falling of snow dust from low lying branches reels you in. Too high to be a deer. Too stealthy to be infected. Below to your right was the ever-starving herd, now somewhat dumbfounded at the bottom of the hill. The mere fact that they're within eyesight and earshot makes you decide not to yell out again.

If that isn't Loki in the trees, you're in trouble. But he's nowhere. What choice do you have?

Your fingers grip tightly around the handle of your pistol, feeling like icicles underneath thin gloves. You make way to the trees, mindful of the oblivious but keen infected, scanning your surroundings. No footprints. The branches remain still. When the gun's barrel is close enough to touch them you quickly act, snatching a handful of branches away. A sweep reveals the hollow in the thicket to be empty, free of animal droppings or tracks.

Maybe it was just wind blowing the tree. Maybe it was a flying pig. Regardless, Loki had to be hiding somewhere.

The area had grown quiet, as if the herd had begun blindly searching for their prey. They were likely staggering around the cabin, using their highly developed echolocation to try to spot you. Luckily, their intelligence stopped there. The rest was eat, eat, eat. You considered whistling out for Loki, but refrained from it in fear of rousing the herd up again.

Great. Nothing in sight, nowhere to go, and no one to complain about it to. Where the hell is he? And why is he still hiding? you pondered, circling the perimeter of the evergreens. No movement, no sound except for the thunderous crunching of snow beneath your boots.

And then the sound of snow pluming around your head. Snow in your eyes, ears, on your neck. Chilling your spine, cushioning your elbows. Your mind whirring as you open your eyes and squint them right back shut at the the bright, vast blue sky. Then a tall, thin shadow obscures the light, and your eyes shoot open.

Loki was standing above your body, laughing.

You raise your gun to give him a glimpse of the afterlife. Or whatever Asgardians face after they're scared to death. Only, your gun is gone.

"Looking for this?" he chirps and dangles your pistol above you like a piece of meat, interrupting your panicked shuffling to find it.

Disoriented, lopsided and homicidal, you spring to your feet haphazardly and prepare to unleash a volcano of profanity, but you can't. He's smirking. His cheeks are as round and rosy as a kid on Christmas morning - he even lends a hand to help you regain balance.

Every bit of air leaves your lungs in a scoff of disbelief. "Wha - why'd you do that?" you ask, then interject more forcefully, "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Keep your voice down," says Loki calmly, leaning in and commanding you with a firm hand on your shoulder. You sling it off, furious.

"Fuck you, I thought you were gone! I thought someone had taken you!"

"Yes, and if I had, you would've been taken as well."

"You ... you pushed me to the fucking ground!"

"Actually, I pulled you to the ground. From behind. It was a bit of a test of my ingenuity in the comforter blanket's effectiveness of protecting your head in a fall. And I must say, I believe it worked quite well. Though I bet those books in your backpack proved to work against you, didn't they?"

Your mouth hangs open as if to speak, but you're so possessed by anger that no rational speech comes out. Hyperventilating, head shaking in denial, hands dying to punch him where it counts. How could he scare you like that?!

"Hey," says Loki, taking one of your trembling hands. "Don't take it so badly. If I were you, I'd be eternally grateful that it was me who caught you instead of someone else. Because it all comes full circle, dear. You mustn't get so lost in your own mind. You have to be one with yourself, and be able to separate them when needed."

He wets his chapped red lips and winks, crows feet crinkling around his big, round eyes. He was sincere, despite the condescending untertone in his voice. As much as it lit you up with rage, Loki had bested you. He'd not only proven a valid point of his own concern regarding the deficit in your caution, but he'd also brought something to your attention that you hadn't fully considered; while you're always subconsciously aware of your needing him to survive, you weren't so aware of what you would do without him. Even knowing the cold fact that either of you could be killed at any time. That never completely processed before.

But frankly, it was never something you wanted to give a nanosecond of a thought, and you damn sure don't want to now.

You extend the opposite hand to the one Loki's holding. "I'll take my gun back now."

Loki is taken aback, his eyebrows raising in surprise as though he'd expected a more playful response - or even just something more elaborate. Which, normally, maybe you would've been. But clearly things are changing everywhere, and it seems you're gonna have to change, too.

A strange, conflicted smile washes over Loki's face, then he quickly straightened it out into a more distant look. Without breaking away from your glare, he plops the pistol into your hand with enough force to spring your hand downward.

"Onward, then."

You tuck the gun in the back of your jeans. "Lead the way."

welcome to the apocalypse, dudes

tag list: @sydneyss-worlddd @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @belladonnabarnes @drakesfiance @internetgremlin @dragon-chica @triggeredpossum @tarynkauai @sadwaywardkid

SURVIVAL TAGS: @ania-swissweet @quenilla

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yeenybeanies · 4 years

Text

Hannoyed ( Hungry-Annoyed )

this is a scenario i thought of last night & i’ve been thinkin about it all day hello. also spontaneous creation of a new oc ( yet another black snake smh ) for size context bc i know that’s important to me: reo is about 60ft/18.3m long

reader & reolzre, the calm ( oc )

1683 words

safe, soft, unwilling vore warning, & language warning

enjoy!!

Bored.

You are bored. Mind-numbingly bored. It’s been a few days now since you’ve been able to leave your home. The conditions outside are too dangerous––or so the radios and headlines say. You’ve been tempted to venture out anyway, but the boredom hasn’t gotten quite bad enough to the point where you’d risk your life. So, for the time being, you have to entertain yourself with video games, books, internet browsing, and daydreaming by the window.

All of these can only keep you occupied for so long.

You aren’t alone in this isolation though, thank the gods. Your unconventional companion has elected to stay with you through these trying times. Why are they unconventional? Well, they’re a wyrm, for starters. Yes, your good buddy is a big ol’ legless, wingless dragon. You tease them often about their lack of appendages, affectionately referring to them as a “ giant noodle dragon ” or a “ spicy danger noodle ” or . . . or usually something noodle-related. It’s all in good fun; you know they’re quite capable, and you know they take it in good humor. Hell, they tease you plenty for your own missing features, like your lack of armor scales and sharp teeth. They like to call you “ squishy, ” among other things.

