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cherryatiny · 3 years

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𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚜 - 𝙲.𝚂 & 𝚂.𝙼𝙶

⩥𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚓𝚘𝚌𝚔!𝙲𝚑𝚘𝚒 𝚂𝚊𝚗 (𝙰𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚣) 𝚡 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚏!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝚓𝚘𝚌𝚔!𝚂𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒 (𝙰𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚣)

⩥𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝, 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎 𝙰𝚄

⩥𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟸,𝟺𝚔

⩥𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚊 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖'𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚊𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚜?

⩥𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚍𝚘𝚖!𝚜𝚊𝚗, 𝚍𝚘𝚖!𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒, 𝚜𝚞𝚋!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎, 𝚎𝚡𝚑𝚒𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚖, 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚓𝚘𝚋, 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔, 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚍𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗/𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚝, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜

⩥𝚃𝚊𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @galaxteez @gyubaby @frankenstein852 @bobateastay @aurianaaaa

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„Wow, immaculate, Choi scored yet another goal, Choi is in his best form ever this season, to be honest, I'm kinda curious, what or who helped him develop such confidence on the field. Looks like the other team won't be able to score 3 or more goals to win, so we can be almost 100% sure that today's winner is the home team.”

Loud cheers and clapping sounds were hearable at the university's soccer field, where the team's sensation Choi, brought the team to yet another victory. Finishing the last 10 minutes of the game with the difference of two goals, all the team's members ran over to the aforementioned male, patting him on the back along with saying phrases that only boosted his confidence.

Choi San was the typical school athlete. The popular guy everyone knew when he walked through the school's corridors, the guy every girl wanted to date and every boy wanted to be. The type of guy to not really care about his academic results, because he knew his talent in sports would make him successful in life. If he didn't train on the soccer field, you would for sure catch him fucking random girls at his friends' parties.

But that changed slightly when the poor cheerleader caught his eyes.

Finishing the choreography off with a triple headspring, the girl in question stood there with her arms in high V, to match with other cheerleaders in her team that in the meanwhile did a pyramid. The fans that sat on the bleachers in front of them cheered, as the girl tried to catch her breath from the stunts they pulled while the team played. As she was about to finally leave the field and go home to prepare herself some tasty meal, two strong arms wrapped around her, picking her up into a hug. It was no one other than San who picked her up, as his beaning smile soon turned into a cocky smirk. „Put me the fuck down, Choi.”

„Aww, don't be so grumpy my little vixen, I'm the best player in our school's team and I won the game for us once again, shouldn't you be thrilled about such an amazing guy showing you affection?” Rolling her eyes at him, she grasped out of his embrace, falling back onto her feet on the ground, as she picked up the bag with her clothes to change into, since the cheerleading uniform that consisted of a top that hardly covered her chest and a short skirt, weren't the best option to go home dressed in.

„Not so fast Y/N, where are you going at this hour? The night is still young, besides, shouldn't we celebrate the victory? You know how much that little costume of yours riles me up. Fuck I'm not sure if I can wait any longer, should I fuck my little cheerleader behind the bleachers or in the changing room?” His arm wrapped around her waist pulling the cheerleader closer to him. Hand going lower, down her spine to her bare thighs, going under the skirt and groping her ass, San bent down to whisper into her ear.

„The guys will go celebrate right away, so the changing room will be there just for the two of us. Come in 15 minutes, you already know the way.“ The young jock left her standing there, in the middle of the soccer field that was slowly emptying itself. „Here we go again, he better buys me dinner after this.“ murmured the girl as she was making her way to the soccer team's changing room. It was always like this. The two of them fucked after every match or whenever they wanted to, but apart from that, they didn't even acknowledge each other in school and acted like they were strangers.

Going through the calm hallway, she opened the door to the changing room at the end of the hallway. The room was already emptied out of the team members. The wetness in the room from the usage of the shower and the odour of sweat immediately hit her nose. „You guys should try opening the windows sometimes, it stinks here.“ Complained Y/N as she approached the shirtless male who was sitting on the bench, staring at his locker. Standing up to look at her, Y/N was met with the sight of his sculpted abs, she loved that much. „Soon enough, it won't stink of sweat, but sex, babe.“ Said smirking San as he walked closer to her, not wanting to spend any more time, his lips attached to her bare neck right away.

„How many times do I have to remind you to stop calling me babe, San.“ declared Y/N in between her lustful moans. „I don't think I want to stop,...babe.“ not stopping the movement of his lips on her neck, he tugged her closer to him, walking backwards to the wooden bench he previously sat on. Pressing her back against the cold metal lockers. Y/N's arms roamed over his exposed stomach and chest, caressing his muscles with her fingertips.

San rolled the top that covered her chest up, her breasts being exposed to him. He broke the connection between his lips and her neck and attached them to her hardening nipples. Sucking on her right breast, his palm paying attention to the other one, as he covered her chest with purplish hickeys, that marked her as his. „Your tits are even prettier now that they are covered in my marks. You should walk like this, without a shirt around the school so everyone would see the marks and know who's fucking our main cheerleader, don't you think?“ Groping them and pressing them against each other, he observed his creation in amazement as the girl moaned under his touch. His hand went under her skirt, pulling her safety shorts down to her ankles, she stepped out of them.

San tugged her panties to the side, his fingers traced her entrance while he devoured her mouth. Pressing onto her clit with his thumb, he pushed two of his long fingers into her wet hole, stretching her as he spread them, to prep her. Breaking the deep kiss, they were breathing heavily, trying to catch their breath from the intense kiss. San opened his locker, searching for the box of condoms he kept there for situations like this.

Sitting down onto the bench, he stripped off his sweatpants and briefs, focused on rolling the condom on his length. Spreading his legs widely, he motioned with his fingers for her to come up to him. Turning her around, so her back faced him, he grasped her ass. His hands spreading her ass cheeks, looking at the wetness leaking out of her. „Looks like I've made your wet cunt waiting for too long, cuz you're dripping. Come and sit on this cock, after all, you know what to do, your slutty hole did it many times.“

Pulling her to him by her waist, he sat her down on his lap, positioning his tip leaking of precum to her entrance throbbing out of the arousal she felt. San never failed to arouse her with just a simple touch, she slept with some other people in her life, but it wasn't like this with them, San was just... different. Whether it was his team captain Hongjoong or his shy (not so shy in bed) teammate Yeosang, she always came back to San for more. He was the drug she got addicted to.

Without much warning, he slipped into her entrance with ease, forcing a couple of moans to leave her mouth from the delicate feeling of San's girth stretching her velvet walls. San let out a few quiet groans as he pushed her hips onto his length.

Moving Y/N by her hips up and down onto him with the pace of his liking, it was harder and harder for the girl to comprehend herself. Her knuckles turning white from clutching the edge of the wooden bench they were fucking on. Her skirt still covering the place where the two of them connected, as their skins continued to smack against each other. The arm wrapped around her body held her close to San, as he nibbled on her ear lobe. Hand roaming over her body and playing with her hard nipples.

Unaware of the pair of ears in the room that could hear them, San never stopped in his thrusts, knowing well what to do to make the cheerleader in his lap break from the pleasure he could give her. Mingi, who was in the changing room for the past few minutes, on the other hand, didn't know what to do at all. Should he leave before they see him and forget about the sweatshirt he forgot? Should he wait until they finish or should he approach them in the middle of their intercourse?

However, the solution to his dilemma was found when he accidentally bumped his foot into the tinplate material of the lockers. The sound resonating in the room and alerting the couple that was lost in their pleasure. „Who's there?!” asked San with an annoyed and somehow angry voice at the disturber of his victory's celebration. Rubbing his temple nervously, San's teammate Mingi came out of his previous spot behind the lockers.

As soon as he approached the two of them, his whole face flushed into a reddish tint, cheeks burning from the embarrassment. His eyes widened as he locked contact with Y/N's breasts covered in San's marks. Unable to comprehend any coherent sentence, he stood there, not knowing what to say, hoping the older teammate would say something instead. „Come on Mingi, I'm waiting for your explanation on why have you been eavesdropping on us. Did you forget something? Or have you decided to rather celebrate the victory with me and my little fucktoy?”

„I-I forg-got my sweatshirt...” murmured Mingi quietly, his head lowered down, so he doesn't have to face the exposed cheerleader he yearned for many endless nights spent with his dick in his hand, imagining it was her giving him a handjob. And now she was there, displayed for him. Unfortunately not for him, but for his friend and teammate San. „The look in your eyes told me that you were relieved to have forgotten your hoodie. Do you like how her tits look covered in my hickeys? I can see how you eye them..”

„I- no- I wasn't looking I swear I didn't know you and Y/N were a thing... I swear I wasn't looking at her, San.” San chuckled at how defensive Mingi was being, trying hard to deny everything. „You weren't looking? Then why don't you look? Don't you want to see her perfect tits? If I were you I would use the opportunity.” San only let out yet another chuckle when the male he was talking to, lifted his head lightly, looking at the girl's exposed breasts freely.

„Do you want to join us too? I'm sure my little vixen wouldn't mind having her mouth shut with your dick. Her slutty cunt is already taking my cock and it's such a pity I won't let you experience the amazing feeling of her wet hole clenching around you, but her mouth will gladly take you. I can feel her clenching around me because of that idea.”

Y/N didn't know why it was like that, but San talking about her as if she wasn't even there aroused her even more than she thought was possible. Normally, she would have been shy in a situation like this, but a flame of confidence sparked in her. „Yes Mingi, I need someone to shut my mouth, if you don't want to, I can look for another one of your teammates, I'm sure they'd be more grateful than you...“ Teasing him with her words, she tried to make him agree to this, and she knew he would, after all, the obvious stares he gave her when he passed their training didn't go unnoticed by her. „I- yes, I want to... I've been wanting to shut your pesky mouth so much.“

Approaching the two figures on the bench, Mingi with a particularly harsh tug gripped her hair into a makeshift ponytail, tugging on it to make her look at him, as she was still seated on San's lap, clenching around his length in her. Parting her lips for him obediently as he tugged down the same team sweatpants San previously had. Mingi and San locked eye contact, it was as if they communicated thanks to it since they started moving unexpectedly for her, in the same pace and rhythm, their movements synchronised. As San started thrusting from underneath her, his arms gripping around her to pull her back closer to his chest, hands fondling with her breasts, as he lightly pinched and twirled her purplish turning nipples. Mingi's grip tightened around her hair, allowing him to control her better as she bobbed her head on his dick at a rapid pace. Tears were forming in her eyes as he bucked his hips deeper into her, the tip of his dick hitting the back of her throat.

„Fuck, your mouth is taking me so well, should have fucked you sooner if I knew it'd be this easy. Such a good cock-sucker you are, I guess we should reward you with making you cum.“ Leaning closer to her, Mingi's hand reached to the place where Y/N and San connected. Parting her lips as she was sinking down on San's cock, his thumb played with her sensitive clit. Twirling and pinching the bundle of nerves between his fingers, he pressed onto it, adding to the pleasure Y/N was feeling. The moans that were meant to leave her mouth were muffled by Mingi's cock in her mouth, the vibration bringing him closer to his high as the bucking of his hips got irregular. The same goes for the twitching cock of the older boy in her core.

The both of them didn't stop their movements trying to reach the well-deserved orgasm. Y/N shaking uncontrollably on San's lap as the tip of his dick grazed against her g-spot and Mingi's work on her clit pulled an orgasm out of her. San emptied himself into the condom when Mingi filled Y/N's mouth full of his seed. Some droplets of it, leaking out of her mouth and running down her chin as she swallowed the rest of his cum. All three of them breathing heavily from the intense session they went through in the team's changing room.

San's cocky voice was the first one to break the comfortable silence. „Fuck, this was a hell of a celebration. Why don't we arrange something with the other boys next time? I think they'd love it. Maybe I should make you ride my abs and the I'll let the boys have as many rounds with you, as the number it takes you to get yourself off on my abs...“

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ellitx · 3 years

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Chapter 7: Animosity

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

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A song of a humming tune drifted with the winds as Venti strolled down the town square of the city of Mond, taking a look around the various displays of outfits behind the window of a boutique shop. His eyes landed on the mannequin donned with a simple dress.

The corner of his lips tugged upwards as he placed a finger on his chin to take a closer look at the said dress. Pure white, cotton soft, short skirt, and a sleeveless dress? He would’ve run in there, put out his wallet, and buy it in one go— that is if he had the money to pay for it.

It was a perfect dress for you to show your marked skin to him. He’ll let his fingers falter behind those soft skin, watching you squirm from his sensual touches while the tips move dangerously close to your thighs as he lifts the skirt up.

The male grumbled to himself that he could only watch behind the glass window, the mannequin mocking him he can’t afford to buy it for you. Curse this boutique and its expensive price.

Maybe he could try to bargain with the shopkeeper? Surely his songs would work on them. Who would ever say no to the harmonious and dulcet of his voice accompanied by the cords of his instrument? Not to mention he’s the three-time winner of the most popular bard of Mondstadt.

The chiming of the bell reached an employee’s ears as he pushed the door open, greeting them with a big smile. And there he was, the various outfits displayed everywhere, the pieces of jewelry shimmering under the light, the welcoming expression that was graced to him filled him with anticipation.

Venti wandered each aisle, taking in the softness of each fabric from his fingertips, letting his brain think of which clothes suit you. To him, each of them absolutely matches your figure but his eyes still remained onto that one dress from the retail display.

And so when he asked the manager if he would like to settle on the agreement, he already found himself standing outside of the shop. He owlishly blinked and looked over his shoulder only for the door to slam right in front of his face. The sun’s rays cut him off from his distracted state as they were burning his skin, quickly hiding under the shadows of the roof before glaring back to the unaware man who just kicked him out.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance and huffed his chest at his failed attempt. If bargaining was not the answer then stealing it should be the deal. Before he could start planning, the sound of his name being uttered out halted him from continuing his scheme.

“Venti?”

The said male turned his head to the owner of the voice, his teal eyes lighting up at the sight of Mondstadt’s hero. “Oh? If it isn’t the Honorary Knight. What brings your presence here, dear traveler?” He questioned with a small smile adorning his face.

“Thought it would be the Tone-Deaf Bard, hmph.” The familiar voice of the flying pixie had already irked the bard as he refrained himself from grabbing her behind Aether.

“And I see your little companion is with you as well.”

“Hey!”

His deadpanned eyes flashed to the traveler before changing it back to normal and questioned him once more. “It’s a surprise to see you here. I thought you would be in Liyue to continue your journey.” Aether scratched his cheek as he threw a sheepish laugh at him whilst he looked at Paimon.

“Well, Paimon said that Ludi Harpastum will be held in here so I was curious to see what it’s all about.” The aforementioned festival caught Venti’s attention as his ears perked up at the well-known celebration that has always been feasting in the city of freedom.

Though, he did wonder why he mentioned it. It’s still far away before it will be held. “So you’re curious about this festival, eh?” The bard approached him and placed a hand on his hip, leaning forward to study the Honorary Knight.

Aether furrowed his brows at the inquisitive boy, taking a step back when he was getting a little bit too close from his comfort space. When a smirk appeared on his face, he already knew he’s going to be in one of his shenanigans. “I can tell you all the details about it but in one condition!”

“Whatever that is, I will have to decline it.” The blonde responded immediately much to Venti’s surprise. “H-hey, come now! I still haven’t said what it’s going to be…” The latter entwined his arms while he grumbles at his rapid dismissal.

It’s not fair if Aether still hasn’t lent his ears to him to listen and know what this bargain would be. Just a little more convincing act should suffice so he could comply with his words, right?

—

The lake-side air was mild with a fragrance of cecilias. With a calmness from its core to the ripples that danced the lake, it reflected the blue sky as the most sincere of smiles. The deep hue of the waters became the poetic song of the light that played upon it wind-dancing ruffles.

The universal garden has evolved over the years with Dvalin guarding the den of nature. You relaxed your body against him, feeling your soul caress in such a nurturing safety. This place is your sanctuary and you made sure to plant all the kinds of flora to enhance its beauty with nature.

The dragon shifted a bit in his place when he saw you opened your mouth to create a perfect wordless melody. It was hypnotizing and alluring. He remembered the Anemo Archon did say that your voice is a beauty of its own.

The heavenly voice gliding with the breeze calmed him down as he placed his head on the ground, grasping the notes inside his head that was almost like how he first heard the strumming of Barbatos’s lyre.

The Anemo archon’s words are true. Your voice is indeed the sound of an angel, one that can cure any poison that keeps on growing. So feathery, like a bundle of soft clouds engulfing him to the land of nod.

Your fingers continue to tie the stems of the flowers, connecting them to create a crown. You can never see flowers too many times, you can never tire of their sweet fragrance. Each one is a delicate bloom, no matter if it’s from the wild or the garden. You appreciate Venti’s thoughts of amassing flowers for you, to create a garden you never asked for.

After finishing the last knot, you’ve placed it over Dvalin’s nose, waking him. His eyes crossed at the small garland, huffing at the sight of it before swaying his head to place it over yours.

Mirthful tittering was what he heard, a sound that is full of life and gentleness that he never expected for a human like you to possess. He despised mortals because they’ve abandoned him. He yearned to be loved and understood by who he is and what he protects.

But now, he appreciates that you enjoy his presence and that you even stay and play with him. The dragon drifted back to sleep, enjoying the brushing of your hand against his scaly skin.

“You know, I was wondering if Venti takes care of you very well.” Your eyes softened as you stroke his nose. “If he doesn’t, I’ll make sure to scold him.”

You were sure you thought Dvalin snorted at what you have said. His wings flapping a bit before it eased back down. “Hm? Was that supposed to be a yes or a no?” You were peculiar by his strange behavior. You received no answer aside from the little heckled he did.

His apathetic demeanor did pique your interest. Venti had said he was a curious and friendly dragon, now you assume what he said was just contradicting. You weren’t peeved at all or anything. It just amused you.

Almost reminding you of a certain friend.

“Barbatos and you would get along very well. I don’t know how much the two of you would make fun of me.” You flashed him a half-smile and there was a hint of warmth in it that instantly caught his attention.

He never noticed he’s been staring at you for a good minute when you continue to hum a lullaby. “Barbatos and I are a good acquaintance,” Dvalin stated and he was quite entertained with the look of surprise currently painted over your face.

“Y-you know Barbatos?” You stammered, dropping down the flower crown. He simply nodded and continued to doze off though it was disrupted when you went closer to him and poked his snout.

“Do you know where he is?” A restless question, he observed. He peered at you nonchalantly then bobbed his head as a silent answer. Your eagerness to know where the little wisp was brimmed you with excitement and respite. However, before you could continue to further inquire, the dragon let out a loud groan and toppled his hand over your body causing you to fall down on the ground with a scream.

The sudden blow to you made you squirm against his hold and cry at the heavy pressure. “D-Dvalin…!” Seems like this dragon wanted to play with you, huh. If that’s what he wants then so be it. Before you could counter his tactics, he put more pressure onto you holding you back on the ground.

You pried his hand away but much to your dismay he won’t even budge one bit. You can only do nothing but groan in your ongoing predicament that this dragon only wanted his sleep.

Wait…

You gazed at the slumbering dragon then back to the sky. Maybe you should continue humming? He did look like he enjoyed listening to your song. And once he’s unconscious you can finally get out from his grasp. The possibility of a successful attempt is fifty-fifty. You never know if Venti is telling the truth when he told you that Dvalin has been longing to listen to you sing to him. He was probably exaggerating it too much.

Well, it’s worth a shot if he really did— even though you’ve already sung countless times. Humming, you caressed his claw and closed your eyes letting yourself get lost in your own melody. Your hum has carefree happiness in it; something soft in those notes as they fall into the drowsy air around him.

Finally, his grasp lightened a little that allowed you to move a bit as you wriggle out. A small sigh evoked from you once you paused your lulled song. You stared at the sleeping dragon, absently drawing questions the more you look at him.

Longing for my song…? How many years have I been asleep then?

Venti had never told you the number of years he’s been waiting for you to be awake. You don’t even know what year it is today. You knitted your brows when you stare at your hand, rotating it to see if there was any difference.

Maybe around two or three years…? There weren’t any changes in Venti’s appearance— well except for that faded cyan hair in the ends of his braids, that was the only obvious difference you can catch. As for you, your hair grew a lot longer than ever that reached below your hips.

Good thing your hair tie was still with you so you can tie it up in a simple braid. You glance back over your shoulder to see the exit of the ruin. Perhaps a little exploration can help you search for answers? Venti still hasn’t come back yet from his…

Now that you think about it, you honestly don’t know where he went off to…

You rose from your seat and straightened your dress. If you said you weren’t nervous to leave the ruins would be a pathetic lie. It’s the first time you’ll step foot outside this area. Were your father’s words really true when he said it’s dangerous?

But Venti was yearning to see the birds fly and the clear sky ever since; he was seeking freedom that’s why he rebelled against Decarabian. It’s obvious the rebels won in this war and had finally gained the liberation they’ve always wanted, yet why are you still hesitating to leave this place to see the outside world?

You feel like a small lump was sitting in your throat as you took a step forward. You shouldn’t be scared. Andrius’s snowstorm has already subsided. The bitter coldness is nowhere to be seen and it’s safe to continue moving forward, right?

Ah, if only Barbatos was here with you, the two of you could venture together. You can already hear the hysterical jingling noises if he tries to stop you from going further. You sighed once more and shook your head. You shouldn’t be relying on them anymore, if you’re seeking answers then you have to do it by yourself by any means.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed your body as your bare feet touched the lithic ground. Benign, gentle and soft, the wind zoomed past you whilst your hair fluttered along with it. Instead of feeling what you assumed of a bitterly cold air, only a refreshing breeze swayed towards your direction, manipulating your limbs to conform to its perfect dance.

Your face lighted up that it could even beat the sun’s own brightness of a smile thus abandoning your body to the merriment of the vast space stretching into the horizon. You stretched out your arms and allowed the warm rays to kiss your skin, the warmth that heated up your body in a placid manner. It didn’t scorch you. Perfect was the only description you could use to describe the sun’s heat.

A spark of excitement comes roaring to you into the purr of anticipation. You wanted to explore more, watch the birds fly and the ocean waves on the sands— to enjoy the freedom even more.

There was a flare in your head... the good sort. The type that carries more possibilities than you could be conscious of, though there were hundreds of ideas there in that buzz of electricity.

You could feel it.

It was the calling of adventure, of paths awaiting your feet.

Whatever was ahead could be a great challenge, and there could be fear in you, but it was your adventure to take and so you smiled. The answers would come, probably when you least expected it, so you proceeded to follow the path and let your feet lead you to who knows where.

This world is quite astonishing, you were even utterly speechless to see the beauty of it. When you are most awake, most present in the moment, every sense of nature converges into a single energetic joy. It’s as if there’s a feeling between each living thing, a bond that is tangible and blended, a melody beyond the range of ears but available for the heart.

And so, each of the leaves moves in the wind, a part of you does also. You caught a little slime following after you, it didn’t seem hostile since it could’ve attacked you from behind. You never bothered to shoo it away as it was too cute for your liking, the small wings on its side reminded you a lot of Barbatos.

A small company wouldn’t hurt and it feels safer to have someone tag along with you. It jumped around you and even started to nuzzle your leg. There are too many cute creatures in here! First, it was your little wisp, then it was the dragon, and now a cute anemo slime?!

Your heart would already burst from these lovely beings that are so attached to you. You paused in your tracks when you felt the winds are a bit colder than before. The air was bitter and cruel against your flushed cheeks, it nipped your neck and chilled you to the bone.

You wrapped your arms around yourself to produce heat, it wasn’t the best source but it’s the least you can do to warm yourself. As each step you took to observe the area, the gales increased in intensity.

So cold, almost like the biting chills of the winter snow. The ill winds continued howling, challenging the trees. You’re unsure if there are nearby foes lurking in here. You also lost sight of the slime now that you’ve looked around.

You’re sure you’re in a forest, though you don’t know what your current location is. Blue particles scattered in the air that allured you to follow it. It ached your bare feet when you pushed yourself to move along the cold ground. One would already plan they’ll go back and leave this area, but your curiosity got the best of you.

You were too stubborn to leave and wanted to know where you are right now. When you sensed a stony surface, your body stiffened at the intense drop of temperature. You shivered and looked around, alarmed at the rustling noises of the bushes.

“Hello…?”

Your voice merely echoed in the arena. No response, no noises, no silhouettes can be seen. There’s nothing to see here anyway, it’s best to go back to the ruins. As you turned around, sharp blue eyes glared through you, making you halt in place.

A shrill howl pierced through the eerie field. It cracked through your eardrums and ruffled your hair at the loud noise. You covered your ears at the ear-splitting sound and took a step back to run away.

Before you could, a colossal wolf had cornered you. Its piercing eyes are staring right through your soul that brought your feet cold to the ground, unmoving. A rough and gruff voice cut you off from your panicked state— commanding and loud that your whole body stiffened like a stature.

“Who dares trespass in this land to which I awaken?”

—

“Well, that settles it! I greatly appreciate your cooperation with me, traveler.” Venti gave Aether a mocking bow which he just simply rolled his eyes at his antics. Paimon groaned and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at the bard.

“Sheesh, you just wanted us to buy clothes for you? Who is it even for anyway?”

“A curious one, are you? If you wish to know the answer, how about you go and pursue it?”

The pixie’s mouth had gone hard as irritation surged up inside her. Oh, how she wished she could plummet that annoying smile onto the ground to erase it from his face. A smirk emerged on Venti’s visage, placing his arms behind his head whilst whistling a random tune.

“If you really wish to know, it’s a fair maiden of mine.” The dark-haired male then twirled and gave a salute to them, bidding:

“Off I go now! As she waits for me to fulfill my perpetual vow.”

Before Aether could stop him, the boy already went off without looking back at them. The blonde heaved a sigh and rubbed his head watching his figure slowly disappear from afar. It piqued his interest when Venti mentioned this fair maiden. He remembered the archon once mentioned that to him back then.

He couldn't put his finger on it when he told him about it. He can only grumble and just put the idea aside, focusing back on his current task.

“Huh, I don’t remember the Tone-Deaf Bard having a lover,” Paimon remarked as she floated above his head. She then took a look at her companion and huffed her chest whilst placing her small hands on her hips. “And you! You shouldn’t let him off like that easily! We’ll be in trouble again when he said he wanted to steal the clothes from that shop, hmph.”

Aether released a nervous laugh and shrugged his shoulders. “At least we get to know more about Ludi Harpastum, right?” He defended. Venti’s knowledge about the said festival is enough for him to know the primary information. However, it’s still far away. It’ll be held ten days from now and he should continue searching for information about his sister.

As much as he wanted to enjoy it too, his main priority is to look for her. Maybe the festival will help him gain more information about Teyvat and expand more clues about it.

Venti swayed his arms back and forth simultaneously with the bag swinging from his hold. His legs carried him to his destination to meet you back in the ruins. He was really excited to show you his gift for you and he’s absolutely sure you’d love it. Sure he really loves your current outfit but it’s better to wear something new right?

He could also play with your hair and find a new hairstyle that could match the dress. Perhaps a braid should do? Definitely. Braids do suit you very well. He nodded to himself at that idea with a smile plastered on his face.

Reaching his journey’s end, he immediately jogged to the garden to where you and Dvalin are. The physique of the dragon enlarged the closer he gets though his smile faltered when there was no sight of your familiar figure sleeping next to him.

Missing. Missing since who knows how long now.

He can’t find a sign of you, anything that brings him the comfort of home. He takes in every detail no matter how small, any chance of finding your trail is better than nothing at all. Everything went still and it furthered his anxiety more than he could imagine.

It came like a storm in his brain that it’s too painful for him. It’s different from a headache and it feels the same as intense sorrow— most likely a frozen panic with nowhere to find you. His mind was engulfed with negative thoughts about you getting hurt.

He felt his chest burning hot, and not metaphorically. The fiery soreness in his skin bit him like a harsh storm. It intensified even more and he could faintly smell bitterness in the breeze. His eyes widened in panic and realization you were in danger. Fear and horror filled his senses— your senses. The dread coming from you alarmed him, instincts kicking in to tell him to find you.

Now’s not the time to just stay still and panic. He needs to search for you. Now.

—

“Who dares trespass in this land to which I awaken?”

The gruff voice made your whole body stiff that it growled and leaned forward close to you. You were immobilized to the spot, the intimidating ambiance holding you in a crushing grasp. You took two small steps backward to put distance between the two of you.

You wanted to run for safety, but your feet wouldn’t allow you to do so. The wolf’s eyes sharpened even more and bared his teeth once he took in the familiar scent you have. He very much knows this scent.

Indeed it was very familiar to him and he hates it. He despises it so much that he knows it very well. It was the smell of the former Anemo Archon of Mondstadt. The God of Storms.

“You dare trespass the land of wolves, mortal?” His voice sounded more commanding than a question. Pulse beating in your ears that blocked out all the other sounds. You can only focus on the intense glare of the silver wolf.

Sweat poured down the sides of your face as you stayed still possible. Your lips trembled and you didn’t dare to let out a single word. You gulped down your fear and took another step backward.

“Discerning to the scent you have,” Boreas circled around you. You can closely observe the white fur all over his body. The stance is intimidating and enormous, you fear being crushed by that claws he has instead of Dvalin’s.

“What is your relation with that foolish tyrant?”

Tyrant…?

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

He scoffed at your words, a look of great bitterness swept across his face. “Deceit will not work. State your business and pray tell why are you here, Decarabian.” The freezing air seemed to slither up and down your body. Your feet getting numb due to the intense coldness of the ground.

He seems to know who your father is, however you do not have the slightest clue to who he is. The air was biting cold, every breath showed as a white plume of white steam. You pulled your arms closer to you to fight back the fierce frostbite.

“Who are you? How… how do you know about father?” Your voice shudders as you struggle to release the words. You can scarcely hear yourself breathe. You shivered from the wind that entwines your body and you know it irked him— he was displeased with the fact you don’t know what he’s talking about.

“Are you naive or simply ignorant?

“…”

No words left from your lips. You could only stare at his cold glare, cowering back in fear. “If you are indeed his kin, he must’ve told you nonsense lies didn’t he?” Just what in the world is he talking about? You furrowed your brows at his cryptic messages, slightly bothered by it as each second passed by. Is he one of the rebels against your father?

“He’s— he’s already gone… Do you have a grudge against him?”

Boreas raised his lips and growled at you. A loud, piercing sound came from his muzzle, echoing throughout the forest.

“Do you not have the slightest idea of what he did? And you, you are one of his kind. Is it not better to annihilate you this instant to put an end to his perilous acts? One must know how treacherous he was.”

Annihilate? Is he going to kill you? The sudden shock made your muscles tensed, the color quickly draining from your face at the thought of being slaughtered by this wolf. You whimpered and your legs collapsed underneath you.

You wanted to scream but you can’t find in yourself to have the courage to do so. Your hands were shaking, so uncontrollable that it trembled in an odd rhythm. A feeling of dread crept up to the pit of your stomach. You don’t want to be dead. You don’t want to be killed. You still wanted to live.

Your chin quivered. You feel your eyes brimming with tears. Flood of tears gushing down your cheeks in fear and horror when he raised his paws ready to attack you. The beast had long known that the key to a lasting victory was not to hit the enemy where they are weak but to make their strength to destroy them.

You shut your eyes tight waiting for the impact to come. You didn’t want to die yet, you made a promise with Venti you’ll stay with him. What if he discovers you’re gone? You can only pray to the archons and the Celestia begging to let them spare you. It’s such a pitiful wish, after all, you can do nothing about it but plead.

For a moment you felt a strong surge of wind greeting your skin, feeling blessed to have felt it. The careless currents flow through the woodland canopy, unaware of how its song soothes those who can hear but has the faintest of mania in it.

You have always thought of the wind as so free, chaotic even, yet it too has its own path, even if there are infinite possible destinations. A drive of despair and fury that powers onwards.

You opened your eyes and saw a familiar silhouette in front of you. Green cape fluttered along with the air with an arm extending outwards to you in a protective manner. You took a long, long look at the figure before blinking.

“Venti…?”

“What in the world are you going to do with her, Boreas?”

The bard’s voice was implacable, so vindictive, it sent shivers down to your spine. He became a different person. His eyes had narrowed towards the wolf, flaring with fierce animosity. His eyes held a different mode in his brain, that he had switched gears from empathy to cold emotional difference.

Never once has he directed this anger to anyone, yet it emerges when he senses a threat, and so this is part of a full-on protective state. His softer self has taken a backseat and the hero has the wheel.

You watched in silence among their glaring disputes until the boy carefully approached you. He placed a hand on your cheek, caressing the softness of your skin as he brushed the dried tears away. You flinched when you notice how dark his eyes are.

Terror washed over you, the fine hairs on the back of your neck rising on how cold his hands are. You were supposing his gentle hold will bring comfort to you, not fear. It’s like he became a different person. It wasn’t the usual amiable and affectionate Venti you know very well. You can sense how ruthless his aura is— you don’t know why and you’re scared to know behind it.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

His voice cut you out from your train of thoughts. Your brows knitted together as your lips shuddered— is it from coldness? Or was it in fright? No sound came from your throat, you could only give him a slow shake of your head as an answer.

You hadn’t noticed the goosebumps creeping up on your arms until now. Your body jolted in surprise when you feel yourself being carried. You grabbed on his shoulders and looked at him in utter bewilderment. His face was still distant and emotionless. His hand reached for the back of your head and pushed you down until your face was obscured on his shoulder.

“You should be protecting citizens of Mondstadt. Not harm them.” Venti began, holding you tightly against him. Boreas’ face scrunched up at his words whilst he gave the bard a dirty look.

“And you’re simply letting her off to wander the city? How utterly shameless of an Archon you are.” Though the beast’s voice was threatening and harsh, Venti never faltered. He stood still and just glared back.

His hand tightened into fists and looked away from him. He shouldn’t waste his energy on the wolf-leader. His current focus is on you and needs to check if you’re hurt somewhere.

He never felt so much rage as when pushed into passivity against his will. It was like the vexing of the soul for what he felt was not human, it was twisted and distorted but it was something strong. He held himself back and walked away without sparing Boreas another glance.

Your hold on him went firm. He can see how scared you are meeting the Dominator of the Wolves. You could’ve gotten badly hurt if not for his powers to put an immediate stop on Boreas attack. If he hadn’t arrived there in time, you would’ve been slaughtered in front of his eyes.

Such thought brought a boiling fury that swelled inside of him. It burned so bad like fire lacing his veins and creeping up to his spine, his skin was a sore looking red but all he could feel was desire; a desire to hate.

He was intoxicated with emotion he had no intention of ever feeling, the acidity residing in his stomach waiting to be spat out of his mouth is foul and vulgar words he would be stared at for saying, except he wasn’t going to say them. He didn’t want to scare you any further at his sudden change in behavior. He wanted to make you feel safe around him— clinging to him as you can only rely on him and no else.

He had searched for you for time out of mind. He had searched in ways that stretched the fabric of reality and challenged the edges of the possible. Now that he has found you, believe him, he can and will keep you safe.

#genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact venti x reader #yandere venti x reader #venti x reader #yandere genshin x reader #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #yandere #yandere genshin #genshin impact reader insert #genshin impact venti #venti #elliwrites #Illusory Sense

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cinnonym · 3 years

Text

of all the trees that are in the wood

Written for Day 5 - Lights/Decorations of 12 Days of Supercorp @supercorpbb

Read on AO3

***

Five feet five is a perfectly reasonable height, Lena thinks. Of course, everyone wishes to be taller sometimes, but then again, shortness does have its advantages sometimes.

Or, not shortness. Medium height.

She likes to think that not standing six feet tall makes her much more versatile. For example, if she wants to be seen, she can wear high heels. And if she doesn’t, she can blend into the crowds with flat shoes. Tall people do not have that luxury.

Or, not tall people. Taller people.

Anyway, Lena’s height has never really bothered her before. She doesn’t have the sort of problems that other people her height might face. High shelves in the supermarket do not annoy her, because she rarely goes grocery shopping for herself anyway. When she goes to see a play at the theatre, she sits in the first row reserved for benefactors. And, of course, there are the aforementioned heels that have helped her brave many a challenging situation.

So really, five five is a perfectly reasonable height.

The Christmas tree is just unreasonably tall.

And it’s her fault, she supposes, for promising Kara they’d buy her favourite tree in the whole nursery before they had even got there. Like, she should have known Kara would choose the single most extravagant tree in sight, expanding and so viciously pricky that only a person with impenetrable skin would ever consider taking it indoors. Even the retailer gave her a doubtful side glance as she pointed it out to him, and Lena swears she’s heard him cursing under his breath when he logged it for them.

But alas, it is very hard to say no to Kara. And so here Lena is, with half her living room occupied by a gigantic Nordmann fir and no way to reach past its lower half.

For the record, she has tried heels. She has tried a stool. She has tried the stool and heels, but that goddamn tree is so wide that she’s only scratched her legs in the process.

So now Lena has adopted drastic measures.

She doesn’t store much tech at her penthouse, but the day Lena Luthor cannot whip up a little drone from scratch is the day the family name perishes for good. The tongs are a little harder to construct., They have to be thick enough to support the lines necessary for remote control, but they also need to move precisely and delicately so they don’t shatter the ornaments. Lena experiments a little with tinsel first, and only moves on to baubles and porcelain after she’s managed to hang the golden threads in perfectly parallel lines.

By then, night has fallen without Lena so much as paying it a second thought. The blinking lights of the city illuminate the room enough to steer the drone, and that is all she needs really, to keep going. ‘Rabbit hunts’ is what Kara likes to call these periods of intense concentration that Lena regularly experiences, after Alice in Wonderland, following the white rabbit down its hole. Lena prefers to think of them as focus marathons.

Like they are actually training for her brain, and not an unhealthy habit that she’s picked up at college.

Anyway, this time Lena also has an ulterior motive to her urgency to be done with the tree. For one thing, she likes the idea of surprising Kara with a fully decorated living room when she comes home from working late today. Lena imagines how it will go down approximately like this: One, the sound of the key in the door, just as Lena finishes dissembling her embarrassing little make-shift drone. Two, Kara’s cheerful voice from the hallway, letting Lena know that she’s back. Three, Lena opening the door to the living room with her specially practised Secret-Santa-smile. Four, Kara lighting up in the way only Kara can, eyes shining, cheeks glowing, mouth forming a delighted ‘o’. Five, kisses, probably. Everybody is happy.

For another thing, and it makes Lena grumble just to think about it, she doesn’t want Kara to know she’s had trouble because of her height. Like, it is easy to be proud of five feet five when she is alone and blissfully unaware. It is considerably harder when her five feet eight girlfriend sweeps in to steal the show.

Not that she doesn’t like these three inches Kara has on her, she does, oh, she does.

She just doesn’t want Kara to be all too aware of them.

And so she continues manoeuvring her remote-controlled helper, puts up stars and angels and real candles, because she lives with a superhero, who can nip any potential danger in the bud. At one point it does get a little dark in the room, and she cheerfully flies to the light switches, turns them on with a skilful flick of her tongs.

She doesn’t notice the figure looming in front of her window scurry away at the sudden blaze of light. She doesn’t see it settle down in the air a bit further away, watching her go about her decoration. She doesn’t hear the wind carry its laughter as she becomes a little boisterous towards the end, flies helixes and somersaults with the final pieces.

The sudden knock on her balcony doors consequently startles her enough that she drops her remote control and the drone tumbles to the floor. There is a heart-wrenching crunch as it breaks in two, but Lena barely hears it. She’s swivelled around to look right into the eyes of the very person she’s tried to hide from.

Kara grins right back.

“Hey,” she shouts through the glass, motioning towards the tree that is only lacking the final star on the top at this point, “May I help you with that?”

And Lena knows, reads it in the amused curve of Kara’s lips, the tilt of her head, that Kara has been witnessing enough that hiding the drone is unnecessary. She curses under her breath, but moves to let Kara in.

“Would you believe me if I said it was for science?” She says, accepting Kara’s cloak and welcome kiss like a stay-at-home girlfriend. It’s worth a try.

But “Nope” Kara replies promptly, popping the p. She’s surveying the tree with an appreciative gleam in her eye. “Your robot did good work.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Lena agreed, with a regretful glance at the heap of wire and metal on the floor. Then she directs her attention back to the still naked tip of the tree. Noticing with no small amount of glee that it’s too high up for even Kara to reach it without help, she gestures. “How – “

She doesn’t have time to finish before Kara scoops her up.

“As I said,” she whispers into Lena’s ear, floating on the spot while Lena carefully pins the star to the branch, “Let me help you with that.”

#rip to 'marvel the drone'#yours was a life short-lived but purposeful #supercorp #sc fanfic #supercorp fanfiction #supergirl #christmas #christmas fic #my writing #decorations #sc

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earth-ambassador-jim · 4 years

Text

Lost Souls: Story 5

Breaking Point and a Step Forward

Summary: Merlin finally pushes Jim too far and Jim makes a friend.

~~~~

@twistedmashup I hear it was your birthday yesterday! So since I’m still blaming you for starting this AU: have a chapter!