You two have a good time. You enjoy each other’s company. And you’re very glad that they’re here. This isolation would be excruciating if you were actually fully isolated. Luckily for you, too, your wyrm buddy can’t be affected by the dangers that so keep you separated from the outside world, so they can go out and fetch supplies, should you find your stocks running low.

However, right now, they’re trying to snooze. Their serpentine form is balled up on top of––and around––your couch, the furniture lost completely within the coils.

“ Reo . . .. ” the familiar name rolls off of your tongue, vowels drawn out in something resembling a whine. The massive mound of black scales doesn’t move. Frowning, you nudge at a coil gently with your toes. “ Reo, you’re in–––– ”

“ If you say my name one more time, I’m going to bury you. ” Their voice is muffled through the seemingly endless and beginning-less yards of scale.

Yeesh. Touchy. You mock them silently with a sneer. “ Okay, okay, geez. I just need to get past you. ”

“ Go around. ”

Obviously you would have if you could. Maybe you have been bothering them for the past half hour or so, constantly wandering around in search for something to do. They can’t blame you! You’re bored! None of your games and books sound appealing, window-watching is just getting depressing, and they are trying to sleep. There is nothing left for you to do, save for trying to find something to clean or reorganize or otherwise mess with.

“ I can’t. You’re blocking the hallway. ” You huff and cross your arms.

“ Go over. ”

“ I didn’t want to disturb you. ”

“ And yet, here you are. ”

Maybe it sounds a little callous, but you know they’re only being cranky. You roll your eyes and shrug. Alright. If they say so. The segment of body blocking your way is only about knee high, and not much wider than it is tall. It’s by no means difficult to step over. You were just trying to be polite. Guess that didn’t work out too well, hunh?

Whatever. Obstacle cleared. Now you can go find something in the back half of the house to do.

. . ..

Or not.

Not five minutes later, you’re back at the hallway entrance. This time, you don’t even bother to ask before stepping over. Reo doesn’t stir.

Nor do they move when you cross them again after another few minutes. And then again. And then again. Man, there really is just nothing to do in this house!

Another two minutes of pacing around aimlessly in the back, and yet again you head down the hallway, approaching the scaly barrier. As is now normal for you, you step high and get your foot to the other side without issue, without suspect. What you fail to notice in time, though, is that the main mound of coils has shifted.

Before you can so much as scream, you catch a glimpse at a deep purple, and then your vision is filled with darkness. A pressure clamps down right over your head and neck and part of your chest. You squirm for a moment, shocked and confused, and feel hot, wet, fleshy surfaces push around you, quickly enveloping you. It doesn’t take but a second for your head to enter a tight, slippery chute, your shoulders quick to follow, and then you feel your feet leave the linoleum floor.

Panic.

You don’t know what’s happening, but you kick your legs and try your best to wriggle. The chute squeezes tighter around you, pulling you in further until you’re waist-deep. Your hands thrash uselessly against your thighs and feel around, trying to discern anything. You think you can feel something hard amidst the slime and the squish, but you don’t get to ponder over it much. The chute shifts around you, and you’re lifted further until you’re completely vertical and upside-down! That finally manages to force a grunt from your lungs, but not a full scream just yet. No, your world is still moving too much. The chute squeezes more, and seems to bounce up and down, each fall sending you deeper in. Not three seconds pass before your knees reach the chute opening. Now your legs are pinned together. Vainly, you try to kick while you can still feel the air on your feet, but those too slip in shortly after.

Now you have it in you to scream. The tight space makes it difficult, but you have enough air in your lungs still to manage a hoarse cry. The chute around you twists and contorts, easily forcing you along and overpowering your efforts to resist your descent. You yell for help. You yell for Reo. Someone. Anyone!

Though it feels like forever, it can’t have been more than maybe ten, fifteen––twenty tops––seconds before the winding chute narrows into an even tighter band that stretches around you, and serves as a gateway into a slightly roomier space. Slightly. Once you’ve been shoved in fully, the squeezing and contorting stop. Well . . . they don’t stop; the walls around you still move, like whatever your in is moving around, but you’re no longer being passed through it. Your movement has stopped. And, though the space around you only grants you minimal wiggle room, you fucking wiggle. It feels like a wet, slimy, wrinkly, tight sleeping bag in here, and it smells!

“ Reolzre! Can you hear me? Help! ” The air is hot and humid, but surprisingly breathable. You twist your head one way, then the other, trying and failing to see anything in the darkness.

“ Yes, I can hear you, ” hums the familiar voice. Strangely, it sounds like it’s coming from right next to you, beyond the walls of whatever gross prison you’ve been stuffed into. You wriggle and manage to turn onto your side, hands pushing against the wall. Its wrinkles squelch and pulse against your palms. It doesn’t feel quite like the outside is moving anymore, though the bag around you still churns gently. Where the hell are you?

“ Reo! Reo, I––I don’t know what happened! Where am I? Get me out of here! ” You slap at the wall, thinking it might help the wyrm better locate you.

“ I’ll let you out after I’ve had a nap, ” they say. “ Stop squirming so much. You’re fine. You can breathe, yes? ”

“ Y-yeah, I can breathe––– ” pause. Hard stop. “ Wait––‘ let ’? You will let me out after a nap? What the shit does that mean? ” Again you pound against the fleshy wall, but, this time, the walls shrink up against you, nearly as tight as the chute. You manage to choke out a strangled noise of protest.

“ You were annoying me with your constant moving about, so I swallowed you. ” The wyrm speaks so casually, like they didn’t just say something absolutely ridiculous and terrifying. “ You are going to stay there now, where you can’t move around, so I can get some sleep. ”

For a long moment, you don’t say anything. You almost don’t believe them. There’s no way they swallowed you. There’s no way you’re in theur stomach right now. But, as the bag recedes to its normal tightness, you rub your hands along the walls. The wrinkles, the sliminess, the smell, the tight chute that brought you here . . . by the gods, the wyrm fucking ate you! You are in their stomach!