~~~~

(Chapter warnings: Abuse and brief suicidal ideation)

AO3 - Fanfiction

~~~~

Eli watched with bated breath as the small green creepers swarmed up the side of the building like grotesque frogs. He couldn’t believe his luck. All his previous attempts to spot them had only captured images of blurs and distant blobs on his camera, but this…

Eli’s hands shook as he lifted leveled his phone and a snapped a picture. Unfortunately he had forgotten to turn off the shutter sound. The creatures stiffened and started looking around at the click. One of them started sniffing the air and moving in his direction. Eli quickly covered his mouth and ducked down behind the bush.

Stupid!

This was exactly the kind of amateur mistake that got people killed in horror movies.

A sniffing noise was getting rapidly closer. It was just on the other side of the bush. It paused and he heard a raspy murmur that wasn’t human or animal.

He should probably run.

Before he could formulate a plan any farther than that, something wrapped around his waist and he was airborne.

He let out a shriek and the night burst into a cacophony of noise as the creepers came pouring over the bushes.

Fortunately whatever was carrying him was staying well ahead of them. Eli managed to twist around enough to see what was holding him and squeaked.

It was a big blue creeper, one of the stone ones. It had tusks and horns and a glowing suit of armor.

The creeper tightened its grip on him and jumped. All the air left Eli’s lungs. He didn’t get a chance to even try to suck in a breath before they touched down on a tree branch and the creeper was leaping again.

Eli whimpered as they shot from one perch to the next, only pausing long enough for his rescuer… or kidnapper?... to gather itself for another leap.

By the time they finally stopped, he was feeling sick. Eli leaned over and retched, losing the whole of his dinner on the ground behind the dumpster they were crouching behind.

“Sorry,” A quiet rumbling voice said.

Eli jumped and then his eyes widened with surprise as he realized it was the creeper that had spoken.

“You can talk… I mean you know English?” Eli asked forgetting his fear in the excitement of new discovery.

The creeper blinked and leaned back slightly, nose wrinkling as it stared at him. It was actually surprisingly humanoid, now that he got a chance to get a good look at it. Almost in an uncanny valley way, but not quite.

“…yes,” It said finally. “Why wouldn’t I be able to?”

“I’ve only been able to get close enough to hear the green creepers before,” Eli exclaimed. He was talking to an actual creeper! This was so cool! “They aren’t able to talk far as I can tell.”

“Creepers? Do you mean the goblins?”

“Is that what they are?!”

The armored creeper stared at him, before shaking its head.

“Come on, you need to go home. It’s not safe here.”

“But… but I have so many questions.” Eli stared at it pleadingly.

The creeper eyed him again.

“I can answer some on the way to your house…”

~~~~

Jim wasn’t sure what to think of the strange teenager he rescued from the goblin pack.

Despite almost being eaten and despite Jim being some sort of half-human, half-troll, monster, the gangly black-haired human -Who had at some point introduced himself as Elijah Pepperjack (“but everyone calls me Eli”)- was positively glowing with enthusiasm as he peppered Jim with questions.

Bemusement at the entire situation caused Jim to answer far more of them than he was really supposed to.

Eventually they reached the human’s house.

“You have keys right?” Jim asked, because there wouldn’t be much point in rescuing him only to leave him trapped outside his home.

Eli nodded and then dug around in his pocket for a moment before producing the aforementioned keys.

“Good,” Jim said. He gave him what he hoped was a firm authoritative stare. “Please don’t go out in the dark. I might not always be in time to save you. Have a good night.”

Jim turned toward the bushes and bent his legs, preparing to leap into the nearest tree.

“Wait!”

Jim paused and glanced back.

“I… I um…” Eli stammered. “I was wondering if you wanted to stay and like watch a movie or something?”

The Trollhunter blinked, it was one thing to accept a walk home from a creature that had protected him but to invite a troll into his house? Did Elijah Pepperjack have no self-preservation instincts?

Jim should have said no then. He’d already interacted with the human far more than he should. He glanced toward the woods and then toward the house. His ears flicked. Why was he still hesitating?

“My mom’s not home, so no one will see you,” Eli continued, looking up at him with wide pleading brown eyes.

Meaning he wouldn’t be showing himself to any new humans.

Jim wavered. It had been years since he’d gotten to watch a movie or do any normal human things. Merlin was out, so he didn’t really have to worry about when he arrived back at the cave.

He tapped his fingers against his thigh. His armor clinked.

But Arcadia…

Arcadia would be fine for a little. He had been close enough to the end of his patrol to see that Eli had been the only human about outside right now.

“Sure,” He said slowly.

Yeah he could work with this. He was making sure that Eli, the only human crazy enough to wander Arcadia at night, was staying indoors. That was totally doing his job, right?

“Really?!”

Jim’s lips twitched into an involuntary smile. Eli looked like he had been he’d been given a trip to Santa’s workshop for Christmas and just found out it was the real deal.

“Yeah, just tonight.”

One night wouldn’t hurt anything.

~~~~

“So this is where you’ve been disappearing to.”

Jim froze.

Merlin was standing in the shadows of the tree with his arms folded. His lips were drawn into a thin line.

Immediately a wave of guilt washed over him. He had only meant to hang out with Eli once but then… well… He’d had fun and Eli had had fun and he’d been invited back… and it would have been rude to refuse so he’d agreed to meet again … and that second visit had turned into a third and a fourth and…

And now he was here.

“Are... are you mad at me?” Jim asked carefully.

Merlin sighed. He pressed the tips of his fingers to his forehead and rubbed them in circles like he had a headache.

“I’m not mad just disappointed.” He sounded it too.

Jim flinched, ears pressing down.

Merlin turned away.

“Come,” He said. “We’re going home.”

He disappeared far into the darkness of the woods and, after a quick glance back at the house behind him, Jim followed.

The walk back to the caves occurred in relative silence. Honestly Jim wished Merlin would just yell at him or something. As it was, the calm emotionless expression on his mentor’s face left him tense and anxious.

“You know what you’ve done wrong,” Merlin stated when they were back in their abode.

“Yes,” Jim said, hanging his head slightly. “I showed myself to a human.”

Merlin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“A simple slip up is one thing, but you repeatedly visited this human.”

“…But he already knows about me and is keeping it secret,” Jim said softly. “You’re always busy and I…” He hesitated. “It’s nice to have someone to spend time with.”

Merlin huffed.

“You have your training and Snip.” The cat in question opened an eye at the mention of her name. “If that isn’t enough you can always go to Trollmarket, I’m sure they can find you something to do.”

Jim’s ears pressed against the side of his head. There was certainly always something for him to do at Trollmarket, Bagdwella at least made sure of that, but they didn’t really like or trust him there. He remembered how they had first reacted to him and despite pretending otherwise he heard the whispers.

Abomination.

They had to test him with a gaggletack to make sure he wasn’t a changeling before they’d even allow him to roam free. He’d barely been able to hide his flinch when the iron horseshoe had burned his skin, causing his magic to buzz anxiously as it tried to make him shift but couldn’t since his normal form was halfway between his other two. The trainers he’d been assigned where nice enough but…

“It’s just nice to have someone my age…”

Merlin stood up. The metal feet on his chair shrieked as they grated on the stone floor. Jim flinched at the sound.

“Come,” He said sharply and the half-troll quickly obeyed.

Merlin led him to the large cave that served as their training room. Jim stood stiffly in front of the door as the wizard shuffled around in a pile of props.

“Hmm… Ah yes! Here it is.”

He pulled out a straw dummy and set it in the middle of the room.

“So you want to spend time with this… Elijah Pepperjack,” Merlin said. Jim twitched in surprise. How long had Merlin known about his visits to have found Eli’s full name? “I’ve warned you before that it’s too dangerous but it seems I should expect you to go against my advice anyway.”

Jim opened his mouth to protest but stopped when Merlin kept speaking.

“If you want to persist in this… this dalliance I suppose I can’t stop you, but I must make sure you know what you are getting into.”

He turned to the side and gestured.

“Let’s pretend that this training dummy is your human friend.”

Merlin raised his hand and Excalibur materialized in it. The lights of the crystals glinted off the blade and his armor casting motes of light on the floor.

“Defend him from me.”

“What?!”

“Come Trollhunter, show me how well you can protect someone.”

With that Merlin lunged with his sword toward the training dummy. Jim felt his adrenaline surge as he managed to just barely summon his armor in the nick of time. He threw Daylight, deflecting Excalibur and buying him enough time to get between Merlin and Eli… the training dummy.

The wizard didn’t wait for him to recover his sword and lunged forward slicing at Jim with rapid two-handed strokes. Jim was still somewhat off guard and couldn’t rally his concentration enough to resummon Daylight. He managed to call his shield and held it up to fend off the blows and tried to push Merlin back.

“Come,” Merlin snarled impatiently at him. “I’ve trained you better than this.”

Merlin caught the shield with one of his arm-blades. The next stoke of his sword hit the amulet. Jim staggered, disoriented, as the blue light flickered. Murmurs of distant voices whispered in his ears and his armor vanished. Merlin took advantage and dealt a fast two handed stroke against him. He cried out as it cut into his arm.

Excalibur’s magic burned and Jim dropped to his knees clutching at the wound with a pained snarl.

Too late he recognized the distraction. He forced himself to his feet in a panic, pulling his hand away from to wound to summon Daylight…

And stopped.

Excalibur was sticking out from the chest of the training dummy.

Jim stared blankly at it.

“See?” Merlin said.

He strode over to the dummy and pulled the sword out with a sharp tug, spilling straw across the floor.

“If that had been a human, he would have been dead,” Merlin continued in his lecture tone. “Ours is not world for mere humans. Do you think your enemies will hold back on you? Do you think they won’t hesitate to use friends against you?”

Jim shook his head. His voice seemed to have shriveled into a lump in his throat. His arm throbbed. He glanced down at it and saw a drop of blood trickle off the side of his arm fall onto the floor.

It felt like a vice was closing in on his ribcage.

He wanted to leave.

“Do you understand?” Merlin was asking.

“Yes,” Jim said quietly, voice barely audible. “May I go?”

“You may,” Merlin said. He sounded closer.

Jim flinched slightly when his… mentor laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I know this seems harsh, but I really do have your best interests in mind,” The man said softly. “The Trollhunter has always worked alone. It’s better that way. Now go take care of yourself.”

Jim listened silently, eyes still on the floor, as Merlin left the room.

The moment he was sure the wizard was really gone, he bolted for the door to the outside.

Jim wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up in a dumpster but he didn’t particularly care. It was in a secluded part of town, there was no humans, no trolls, and no Merlin there.

The reek of the trash was subdued in the gentle patter of the rain and the light from the lone streetlamp barely reached him here.

He curled into himself and started shaking. He didn’t have any real words for what he was feeling but it felt like hurt and emptiness and a blade lodged in his chest all at once.

He wanted other people to be safe, he really did. But idea of continuing to fight alone until he returned to dust or stone… or whatever a half-creature like him became… felt so… so pointless. It wasn’t just Merlin being against him being friends with Eli. It was Kanjigar’s death, and his mom being gone and Trollmarket’s cold reaction to his appearance and… and…

A pained sob tore itself out of his chest.

It hurt.

He just wanted it to be done.

He just wanted to rest.

The sound of footsteps jerked him out of his misery and he looked up to see a mop of red hair, now drenched with rainwater, and a familiar pair of blue eyes staring at him.

They widened as they met his.

Nemesis, champion of Morganna, seemed every bit as shocked to see him as he did her.

~~~~

Jim shifts slightly and the branch creaks under him. From his current position he can see through the widow of Elijah Pepperjack without the human spotting him. The teenager is currently sitting at his desk chewing on a pencil as he stares down at a book with furrowed brow. The warm light from his window stops just short of where Jim’s dark fingernails dig into the bark beneath him.

He shouldn’t even be here. He knows better than to ignore Merlin’s warnings. The wizard already has too many variables to deal with without Jim adding his own willfulness to the mix. Anyway, he’s really only looking out for Jim.

Jim knows that but…

But when he’d ran into Nemesis, he’d been ready to let her kill him. He’d seen her familiar face above him and been almost relieved. It wasn’t like he really had anything to live for after all.

And yet…

She hadn’t even tried. She had invited him to sit with her and patched the cut on his arm with an uncharacteristic gentleness. He hadn’t known what to do.

Then –in what was probably his most foolish decision ever- he’d asked her for advice.

She’d given it.

So here he is, contemplating the value of friendship based on the advice from an enemy.

Jim sighs and runs a hand over his face, ignoring the faint rasp of stone on stone.

This is insane. He should just leave. He’ll be putting Elijah in danger. There’s no way he can make sure that the human is always safe, not with the whole of Arcadia to protect.

He stands up and starts to turn away, but the warm glow of from the bedroom window draws him back.

“Do what's good for you, or you're not good for anybody,” Nemesis’ voice echoes in his memory.

The sincerity that he’d seen in her eyes causes a pang of something (something painful but almost sweet) to form in his heart. He just wants something outside of his duty… a chance to be someone outside of the Trollhunter. To be Jim again.

Can’t he be selfish just this once?

~~~~

Eli sits at his desk trying to work on his homework. He can’t focus. He’s been reading the same paragraph for the last hour but still isn’t sure what it says.

He makes a frustrated sound and throws himself back in his chair. It balances precariously on two legs as he shoves his glasses up and scrubs at his eyes.

“You’re losing it, Pepperjack,” He says reproachfully to himself. “Why would someone that cool want to be your friend anyway?”

“Eli!”

Eli looks up to see a blue face and glowing eyes staring in his window. He lets out a high pitched scream and topples over backwards.

“Eli! Are you all right?” His mom calls from downstairs.

“I’m fine!” He yells back. “Just tipped over my chair.”

“Again? You need to be more careful!”

Eli blushes but scrambles to his feet and quickly lunges forward to open his window.

“You came back!” He says, a hesitant, excited smile forming on his face as the blue creeper…. No, troll, he reminds himself… climbs into his room. He did come back. It had been weeks, Eli had started to think that he wasn’t going to.

“Yeah,” the Trollhunter says slowly.

He looks uncertain. His eyes dart from side to side before he turns around and closes the window behind him. He then closes the blinds for good measure.

“What… are you doing?” Eli asks hesitantly.

He’s never behaved this way before.

“We need to talk,” The Trollhunter says and Eli’s heart immediately plummets to his toes.

That phrase never leads to anything good.

“Wha… What do you want to talk about?” Eli’s voice sounds small.

He’d known that this whole thing was too good to last. Cool monster heroes like the Trollhunter weren’t the sort of people to be friends with nerdy nobodies like Eli.

The troll doesn’t seem to notice his hesitance. He picks up one of Eli’s model flying saucers and turns it around in his hands before putting it back and sitting cross-legged on Eli’s bed.

“You should sit down too.”

Eli obeys, the feeling of dread growing in his chest. The Trollhunter opens his mouth and Eli braces himself.

“I want to be friends,” He says, brows furrowed and expression grim.

Eli’s brain derails.

“Y-you do? But why…”

The expression and statement don’t really match.

“I need to explain some things first, so you know what you’re getting into,” He continues. “Then you can decide if you want to be friends.”

“Of course I want to…”

He is silenced by a sharp look.

“I told you when we first met that I was tasked with protecting Arcadia, right?”

Eli nods quietly. He certainly won’t be forgetting that meeting soon.

“There are a lot of people who aren’t particularly happy about that. In fact they would do anything… use anyone… to get to me…”

The troll looks down at his hand for a moment before clenching it into a fist. A soft growl rumbles from his throat, causing Eli to jump.

“If you decide to be friends with me… if anyone finds out… you, and your family, will be in danger. Do you understand?”

He continues going on to detail exactly what changelings and goblins and Bular are capable of. It was something he told Eli back when they first met and he was trying to discourage him from studying the supernatural. He sounds for all the world as if he’s trying to drive Eli off and he’s not entirely unsuccessful –the idea of putting his mom in danger doesn’t sit well with Eli- but as he’s talking the troll starts to slowly curl in on himself. His gaze drafts downward to study his clenched hand. He looks scared and lost.

“…Merlin thinks it’s a bad idea,” The Trollhunter is saying. His ears press low against the sides of his head.

Eli takes a deep breath and forcibly swallows down the lump in his throat.

“hey…” He tries to get the troll’s attention, but he isn’t quite loud enough. “Hey!”

The troll flinches and looks up.

“You said it was my choice if I wanted to be your friend right?” Eli asks.

The troll nods.

“I… I admit all this stuff sounds scary,” He says and his voice is shaking. Honestly he’s never been able to stand up to Steve let alone a monster like Bular but… “But it sounds like you’re lonely and I don’t really have any friends either and…” His voice cracks and he coughs a little and squares his shoulders. “And I want to try. You said a Trollhunter never gives up right?”

The troll nods again slowly.

“So if the problem is me being in danger then maybe...”

Eli hesitates thinking for a moment before an idea comes to him.

“Maybe you could teach me to defend myself! Then you won’t have to worry about always being there to protect me.

And maybe he could help out in protecting Arcadia. Eli thinks that sounds really cool, but he decides not to say anything yet on that. He doubts the Trollhunter will accept his help.

The troll’s blue eyes widen for a moment and then a hesitant smile forms across his face.

“That’s… that’s a good idea.” His shoulders relax slightly and his ears are back up. “That way I won’t have to worry as much about you investigating something and getting into trouble either.”

He gives Eli a hopeful look.

“So you really would do this?”

“Yes.” Eli says. He’s feeling a little cheesy so he holds out his hand. “Let’s be friends, Trollhunter.”

The troll cocks his head but takes the hand and squeezes it. His eyes study Eli’s face for a moment.

“Jim…” He says softly. “My name’s James Lake, but friends call me Jim,”

“Cool, I’m Eli,” Eli says and then blushes, rubbing at his hair. “Buuuut… you already knew that…”

The Trollhunter… Jim… (Eli’s new friend!) chuckles at that.

“Don’t worry about it.” He pauses, a serious look flickering across his face. “Though for future reference, you really shouldn’t just give your name to unfamiliar magical beings.”

“Why’s that?” Eli asks.

“For one thing, it makes it easy for other people to find your house… but in the right hands… well a name can be a weapon. Fae and some witches can use names to control people.”

“Oh,” Eli says with a shiver. “Is that why you didn’t tell me your name at first.”

Jim nods.

A warm feeling appears in his chest. That means that Jim trusts him.

“Thanks for telling me then,” He says.

“Thank-you for inviting me in,” Jim responds, sincerity shining in his eyes. “You don’t know how much it means to me.”

~~~~

Author Notes:

This is really the center-point of the plot. It happens before and after the events of the first chapter. I was going to do the two parts of this chapter separate but I decided I wanted to keep them together. (Partially because I didn't want to leave Jim in the dumpster.)

Merlin doesn't realize just how far he pushed Jim. In his attempts to do things "for the greater good", he's completely lost sight of the importance of individual people's feelings and needs (Aside from his own).

It was a good thing that Jim met Barbara in the circumstances he did and when he did. If he had met her in battle, he would have ended up being killed. A large part of winning fights is wanting to win and well... Jim had stopped caring. That said things get better for Jim.

I haven't quite decided what part of the story I want to work on next but we'll see. I'll probably do a chapter in the past again. Let me know what you think about the way I'm jumping back and forth between the past and present.

#Trollhunters #Tales of Arcadia #Trollhunters fanfiction #Trollhunters AUs #Child Champion AU #Lost Souls #My Writing #My posts #Jim Lake Jr #James Lake Jr #eli pepperjack #Merlin #TOA Merlin #Have some pain #but also some fluff

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surveys-at-your-service · 4 years

Text

Survey #270

“please remain calm; the end has arrived. we cannot save you; enjoy the ride.”