“ Reolzre, the Calm, if you don’t let me out right fucking now––– ” And again, the walls tighten just as you start to thrash. Your face squishes against the wrinkly surface, and you grimace. Still, you manage to mumble, “ How could you eat me? ”

“ Stop. Gods, please stop. Relax. All that squirming isn’t going to do you any good. ” The outside starts moving again, no-doubt Reo shifting positions to be more comfortable with their unruly meal. “ I’m not going to kill you. Had I actually wanted to do that, you’d have felt my teeth and beak. I just want a nap. That’s it. Then I’ll spit you back up. ”

They have a point. You won’t admit it aloud, but they do have a point. Their teeth––now you realize what that hard thing was you felt when you were in their mouth; it was a tooth––must have been tucked and folded back so they didn’t dig into you at all. Save for the uncomfortable tightness of the chute, it was a quick and entirely painless journey. They made considerable effort not to hurt you.

You still don’t like it though.

“ I sleep better on a full stomach anyway. Get comfortable, Squishy. ” Oh, that sounded cheeky.

That’s it. “ You bastard. When I get out of here, I’m going to skin you and make armor out of your scales! Let me out, you overgrown noodle! ” To hell with their nap. You have no intentions of giving them any peace while they’ve got you stuck in here.

#soft vore #safe vore #vore writing #dragon vore #snake vore #kinda #hyena writes #hyena ocs #reolzre the calm #i realized i messed up their pronouns like 2/3 of the way tru but i fixed it now

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redevenir · 4 years

Text

to eat flowers and not to be afraid

woozi x reader

wc : ~ 7690

a/n : i first wrote this piece for @svtwritenight and i kept writing because it felt very nice. the title comes from this verse by e. e. cummings : « since the thing perhaps is to / eat flowers and not to be afraid » from voices to voices. I don’t think there is a specific warning here. There is only one sentence that I find disgusting, but nothing triggering. Vague references to past disasters and deaths.

« "Alas," he cried to himself in his dismay, "what ever will become of me, and how is it all to end? If I stay here upon the river bed through the long watches of the night, I am so exhausted that the bitter cold and damp may make an end of me—for towards sunrise there will be a keen wind blowing from off the river. If, on the other hand, I climb the hill side, find shelter in the woods, and sleep in some thicket, I may escape the cold and have a good night's rest, but some savage beast may take advantage of me and devour me." »

The Odyssey, Book V, Homer.

You put your hand on the doorknob. You’ve been sleeping here for a few weeks now. Compared to other places you’ve been before, this one is starting to feel comfortable. You can’t call it otherwise though. There are walls in your head, walls that you built when everything was falling apart. Vulnerability kills, you’ve learn it fast. You cannot afford to be sentimental, especially toward a mere concrete structure and yet, you’ve already overstep the boundaries you’ve set yourself. It’s not gratitude, it’s just… It’s nice. It’s nice that the two-story building is here. That it didn’t crumble like most of them, it’s nice that in what was barely a town before you’ve found it empty. That all four apartments were empty when you came in. That there’s a fireplace in each one of them. That the vegetation around has grown enough to hide most of the windows of the one you’ve chosen for yourself.

You remember the day you arrived there. Terrified of getting caught, you had rummaged through all of the apartments as fast as you could, storing all you thought might be of use. Then you had barricaded the three unoccupied ones, establishing yourself on the second floor. You hung bells behind the front door, bells behind the lobby door. Bells hung very low all over the staircase, so you’d know if someone was to come in. Nobody had so far. It was just you, day after day after day, and you were beginning to feel safe. Able to spend a few hours a day without worrying. A luxury. Just you, the bare trees around. Sometimes you’d see the occasional boars, down the road. How are they still alive? Don’t ask yourself, worries will come back. You know it now: you know nothing. You will never fully understand any of the crazy things that has happened so far, because most of them don’t make sense. Most of the time, you try – very, very hard – not to think at all. Just another way to stay safe.

You open the door to the shelter. You’re soaked, you’re tired, you can’t see a thing. It’s been a mistake, going out today, you realized. A useless loss of time and energy. You wanted to watch the road, see if there was anyone passing by. That was the first lie. No one was « passing by » anymore. You just wanted an excuse to go out. You’re being unreasonable. You know inside – you can’t even word « home » in your head, not now, not tomorrow, not a year from now – inside is safe. Home is too comfortable, too dangerous. Inside in the only safe. Home will get you killed. It will make you less and less careful. Exactly like today. You’ve been outside for hours, knowing from the start it’d be worthless. And if anyone had indeed walked that road, you couldn’t even know. The clouds were too thick and everything was too dark for you see a thing, and that was before the rain started to fall. But you stayed there. Almost confident in your warm safe place, almost looking forward to the fire you’d be lighting up to dry your clothes and warm yourself up. One might say – but there is no one anymore – you were already lucky it was just good old-fashion rain, not the burning, acid one. You tell yourself you’d recognize the deadly clouds. Maybe that’s the second lie.

Standing before the building’s door, you feel sick. It’s disgusting. All you have lost, all that is gone, for you to be this carefree. Nausea rises up your body. You shiver, close your eyes, breathe. Confidence is a concept of the past. Confidence will get you killed. Breathe in, breathe out. It is the only therapy left now. And now you’re scared. You put your hand in your pocket, touch the big rock you always keep in there. Heavy. Uncomfortable. You grab it, take it out. Breathe in, breathe out. You open the door, welcomed by the soft music of the bells. Quick, you check the entrances of the ground-floor apartments. Still barricaded, nothing has changed. Breathe in, breathe out. You climb up the stairs, as fast and as silent as you can, only to find the doors of your floor as closed as you left them. Breathe in, breathe out. You enter your flat. No harm done. Just as quiet as ever. Still, you don’t light up the room for a few days, except for the fireplace. Your shoulder hurts a bit, so you try to massage it absentmindedly. It’s winter, you assume, and you cannot afford to sleep without the warmth provided by the fire.