Do you own pastel-colored pants? No. What type of lotion do you use? I don't really use it. Nothing seems to help how dry my skin is. What were your favorite clothing stores in high school? Hot Topic. If you could have a car in any color you wanted, which color? Pastel pink, but realistically (given a pink car would probably have a paint job I'd have to pay for, I assume?), I like burnt orange cars. Not too brown-ish, though. What is your favorite color, do you look good in it, & do you wear it a lot? Pink, probably not, and no. Name someone you know who hates pink. Idk. What is your favorite Avril Lavigne song? "Nobody's Home." Do you kill bugs? Sometimes. Depends. If they're in my house, most likely. Have you ever had a bedroom that had wallpaper on the walls? No. Do you own any rompers? No. What’s one thing you’ve done to celebrate Earth Day? I made a birdhouse out of a milk carton once. Animal Planet taught me lol. Do you use window clings (aka window stickers)? No. What color is your stapler? Black. Do you have a desk that you sit at in your room? Ugh, no, but that's one reason I want to move to somewhere I have a bigger room for a desk so I don't do everything in my damn bed. What do you miss about college? Feeling like I was worth something and on a "proper" path. Was your middle school crush the same as your high school crush? No. What is/was your dream school? I never had a "dream" school. Do you wish you could talk to someone about your past? If so, who? Idk, probably someone. What motivates you? Music and/or videos on whatever subject I could use motivation in, like self-care on my bad days. Have you ever completed a weight loss program? No. Tried, though. When was the last time you did something for the first time? I went through a doctor appointment entirely without Mom just a few days ago; she had to stay in the car due to chemo, so I filled stuff out, checked in/out alone, answered questions on my own, that business. I'm entirely aware it's sad as hell that a 24 y/o did that for the first time, but if you knew just how dependent I am on my mom, you'd get it. Which do you prefer: Valentine’s Day or Easter? Valentine's when I actually have someone to celebrate with, but I love Easter as an aunt with how excited the kids are about candy and all. Easter sorta rubs me the wrong way though since, y'know, Christianity essentially stole and rebuilt it. Do you wait until the last minute to decorate, or do you decorate early? I myself don't even decorate. Mom only does for Christmas, and it's very last minute. What’s your favorite Starbucks drink? I don't drink Starbucks. What were you wearing in the last good selfie you took? *checks phone* uh the one where I'm wearing a red tank top is okay. That's all you can see cuz FUCK taking full-body pics of me. What’s on your wish list right now? Ha, I actually have a list in my phone of things I really want/need to buy when I can. A few include a bigger terrarium to Venus, a treadmill, an Unus Annus shirt before the channel and thus merch expire, glasses for driving... What do you use to sweeten your tea? I don't drink tea. Have you ever owned an expensive eyeshadow palette? No, I don't wear enough colors or makeup in general to warrant buying one. When was the last time you stepped outside of your comfort zone? The aforementioned doctor visit. How would you rate your self-esteem? Low, healthy, or high? Low as like, the deepest oceanic trench probs. Do you own a tripod for your camera? Yeah. Were you a bigger fan of Lindsay Lohan or Hilary Duff? Hilary. Do you make Halloween costumes out of clothes from your closet? Only ever to just be a goth to live out my inner fantasy of regularly flaunting that aesthetic. Do you enjoy putting outfits together? Not particularly. Would you rather it rain or snow? Snow! What does your umbrella look like? Don't have one. What’s one thing you’ve had a toxic reaction to? Do you mean like, emotionally/mentally toxic? I'm guessing probably yes. Even though parts of it were entirely realistic, understandable reactions/behaviors, I most definitely had some toxicity in me regarding the breakup, too. Which do you prefer: cropped tops or tunic tops? Uggghhhh, both are so cute. On me, I'd only ever wear tunic tops, but on others, I tend to find cropped tops cuter. What’s a style or trend that you think is ridiculous? I don't pay enough attention to this to really know... hm. Yeah, idk. Which YouTuber do you want to be more like? I could only dream of being as motivated and smart and determined and "I can do this shit" as Markiplier jfc I Love One Man Only. Do you like stuffed animals? EEEEEEEEK yes!!!! What was your favorite class in high school? Art. Have you ever gotten straight A’s in a class? If so, which classes? Yes; not to brag whatsoever, but too many for me to remember. I remember I got my very first B in 5th grade in I think math, and I was so bummed out. Were there any subjects that you got a perfect SAT score in? If so, what? I don't think so. Are you happy today? If so, what made you happy today? I'm content-ish, not happy, but also not unhappy. Is your bed right by a window? There's one to my upper right and middle left, but my bed's not exactly against either. Do you spend more time in your bedroom or your living room? I barely leave my bedroom. Which holiday is your favorite to decorate for? Halloween, if I actually did decorate. Do you name stuffed animals still? Very rarely. Depends on what it is, the importance, etc. What titles did you win in the senior class polls? I FUCKIN READ THIS AS "TITTIES" AND WAS JUST LIKE... Anyway, none. Were you popular in school? No. If you’re from the US, what states have you lived in? Only NC. Who was your best roommate? Well, Jason, if he even counted as a "roommate." Was your first roommate your best roommate? See above, considering idk if he fits the term; if he does, then yes. What’s the best family vacation you’ve ever been on? Disney World. Have you ever wanted to be a model? No. What years did you attend prom? Sophomore (bf was a senior and he took me) and senior. What do you want to be for Halloween? I was recently listening to a metal version of Oogie Boogie's song from TNBC and it hit me: MISS Oogie Boogie. A fat bitch could pull that shit off, watch me ho. Which member of your family are you closest to? My mom. If you have any regrets, what is the biggest one? If not, why do you have no regrets? Letting a boy become absolutely all that mattered and more to me. Would you ever apply to be on reality TV? Why? Ew, no. I don't need any more people judging me and my life. What is the best thing that has ever happened to you? The partial hospitalization program that saved my life, literally. Do you have a hard time letting things go? It depends on what it is, but generally, yes. I recently realized one of my greatest flaws: I respond very, very poorly to loss, in any way. Looking back on people (especially people), events, other things... a negative, chronic reaction to loss is present throughout. What have you accomplished in life that has made you the most happy? Emotionally healed, a lot. I don't think some things will ever fully scar over, but nevertheless, I don't mentally have fuckin gashes in me. Have you ever struggled with your weight? Ever since the breakup, yes. I thought I was slightly fat before then, but looking at pictures now, I just think "damn hunny u look gud" and realize I was perfectly healthy. But anyway, I was put on a medication called Abilify (full-on name droppin', fuck this med), and it MURDERED my metabolism. I could eat a fuckin carrot and gain five pounds, probably. Emotional eating probably contributed too, but here's the thing: my current doctor took me off of it, knowing the moment I mentioned it that it was not only bad for me and my conditions but also responsible for the extreme weight gain? Pounds dropped like a ton of bricks, and this started before my emotional eating began to die off and regulate. I lost around 80 pounds just from dropping a goddamn pill. Cue college essay-long rant here about how my body image was slaughtered, how much I loathe the fucking doc that kept me on the med and blamed everything on me, and now how I've been stuck weight-wise for two years despite a vast plethora of methods to continue shedding a;sdlkfajkwlelawe GUYS I could rant til my hypothetical great-grandchildren die. When you are out with your friends are you loud and outgoing or shy and reserved? It depends on who the friend is, where we are, etc., but generally, I'm just awkward, trying to be outgoing when in fact I'm questioning every single thing I say and do al;wekjrkawde this survey has taken a TURN. Do you like to stay in your pajamas all day long? I don't leave my pj's unless I have to leave the house and go inside somewhere besides like, a gas station or something that's just "whatever." In high school did you have a lot of friends? Do you still keep in touch? I wouldn't say a *lot*, no, but not a tiny amount, either. The only one I ever still see is Girt, but I keep up with many on Facebook via the like button and shit, ha. Do you really care about such issues as abortion, religion, and global warming? Fuck yes I do. Who is the biggest womanizer you know? Juan sure was, but I haven't been in contact with him for years. Would you ever have a threesome? No. Who is the most attractive person you know? Of those I personally know-know, my answer will probably always be Alon like jc she's beautiful. When did you last feel the most free? ZOINKS we can't ask that question in America rn. Is there anyone who likes (or liked) you and had a really hard time getting over you? I don't know. Did you ever love someone and feel like it was wrong? Love? No. Well, before I realized I was bi, maybe Mini counts, as then I was anti-LGBT and couldn't even imagine myself as anything but straight. What’s your favorite bug? Butterflies. What’s the longest amount of time you liked/loved somebody for? Yeesh... I still can't say with absolute confidence I no longer love Jason at all, whom I started dating in 2012 and went head over heels for. What song makes you cry? There's a few that are capable of it sometimes, but do fucking not play "Stairway To Heaven" if I'm within 10 miles of you. "Another Life" by MiW usually makes me tear up towards the end, but it normally doesn't get that far anymore. Do you like rock or rap music better? Rock, as I'm not a rap fan. If you could watch someone change, would you? Yes let me live my life a;lsdkfjaws Ever known someone with an eating disorder? I don't know. I think maybe? Have you ever had a white Christmas? I think? The best snow we ever got was late Christmas night though, and the next morning was a total whiteout. What’s something you want to do but aren’t sure of yet? Hm. Idk. I'm pretty sure of most things I want to do. Biggest lie you ever told? I'm not entirely sure and I'd rather not search for one. Do you have a religion? I don't fit perfectly into any. I relate most with Neo-Paganism, but even that I deviate from some. Believe that there is a point to churches? I mean sure, people have the right to believe in/worship what they want to, and some people get a lot of joy and reassurance out of going. How do eat Oreos? "I split them in half and lick the cream before eating the cookie." <<<< Converse or Vans? Idc. Eh, maybe Converse, but idk. Dancing or watching others dance? I love watching others dance, it's why I enjoyed dance recitals and competitions. Favorite thing to touch/feel? My cat! <3 Rather be in a tornado or a large earthquake? Both would be horrifying, but I guess earthquake. I've had an outrageous fear of tornadoes since I was very little. Would you rather Santa or the Easter Bunny actually exist? Santa, duh. Would you rather spread gossip or start a fight? Start a fight, I guess. Trying to sully someone's name with false information would haunt me way more than starting an understandable fight. What has been the best New Year's for you so far & why? I don't know. What is the weirdest fear you’ve ever heard of someone having? Do you have any weird fears, and if so, what are they? Uhhh I think maybe butterflies? Idk, even that's not too weird considering it's an insect, and that's common. I'm personally absolutely terrified of pregnancy and also whale sharks scare me quite a bit. ig that's weird. How did you find Tumblr? lol how could you not know at some point as a teen on the Internet. What of the 8 wonders of the world do you find the most fascinating, if any? I had to look them up lmao. I guess the Great Pyramid of Giza. I in general find Egyptian culture and art to be very cool. Do you have a webcam? If you do, do you ever use it and what for? I mean, it's built into the laptop. I never use it. What is something that you think is really underrated? The band Otep, for one. I mean they're not small, but I don't think most people interested in the metal genre know them. OH and then there are A LOT of YouTube artists that MADLY deserve to be signed. I have a large chunk of metal musicians I listen to, and those especially like Jonathan Young blow my fucking mind they haven't technically "made it," even if they have a large subscriber base. Have you ever had a dream where you died? Did anything weird happen to your body after it? Yes, a few. Now hang with me, okay? One of my worst nightmares as a kid involved the wicked witch from TWoO turning me into one of those fucking party things that you blow into it and the paper unfurls and her using it killed me. Yo idk. I was really scared of that witch as a kid. What’s the scariest dream you’ve ever had? How about the most realistic? It involved my dad and that's all that needs to be said. Realistic? Hm. This was SO long ago that I barely remember *just* how real it felt, but I remember it felt real as fuck. I was very little when this happened. I dreamed that I went outside to our porch because there was a weird light and when I stepped outside, a swan and a goose flew down from the light onto the porch to become my late grandpa and my deeply beloved cat Midnight, who died from sickness. I'm sure it was just a dream now, but back then, I was VERY convinced it was like a vision from God or something, telling me they were okay and with us. Do you have a favorite fashion trend? What is it? Is there a fashion trend right now that you think is completely ridiculous, and if so, what? What do you think was the worst fashion trend of all time? I don't care about fashion enough to go in depth about all this. I'll tell you right now though that mullets were the worst mistake known to mankind. Do you tend to like original horror movies or re-makes better? What’s your favorite horror movie? Is it an original or a remake? If you're remaking an old one, I'll probably like it more since they're generally not nearly as cheesy. Modern horror movies, I don't have much of a preference. My fave is The Blair Witch Project, and it's an original. What is one characteristic in a person that you cannot stand? What characteristics do you like best in a person? Do you possess any of these characteristics? Those that act violent when they're angry, for one. Those scare me. Some traits that I really like are compassion, patience, genuineness, empathy, kindness just for the sake of being so, stuff like that. I'd like to think I've got some of those. It's notable that in my nightmares, I'm way more violent than I actually am, though. What kind of jeans do you like best? When I actually wore jeans, they were like solely skinny jeans. What has been the most traumatic experience of your life? Does it still bother you? A very abrupt and poorly-executed breakup after a long-term relationship and falling way, way too hard to be healthy. Does it still bother me? PTSD is stapled on my fucking forehead if you know the slightest about it. I've healed a whole lot, but I'm pretty sure it's a scar that's never going to even fully seal.

#survey #surveys #quiz #questions

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advernia · 5 years

Text

fic: coloring inside the lines

— as they say, you always need to keep your eyes on the prize. - queen of hearts/alice the second.

1: a bit late, but here’s a happy birthday to one jonah clemence! ◦°˚\(*❛‿❛)/˚°◦

These are a couple of the many things he just learned about the place she calls London:

Women, regardless of their status, are expected to maintain their elegance and decorum whether it be in thought, speech, or deed,

Another commonality, though not openly admitted, would be the pursuit of preserving natural beauty - whether rich or poor, any lady would put in some effort to maintain or enhance her appearance for her own purposes (and through her own means), but;

While makeup - powders, lotions, creams, rouges, lipsticks, you name it - was admittedly a valuable aid to the relentless pursuit, the sheer fact that it was masking one’s true beauty led to the use of makeup eventually frowned upon.

So maybe, just maybe gifting her an elaborate makeup set was not appropriate - oh no, it was totally fine if just not to upset her - never mind the fact that he just spent at least five painstaking hours in the finest cosmetics shop of the Diamonds Quarter, selecting from shelves and shelves of exquisite products with only her in his mind, urging him to focus on picking the most charming of colors and the most suitable of scents that were perfect complements to her loveliness.

It was just eight bottles of cream and lotion, three different powder jars, six varied shades of rouge, three lip salves and two lip glosses. Not a big problem at all.

True, she hardly needed the aid of any makeup to make herself even more dazzling than she already was in his eyes (though any more effort on her part was something he’d always appreciate), but in Cradle, a man giving a woman makeup as a gift carried different implications:

To give powders, lotions, or creams suggested a budding interest, for the items were for the lady’s daily use. It gave off messages along the lines of ‘remember me’, or ‘I support you’, for example.

Lipstick and rouge had more intimate meanings as both items were applied to the woman’s face - gifting the latter implied that the man was drawn to sight of her and if worn in return, it meant that she was also interested in him and was open to the notion of courtship.

The former was applied to the lips, so this was more of a confirmation: if she wore it, it meant that she accepted his affections entirely and was ‘claimed’ by him; but if not, it meant that she couldn’t reciprocate his feelings, and finally;

Giving a personal and complete makeup set carried all the messages and implications of the aforementioned items but even more than that, it also signified that only he was worthy enough to influence the beauty of his recipient; a clear cut sign of a romantic relationship in bloom.

… Well, it’s not like he wanted her to know that and maybe it’s better if she didn’t; for what truly mattered was her opinion on the subject: did she frown upon the use of makeup as well? Now that he mulls it over, her vanity was spotless, save for the bottles of perfume he gave her in the past and a vase for flowers.

Or rather than frowning upon it, was she not accustomed to using makeup? She was a confectioner, so perhaps she didn’t bother buying herself any of the sort when she already knew that she’d be too busy in the kitchen all day with little to no chances to mingle with her customers at all.

During their so-called dates the month she landed in Cradle, she didn’t look like she put any trace of makeup on, either. Then again, they were still on… unsavory terms back then, so…

… Did London also place meanings into certain gifts? If yes, did she ever receive an item conveying -

Jonah Clemence scowls, shaking his head in an attempt to get rid of any more trifling questions in his mind. To vacillate is not characteristic of a Clemence, and if he had any more time to fret, then he might as well head over to her and hear what she had to say about the matter herself.

He gets his answers that night:

Contrary to his fussing, no, she wasn’t upset receiving a very ornate case filled with his five-hour exhaustive effort of fine makeup choices. Instead, she was flustered and taken aback, but after some convincing she takes the box into her hands with a winning smile that makes all those five hours worth it,

She didn’t disapprove of makeup at all and if anything else, she was honestly curious about the whole thing: she tells him that she thinks of it as some form of painting or even decorating, similar to what she did with cakes and pastries - the sudden reference to food was very like her and he snorts at that,

She had a bit of knowledge on how to use certain types of makeup thanks to her friends but true to what he thought, she admitted to rarely using makeup because her job aside, there wasn’t much reason for her to frequently use it in the first place, and;

Yes, London also attached meanings to certain gifts. When he surly asks her if she had been offered gifts with special intentions, she twiddles her thumbs and she stutters, so -

- pinning her against the wall and watching her cheeks flush a shade of pink akin to the rouge he picked out for her, he lowers his lips to the shell of her ear, intentionally allowing his breath to fan over the flesh before whispering in a low voice:

… Were those gifts so wonderful?

Teeth nipping onto her ear, she lets out a small whimper.

… Ah, yes, he did get his answers that night.

She finally, finally makes good use of his gift for her appearance in the Red Army’s annual ball as his official partner, and he takes it upon himself to observe her in the art of applying makeup on herself.

He did ask her beforehand if she required professional help, but the sheer twinkle in her eyes when she told him that she’d try doing her makeup on her own was an… unfair move, in his book. How was he to say otherwise when she looked at him like that? Well, he’d like to believe that she really did have an inkling on how to use cosmetics, but just to be sure; he insisted in watching her in case she needed help - thankfully, she accepted without question.

Now, seated in the couch of her room where he could also see her reflection clearly in the vanity’s mirror, perhaps he didn’t need to be so critical of her skill at all.

He wasn’t able to properly see her process when she started with the exposed skin of her collarbone, but he’s left staring as her fingers cheerfully and repeatedly traced the curve of her neck to apply a fair amount of the vanilla-scented cream thoroughly, then followed immediately by patting it down lightly with some of the lavender dusting powder. He raises an eyebrow when she extends the same treatment to the nape of her neck - the wavy updo of her hair did leave that part visible to prying eyes…

Next she went about applying rouge onto her cheeks, and he quietly hums his approval upon seeing the color of her choice lightly dust her cheekbones: he had to hand it to her, out of the six rouges in her set, the pastel pink shade was the most suitable pick to complement both her dress and the overall image she was exuding so far - a youthful yet elegant look, the former defined by the light colors of her whole ensemble while the latter through the style of her outfit paired with her tasteful selection in jewelry.

And last but not the least she began to paint her lips, the tip of her index finger somewhat hesitant as she dipped it into a small jar. He sees the fingertip leave the jar tinted with a light crimson stain that she brings up to her parted lips but to land on one corner of her bottom lip, dragging slowly to a center point - she does the same for the other corner and he’s transfixed on her reflection, or rather the way that her finger moves oh-so carefully, oh-so gently across the smooth curve of her lip.

When she smacks her lips together, pulling her lips inward for a brief moment only to release them with a pop, he hears himself swallow a lump down his throat.

He’s still entranced as she continues to add some paint to her upper lip and before he knows it, she was already done with her makeup and had turned around on her seat to face him.

… What do you think?

Eyes snapping back into focus, he did his best to study her from head to toe: lengthy blonde hair tamed into an updo held up by lovely butterfly-shaped adornments, light pink cheeks a nice contrast to the vivid blue of her eyes, a complexion that still appeared natural even under the light, dangling earrings and necklace with beautiful pearls similar to those sewn on the front of her bodice, a tailor-made dress in varying shades of pastel peach flattering her curves in a most discreet manner, dainty feet slipped onto pristine white heels.

Yet…

He rises from his seat to stalk over to where she sat, briefly looking into those expectant eyes gazing back at him before looking down - back down, to those crimson lips.

… Unbelievable.

He barely gives her any time to react when he takes hold of her shoulders and swoops his head to capture her lips urgently in his: a little noise manages to escape her when he presses the tip of his tongue to that same corner of her lips where she first applied the lip salve, then drag slowly to trace the curve of her lips carefully like how he had seen her fingertip do earlier.

If he recalled correctly, the shop owner absurdly stated that the crimson lip salve was a delicious new product made out of a magically brewed concoction of plant butter and oils, then mixed with in with an organic blend primarily made out of strawberries - he dismissed it as nonsense but true enough, what tickles his tongue is a tart, so pleasantly sweet taste as he keeps his lips pressed to hers.

But as delicious as it was, nothing could ever compare to the taste of her so he coaxes her to let him in and she readily complies - as she received the taste of her own lips, he’s again reliving the taste of her mouth.

And she’s still as perfectly sweet unlike anything else in the world.

When they part for air, their foreheads are pressed together and their heavy breaths mingle, lips only a small distance apart - she meets the heat of an amber gaze with the haze of her of blue, but she does manage to lift a hand up and tenderly touch the delicate skin of his bottom lip with her thumb; wiping away at the faint crimson stains she saw there.

Voice a breathy whisper, she asks:

… Too much lip salve?

He laughs softly before setting her hand on the back of his neck, then leans over to kiss her again.