Summer is over, you realize, looking at the window, wondering how long you have left before all the leaves have fallen again. It’s the second time you’ll be watching them do so here. What’s exhausting, you think, is that you have no purpose whatsoever. You never left from your shelter. If you’re being honest, you haven’t even taken the time to consider it. You know you don’t want to leave. Leaving would be dangerous. You feel weak now. Your reflexes have dulled. What’s more, there is nowhere you’d rather be. And – this one, you can’t word, even in the heart of the night, even when you know no one has heard your voice for actual years now – you don’t want to see people. Either dead or alive. Enough losses, countless deaths. You don’t remember the last friendly face now, everyone has faded. Voices you remember, though. Heartless words, the various announcements of various Disasters. Now it feels as if all of it happened at once, but there is, buried in your brain, the memory of days longer than weeks when all people were doing was waiting, waiting for the news, waiting for an explanation, waiting for the way to defeat whatever force was at work against them. And then there were none.

Jihoon breathes. In, out. Finds a fix spot, focuses on it. There are blue flowers at the bottom of that small building. Keeps on breathing. Deep blue, five thin petals. Breathe in, breathe out. It’s borages, he thinks. They’re edible. Who’s eating them ? Panic begins to creep in again. Breathe in, breathe out. They’re in bloom, so it must be spring, right ? Deep breathe. He’s quite sure there is a way to make herbal tea of some sort with borages. He backs away into the woods. He’s not ready yet. He needs time to process the news. He walks deeper in the forest than ever before, tries not to overthink it, not yet, not while he’s moving, and exposed.

Later on, when he’s hidden behind branches and leaves, laying on the ground, he needs to breathe again. He feels his heart pounding in his chest, out of terror, out of anger, out of curiosity, also. Has he been seen ? And if so, who saw him ? Is he going to see the sun rise again ? And who is leaving here ? He assumes it’s a loner, for keeping a company is putting one’s self more at risk. He hasn’t. Breathe in, breathe out. Are they armed ? He barely sleeps that night. He does not lie to himself, knows he has to meet them. He simply wonders which approach will be best. Of course, he can’t just present himself, hands in his pocket. What would be the right way to make sure they’d see him as a peace-seaking stranger but intimidating enough that they wouldn’t try to murder him ? Jihoon feels a bit sick, that he has to think about it this way. It is sick. All of it is fucking sick. He doesn’t try to picture the stranger, for he knows his imagination would create a macabre mix of people he’s known and people’s he’s seen dead. He breathes. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’ll go, and knock at the door. On his guard, but decent. Tomorrow, he’ll be brave, and go to the two-story building.

Tomorrow lasts for days, he finds out, as he keeps weighing the pros and cons of knocking on that copper-colored door. Every day, he walks for a bit through the woods, close enough so that he can see the small building, and stay there. It’s a nice door. He likes the color. Once again, he lingers. And then, he remembers that it doesn’t matter what the outcome might be. He has nowhere to be, no one to see. There is no purpose left for him in this existence. He has no plan. Shit, he’s been sleeping in the woods for months now – he cannot admit to himself there is a high chance he has been doing so for years. It is for this exact situation that the saying « nothing to loose » has been made up – of course people back then had no idea of what it actually meant. Breathe in. It’s a friendly door, he decides. Breathe out. He stands up, and begins to walk what’s left of the way to the building.

And then he hears a crack and feels a piercing pain through his right hand. Before he can shout he’s punched in the face as he tries to turn around to see his assailant. He’s wrestled to the ground, all he can see is a messy mass of hair as they bring a hand – cold, small – to his neck. He screws his eyes shut. And nothing. Nothing happens, only heavy breathes. His, uneven because of the atrocious pain in his right hand. And the ones of the stranger who attacked him. Breathe in. He opens his eyes. They meet a furious gaze and overly frowned eyebrows. He doesn’t read anything out of it, and, as he tries to take a better look at the angry face, he realizes he’s almost surprised to see a human. He knew it, of course. Only humans use ceiling lights, as far as he knows. Still, he’s surprised to see a human face. Silence lingers.

« What were you doing ? » Your voice is croaky. He’s surprised once more. Curiosity oversteps and he wonders – when were your last words ? Clearly, he takes too long to answer, for you press over his wounded hand and he screams in both pain and surprised.

« I-i-i was going over to tha-aah-t building. To meet… who-whoever is living there. »

« Why »

Jihoon thinks, quick, quick. Breathe in.

« I figured – ahh – why not ? » Breathe out.

You remain silent.

You tell yourself you don’t feel bad, not a bit. Still, his hand looks ugly. Overall, he’s looking pretty bad. He smells of dirt, of mud. He hasn’t showered for a very long time, you guess. The air smells bad too. You look up at the sky, keeping your hand on his jaw, without pressure – you don’t want him dead, and his good hand is out of use. It takes you a bit of time but sure enough, you find the clouds. Far, but visible. You look back at the guy you knocked out. He knows. He’s been looking in the same direction as you have. You assume he can smell the air, too. Breathe in. You pity him. You sigh. You can fix this.

« Do you have anything of value nearby ? »

Jihoon screws his eyes shut, like you just slapped him. Shit. You take it as no. Take it as a they-re-way-too-far kind of no. You lift your hand off his jaw, stand up, and give it to him instead.

« Let’s go inside then. »

You’ve lit up a fire. You figured he deserved it. Hadn’t he just lost all his possessions, however meager they might be ? You try not to look at his face too bluntly, and you wonder if he’s holding up his tears. Instead, you let him walk, slow, oh so slow, around the room while you rummage among the branches of dry wood. Surely, you can find enough of them to make him a splint of sort. You’ve done it for yourself before – it did not heal as well as it should have, but it healed anyway. Without looking at him, you realize you know exactly where he is in the room. It’s been so quiet for so long, that even his soft steps are like thunder to your ears. You vaguely notice that he doesn’t go near the windows. Good, you think. Lesser chances of being seen – and you try hard not to wonder for how long he’s known about you being here.