2: an interesting survey distributed in the office yesterday listed some… specific turn-ons, and this is one of them lol - it’s phrased as: taking a keen interest watching your partner apply makeup on themselves… weLL… lowkey spicy times, amirite ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ 3: on that note, makeup isn’t my thing but studying victorian era makeup was pretty fun and so was giving some meaning to cradle makeup, lol! thought those on the top of my head, and i think jonah would probably be the type to be hung over the meanings of certain types of gifts given the occasion + recipient, haha!

#ikemen kakumei #ikemen revolution #ikerev fanfic #jonah clemence #ikerev alice #edgar or kyle in the bg probably:#makeUP jonah not makeOUT smh

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welllpthisishappening · 5 years

Text

All was Golden in the Sky (1/27)

Magic is dying.

Emma knows it. She can feel it, the emptiness rattling around in her, like it’s trying to make sure she disappears as well. What she doesn’t know is what to do about it, because, suddenly, there is a man in Storybrooke claiming she’s the Savior and a seeress certain a prophecy promises the same and the last thing she expects is for her minimal amount of lingering power to pull her away.

To New York City.

And another oddly familiar man with blue eyes and a smile that sinks under her skin and makes magic bloom in the air around her. Things are about to get interesting.

----

Rating: Mature Tag List: @kmomof4 ; @shireness-says ; @profdanglaisstuff ; @captainsjedi ; @ultraluckycatnd ; @thejollyroger-writer ; @winterbaby89 ; @melsbels ; @socmono (If you’d like to be tagged or not tagged or just want to talk about Little Debbie snacks, let me know!)

AN: Ah, hello internet! I am back with my second @cssns story and this one got long. Like, twenty chapters longer than I originally planned long. I am so, so so excited to share this with you guys. (It may be my favorite thing I’ve written since Blue Line, straight up) There’s a lot of things going on in this story, but I can guarantee some ups and downs and magic and Freddie Mercury and kisses and it’s not the story I planned on writing in March. A very loud and enthusiastic shout out to @resident-of-storybrooke for her art, @distant-rose for reading 250,000 words and making even more art and @bmbbcs4evr for being a never-ending source of stressed-writing support.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

----

The cat won’t stop staring at her.

Emma glances over her shoulder, steps slowing to a crawl and, yup, there it is. The goddamn cat. Staring at her. Still.

She sighs, rolling her whole head and nearly dropping the small pile of things clutched in her arms. The cat blinks.

Honestly.

It’s absurd.

“What is your deal?” she snaps, well aware that she won’t get a response. Cats are notoriously picky about who they talk to. She assumes it has something to do with their collective frustration over the world’s perception of black cats.

And, maybe, like ancient Egypt.

“Honestly,” Emma continues. She can’t wave her hands like she wants to, laden down as she is with several plastic containers and a half gallon of milk and, on second thought, maybe that’s why the cat is following her.

It’s not, but it’s nice to pretend.

Because animals always know. Mary Margaret has several working theories about that, but she claims she still has to conduct more interviews and if Mary Margaret were there, Emma is certain, she’d be able to get the cat to leave her alone.

As it is, Mary Margaret is several thousand miles away trying to find a solution to the problem that has led Emma to this store with its copious amount of Little Debbie snacks in the middle of the night. She can’t sleep. Her brain is too wired and her nerves are drifting dangerously close to fried and she’s got no idea what to do next.

So, the reasonable thing, naturally, is to buy as many Zebra Cakes as she possibly can.

“C’mon,” Emma mumbles, kicking her foot out because the cat is now sitting in the middle of the aisle, staring at her with the kind of authority that makes her believe that maybe it’s the cat who actually owns the store. “You’ve got to move. Or I’m just going to teleport out of here and then Ruby will absolutely kill me.”

The cat blinks again.

Emma groans, gritting her teeth and it’s an empty threat. She knows it. The cat knows it. The guy behind the counter probably knows it.

She must reek with it, a distinct lack of anything that’s the crux of her problem and the problem in Storybrooke and she’s got to figure something out. That’s why she and Ruby came to New York, after all.

The seeress had been very specific about that.

Emma wasn’t all that inclined to believe in prophecy, even after growing up in a town like Storybrooke with a werewolf for a neighbor and a best friend who could very easily commune with the cat still blocking her exit, but it was difficult to ignore when said prophecy included her.

Explicitly.

A Savior of old,

With future foretold,

A key and a spark,

The future of magic and light in the dark,

A Swan and a Knight,

Preparing to fight.

Emma hates that it rhymed. She’s not surprised it rhymed. Magic, she’s come to learn, has a habit of being equal parts wonderful and the single most frustrating thing in the entire world.

She assumes it’s some kind of balance – to the force or the state of the entire universe or whatever, but it’s also kind of annoying, particularly when magic, it seems, is disappearing. It started out slow, certain spells harder to cast than others and potions that brewed just shy of perfect. But then Mary Margaret couldn’t talk to the bird she’d been having daily conversations with every morning for the last several years.

And David hadn’t been able to blink from one side of the town to the other when Emma called him about a break-in at the tackle shop near the docks.

Elsa’s ice magic was now more like...slush magic and Ruby’s most recent transformation hadn’t accounted to much more than her needing to buy two tubs of wax and an extra bag of razors.

It happened to everyone.

Even Emma.

And it’s kind of messing with her head. And sleeping patterns. Because she’s sleeping in a new bed in an apartment she can’t quite breathe in, several thousand miles away from the only home she’s ever known, desperately trying to find some sort of spark to make magic right again.

And it hadn’t entirely been her choice.

The seeress hadn’t been specific on the location of that aforementioned spark, but Emma hadn’t had much time to consider it when the first wave of magic crested over the Storybrooke town line. The suddenness of it all made Emma’s stomach fly into her throat, an attack and a push of power and the man standing there, with smoke swirling at his feet didn’t walk evenly into town. There was a slight limp to his steps, hands resting on a cane that was far too ornate, but the curl of his lips sent a chill down Emma’s spine. He was looking for her.

“I want the Savior,” he’d said, a confidence to his voice that made it clear he was quite used to getting his way. “Now.”

It hadn’t really played out that way.

It had been a complete and goddamn disaster, honestly.

There’d been flashes of light and several different explosions, the arrows from Granny’s crossbow whirring past Emma and she’d gasped as soon as Ruby’s fingers curled around her wrist. That had been disappointing.

“C’mon,” she growled, tugging and yanking and Mary Margaret nodded encouragingly as soon as she realized what was going on.

“You’ve got to go, Emma. We’re not going to be able to protect you here.”

Emma had tried to argue. She’d yelled and cursed and there had been more than a few tears on her cheeks, but she’d also known Mary Margaret was right and who was she to argue with prophecy? The Savior, apparently.

“Oh, Savior! Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“Shit, who does this guy think he is?” Ruby grumbled, a flash of a smile that felt distinctly out of place when the building behind them seemed dangerously close to collapsing. “We’ve got to go, Em. Now.”

Emma nodded dumbly, racking her brain for a place and somewhere safe and she’d never been anywhere, hadn’t left the confines of Storybrooke since she’d entered the confines of Storybrooke and--

Something slammed into David’s chest, a burst of power and flash of darkness and Emma gasped again. Mary Margaret whimpered.

“Now, Em,” Ruby repeated, squeezing her hand and Emma blinked.

They’d landed in the middle of New York City. On the corner of Bowery and Broome Street. Ruby had made a joke about witches.

And now, a week later, Emma hasn’t heard a single word out of Storybrooke, no update on David or the state of Mary Margaret’s tear ducts and she’s got absolutely, positively no idea how to save magic.

She refuses to consider the idea that the empty apartment in the building they just happened to land in front of is some kind of sign.

“Are you going to buy those?”

Emma jumps at the voice, only a little surprised that it isn’t coming from the cat. Who has not moved an inch. She exhales, lungs aching with the force of it, and her tongue flashes between her lips when she realizes her mouth has been hanging open.

A Zebra Cake falls on the ground.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma stammers, nodding for emphasis and it’s an absolutely absurd look. “Of course, I um...sorry.”

The bodega owner hums, clearly unimpressed with her at whatever time it might be. Some point when people don’t normally buy Zebra Cakes, she’s sure.

He doesn’t scan them, it’s a bodega, but he does give her a quizzical look when he realizes just how many she’s buying and Emma chews on her lip. She’s still having a difficult time breathing.

“$15.72.” “What?” Emma balks. “Honestly?” He hums again, a sound that’s starting to grate on Emma’s ears. “Cash only.” “Oh my God.” She huffs, a clack of teeth and she’s seen cash before, but she doesn’t often has to use it and Storybrooke had always been bigger on bartering. It’s easy to pay for things when you can offer someone a potion in return.

It takes her a few moments to unfold the bills crumpled in her palm, the owner eyeing her cautiously. “Alright, alright,” Emma mumbles, mostly to herself as she tries to add up coins. “Is that right?”

He blinks.

It looks suspiciously similar to the cat.

“Yuh huh.” “Ok.” Emma nods towards the bag he hasn’t given her yet. “Can have that, then?”

“Are you drunk?” Her laugh is definitely not the correct response, but she can’t remember the last time she’s actually gotten some rest and her pulse seems to be running at a constant state of overwhelmed and Emma hasn’t been able to do any magic since she teleported them.

She hasn’t told Ruby that.

It’s freaking her out.

“Strange as it may seem, I am totally sober,” Emma promises, leaning over the counter to grab her bag. “You may want to restock the Zebra Cakes. Just like...FYI.”

She grins, nodding once and it’s probably wrong to take some perverse joy out of his stunned expression, but his cat was a complete asshole and Emma’s going to get her victories where she can.

She walks the almost-familiar few feet back to the apartment door, glancing up at a starless sky. It doesn’t feel right. There’s so much light in this city, a flash and a burst that makes it feel like the middle of the afternoon even at two in the morning, and none of it is real. It’s processed and fake and it makes noise, a neon hum that seems to time up with the sounds of traffic and the patter of incessant footsteps on the sidewalk outside her window and Emma knows she won’t be able to sleep.

Even if she eats twenty-six Zebra Cakes.

She definitely bought at least twenty-six Zebra Cakes.

The building is quiet once she gets inside, a silence that Emma’s mind clings to, desperate for a few moments of reprieve, and she has to shift her hold on the bag to pull her keys out of her back pocket.

She doesn’t notice him at first.

At first she thinks it’s, simply, a shadow or a byproduct of the bone-searing exhaustion she can feel in every inch of her, but then she sees it and her head snaps to the right, mouth going dry because it’s really not much more than a shadow and a shift and the rush of something that moves from the top of her head to the tips of her toes is as surprising as it is welcome.

Magic.

Her magic.

In surround sound.

Emma drops the bag. God, she hopes she didn’t crush any of her Zebra Cakes.

She takes a deep breath and a step forward – not quite confident, but, at least, a little determined and the shadow is a man and the man is grumbling some rather pointed curses under his breath, punching what, at first glance, appears to be a balled-up leather jacket.

“God damn, fucking asshole, shit romantic…”

Emma’s eyebrows fly into her hair, the magic in her veins turning from a boil to a simmer and she doesn’t mean to laugh. Again. Honestly. But her body doesn’t care and her emotions don’t care and the man jerks his head as soon as his brain processes the noises she’s making.

“Did I wake you up?”

Emma shakes her head. “No.” “You’re just...awake? Now?” “I mean…” She waves her suddenly-free hand in the space in front of her, and the jacket falls to the ground when he moves his head away from the wall. “I’d think that was kind of obvious, right? Are you awake?” “What kind of question is that?” “You asked me first!” “But that was me being concerned. Kind, even.” Emma’s next head shake turns incredulous. “You’re a crazy person,” she accuses, another hand movement. She has to keep moving. The magic at the end of her fingers feels like it’s crackling. She’s seriously going to eat all of her Zebra Cakes. “And, honestly, kind of a dick. Totally missed the mark on kind.”

The guy heaves a dramatic sigh, glancing up at her from underneath impossibly long eyelashes. His eyes are blue. Emma swallows. “I’m going to kill Scarlet,” he says, like that makes any sense and she needs to move.

She needs to get in her apartment with her copious amount of overpriced and mass-produced baked goods and she needs to figure out what the hell is happening with her magic.

And what it means for everyone else’s magic.

And the man who invaded Storybrooke.

“Well,” Emma says, “that’s, uh...that’s your prerogative, I guess. Just--” She’s going to leave. She wants to leave. She’s got to leave. But something in the back of her mind is screaming, begging, her not to and her magic shifts again, a burst of heat and rush of feeling and the man’s eyes widen.

Like he notices.

Like that’s possible.

“Am I supposed to know who Scarlet is?”

He scoffs, but it’s almost a laugh and it might be the nicest sound Emma’s heard in...well, a week. “I’d be surprised if you did,” he mutters. “Unless you’re some kind of psychic.” “I can’t say I am.” Several other things, but not a psychic. The man grins.

“Well, then I’m not surprised you think I’m a dick. I just...Scarlet is my roommate, currently doing several things behind that door that I can’t even begin to process because he’s obviously got no concern for my emotional well being.” “Which leaves you…” “Stuck in this hallway because the bastard has decided he needs to...I don’t know, take over the entire apartment. And, unfortunately, annoying you.” The grin turns into a smirk, hair falling across his forehead in a way that probably shouldn’t make Emma want to run her fingers through it. She rolls her eyes. “You’re very loud.” “That’s because it’s an impossibly uncomfortable wall.”

“You’re just going to sleep out here then?” Emma asks, and he shrugs. “That can’t be very safe.” “Are you suggesting this isn’t a safe building?” “I haven’t really been here that long.” He nods, mouth twisted in thought. “I’ve noticed that.”

“Have you just?” The man’s lips part with a soft pop, eyes widening to a size that’s even more comical because Emma is starting to have a difficult time staying upright. Her magic is thrumming in her ears. “Not in...you know, a stalker way,” he says, letting his head fall against the wall and Emma does her best to bite back her smile. “Just in a...way that we don’t normally get a lot of new tenants and it’s, well, it’s rent controlled so not many people are ever moving out and…”

“You always so articulate?” “I’m going to blame Scarlet again, honestly.” Emma laughs. It’s weird. It’s not weird. “Understandable,” she says, taking a step forward. “Is it strange that I know your roommate’s name and his life story and I’m still referring to you as some guy in my head?” “Some guy is not the worst thing I’ve been called.”

“Color me intrigued. And that’s not an answer.” He stares at her for a moment – and Emma gets the distinct feeling she’s been appraised. Or taken inventory of. It’s not entirely uncomfortable, particularly when she feels her magic settle at the base of her spine, a soft pulse that feels like a metronome for her heart and, possibly, her soul and she absolutely, positively imagines the way he looks at her.

She has to.

Because he looks at her like he knows her or could know her or has known her and the tenses don’t make sense and the magic doesn’t make sense, but she’s still not running away and her right knee cracks when she crouches down.

“A name,” Emma says, and she doesn’t imagine that. He beams at her. Like the sun or something. She’s so goddamn tired.

“Killian Jones.”

Her magic soars. Her whole body feels like it’s on pins and needles, a sudden lightness that doesn’t match up to the burst of confidence blooming in her chest, pressing on the inside of her ribs and pinching her lungs and Emma licks her lips again.

His eyes flash towards the movement.

“This is the part where you follow up with your own name, love.”

“Wow, just jumping into endearments and flirting, huh?”

“I’ve been inspired by the actions of my roommate.” “I’m not sure if that’s an insult or not.” “Not,” Killian promises. “He just got engaged, so…”

“Oh, that’s nice actually.”

“And not your name.” Emma considers her options. She’s not sure she has many, honestly, and it’s not as terrifying a prospect as it probably should be. It feels unnaturally natural, a strange contradiction that makes as much sense as anything that’s ever happened to her and she hadn’t noticed how dark it is in that hallway before.

The light above her keeps flickering on and off, bits of darkness creeping into the edge of her vision, and Killian is still smiling at her.

Ruby is going to kill her.

“Swan,” she says, the complete certainty that she’s done this before echoing in the back of her mind. “My name’s Emma Swan.”

She thrusts her hand out, fingers fluttering in the air around them. It feels heavier all the sudden, like the world is holding its breath, but that may just be Emma and Killian’s gaze darts from her hand, up her arm and back towards her lips before it lands directly on her face, or possibly, in the center of her very being and his skin is warm when it brushes against hers.

He moves his thumb across the back of her palm.

“It’s a pleasure,” he murmurs, voice shifting slightly so it sounds like him and...not. Emma has no idea what to do with that, the déjà vu bouncing around her skull, but she doesn’t pull her hand away either and she’s got no idea how long they stay there.

“My leg is starting to cramp,” she says eventually, and Killian’s answering laugh will very likely be imprinted on every corner of her brain for the rest of her life.

He stands up, an awkward bend of limbs when neither of them seem particularly inclined to actually let go of the other. “C’mon, it’s uh...you were going inside at some point, probably.” “Nothing gets past you, huh?” “Perceptive, that’s why.”

Emma nods, letting him lead her back towards her front door and the bag she’d almost forgotten about. Her magic hasn’t stopped doing whatever yet, but she’s drifting somewhere close to calm and that same sense of normal and her keys are still hanging in the lock.

“And look who was questioning the safety of the building before,” Killian says. “What---what were you doing up, Swan?”

Her eyes widen at the slightly different endearment, but it doesn’t feel wrong either and she really needs to sleep. “Oh, uh...just insomnia,” she answers evasively, a blatant lie that sounds even worse when directed at Killian. His lips twitch. She’s staring at his lips.

“Yuh huh. And that’s solved, by--” He ducks down, grabbing the bag before Emma can stop him. “The world’s largest horde of shitty baked goods.” “Ok, there’s no need to be rude about it. And my options were kind of limited, plus there was an asshole cat and--” “--Oh, I hate that cat.”

“Wait, what?” “The cat downstairs?” Killian ventures, Emma nodding like a crazy person. A crazy witch. Destined to save magic. Not to flirt with strangers in the hallway. “Yeah, that cat’s a total dick. Constantly patrolling the aisles down there like he’s serving Bastet and not some slightly skeezy bodega owner.” “I’m going to say you’ve lost me.” “Bastet. Egyptian goddess. Protected the pharaohs apparently.” “Apparently?” Killian shrugs. “As far as I’m aware the pharaohs still had a tendency to die. Some of them rather horribly, so...you know, I don’t know what she was protecting, really.” “You’re the most judgmental person I’ve ever met.” “Now you know why some guy wasn’t the most offensive thing I’ve ever been called.”

She’s charmed. Impossibly so. And she’s fairly certain Killian knows it too. He leans forward, crowding into her space and that one strand of hair hanging above his left eyebrow may be Emma’s personal undoing. “The cat hates me too, love,” he mutters. “I wouldn’t take it too personally. But that’s also not an explanation as to why you’re trying to rot your teeth out.”

“I like Zebra Cakes.” “And cavities?” “You’re very concerned with my well-being aren’t you?” Emma asks, and she knows it comes out like the accusation she was trying to avoid. Killian tenses. “I just…” she continues, softer and a little more cautious and she needs her magic to relax. It’s difficult to concentrate when she can see the muscles in his throat moving. “Well, I wasn’t lying about the insomnia. Honestly. And you’re right. We just moved in and--” “--Not used to New York, huh?” “Are you?” “I’ve been here for awhile.” It’s an evasive answer – half a fact and a hint of walls, but Emma found him trying to sleep in the hallway, so she figures it’s the best she’s going to get and the next few words out of her mouth feel like they fall straight from her heart.

“You want to come inside?” Killian blinks. Twice. Three times. And tilts his head. She’s going to cut his hair in the middle of the night. It is the middle of the night. “What?”

“Inside,” Emma says again, impressive diction when her lower lip is twisted between her teeth. “I...well, you’re not a secret serial killer, right?” “I’m not.” She’s sure he doesn’t mean for those two words to sound like the single most important two words any human being has uttered to someone who is not quite human, but Emma’s mind doesn’t care and her magic cares even less and one of them probably rocks forward first. Their shoes are touching.

Ruby is going to kill her.

Killian swallows again.

“I wouldn’t…” he starts, another guarantee that doesn’t quite match up to the situation. Emma’s déjà vu makes her knees wobble. “I’d appreciate it, Swan. If you’re sure.”

“Yeah. That’s...well, the wall looked pretty uncomfortable and I’d imagine you’d like to be as far away from your own door as possible. You know...if they start getting really creative over there.” Her rather pitiful attempt at humor hits its mark – another victory Emma is going to cling to for, at least, the next twenty-four hours – and Killian’s hand ghosts over her side when he leans forward again. “Oh God, don’t paint pictures like that,” he grumbles. “I don’t know if they’re that creative. And they’ve got to sleep at some point.” “Do they though?” “You are a God awful hostess.”