Jihoon thinks he has rarely been this stupid, and he hates it. Turns out, he actually had things to loose : food, his clothes. At least he’s alive – but what for ? He looks at your back, annoyed, curious, still scared. You broke his hand, took him to your place and now you want to... fix... said hand - he tries not to think about the fact that taking him inside means saving him from a terrible pain - possibly lethal. He watches over the room, looking for any clue about the resident. He knows, of course, he won’t find any personal item – who has managed to keep one ? But, maybe, from the way you’ve organize the furniture – he notices the small heaps of stones under the windows. One of the walls is yellow, a bright yellow. All the others have this dull, white color to them but on this one, he sees traces of hands on the paint – the stores had been closed for a long time when you painted it, he guesses. Is it even paint that you used ? Breathe in. He remembers the bells that gently knocked over his head on your way up the stairs. Breathe out. Surely, it’s a friendly wall.

« Sit down on the chair. »

Again, it comes off wrong. A weak, faint, trail of voice. Jihoon wonders, had the situation been reversed, would you have been able to scream or shout ? He quickly decides you wouldn’t, and feels a bit sick when he puts it in the « good news » part of his brain. He does as said, sits quietly, showing his left side to the fire, while you sit down on the brown fabric sofa before him. It is massive, very long, and looks quite off. Who needs such a big couch? He gives you his hand. You take his wrist with caution – he tries not to remember when was the last non-aggressive touch he’s been given – look at his hand from every possible angle, change it when you notice him wincing. You remain silent for a little while, and organize the cheap, self-made sort of first-aid kit you’ve managed to assemble over time.

« Let me take care of that. »

You notice the brief look of surprise on his face. Of course, of course. He remains silent, however, and you start to fix up the mess you’ve made with your stone. As long as it takes, the two of you keep your words for yourselves. You don’t tell him you don’t really know what you’re doing. None of you mention the loud pounding of the toxic rain outside. You thank the men of old for inventing the concrete. Jihoon tries not to think of his stuff, doomed to rot. Fire warms up both of your faces as you work.

It’s very early – you know it, because the birds have just started to sing. You’ve put a new log moments ago. The intruder is dozing on the couch. You assume he’s had a long day, between your encounter, the broken hand – you didn’t tell him how bad it was, if he’s made it so far, he already understood. But you can’t fall asleep. You can’t think about falling asleep. You’re frightened. Of course, he can’t do you any harm. Still, it’s so sudden. When did you turn into this human-shaped scaredy cat ? You shut your eyes, open them up. Look away from the fire, to the sleeping form. Now you can take a good look at him.

A bit shorter than you are, around your age – maybe older, maybe younger? Hunger has a terrible way of making people look younger, you’ve found out. Yet despair makes them look older, so who knows. His hair looks as wrong as the rest. Dark, messy. You assume he’s tried to keep them on the short side by his own means. He’s underfed – but so are you. He looks fiery – dangerous, you think, if he’s survived so long, and come so far. Then it hits you. You’ve made it so far. You’re the one who found this removed place, barricaded it, you’re the one with a stock of heavy stones near all of you windows. You’re to be feared as much as he is. All of this has turned you into a cold-blooded huntress – or are you still a prey on the lookout ? Who will tell the difference now. Everyone who had once known the vulnerable you has disappeared. You feel the nausea creeping in. Breathe in. Tomorrow you will offer him to take a shower

None of you talk much. Jihoon notices how you keep avoiding to look at him straight in the eyes. He’s not much help, so he lights up the fire, cleans up a bit. Days are shorter now. If he comes near the windows he can feel the poor isolation. Still, he hates to do nothing, tries to keep himself busy. With the bunch of pens you’ve gathered as a reflex more than anything, he learns to write with his left hand. It is hard, and messy, and he’s glad no one will see it. The first conversations you have are about plants. It’s a safe topic, harmless, useful, and it appears you know as much as he does. Although, you can name them, whereas he had to learn to recognize them the hard way. You both list what’s growing around, exchange a few cooking ideas. You say nothing about his diet, but the first time you cooked meat in front of him you let him have it all. And the second time. The third time he asks you to stop, you retort he needs it. Jihoon really can’t do anything about it, but the first time you cut it in half, he smiles.

One night, as you’re both sitting in front of the fire, it escapes from your lips, like a confession held up for too long, you turn your head to your left to face him.

« I grew up on the coast, too. » He’s surprised, as usual, tries to look at your face from the side, and you see the outline of a smile, the light squinting of his eyes. « Is that so ? » You hum in confirmation, turning away to face the fireplace again. Jihoon takes his time, tries to list all the things he knows about you. From your accent – thick, slow-paced – he gets you’re from a different district than him. Obviously though, you’ve met people from his. How else would you know what he hasn’t told you? You’re good at hunting, at least good enough that twice a week you catch something for the both of you to feed upon it – mostly birds or rabbits. You’re generous, he knows that. His mere presence here proves it. You like the color yellow and don’t know the very basics of medicine. You’re taciturn – or cautious? There is no way of telling which was there from the beginning and which has come from a traumatic series of disasters. Not a fast runner. You understand his need for space – you never say anything when he closes the dark, old, heavy curtains during rainfalls. You still haven’t asked anything about him before. And this, as much as he’s thankful for it, makes him uncomfortable. Do you not ask because you don’t want him to ask you back? Obviously you have things to hide. You’re so well off here. No one can reach this level of comfort – isolation, warmth, food, even the amount of bells you’ve gathered is suspicious – without having some ugly deeds on their hands. He has too. Or maybe – he shivers – you don’t ask him because you suspect where he’s coming from? Or worse, maybe you just plain know it, and don’t wish to address it. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe you were just craving companionship as much as he was, maybe you don’t care, maybe you don’t want to care, and maybe he shouldn’t.

He must take it slow, not overwhelm you. He’s still worried you might send him off once his hands is all good – although he knows it will never be the same. Good at fighting, he adds to his list – or are you just good at ambush ? He finally settles for the next thing he wants to know.

« Have you read any of the books in here ? »

Safe, keep it safe. Be normal.

« Some, not many. Also, they don’t teach you that in school, where I come from. » Jihoon wants to slap himself. He knows that. Of course he does. The illiterate districts, how did he forget? Even after it’s all gone, inequalities remain. However alien it might look now, you are still walking on the ashes of the same damn country. He tries to contain his discomfort and remain casual. What will you do, when you find out – it’s not an if, he knows you will, he has no desire of leaving you now. Is he doomed?

« Anything good ? »

« The dictionary sure is handy. »

That’s the first time you hear him laugh. It’s light and bright, as he shakes his head a bit, and it makes you smile as well.

That’s the first time he sees you smile. It’s genuine and hidden, and he might have missed it if he had closed his eyes a bit longer. It’s a friendly smile, he decides.

He asks about the geography, and, as expected, he knows more than you do about this district. He tries not to feel the pain in his chest when he understands you’ve just walked blindly until you couldn’t anymore, as far as you could from the terrifying remnants of civilization, that you didn’t have a plan. He tries really hard, but still pats your head kindly, throat tight. All you’re really sure about is that you had never been this far north before, and that you didn’t know what true winter was. He should be used to it, by now. No one was prepared and yet every time it is a slap in his face to find out others have been through hell as much as he has. Jihoon is simple. He wishes no harm to anyone. He doesn’t ask for the specifics – not yet. He does not need to know much you’ve been screwed up – he doesn’t want to admit how mad it will make him. But he starts to teach you. He draws map on the floor, using dry leaves as borders. He rummages through the books, finds some he likes. He even asks you if he can go into the other flats, you know, in case there might be something he’d like. You say yes to everything, he finds out. You cut him out every time he tries to justify himself. The first time you tell him he lives here as much as you do is the first time he wants to smooch you.

It’s the middle of the night, and you’re trying to wake him up, hand on his mouth, tugging at his sleeve, when you realize you don’t know his name. He’s been there for weeks – the slow healing of his hands tells you that much – and not once have you asked for his name – you feel too guilty to realize he hasn’t, either. You’re already too scared to worry about it, and you shake his arm vigorously as your ushered whining intensifies.

« Wake up, wake up, wake up, oh please wake up, someone is near, someone is there I’m begging you please just wake up already. » Jihoon opens up his eyes in panic at the sound of your supplication. He whispers hurriedly to you, and it hits you once again that he is survivor too. At that moment, you see he’s ready for anything, he’s always ready for anything.

« Who ? Where ? How many ? »

« Just outside, I saw moving shadows at the edge of the forest. I think two, maybe three. » You’re a good huntress, he trusts your sight. But before your eyes you see the quick change in his attitude. From the serene companion to a determined fighter. He looks at you straight in the eyes, all sleep forgotten. « Do you think they’ve noticed us ? »

« I think the curtains do a great job at hiding us, we don’t have any light on... »

You both end up hiding in your bedroom, barricaded, doing nothing. What could you do anyway ? You’re no murderer – apparently he isn’t either. No bell’s melody is heard. The shadows don’t come in, you don’t come out. It’s the first time Jihoon actually comes inside your room. Sat on the floor, he says nothing about the bed, that clearly hasn’t been touched for a long time, judging by the layer of dust. He says nothing about his hand you’re holding. He notices your bag, the few clothes you’ve hanged. He’s grateful they also fit him, even if it’s probably unflattering. Otherwise he would have been stuck with what he had on his back when he met you – not much, almost torn to pieces. There are small lines drawn on the wall near the headboard, he wonders what you were trying to count, and how long you’ve done it before giving up. He jumps a bit when you tell him it’s birds – forgot you were watching him.

« They’re… Well. It’s uncanny. » You don’t look at him, you’re staring at the ceiling. He watches all of the signs on your face that tell him your fear, trying to learn your language, so that the slightest thrill won’t go unnoticed. You deserve it, don’t you? To be acknowledged. His hand tightens a bit around yours.

« Uncanny... ? »

« You know. What do they do when it rains ? » Jihoon misses a breathe. Oh my god. How, after all this time, can there be a new terrifying side to the Horrors ? He’s lived in the woods for so long, and not once has he though about it. He’s been worried for himself, of course. He stopped counting the sleepless nights he has spent anxiously hoping his little shelters, made of whatever he was able to find at the moment, would hold on. He’s been careful not to eat carcasses, out of fear they might be poisoned but this, this is new. This is a precise, specific aspect of terror. He feels dizzy and his train of thought is out of reach when you move to face him, close, hand on his face. Soft, gentle, even if he winces a bit.

« Hey, hey, don’t fret, you whisper. Corvids are super smart, and they’re the only ones I see here. Don’t overthink it. I stopped. »

He slowly catches his breathe, and says nothing as you keep holding his wrist in your hand.

You barely sleep for days after that, and Jihoon wonders if you’ve felt that way with him first. You ask him to keep you up and for the first time since the day he lost all of his remaining clothes and food – the very day he met you – he wants to cry. But he stays with you. You barely go to your room anymore, therefore when you pass out on the couch, exhausted, he stays with you, makes sure he doesn’t fall asleep, for he doesn’t want to loose your trust. He sees it now. You’re no danger. You’re terrified, and you’ve been alone for a long, long time. So he complies

« Can we build a greenhouse ? Or, at least, organize a garden? »

« I guess we could… But it’d be very obvious there’s people in the house. »

Jihoon shrugs. « Whatever. »

You look at him, startled. « Are you not worried ? »

« What else is there to do anyway ? I think it would be nice to have a project. And to achieve it. » You don’t tell him you need seeds for a greenhouse to be useful. You don’t want to argue, you want to trust him. If you’re being honest, you’ve been observing him since he first arrived. For a long time, it was anxious surveillance and side-eyeing. Like animals meeting at sunset, wondering how lethal the other may be. Now… Now, you wonder how bad it has been for him, so bad that he never brings it up. You assume he’s killed people, you fear he was among those who worked for a faster destruction of humanity’s ruins. Did he take part in raids over these little communities? Burn them to the ground, for the mere reason they were trying to keep a kind of society going? Was he – it’s hard to admit it’s a possibility – working for the government? You shake it off. You want purpose, and safety, and kindness, and Jihoon has been all of it and more – you cannot tell him yet how much you enjoy when he caresses your hand, you’re pretty sure he only does it when he thinks you’re asleep.