She swats at his chest – familiar and unacceptable for someone she met in the middle of the hallway not even twenty minutes before, but Killian doesn’t miss a beat. He wraps his fingers around her wrist, tugging her hand up and his eyes do something that is...magic. Maybe. It makes Emma’s breath catch and her heart grow and her keys are still hanging from the lock.

“I’m going to retract my offer,” she says, another empty threat they’re both almost too aware of.

“Do you actually like Zebra Cakes?” “They didn’t have any Swiss Rolls.”

He chuckles, nodding like it’s the most important fact he’s ever learned and leans around Emma to twist the key. The lock clicks, the door swinging open and a thin line of man-made light stretches across the hardwood floor.

They don’t have a couch.

They’re hiding from evil.

Ruby is going to kill Emma.

“You know there’s an Ikea in Brooklyn now,” Killian quips, still half a step behind Emma like he’s waiting for another invitation. She rolls her eyes. And the door sounds impossibly loud when it closes, as if they’ve crossed a line they can’t retreat from.

She’s melodramatic when she’s tired.

“I have no idea how to get to Brooklyn.” Killian makes a slightly strangled noise, toeing out of his shoes like she’s got rules for her hideout apartment, but he also doesn’t know she’s hiding out and Emma’s head is spinning. She flutters her fingers at her side, trying to work out the residual energy she’s certain will cause her to actually turn phosphorescent at some point.

“Really? No idea at all?” Emma shrugs. “Should I?” “Why did you move to New York, Swan?” They’re not just standing on thin ice anymore. They’ve fallen straight through and gotten hit in the head in the process and are suffering from hypothermia or something else detrimental to their health.

Emma’s hair feels like it’s crackling.

“You want a Zebra cake?” she asks instead, an obvious deflection. She needs to stop staring at Killian’s lips.

“Yeah, ok.”

They make it through half of them before Emma’s stomach starts to hate her for it, empty glasses on either side of them and legs stretched out. There are, at least, a few blankets in the hallway closet and Emma grabs every single one before settling back on the living room floor. Killian doesn’t say anything about that.

She appreciates it – because she kind of hates the room at the other end of the hall and the never-ending sirens always sound louder when she’s left alone with her own thoughts and, really, she can’t bring herself to walk away from him. Which is kind of a lot to deal with when she’s stuffed with Zebra Cakes.

And they don’t fall asleep immediately, they talk, quiet words and soft smiles, fluttering eyelashes and Killian’s head propped on his hand.

She tells him she was a little disappointed the bodega didn’t have chocolate syrup for her milk. He tells her he’s actually pretty thrilled for Scarlet and the still unnamed fiancée. She says she’s in law enforcement. He says he works at the library. She’d maybe like to see Times Square. He’s disgusted by even the idea.

It’s good. Great, even. It’s impossibly easy and far too simple and Emma only realizes that she’s fallen asleep when her eyes snap open, Ruby practically foaming at the mouth and throwing her shoe across the living room.

“What the hell is this?” Ruby demands. She jumps up when she doesn’t get an immediate answer, eyes no more than slits on her face and it takes Emma half a breath to realize what, exactly, has her so angry.

They’d moved at some point.

She’s still on the floor. Killian is still on the floor. But they’d drifted, hardly any space between them and an arm flung over Emma’s side, legs tangled and blankets tangled and Killian’s breath hitches when he wakes up.

“Oh fuck,” he mumbles, drawing a quiet laugh out Emma that only exacerbates Ruby even more. “Sorry, love.”

Ruby growls. Howls, honestly. She throws her whole head back, hands fisted at her side and Emma’s eyes dart around to make sure she’s run out of shoes to attack them with.

“Rubes,” she starts, “this is not…” Ruby’s glare rivals several other ancient deities. “What?” she hisses. “It’s not what? Who the hell is this jerk?”

“Some guy is honestly starting to get more and more appealing,” Killian mumbles. He pushes up, shaking the hair away from his eyes. He doesn’t actually move that far away from Emma though, hand lingering on the small of her back for a moment, as if he’s trying to ground himself and she hears him take a deep breath.

“Who the fuck are you? How did you get in here?” Emma groans. “Rubes, I need you to take, like, six-hundred steps back. He lives next door.” “And we’re inviting strangers in now? Em, are you kidding me? What if something had--” “--Nothing was going to happen,” Killian interrupts sharply, and Emma knows she shouldn’t be entirely disappointed by that.

She needs to save magic.

She’s got shit to do. That doesn’t include flirting. Or sleeping. Or eating Little Debbie snacks.

“Yuh huh,” Ruby nods. “Sure. That’s why you’re all curled around each other.” Emma’s face flushes, a rush of heat and magic in her cheeks. “Ok, well, this has been stellar, Rubes, but if you’re done acting like you’re my parent or guardian, that’d be--” “--No, no, this isn’t over. I am...we can’t just let people in here, Em.” “I know!” “Do you?” She winces, knows Ruby is right and she’d acted on an instinct she’d never acknowledge before. Emma can’t shake the feeling that she knows him though, an easy sense of confidence and calm to it all and she sighs as soon as she feels Killian’s hand fall away from her.

“I should probably get going anyway,” he says, kicking away blankets. “Did I bring my coat in here with me?” Ruby sounds like she’s being strangled.

Emma cannot roll her eyes hard enough. “I don’t think so,” she mumbles. “It’s probably still in the hallway.” “Right, right,” Killian nods. He doesn’t move away immediately, smiles at her instead as if he’s trying to commit her to memory. Emma bites her lip. “So, uh...I’ll see you--” “--Out,” Ruby cries. She’s found another shoe. “Now!”

Killian winks at Emma.

Her magic does something at that.

“Later,” he whispers, and it sounds like another promise. Emma must nod. Her hair moves. And the door slams behind Killian when he leaves, Ruby doing a fairly good job of masquerading as a very impressive marble statue in the middle of a sparsely decorated living room.

“You breathing over there?” Emma quips. Ruby clicks her teeth.

“I honestly cannot tell. What the hell were you thinking, Em? Some random guy? Are we not...are we not stressed out enough here?” “What is it that you’re suggesting, exactly?” “He left his coat somewhere?” Emma’s jaw drops, a juvenile response, but that thought hadn’t even entered her mind. “Oh my God,” she stammers, eyes bugging as well. “Are you kidding me? Who do you think I am?” “If I knew that, we wouldn’t have a magical issue on our hands, now would we?” “Oh, that’s a low blow.”

Ruby sighs. “I know it is. Sorry. I just...well, I came out here and there was this dude and it was like--” She trails off, a quick shrug and jerk of her hands and Emma’s eyes narrow.

“Like what?” “Like we’d done this before. And don’t--there’s no need to tell me how impossible that is, I’m perfectly aware I’m probably just going crazy, but it’s also probably a byproduct of my magic being so fucked up, so...what?” Emma is shaking her head. She hadn’t realized. “That’s what I felt too. Déjà vu and it was...I don’t know, like he was waiting for me or something.”

The words tumble out of her without her explicit permission, something Emma doesn’t altogether appreciate because it’s not altogether true. He’d been hiding from his romantic roommate. And unnamed fiancée. But it happens anyway, an admission and something that feels almost like hope and both Emma and Ruby flinch when one of their phones ring.

“Holy shit,” Ruby mutters, hand reaching up to clutch the amulet around her neck. The phone stops ringing. Only to start again.

Emma glances around, trying to find the source of the sound and it’s underneath one of the blankets Killian had been using. That’s probably not a sign either.

She gasps. She wishes she’d stop doing that.

“David,” she yells as soon as her thumb swipes across the screen and whatever noise she makes next is ten-thousand times worse than a sigh. “Oh my God.” “What?” Ruby demands. “Oh, yeah, God, you look like garbage.”

David winces, but whether that’s from the insults or the overall state of his face, Emma can’t be sure. He’s bruised and battered and then some, one eye swollen shut and obvious stitches on his top lip, a purple hue to just about every inch of him that has Emma biting back jokes about grapes and purple people eaters.

She makes jokes when she’s nervous.

And terrified.

She’s terrified.

“What took you guys so long to answer?” David asks. “Mary Margaret is freaking out.”

“Ok, that’s not true,” Mary Margaret objects, just out of frame. She’s pacing, a quick blur behind David when she moves and there are few cuts on her arm as well. Emma blinks so she doesn’t start to cry. “I have every confidence that you guys are going to save us all.” “That was not your best work,” Emma says. “And, we’re uh...it’s a work in progress, but we didn’t really have a lot to go on and--”

“--Why did you call?” Ruby cuts in, ignoring Emma’s groan. “Why haven’t you called earlier?”

David can’t glare with only one eye, but he makes an admirable effort. “Are you kidding me?” “We were worried,” Emma whispers. “Like...you really do look like garbage, officer.”

“You should see the other guy.” “That so?” “No,” Mary Margaret answers despondently, coming to a stop and pushing her way into the frame. “The other guy is perfectly fine because the other guy is using up dark magic like it’s never going to disappear.”

“Wait, what? I thought all magic was disappearing.” “It is.”

Emma and Ruby groan in tandem that time, sitting up straighter out of habit because the voice that answer belongs to will probably yell at them if they don’t.

Regina Mills still looks impeccable, even when defending Storybrooke against some kind of apparent siege, not a hair out of place or a wrinkle in her pantsuit and Emma’s always wondered where she gets her lipstick. It’s always perfect.

The mayor of Storybrooke does, however, look a little annoyed at them and that’s, more or less, par for the course. Regina’s magic has always been something, a once-in-a-lifetime kind of power that makes her the obvious choice to lead a town of magical creatures and Emma still can’t wrap her mind around her place in all of this.

Regina should be the Savior.

Not her.

“How much do you two remember about The Dark One?” Regina asks cooly, taking the phone out of David’s hand without asking. Emma’s going to have to buy eye drops. It can’t be good for them to be widening this much. They’re going to dry out.

Or just fall out of her face.

“That’s a myth, isn’t it?” Ruby whispers. “The Dark One was just,..a scary story we told each other when we were kids. There’s no overpowering Darkness. That’s like saying there’s--” “--An overpowering Light?”

Emma drops the phone.

And sighs. So does Regina. She expects that.

“You honestly think that the guy who attacked Storybrooke demanding Emma is The Dark One?” Ruby asks. “C’mon. Like the Dark One. That’s not a real thing. It can’t be. That’s like saying there are actually pirates and princesses and shit.” “You’re a werewolf, Rubes,” David reasons, and he’s got a point.

“Ok, hold on a second,” Emma says. “Regina, you’re serious?” A nod. “Ok, so...The Dark One. That’s...we’re sure that’s actually who is attacking Storybrooke?” “Was.”

Emma nearly falls over. She’s sitting down. “Why past tense?” “Because that’s what’s happening, Emma,” Regina explains, sounding like she’s talking to a petulant child.

“Start at the start.”

David laughs under his breath, hissing slightly when Mary Margaret rests a hand on his shoulder. Emma’s eyes don’t leave Regina’s, a desperation in her gaze that makes her feel as if she’s run several miles and cast the world’s most complex spell and her fingers won’t stop moving. Regina may actually smile.

It’s a miracle. Of the magical variety.

“No one knows where magic came from,” Regina says. “Or where we came from, for that matter. We’re all flush with a power that very few could even dream of, let alone understand. But that power isn’t always good. There are kinks in the system, bits of darkness and twists of fate and the Dark One is said to be the one person who can control that.” “That what?” Emma asks. “Be more specific, Regina.” “The opposite of you, Ms. Swan. The seeress was very specific, was she not? The light in the dark? That’s you. You’re the key to figuring out how to maintain magic and that’s why the Dark One wants you. Desperately, in fact. I think he’s losing the grip on his control as well.”

“But Mary Margaret said they’re using magic. How is that possible?” Regina looks disappointed. That’s not surprising either. “They’re not you, Ms. Swan. The Dark One and those following him, they’re not worried about conserving their magic or anything except trying to find you. Because they believe they’ll find you. It won’t matter what they do in the meantime.” “He thinks you can jumpstart magic, Em,” David says softly, as if each letter hurts to speak. It might. He looks like garbage. “All of it. Light, dark, everything.”

“We kind of knew that though, didn’t we?” Ruby asks. She’s standing now, bobbing on the balls of her feet and Emma’s only a little worried she’s going to yank her amulet off. That’s the last thing she needs right now. “I mean..he wasn’t being very secretive about it. He was literally shouting about Emma.”

Mary Margaret makes a contrary noise.

And any sense of magic in Emma’s veins evaporates suddenly and immediately, leaving her feeling hollow and alone and she knows. “He’s coming here, isn’t he?” she asks, looking back at an already nodding Regina. “How do you know?” “People have stopped dying,” Regina answers bluntly, Ruby not bothering to make her curses quiet. David yanks the phone out of her hand.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he argues. “It’s--what happened to you last night?”

Honestly. Eye drops. She needs eye drops. In bulk.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Ruby scoffs, holding both hands up in mock surrender when Emma gapes at her. “I mean you’re just a great, big giant liar, aren’t you? Emma met some guy in the hallway.” There’s a chorus of what and how and that one doesn’t even make sense because she’s fairly certain they all know how humans interact with each other, but she’s not entirely human and Mary Margaret is suspiciously quiet.

“M’s,” Emma drawls. “Thoughts? Feelings? Emotions?” “Several thousand, actually.” “You want to pick one or two? I don’t know when the Dark One is going to show up.” “We don’t know if he knows you’re in New York yet.” “You know you guys genuinely really suck at telling a complete and coherent story.” Mary Margaret’s smile is a little out of place, but Emma’s a very greedy witch and the muscles in her face ache a little when she tries to smile in response. “It’s been a disaster here since you left,” Mary Margaret says. “This man...the Dark One. He’s got--” “--Minions?” Ruby ventures.

“Not in an animated sense. More in a...yanking people apart trying to find the spark of the Savior sense.” Emma knows, rationally, she can’t feel the blood rush out of her face. It’s impossible. Her vision swims anyway. “Anyway,” Mary Margaret continues. “There have been more than a few deaths and they’ve been, well, a little bloodier than normal deaths and then...last night. Something happened.”

“Like?”

“Magic. Powerful magic.”

Emma’s going to pass out. That can’t be a good look for the so-called savior of magic. “When?” she breathes, all too aware that she’s half admitting to something very likely didn’t actually happen and Mary Margaret’s smile wavers.

“I don’t know...late though. Like maybe four in the morning?” She looks to David for confirmation, but only gets a head tilt and half-hearted shrug. “We were a little preoccupied with the previously discussed minions trying to get into our house.” Whatever noise Emma makes hurts her throat.

“God, M’s,” Ruby hisses. “Way to bury the lede.” Mary Margaret waves them off. “That’s not what’s important.” Eye drops and throat lozenges and chocolate syrup. Emma should make a list. Maybe Killian knows where there’s a drug store nearby. “It’s not,” Mary Margaret continues, “what’s important is that it was magic and it was...strong. Like. Strong. We could do everything.”

“She got a whole flock of birds to get those minions away from our door,” David mutters.

“It didn’t come from here though,” Regina adds. “That much was obvious and the Dark One while he may be the embodiment of complete evil, is not without his faculties. He’s smart. He’s calculating. And he knows that Emma isn’t in Storybrooke anymore.”

Emma exhales, pressing the pads of her fingers into her cheek like that will help the blood flow back to those particular capillaries. And the time doesn’t add up. She’d definitely fallen asleep before four o’clock.

Damn.

That shouldn’t be disappointing.

“So, what do we do?” Emma asks. “He might not know we’re here now, but that’s probably only a matter of time, right?”

Regina nods. “The prophecy was clear. You’re the Savior. A key and a spark, The future of magic and light in the dark. I think that’s the most important part. You’re the future of magic, not just because you’re going to make sure we can still have it, but because you’re going to preserve it.” “Be more specific, Regina.”

“The Dark One wants magic, but he wants to use it to twist it to his own means. Evil. And absolute. No more light magic, for any of us. You’re there to stop that.” “No pressure or anything.” “Oh, a substantial amount of that. And you’re running out of time.” “Jeez, Madam Mayor,” Ruby mutters, but Emma can’t argue and they need to do something. She flutters her fingers at her side.

“Alright,” she says. “So we’ve got to find something that will keep magic alive, but get rid of the Dark One too? Do you think they’re the same thing?” “We’re all going to die.”

The phone changes hands again, David appearing in front of the screen with a look Emma’s only seen a handful of times. She tugs her lips behind her teeth. “It’s all you, Em,” he says, a confidence in his voice that she needs to hear on repeat. “Whatever power you’ve still got, you’ve got to use it. To find something. Your magic is strong. There’s a reason you ended up in New York. There’s something there to help you.” “The world wants to help you, Ms. Swan,” Regina says. “The seeress wouldn’t have arrived to warn us, otherwise. You simply have to accept the world.”

Emma grimaces – well acquainted with years on her own and even in a town like Storybrooke, she’d always found herself standing on the outside looking in, friendships that ran deep, but not much family and only her magic and now that’s starting to disappear as well and her tongue feels as if it’s expanding in her mouth.

She licks her lips.

“You can do it,” Mary Margaret promises, Emma nodding. It’s not an agreement. It’s a brush off. They both know that.

“If you had to ballpark how soon the Dark One would get here, what would you guess?”

Regina doesn’t look amused. “I wouldn’t waste much time with the man you found in the hallway, Ms. Swan. And if memory serves there’s a rather impressive myths and legends section in the New York Public Library.”

Eventually, she’s sure she won’t let every single thought she’s ever had land on her face as well as the forefront of her brain.

“What?” Regina presses. “What’s that?” “Nothing.” “No, once more.” “The guy,” Emma says, rushing over the word and pointedly ignoring David’s gaze, “he, uh...he said he works for the library. I don’t know if it’s that one, but it’s...it’s a library.” Regina doesn’t answer. Ruby is cursing again. Mary Margaret starts pacing.

David stares straight at Emma.

“Be careful,” he says, and it’s not a request. It’s a plea. Emma’s heart stutters. “Please.”

“Ok.” The line goes dead, far quicker than it would have if David had, simply, hung up and the tears that land on Emma’s cheeks almost immediately feel like emotional and magical brands on her skin. God, she is melodramatic.

“Well,” Ruby exhales. “That’s uh...no time like the present, right?”

Emma tilts her head up, met with a determined expression that usually only shows up ahead of full moons and autumn equinoxes and her smile feels almost honest. That’s nice.

“You’re just rearing to go, huh?”

Ruby’s grin looks a little predatory. “I’m ready to go play hero, if that’s what you’re asking. You feeling particularly magical?” “I think I’m almost willing to try.” “Ah, well, that’s half the battle, isn’t it?” She holds her hand out, Emma taking it immediately and the hug she pulls her into is tight enough to crack a few ribs. “You have any idea how to get to the library?” “Not a clue.” “What do they say? It’s a grid system?” “I think I’ve heard that somewhere before, yeah.” “Well, if we get attacked somewhere in Manhattan at least we’ll probably make the newspapers or something.” “Something,” Emma echoes. “Alright, let me at least change my clothes before we try and crash the New York Public Library.”

Ruby nods, another quick squeeze and even quicker kiss pressed to Emma’s cheek. “Crash is definitely the word you were looking for there.”

She doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t mention that her magic flared to life when she saw Killian. Or that it disappeared as soon as he walked away. She bites back the admission, positive that it isn’t important or can’t be important or some other negative contradiction she’ll come up with eventually.

When she’s not treading dangerously close to a panic attack.

She didn’t object to either one of the endearments.

And it really doesn’t take long – the only clothes Emma has to change into, a pair of second-hand jeans and a few other t-shirts they’d gotten from the thrift store up the block after she’d magic’ed her way into an ATM – but she feels like she’s on the edge of something as soon as she crosses the apartment threshold, air thick and hands flexing and her eyes snap to the corner of the hallway.

Killian’s jacket is gone.

The New York Public Library is not loud. Everything else is. It takes her and Ruby what feels like a small eternity to walk up to it, a little confused because Bowery becomes a different street and I thought this was a grid, but that’s apparently a lie below a certain street and there are beads of sweat on Emma’s temple by the time they make it to 5th Ave.

Where, it sounds like, a small army of people have congregated.

Emma has no idea where to look, nails digging into her palm to stop herself from screaming. She’s not sure if she’s scared or...something else. Something else sounds worse. And very small town.

Small town witch.

What a ridiculous string of words.

The noise doesn’t stop. Not on the street or in front of the park and Emma has no idea what that smell is that appears to be coming from a nearby cart. She squeezes her eyes closed, trying to find some kind of equilibrium or even ground and the scene that flashes in front of her is not midtown Manhattan.