« Alright then. » You never tell him you’re not even sure there were trespassers that night.

Time passes, and he forgets there is a world outside of the one you both share. He forgets his life before you as he learns more about yours before him. Slowly, carefully, you tell him where you were, and what you were doing every time you heard the news of a Disaster. He holds you tight when you remember the nuclear one, more vividly than any other, for one of the bombings happened in your are. You heard it with your own hears, saw it with your own eyes, smelled it with your own nose. He apologizes and promises never to ask again. You brush it off, telling him he’s not the one who blew it up. You keep for yourself the nausea you never quite got rid off, the loss of balance when you run, the broken ankle you had to fix yourself. How sometimes you have to sit down under the shower, and bite your fist because your brain is confused between the toxic rain and the hot running water.

You contemplate the large pot of cooling water. It is routine now. Filling it up in the shower, boiling it, waiting. You don’t know if the running water’s infected, but what are the odds? It is already a miracle it’s still running, and quite clear at that. You remember the last time you saw a river after a downpour. Red from the blood of melting fishes. Sickening scent. Maybe that’s the reason why you’ve waited for so long to settle down – you’ve let your guard down, you don’t even realize it’s a home now, it’s good, you don’t know it yet, but it is good. It was the last sight of your agonizing town, when you ran, still in your work uniform, without a goal, without a plan. Away.

« How did you paint the wall yellow ? » He asks, as he plucks the petals of a heather sprig, a very satisfied smile on his lips.

It catches you off guard, as always. The first change you notice is his voice. It’s dulcet now – you remember the word, because it is in one of the few books you’ve read here. You like it. It is small and soft, and has a pleasing meaning. You look at your companion. It fits him well – you forget you first meant his voice.

« With great difficulties. Once I was done I realized I had no turmeric left, and I felt like an idiot. »

« It’s nice. I like yellow. »

You hum. « With a lot of madder we could probably get enough orange for another one. I’ll show you. »

It’s summer now. Days never get any warmer, and you both agreed to spend some time outside, enjoying the sun on your skin. You’re walking in the woods, Jihoon following you, as you’re both looking for dyer’s madder. Every few minutes he points out some plants he’s recognized, waits for you to tell him its name, and gives his verdict.

« Here. »

« Bear leek. »

« Grandiose. I respect them. These ones, on the other hand... »

« Fool’s… par… sley… ? » You, muse, unsure.

« Never. Eat. That. »

You raise a hand to catch a pear – pears are safe, pears are delicious – and Jihoon tries not to stare at your arm’s skin, bruised, torn by the fog – how long as it been ? Will it heal someday ? You know there are plants good for healing skin, but none of you knows which ones, and you’re both too afraid of making a severe mistake. Anyway, Jihoon has seen your body, as much as you’ve seen his, knows there are more like these, ancient. You’ve been caught under the rain more than once, and you’ve been hurt. Hurt by human hands. That he knows as well, you’ve been among those poor bastards used for testing, when the rain began to fall. He’s seen the little scars inside your arms, from the shots of whatever they put into your veins. It’s fucking disgusting. Jihoon wants to set someone on fire – he remembers, of course, there’s only you with him.

You watch as Jihoon opens and closes his hand absentmindedly.

« You know it will never heal properly, right ? » You ask, mouth full of big chunks of pear.

« I do, thank you. » You shut your eyes, and Jihoon feels guilty about the venom in his voice. Of course, he’s resentful, and, well you’re the one who smashed his fingers, but still, he hates the miserable look on your face. He watches as you breathe in. The pear juice drips down your chin. You swallow the last chunk.

« There’s nothing more I can do to fix it. But I-I can make up for your loss, you know, you breathe out. I can keep hunting, I can cook... » He softens, as you can’t finish your sentence. He let frustration take the best of him. He knows, he’s been replaying the scene over and over at night. He would have done the same, and it is worth it. Companionship. Having someone else around. It is so much worth it. His voice is but a whisper when he tells you « Okay, it’s okay, it’s neat, I understand, I’ll stay. » and he means it.

This is your first quarrel, but it is nothing, nothing compared to the next one, Jihoon ruminates. The second one is big, full of shame, of disgust, of anger and torment. It’s a hurricane of every frustration you’ve ever had in your life, hurled to his face. It was too good to last, he tells himself, but when you spit at his feet it still feels like a slap. He’d rather have you shouting at him. You’re just disgusted. He gets it, anyway, how unfair it must be for you. How iniquitous it is for you.

You come from a poor district, that much you knew. What you don’t know, and what he does, is that it was not only one of the poorest, but it was supposed to remain this way. Nothing was ever done to improve people’s life down there because the elites never wanted the scum to rise above their condition. Of course, he doesn’t say it like that, but when the « illiterate states » expression escapes him, he knows you won’t let it fly. So he tells you everything, and how things actually happened during the Fall. How it was no accident that the first bomb was dropped on the cities with the most workers. How they knew, up there, that no one will complain. How he heard, half-whispers in the streets, about the tests done far over there. Hopes of creating a vaccine against radioactivity – but were they, really? So little was heard, it was like a urban legend. That was when you spit at him. Of course there were testing. They had gone door-to-door, the doctors in their white coats, going through each household, claiming to offer a cure, without ever saying who were the actual guinea pigs. And anyway, they certainly weren't going to be able to work any more, so why not, what's the point of being skeptical now? You only stop when you realize it is over anyway. You cannot seek revenge nor destroy the government – it’s already a thing of the past. When tears run down your cheek in rage, he takes your hand and apologizes. Even though he wasn’t there, even though it wasn’t him. Jihoon feels someone has to make amends for you. So he does.

You say nothing of it after. What could he do about it. Jihoon is kind. Jihoon never hurt you. You let it go, like all the rest.

It is very early again, when you come back from your hunt, distraught, and hurt. It is the bells Jihoon hears first, immediately sitting straight, shaking the sleep off, adrenaline rushing. He runs to the door, checking it’s well locked, expecting the worse, a heavy stone in his left hand. It’s only when you try to open it, and pathetically whimpers it’s you that he opens, closing right after you rush in. You shakily make your way to the water, splashing it on your face as fast as you can.

Bad doesn’t even begin to describe how bad you look, holes in your clothes, shaking, is that blood on your shirt ? Nothing else looks like blood, Jihoon has learn, it is unmistakable. When he comes closer to you, you’re already trying to get a hold of yourself. He notices your fists moving slowly in the air, as you try to recover an even breathe.

« What… ? »

You face him and the end of his question is useless. It’s not that bad, but your face is marked, tiny bits of skin are missing, leaving your skin red and sticky. You reek of disease.

« Did it rain ? I didn’t hea... »

« The fog. » Your voice is breaking. « It’s e-even in the f-fog now. » You curl up on yourself, and Jihoon takes matters into his own hands. Puts them on your shoulders, guides you to the small bathroom in the corner of the bedroom. Helps you out of your clothes. He doesn’t want to invade your personal space, so he focuses on the sounds of water running. Gently pushes you inside, as your whimpering turns to wailing that you try hard, very hard, to silence. It’s crushing, really, that after all this time you still feel the need to hide your vulnerability from him. He takes your hand, comes closer to you, lets the shower soak him, and whispers to you it’s okay, really, you can let it go, it must be so painful, don’t worry and I’m here and don’t, oh please don’t worry. You hold him strong as you cry out loud for the pain, curling up again. It will never end. You’ve acted without caution and you’re a fool. As he washes you up you promise to yourself never to be this dumb again – you cannot let him down.

That night you sleep on the bed, and Jihoon realizes you’ve almost never done so since he’s here. He crawls in after you, laying close but careful not to touch you. He knows your skin will be sensitive for days. You fall asleep right away, exhausted, empty of all tears, without a word, and he tries to remember how it feels to be under the rain – it’s been a long time. He’s been relying on you for too long, it is about time he returns the favor. Tomorrow, he’ll be better.

He doesn’t let you leave the bed for days, doesn’t let you alone for more than a few minutes, he moves the sofa and the table to the bedroom. The only thing he cannot carry with him is the fireplace. So he wakes up, lights a fire, assembles a breakfast for both you to eat together, spends his day reading, talking with you when you can, whispering to you when you’re too tired to answer, napping, washing up, putting logs into the fire. The memory of a past convalescence floats between the sheets, a fossil from another world. How can you even remember it? It is there, though. The first one. You had just left the hangar for a few minute, to enjoy some fresh air after inhaling sawdust for hours. It was not a bad job, you’d tell yourself. Useful, crafty. The incessant creaking of electric sanders made it possible to have private discussions, which was already a luxury when you had started to work. When it rained for the first time on your small port town, a summer shower – you come from the sunniest of the districts, after all.

You’re chewing on leaves of mint, as you watch Jihoon tidying the room. You let your mind wander as he hangs your shared clothes in front of the fire to dry. Jihoon can stay still, you tell yourself. He can be quiet, and collected, but he needs something to do, something to think about, and unless he finds it he get antsy. You cut him some slack, remembering you’re quite similar in this aspect. That you were once calm and level-headed, until it was no longer manageable. However, there is a chance he has always been restless – maybe that’s why he endured better than you did before you met. Jihoon has the heart of a lion, and surely anything he’s done was for his survival or others’. You don’t doubt him. He nice, he is caring. He has this boyish, grumpy face, and he’s both knowledgeable and...

« What are you thinking about ? »

You jump, eyes wide.

« What ? What is ? »

« No-nothing ! You’re very reliable, that’s all. » He chuckles at that.

« Well, it’s nice to be acknowledged. »

You don’t answer, face burning hot. You miss Jihoon’s fond smile and the red on his own cheeks.

When you finally go outside again, buds herald the return of spring. You keep sleeping side by side, like it was never a question. It takes even longer for you to go out again, yet you’re terrified of Jihoon getting hurt alone outside. But he is careful, quick. When he comes backs, he seems even more worried about you than you are about him. Slowly, you sleep closer and closer in bed, like it would change something to your fate. Like it might make things right, after all. If you keep close enough, who knows, maybe you’ll be protected. Maybe no one will ever notice any of you. You never let go of Jihoon’s hand. And you say nothing when he starts to put his hand on you side to sleep, his breathe not far from your neck. It comes slow, and gentle, and tender. He is patient, and impatient, and what you don’t know is that it is as impressive, as intimidating for him as it is for you. What is he supposed to do when he’s holding you in his arms, when every time he’s been this close to someone was during fights – including with you?

So when you tell him you’re scared, but not of him, he understands. And so do you when he tells you sometimes when he wakes up he forgets you’re the one on his side. But surely it is okay there are burning butterflies in your belly when you feel his breathe on your ear when he tells you this and that. This time you notice the pink flush on his cheeks – he does not answer.

« You were right, it is very nice. »

« Told you. » He doesn’t even look at you and keeps drawing. He’s gotten a lot better, you’ll admit. Now, his handwriting is even better than yours – which probably has gotten worse, since you never write anything. You contemplate the small plant you managed to put in a pot, amazed that such a simple, delicate setting makes you feel so good. All you had to do was to pick a bit of fern and put it in a useless pot full of earth. With Jihoon’s drawings hanging on the walls – some of them drawn on the walls – you are now at home. You sigh in contentment, sinking deeper into the couch. This spring is cloudy, but the fire burning in this house is infinite.

«I feel blessed you’re here.»

Jihoon looks up, sees you spread out over the sofa. He already feels the blush on his face, but he is tired. He stands up, walks up to you. He kneels down by your side and takes your hand. He swallows his saliva as you sit up, looking worried. He pulls a little on your arm, so you’re face to face, and gentle, brave, insane, he kisses you.

Eyes closed, you reach for his hand.

Tomorrow means nothing now. There is no hope of anything getting better at this point, yet here you are, holding hands with him, waking up with him, making plans with him. Why not?

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #woozi imagines #woozi scenarios #woozi x reader #to eat flowers and not to be afraid #ljh #apocalypse au #my writings

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