It’s her. But...not. She’s smiling, a look of adoration on her face that she’s never used before because there’s never been anyone who warranted a look like that before. It’s enough that, for a moment, she’s distracted by what she’s wearing – a gown, in the truest sense of the word, flowing, white fabric and oversized sleeves and she doesn’t immediately realize what’s pinching at her hair.

A crown.

She’s wearing a crown.

“Your highness,” a voice mumbles, a hint of a smile in the words and Emma’s stomach flips. That’s confusing. “Sorry I’m late.”

Emma laughs. She feels it, the noise bubbling out of her with joy and ease and she can’t quite see the face in front of her, but she wants to. Desperately.

So, naturally, she opens her eyes.

“Em,” Ruby snaps, and that word sounds fearful. It shakes and rattles around Emma’s skull, impossibly loud even in front of the New York Public Library. “You ready?”

Emma nods. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Let’s see what we can find.”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #cs fic #all was golden in the sky #that stupid witch fic #I AM SO EXCITED GUYS I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH ANY OF MY LIMBS #I HOPE YOU LIKE ALL THESE WORDS #THERE ARE SO MANY WORDS

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cavitymagazine · 4 years

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Haptic Narratives: The Absurdly R EA L Artifacts of Dale Brett / / / [part 2]

[D]: Lately though, most of my influence has come from other forms of media opposed to writing. I have found the more I write, the less I read – at least long form. Music, animated series/films - both Japanese anime and stuff like Adult Swim and internet culture - all of these things come through in my work.

[W]: Music.

[D]: Definitely music. I often try to write with a type of musical style I enjoy in mind. This is, believe it or not, one of the reasons I decided to re-commence writing fiction. I was sick and tired of googling combinations of "vaporwave + fiction + dream" or "shoegaze + literature + drugs" to try and find works that fit a certain aesthetic that did not exist. So why not create them myself? For instance, ambient and to a lesser extent dreampunk, would be the genres I was trying to build on in Faceless in Nippon. With Ultraviolet Torus it is no secret that it is my shoegaze project. As you know with our mall collaboration [cloud mall and maze/mall], this will be vaporwave-heavy in aesthetic and theme. I think these musical styles also take me right back to the original interests that I have garnered from literature: how to feel and express oneself in light of the consumerist dream, how to find meaning in the face of a constant blurring reality. I want to produce words that create a sensory experience. Words to touch your skin, words to make you see refracted colours, words to make you realise life sucks but it's all okay.

[W]: Aesthetics are important to me as well. The depth of the surface. The synthetic, simulacra. I suspect any "honest" portrayal of our day-to-day life, even a so-called "realist" presentation, would be sci-fi, at least in part. The kitchen-sink realism of today would include game realities and all sorts of "tropes" – or what one used to call tropes – of sci-fi. DeLillo’s White Noise is a big work for me, related to some of the consumerist themes. The three layers you refer to are impressive – you've put a lot of thought into where your work comes from, what it's shaped by. I've never thought in those terms really. Although "Pessoan cyberpunk nihilism" as a blurb would have me buying whatever that book is. Abe's The Box Man - I read that in I think 2015 or so. I see Abe's tone in some of your prose. That is a hard tone to tap. It's soft and dislocated. Requires a gentle hand, and a kind of amorphous thought process. In recent years I've taken influence more from video games and commercials and music than anything textual. I assumed your influences now were primarily visual. Graphic novels, anime, bad TV movies - I cull more from kitsch than I do from literature now. Would you tell me a bit about your time in Japan? And how would you describe Faceless in Nippon to a reader who knows literally nothing about it?

[W]: I relate very hard to your not being able to google, say, "vaporwave + dream + fiction" and get a hit. You had to create your hits. I feel the same way. It's like I want "Borges + USA Up All Night" or something similarly niche and not-quite-available-elsewhere. The established subgenres you mention, like dreampunk, are still these largely unexplored parks of the mind. There aren't a whole lot of titles. Do you view Faceless in Nippon as your first book and Ultraviolet Torus as a sophomore effort?

[W]: One aspect of your work that struck me right away is its sensory nature, and its desire to make complex emotions like melancholy or lostness more tangible or tactile.

[Ed.: racetams with caffeine are ingested.]

[D]: I really like your description – “the depth of the surface.” This really fits what I’m trying to achieve with writing. I try to attain a certain sensory experience with abstract imagery, but endeavor to maintain a somewhat conventional narrative or “everyday” story underneath. For instance, Faceless in Nippon was always meant to mimic the feeling of floating in/on water, gently bobbing through society’s ambient capitalist waters attempting to find a purpose. This incorporeal imagery juxtaposed with the more straightforward vignette format and story arc of a young western male living abroad. With Ultraviolet Torus, the prose and format are more unconventional – it was designed to mimic gemstone/mineral structure and shoegaze music, with the narrative underpinning the imagery taking the form of the rise and fall of a standard relationship. I agree that even a “realist” presentation is somewhat sci-fi these days – it is unavoidable. Our friend, contemporary, and collaborator James Krendel-Clark and I have often spoken about how the only thing left for sci-fi is this almost meta-sci-fi angle, where all the tropes have become so cliché and ingrained that really any attempt at sincere “world building” is futile. It’s better to experiment in syntax and delve into what another contemporary of ours, Nick Greer, likes to call “hyper-genre”. Use the tropes, but explore them linguistically, see what they do for the reader sensorily, opposed to using them as the building blocks to create another mundane genre narrative. I have certainly done that in shorter form through the Concentric Circuits: CODA stuff on Surfaces. I think my sci-fi influence comes through in both Faceless in Nippon and Ultraviolet Torus, certainly in the way that I frame the setting or landscape as a character almost, similar to how Ballard and Gibson craft their prose. I have had a lot of time to think about the aforementioned literary influences. I am slightly OCD too, so I often create these massive lists and Venn diagrams and shit of artists/works with certain styles and aesthetics that overlap. I do like to think of myself as a modern-day Walter Benjamin in the way I compile notes and lists and memories that form the basis of my artistic and existential exploration. I think Benjamin would have had a hell of a time with the notes app of a smart phone.

[D]: Regarding Kobo Abe, you are correct, certainly not an easy tone to master, and one that I definitely have not. My writing is not as sound as a master like Abe, which I think is why I subconsciously fall back on the sci-fi landscape syntax/prose mentioned above and the more colloquial twenty-first century alt-lit style to strive forward in my work. I am still developing though, and hopefully, opposed to just replicating Abe’s tone, one day I will be in a position where people are speaking about a tone entirely of my own that others will use as an influence. Abe is also a good segue into other forms of media that influence written work, as he has often been an inspiration to artist’s in the visual field such as filmmakers and video game creators. It is no secret that he is Hideo Kojima’s favorite author.

[D]: Since re-commencing my fiction-writing, which was at the beginning of 2019, you are accurate in your inference that I have primarily relied on other forms of media to influence my work. I have barely read any novels at all in the last couple of years comparative to the previous decade of reading. I garner much more from music, anime, and internet culture these days. I am glad you brought up the influence of commercials – I think we certainly share an avid interest in exploring the consumerist sphere and its effects on art and society. There are a number of important moments in Faceless in Nippon dealing with commercials, products, stores and their underrated aura. Hell, I even created fictional beverages and advertisements for the book.

[D]: My time in Japan was an incredibly formative experience for me. I really only returned to my home country, Australia, when my wife became pregnant. Otherwise I would probably still be there, cruising around upper-class malls, lower-class malls, drinking massive cans of Asahi on the train, staring at LED signs from concrete overpasses at night interminably. I certainly still yearn for my time there. I did go back to visit friends recently and it was a strange experience, like I could not re-create the feelings of my time there in the past no matter how hard I strived. It became apparent that my yearnings were purely for a time in my life while stationed there, opposed to the setting itself.

[D]: I would describe Faceless in Nippon as a meditative, aqueous travelogue on what it means to exist as a middle-class person in the twenty first century, the entirety of which is set in urban Japan.

[D]: I really admire artists that have an unmistakable aesthetic stamp on their work. Auteurship, if you will. For what it’s worth, I think you are one of the few that has a singular, univocal voice in the online “outsider” lit community or whatever you want to call it. I would like to think mine is the same. That people will read it and go, “Oh fuck, that’s Dale alright.” I have been told before that my work reads like MDMA. I am exceedingly happy with that comparison. I would be pleased if that was how I was known as an artist after my “career” or whatever you want to call it is over. Basically, I want to create things that are uniquely my own, things that have not been attempted before. Another reason I think that you and I gel well together as creatives is that despite our many differences in aesthetics, we are enamored by the depth of so-called low culture and continually mash it together with the supposed “high culture” of literature.

The "Borges + USA Up All Night" example illustrates this perfectly.

[D]: Both Faceless in Nippon and Ultraviolet Torus will be available at similar times. However, there is no doubt that Faceless is my first book. It is the first thing I started working on when I didn’t know it was going to be what it became. Torus was a more experimental foray into the literary field. I compiled Torus, an exploration of gemstone and dream imagery, between drafts of Faceless. I was particularly taken by crystals, shoegaze, and giddiness over my interactions with some beautiful people on the internet at the time. It proved to be a fruitful break from Faceless rewrites, as not only did I let the novel marinate and become better before publishing it, I also gave birth to another creative treasure.

[D]: Making emotive words tactile, rendering the textually intangible tangible. This is something I want to see extended even further as we continue collaborating on our mall project. I want to delicately wrench the phaser knob on these effects and really see where we can go with our adventures in the literary sensorium.

[W]: I remember you saying you wanted Faceless in Nippon to "feel like floating in water." It made me think of a novel as a kind of sensory deprivation tank, the floating and the effects. Did you think of Ultraviolet Torus as a gem, in the abstract, or was the structuring of it more precisely gemlike? James [Krendel-Clark] and I wrote the rough draft of this Blanchot-bodyhorror, broken-videogame-reality novel called Cenotaph, and much of it deals with irrational spaces and Phildickian pulp. As far as sci-fi goes, the more subjective my take, the more "sci-fi" it seems to become. Just last night I drifted between three realities - one in which I was an unemployed writer living under Covid-19, one in which I destroyed an organic ship/braincraft with a cyber-tank, and another where I trained as a druid mage in a treacherous cursed desert. Of course these last two were games and that doesn't even entail any other branching realities that came about as well with regard to books, narratives, televisual influences, lies we tell ourselves, 5G brain-attacking waves, et al. It's late and I'm stoned and tired but yeah. Nick Greer is a fascinating individual. I didn't know you knew him. We spoke about set theory once. Gödel. I read very little, yeah. Or I should say I don't sit and read a physical book as often as I used to. I read rigorously for a good 20 years. If I'm awake enough to read, I usually would want to spend that time writing, or perhaps gaming. Or dreaming. All of these beats - the fictional beverages and ads and playing metafictionally with products and whatnot - I kind of live for that shit. I do that more and more. And it's not even a critique or any kind of satire of it for me - like the low-rez haze of 1-900 commercials was a fuzzy heaven in a box for me as a kid. The K-Mart cafeteria did possess a unique and strange power. I think we're kind of on the same page here as far as we share a kind of reverence for the artificial, the things rendered meaningless through mass production, and other similar slippery intangibles. There is a wonder here that sets it apart from, say, a satirical/scathing view of consumerist life. God, yeah, your experience in Japan. I think I've experienced similar stuff. I remember a time in 2000 when Boca Raton, Florida, was kind of magical for me. I went there a few years back; it's just any place now. Such a strange thing. And sad too. This is the only kind of interview I'd conduct, one with a writer whose work I think truly good. You might've remarked upon the melancholic allure of vending machines coding out at night. Or something similar. It's that sort of sentiment I recognized straightaway as what I consider tuned-in to a cryptic aesthetic I love. I was relieved to discover your wordcraft was honed – that's usually the big problem for me liking someone's work. One of the big draws for me about your work is the stuff you're able to do that I really dig but am not really suited to pull off myself, such as the MDMA vibe, or the ennui mixed with light, hope, etc. There are a dozen or so singular voices around in the online outsider-lit community/whatever, voices I'd consider distinctive: you, Clark, Elytron Frass, Durban Moffer – a few others.

[W]: Your themes I would say demand nuance and control. We've talked about how our mall project is slow-going because it seems very painstaking, almost like etching or surgery or something. Introspective, in any case. Although I just sort of dismissed reading a second ago, I do believe that a unique body of work is made unique by a dizzying variety of blendered influences. I had that 15-year stretch in the suffering cubes to read pretty much constantly, and haphazardly, as far as selection, in a lot of ways, so my influence map is like really fucking bizarre and extensive, which I think makes my stuff appear unique, when all that is unique about it probably is my little perspective or whatever subjectivity is injected into this array of eclectic influences.

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eremiss · 5 years

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2. Bargaining

(continued from Voracious)

Gwen hadn’t expected to find Thancred at the Count’s party, nor did she think she’d ever see him so finely dressed. In retrospect, it made sense the two went hand in hand.

The hour was growing late, festivities were winding down, and the her latest attempt to dodge further conversation (more like interrogation, gods but nobles liked to gossip) had led to her questionably fortuitous meeting in an unpopulated hallway.

Despite his refined appearance —if she didn’t know him she would have thought him a highborn— Thancred still had his roguish charms, and he was presently directing them all towards attempting to talk Gwen into a dance.

Even though he very well knew...

“I don’t care for dancing,” Gwen reminded him with a frown, her stomach eating away at her patience in absence of food.

Thancred hummed thoughtfully, standing closer than the nobles in the next hall would have considered proper. Gwen didn’t care for their decorum in the first place, let alone just then, and she hadn’t seen Thancred in days. Even with her sour mood she appreciated his polished appearance and the opportunity for a bit of time alone.

He reached out to brush away one of the curls that had been left free from the updo the Fortemps’ maids had spent most of a bell on, his fingers ghosting along her neck. His hand was far warmer than her bare shoulders and neck, the light touch inspiring a shiver that danced down her back.

Thancred’s hand lingered, one corner of his mouth tugging up into a lopsided smile. “So I’ve heard. But I rather hoped you might make an exception.”

Gwen pouted at him. A fair assumption maybe, she probably would have been more amenable on a night when she wasn’t tied up in knots about the safety of her dress, or wearing precariously thin heels that very nearly made her taller than him, or feeling so weak and irritable from hunger.

“Another time. I’m sure this isn’t the last party we’ll both attend,” she said simply.

She knew he wouldn’t give up as simply as that. He was a stubborn one. So she readied herself for a bit of banter. There were worse ways to spend the evening.

“What if I offer to buy you dinner?” Thancred suggested, a wry look edging onto his face. “I know of a few places yet welcoming patrons at this hour.”

Gwen’s stomach twisted with a mix of desperate hope and indignation. She did her best to put on some sort of unaffected, blithe expression. “The celebration was amply catered.”

A knowing little glint flickered in his eye, his fingertips trailing along her bare shoulder and inspiring another shiver. It would probably look scandalous if anyone were to see them. “Indeed, yet you didn’t touch a morsel all night. Most curious.”

Her pout bent into a frown. She should have guessed he would be the one to notice. No one else had commented on it.

Thancred was blatantly struggling to maintain something of a guileless expression. “I can’t fathom why. It was all exquisite. The Count clearly spared no expense.”

Gwen narrowed her eyes and folded her arms, beginning to obstinately settle her weight on her heels only to be stopped short when her balance wavered. Damned shoes…

And damned paranoia, too. She was plenty neat and careful, she really shouldn’t have been so terrified of such a small thing in the first place. It was ridiculous. She knew that. But no amount of saying so had made her any less nervous.

Thancred shrugged, brushing his fingers along her neck again, most likely in an effort to entice. “Nevertheless, that is what I offer in exchange for a dance. Only one. Though, admittedly,” he swept his gaze slowly down her dress, as he had many times since they’d bumped into one another, “a change of wardrobe would have to accompany our change of venue. Such places aren’t nearly so, shall we say, refined as,” he nodded vaguely towards the source of the mild music drifting down the hall, “our present surrounds.”

Gwen’s smart reply was cut off by an audible growl from her traitorous stomach. It, at least, was pretty keen on his suggestion.

Embarrassment painted her face with hot red, Thancred’s grin sending that heat racing all the way up to her ears.

“Shall I take that as a yes, perhaps?” he asked, so very pleased that his voice was nearly a purr.

At any other time that tone would have been appealing, maybe even made her blush a little. Now it was downright taunting. He was far too pleased with himself.

Were it six bells prior, she would have had the willpower to muster her obstinance. But just then...

Gwen tried to sound reluctant, but she was sure she only succeeded in sounding pouty, and perhaps a bit desperate. “This sounds suspiciously like bribery.”

Thancred’s grin shifted to a rakish smirk, that little glint back again. He could put on whatever vestments he pleased, trim his beard and style his hair however he liked, but he would ever be a rogue at heart. “You wound me, dove. You’re free to refuse, of course. But, in case I’ve managed to sway you…”

He withdrew his hand and offered an arm like a proper gentleman, folding the other behind his back. “Shall we dance?”

Gwen still hesitated, the quickly swelling frazzle of stage fright at-odds with the groveling desperation in her stomach.

“In private, of course,” Thancred added, his first act of mercy all evening.

The whole ordeal suddenly became a great deal less daunting.

After a long moment she sighed in defeat. She’d made worse deals. “Just one dance.”

Thancred’s expression brightened, genuine satisfaction lifting his smile. “Of course.”

Resigned, she took his arm, resting one hand in the crook of his elbow and the other on his bicep. Gwen huddled closer as they started down the hall, chilled skin and fingers eagerly soaking up the warmth. Her dress was warm, but only where it covered.

Thancred was grinning more broadly than was socially acceptable in Ishgard. His voice dropped to a private murmur, “If you might grant me one more indulgence…”

Gwen shot him a warning look, tightening her grip on his arm.

It was met with a devilish smirk that nearly made her stumble. “I would be glad to help with the aforementioned change of wardrobe.”

-----------------------------------------

Two in one go! I have no illusions about catching up, haha. But these two happened to work together well!

They both said ‘dance’, but I’m not entirely sure they were talking about the same thing >.> <.< >.>

#FFXIVWrite2019 #my writing #Guinevere Ashe #WoL #Gwencred #ruthless negotiations

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lawinformation · 5 years

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Mediation: What is it and how can it benefit my Texas Divorce?

On the off chance that you have require a best reasonable Texas Divorce Law encounter, Mediation: What is it and how can it benefit my Texas Divorce? with the immense procedure!

When it comes to a divorce, most people have the idea that filing a case with a court means that you will be going to court to have a judge decide the issues in your case and lay down the law as he or she sees it. This can be true, most certainly.

If you and your spouse are going through a divorce or are considering filing a divorce and you cannot agree to settle on all issues in the case then a judge will play tie breaker. However, there are alternative ways to resolve a divorce. One such method is called mediation.

Divorce Mediation in Texas Examined

Divorce Attorney Houston: If you’ve never heard of mediation before or are unfamiliar with the concept we can fix that problem right now. Mediation in the context of Texas divorce cases is a process in which both parties (and if they’re represented, their attorneys as well) meet with a third party (usually an attorney) to help the parties to the divorce facilitate a settlement on as many of the issues of their case as possible.

Mediation is not required in a divorce case in Texas. If the parties are able to resolve all the issues of their case without the need for mediation or the court to intervene then more power to them. However, that is not the case in most situations and mediation can help bridge the gap between the two sides.

Communication is almost always a problem for divorcing spouses. Whether it is about the kids, the household finances or both, when spouses can no longer communicate with one another a divorce will usually be not too far behind.

Hiring their own attorneys is a step in the right direction towards better communication but even then the attorneys are acting as messengers of sorts for their clients and truly fruitful discussion isn’t always possible.

A mediator has no “skin in the game” in that they have no interest in who ends up with what piece of property or which parent gets to choose where the kids live.

Temporary Orders Mediation

Houston Divorce Lawyers: A mediator’s job depends on what point in the divorce he or she is coming in to assist with a settlement. If the parties have chosen (or have been ordered by their court) to mediate prior to a temporary orders hearing then the mediator’s main focus is getting an agreement in place in regard to temporary conservatorship/visitation/possession/access of the children first and foremost.

Basically, the parties need to be able to get adjusted to living separately and seeing their children based on a schedule rather than at each other’s discretion.

Once the issue of the children is dealt with, the other focus of temporary orders mediation is determining who will be paying for what during the divorce. All of the household bills, the mortgage, school tuition, etc. need to be put in either the responsibility of husband or wife.

Other issues such as child support and/or spousal support will also be negotiated upon. An important part of the mediator’s job is to help each party assess the strengths and weaknesses of each of their positions on the aforementioned issues.

From personal experience I can say that some prior clients have believed themselves to be in an iron clad position of strength in a certain area despite my disagreeing with them. A benefit of attending mediation is that you as a client can get the opinion of another family law attorney who knows the law and knows the judge before whom we will be going for the temporary orders hearing.

Temporary orders mediation sets the tone for the rest of a divorce case. If you and your spouse are able to settle your case in mediation that is a good sign that the case is unlikely to see the inside of a courtroom.

The agreement parties reach in mediation is usually much more personalized than anything a judge could determine. What’s more, it allows each side to get a different perspective into their case. Usually it ends up showing each party that they and their spouse are not as far apart on the issues as previously believed and that attending a contested temporary orders hearing is unlikely to result in either side being completely satisfied.

Final Orders Mediation

Family Law Attorney Houston: Once your case is settled in a temporary orders mediation, you and your spouse will have an opportunity (usually around two months or so) to get adjusted to living under a court’s order. After this period you and your soon to be ex-spouse will reconvene for final orders mediation. If both sides felt satisfied with the first mediator it is likely that you will return to that mediator’s office to see if you can finalize your divorce.

Final Orders Mediation takes into account the same issues as discussed in temporary orders mediation and then adds more “permanent” issues of the family home (if you are living in a home you own) and motor vehicles, rental properties, etc. Basically if you have to show ownership of a piece of property with a title document, you will need to get that sorted out in final orders mediation.

Are you going to remain in the home? Is your spouse? Will the house be sold? How will the proceeds be split? Will you have to buy your spouse out of his interest in the home?

All these questions will be debated upon until either a settlement is reached or a stalemate is declared. If a resolution cannot be reached on any issue then the parties will head to court on their scheduled trial date and a judge will play tie breaker.

Final Thoughts on Mediation

Houston Divorce Attorney: Ultimately, the court isn’t in control of your divorce nor is your attorney. You and your spouse are. The decisions you make (or refuse to make in some cases) can go a long way to determining how much time, money and effort has to be put into a divorce.

Some divorces will require a judge to decide the issues. Most cases, however, can and should be settled. This saves you and your spouse money and time and allows the focus to shift towards rebuilding lives and bank account balances.

What’s more, an order that is arrived at by mutual agreement is much more likely to be followed than one created by a judge that barely knows you or your spouse.

Questions on Mediation? Please contact the Law Office of Bryan Fagan, PLLC

Houston Family Lawyer: If you find yourself in a situation where you are considering a divorce please contact the attorneys with the Law Office of Bryan Fagan, PLLC. We are strong proponents of mediation and the benefits that are afforded to our clients in that setting. A consultation with one of our licensed family law attorneys is free of charge and we are available to meet with you six days a week ... Continue Reading

#divorce #family #Family Law #fagan #bryan fagan #attorney #attorneys #texas attorneys #Houston #Houston lawyers #law #lawyer #lawyers #Texas

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darth-salem-emperor-of-earth · 5 years

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Day Three: That Look in Your Eyes [Kai x David]

Surprise! I have one more ockiss19 request to share with you all before OC Kiss Week (technically) ends! Here we have my lazy but kindhearted Kai Cadash mentally swooning over @tessa1972‘s famously beautiful and wonderful David Trevelyan! Get ready for some fluffy and adorkableness because my brain commanded it to be so.

“How did you get roped into hunting and chasing down as well as trying to capture Leliana’s escaped nug?” questioned David drolly, as the grumpy Kai Cadash dusted snow off his boiled leather armor.

“Leliana promised if I find her nug, she’d make sure no one will come and try to wake me until noon has passed,” admitted Kai, grinning roguishly at the thought of the Inquisition’s Spymaster utilizing her birds to swoop in on anyone who tried banging on his door while he busy sleeping serenely. “And that means not even Cassandra can try to break into my room about any assignments!”

Shaking some snow off his weapons, David chuckled at the dwarf’s enthusiasm for sleep and naps. “Sounds like Leliana knows you well.”

Kai shrugged. “A bit. She still hasn’t figured out all my weaknesses and I plan to keep it that way.” He paused, going suddenly still as his grey eyes loaming past David and when a familiar squeak drifted around the young noble’s ears, David realized what Kai caught sight of. Leliana’s pet nug was afoot and incredibly close to them. Carefully and with a steady grace that would have made his mother proud, David pivoted on the balls of his feet to face the unsuspecting, carefree dug. Kai fished out a cord of rope and began forming a few knots and loop, all the while keeping his focus on the animal before them.

“What are you making?” David asked, keeping his voice barely over a whisper so he wouldn’t spook the nug.

“A foot snare. Don’t worry, it’s not going to hurt the little bugger, merely stop it from getting away from us. And then we can put Leliana’s pet back in its temporary cage until its back in the waiting arms of our dear Spymaster.” The bushes closeby would perfect for his snare trap, he just needed two or three sturdy branches to create the trigger that will tighten the rope once the nug stepped into the loop.The rope was made of a softer, finer quality, given to him by Leliana herself from any trapping means for the twine would merely restrict but not chaff or cut the nug’s skin.

Years of practice enabled him to craft a relatively painless foot snare in minutes while David silently watched out, amazement blossoming in his eyes. Kai resisted the urge to puff up his chest with pride. He had to admit, he was merely showing off his survival skills at this point. Since he couldn’t dance or sing to impress such an illustrious, well-read noble like David, maybe he had the ability to impress him through the ways the hunt, dexterity, and other roguelike talents?

Hmm...does that mean I actually have to fight a bear myself for once? Albeit, he would look fetching wrapped in a bear pelt...or even sprawled out on one, naked---wait, what? Back up, brain, I’m getting way ahead of myself!

“Done!” he announced quietly, shifting his light grey gaze back in the nug, who continued to hop and sniff the snowy ground. “David, do you think you can guide the nug over here, so it can set up off the snare? Last time I chased that bugger, I slipped and fell on my ass.”

The said man grinned, his eyes sparkling with silent laughter. Kai almost lost his breath of how pronounced David’s dimples were and how breathtakingly genuine and wholesome his beam was. How was this man not swamped with suitors already?

“Don’t forget I fell too--and on my sides. I’m afraid I’m nearly as graceful as you believe me to be.”

“But I wager you’re swifter than me. Ready to seize Leliana’s nug and bring it home?”

Nodding, David began to approach the aforementioned nug, trying to lure it closer to him while reassuring the creature neither one of them meant it any harm. “Hey there, little nug. Can you please follow me? Leliana really misses you and is worried sick about you. These lands are too dangerous for a cute fellow like yourself.”

The nug eyed David skeptically and made a few hops away from him, nearing the location of Kai’s snare. The dwarf shuffled away from the trap so the animal could falsely assume the bushes would be a safe haven to hide from them. After a minute or so of coaxing and slowly inching up to the nug, David held his breath, took a step, and lunged. Just as he hoped, the nug darted forward, bounding around him and towards the bushes. There was a snapping sound of wood colliding suddenly together and the two men rushed over the snare, relieved to see a startled, confused but unharmed nug tugging on the foot snare and creating indignant, high pitched chatter.

“No more marathons for you, little critter,” rejoiced Kai, handing the wooden cage over to David to safely gather the squirming nug in his arms. “It’s back to Leliana for you!”

“Don’t you want be warm and safe?” added David, petting the nug’s head with his free hand. The creature trilled, evidently considering his words and pondering over them even as they gently positioned and nudged the nug into its temporary cage.

“Thanks for your help. I still would have been rolling around in snow, failing my arms around, and chasing this blasted critter if you weren’t here.” Kai cradled the cage underneath his armpit, glad to see Leliana’s pet starting to calm down and sniff at the wood in its cage.

“I’m always happy to assist, especially when it comes to you,” David responded, not realizing what he was saying until the words left his tongue. Eyes widening, his cheeks flushed and not from the wintery chill cleaving to the air. Neither men could forget the kiss they shared by the presumed date Varric set up for them. “I mean, it’s just, you’re so---”

Kai reached out to touch his arm, silencing any awkward half-attempts to explain himself or switch the subject. “It’s all right, David. I completely understand, I feel the same way.”

David stared at him incredulously. “Seriously?!”

Chuckling nervously, Kai scratched along the nape of his neck as he bobbed his head. “Aye. I was hoping you’d want to come with me. Mainly because I can’t seem to get you out of my head.” Now he was the one blurting things out without mulling them over first!

Poor David Trevelyan began to blush even harder, the cerise hue remarkably stark against his fair skin and five o’clock shadow, and the colorless sky above them. Suddenly, the two of them became awkward, unsure beings who teetered back and forth between making the first move or waiting for the other to initiate the next step. Kai had no idea what to do in this situation, he barely had many relationships that lasted longer than a cold drink on a blazing hot day but he didn’t view David fling material or a possible one night stand. No, he wanted to be around and with him longer than that yet being smooth wasn’t exactly his forte.

Throwing all caution into the wind, Kai made a gamble and leaned in, his intentions now painfully clearly as their gazes squarely met on and never wavered. As if sensing his desire, David tilted his head down, angling his neck to grant him a better view and position for what was about to transpire next. David then closed his eyes, his eyelashes so beautifully and curled that Kai nearly forgot what he had in mind before his eyelids innately fluttered shut and saved him from fumbling a kiss.

David’s lips were just as soft and inviting as Kai recalled, so pliable and eager yet shy, as if he was terrified he wasn’t good enough. He kept his grip on David’s arm to steady himself, even though the kiss was chaste and sweet, the lingering promise in the kiss sent his mind reeling. The landscape surrounding them might have been overbearingly chilling and harsh but with David, he felt nothing but smoldering, searing bliss.

An irritated, vociferous squeak sounded off from the cage, shattering the spell of the kiss and alerting them that Leliana’s nug had enough with its adventure and waiting around and wished to be reunited with its owner. Kai shifted the cage a little in-between his arm and the side of his torso all the while watching David blink once or twice as he recovered from the kiss and sent him a small, content beam. Like a youth in love for the first time, Kai’s heart skipped a beat at his quiet smile, a smile only meant for him and him alone.

“Maybe we can talk about this later, after we deliver Leliana her nug?” he suggested, inwardly praying the human noble would agree. If this spark between him and David did ignited into something truly special, he was going buy Varric the best thank you present ever.

Hope flashed brilliantly across David’s handsome features, the smile growing. “I would like that very much, Kai. Meet you at the tavern afterwards?”

He nodded, grinning along with him. “Definitely. Just find us a more...secluded spot. You know, for privacy reasons.”

#ockiss19 #ockissweek #oc kiss week #Kai x David #Kai Cadash #David Trevelyan #Dragon Age 3 #Inquisitor Trevelyan #Inquisitor Cadash #tessa1972 #OCs #ockissingweek #oc kissing week

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whumpwhumplol · 5 years

Text

Case Closed Heat Stroke Whump

“Do you really think that’s good beach attire?” Glaw eyes Cameron’s button up long-sleeved shirt with an eyebrow raised. The detective trio had a week off of work during the summer, so Elliot had dragged his partners to the nearby beach, crowded with races of all ages trying to cool off on the warm day.

“I was never given swim apparel to wear by my manufacturers. I do not think I am very buoyant or completely waterproof, therefore I won’t be swimming anyway. You two can have fun, I brought a book.” They hold up aforementioned book. It looks worn, no doubt it’s been read many times already.

“If you’re sure, I guess it’s okay. Have fun, Cam!” Glaw skips down to the shoreline to look for Elliot. Cameron locates a good spot to rest, laying their towel on the warm sand and settling down with their book. Every once and a while the android can hear Glaw shriek as Elliot splashes her with the cold ocean water.

As they continue reading, Cameron notices their core temperatures starting to rise. They think nothing of it, simply rolling their sleeves up and letting their eyes trail over the book again. They get lost in the story, not noticing their temperature steadily rising still. It’s not until Glaw interrupts them that they realize how hot they have gotten.

“Hey, Cam. You okay? You’re lookin’ a little pale and… wet?” Elliot trails up behind her but stops short when they also notice Cameron’s appearance.

“Oh, ew, yeah. You look disgusting. Are you sweating? Do androids sweat?” Cameron pats their forehead and the front of their shirt, peeling their hand back and seeing the dampness left on it.

“Yes, androids sweat. We have skin similar to organics that allows stored water to seep out. Its function is to cool our bodies down,” Cameron explains calmly, still dabbing at their skin.

“What’s your current temperature?” Glaw questioned.

“104 degrees fahrenheit.” Elliot and Glaw’s jaws drop.

“Cameron how do you not notice you’re literally melting?!” Elliot nearly screams, voice becoming higher as he speaks. He goes over to help Cameron up, grasping their elbows and acting as support.

“I… do not know. I think I was, uh… too- too drawn in to my book.” Cameron’s eyebrows furrow, reaching their hand up and pinching the bridge of their nose. ‘Is this… nausea? Dizziness? Is this what that feels like?’

Before they can notify Elliot of their dizziness, Cameron’s knees buckle and they stumble to the ground. They try to lift themself with shaky arms, but they crash completely to the ground, unconscious.

“Shit… Glaw, help me drag them over to the shade.” Glaw nods, lifting Cameron up by an arm and hooking it around her shoulder, acting as support despite her short stature. Elliot grabs their other arm, wrapping his own around their waist. The pair slowly drag Cameron to Glaw’s spot, which has a big umbrella, and lay them down on the towel.

“Okay, uh… what do- what do we do?” Elliot babbles, clearly panicked. Glaw closes her eyes and tries to think back to her training.

She drops to her knees and starts unbuttoning Cameron’s shirt. “We need to remove excess clothing. If you have any change, go buy a bottle of water from the vending machines.” Elliot scurries off and she finishes unbuttoning the shirt. She slides the shirt off as much as she can with Cameron’s current position, undeterred by the fact that they aren’t wearing a bra and don’t seem to have nipples like she expected.

Elliot comes jogging back to their spot with a cold water bottle and hands it to Glaw, who uncaps it and runs the water over Cameron’s face and chest. Behind her, Glaw can hear a faint nervous chuckle coming from Elliot (“Haha they’re shirtless”).

The cold bite of the water jerks Cameron back to consciousness, gasping from the chill. They sputter and wipe the water from their face. The water steams slightly before cooling again. They sit up, brushing their wet hair out of their eyes and they look up at their friends.

“You okay Cam?” Glaw asks, her voice laced with concern. The android nods.

“Yes, I am okay. Temperature is still high. Is there anymore water?” Elliot jerks his thumb behind him towards the ocean.

“There’s a whole lotta water over there. Could you sit by the shore?” Cameron nods again, lifting their arms up in a gesture for help. Elliot grabs their hands and helps them stand. Cameron is still a bit wobbly. “You good to walk on your own?”

“Yes. I am not close to powering down again. I will be fine.” Elliot isn’t convinced, but lets go of Cameron’s hands. They stumble towards the water with Glaw and Elliot close behind if they need to catch them.

They reach the shore unharmed. Cameron plops down, sticking their feet in the water so the chill can circulate through their body properly. They button their shirt back up, just to be decent. Elliot and Glaw jump back into the water after they make sure Cameron’s okay, starting splashing fights and making sure Cameron gets caught in the crossfire.

#whump #written by mod comet #mod comet #android #fainting #hurt comfort #passing out #heat stroke #oc #ocs #original characters #dnd

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rayraywrites · 5 years

Text

Chapter 2: It’s what sunflowers do

Prompt: Bloom - Sunflower/Lily

Characters: Sawamura Eijun, Kuramochi Youichi

Rating: General Audiences

Total Word Count: 1369

AO3

Summary:

Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadow. It’s what sunflowers do. - Helen Keller

With a loud screeching noise, the old door was pushed open, making him cringe at the noise. He sighed to himself, making a mental note to buy some oil or something that would be able to quiet down the annoying door. Glancing around his room, he didn’t see anyone inside so he simply dropped his bag on the side of the desk and immediately reached down to pull off his practice jersey. He figured Bakamura was still practicing like the obsessive idiot that he was, so he had a bit of time to himself. Tugging the jersey over his head, he threw it to the side haphazardly.

The odd noise the shirt made when it landed was the only reason he remembered to pick it up and throw it in the hamper. He turned and winced slightly. He had missed the wall, and had instead hit Sawamura’s “garden”, or the random array of plants that littered their one window sill. Quickly, he walked over and removed the offending article of clothing and made sure he hadn’t permanently damaged anything. He couldn’t sit through another lecture about the “beauty and majesty of plants,” and how he didn’t understand their importance.

He’d turn Sawamura into a pretzel much faster if it happened once more.

However annoying Sawamura could be, for all his loudness and brash behaviour, he’d never been like that around his plants. There was a certain calmness and surety in his actions that was only otherwise visible when he pitched. And even then, this was something more familiar to Sawamura, as if that was believable. He wasn’t sure, but he assumed it had to do with Sawamura coming from Nagano and living on a farm? Still, the plants had done nothing to him, and Sawamura was always careful to keep them under control and clean. The least he could do is make sure he hadn’t killed one with an ill-time shirt throw.

He didn’t recognize many of the plants, though he was pretty sure that one of them wasn’t a flower but some kind of herb? It seemed familiar from his mother’s plants back home. However, the one flower he could easily recognize would be the sunflower. It grew in the center of the makeshift garden, and was a thriving, little thing. If anything, he almost thought it was the closest thing to Sawamura as a plant. Brushing a finger along one of the petals, he laughed at his own thoughts; if there was a plant to represent Sawamura, a sunflower would fit the best. He figured Miyuki would be a cactus. Were there even plants for the Kominatos? He shuddered at what kind of dangerous, yet seemingly innocent, plant Ryou-san would be.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice that his aforementioned roommate had returned and had stood behind him, watching curiously. It wasn’t till Sawamura started gabbing that he realized he wasn’t alone anymore.

“KURAMOCHI-SENPAI! WHA-”

He balked and immediately turned around to wrap an arm around Sawamura’s neck, squeezing tightly. Grinning maliciously at the complaints spilling from Sawamura’s lips, he cackled. “Kyahaha, that’s what you get Bakamura for being so loud!”

Eventually he did let the pitcher go, but only after trying out a few new moves on him. He deftly ignored the litany of archaic apologies interspersed through Sawamura’s complaints, and instead moved back towards his dresser to finally finish changing. That seemed to snap Sawamura out of his noise, and left the pitcher unnaturally silent.

With a bit of struggle, he managed to remove his compression shirt swiftly, and turned back around to face the oddly quiet Sawamura. Seeing the red tinge on his face, Youichi raised an eyebrow confusedly, before shrugging and going back to changing. Getting himself comfortable in a simple t-shirt and sweats, he settled himself down to play video games for the rest of the evening. He kept an eye on Sawamura who had gone over to his plants, rather than continue any conversation with him.

Switching on his console, he readied himself to be lost in the world of another inane character when he got distracted by the noises Sawamura was making. Giving the first year another look, he realized it wasn’t noises so much as a soft warbling form of singing. Sawamura was...singing to his plants? That somehow felt like the least surprising part of this scene. Sawamura was a loud person, of course he sang. That fact that he sang to his plants, and softly at that? That was the part he was surprised about.

Still, he watched as Sawamura carefully arranged the plants in order to maximize the sunlight absorbed, and then how he carefully watered each one, clearly knowing which plant required more, and which didn’t. The absolute ease in his actions juxtaposed his otherwise erratic behaviour, but if Youichi really thought about it, it was obvious even from day one. The things that Sawamura knew about, he knew really well and was extremely comfortable in them.

But even then, the extra attention given to the sunflower was unmistakable. An extra run of a finger along one of the petals, a gentle hold to the base of the flower as he poured water into the roots of the plant, and the careful turn of the entire container to face the sun. Then there was the extra soft smile that spread across his face, his eyes alight whenever they glanced at the sunflower. How the singing managed to get even softer and sweeter specifically when he cared for the yellow flower.

Realizing he had been watching Sawamura putter around for far too long, Youichi shook himself out of his trance and decided to ask the question burning in his mind. “Hey Sawamura, why exactly do you grow plants?”

He watched as Sawamura’s shoulders tensed before he turned around to face Youichi. Looking at his face, Youichi was surprised to see a glisten of tears in Sawamura’s eyes coupled with that same soft smile. Lifting an eyebrow, he waited for Sawamura to speak, for once allowing the normally loud boy the chance to gather himself before replying. Eventually though, Sawamura came and sat down in front of him, having put down the watering can.

“I...back home we grew so many plants on the farm, that it feels weird to be in Tokyo. Grey pavement, grey buildings, grey skies. Everything looks so drab. The field is the only part of the city I like, but I...miss home.” With a huff, Sawamura finished speaking and then looked away from him.

If he thought about it, Sawamura was one of those people who were extremely attached to the familiar. It made sense that he tried to bring a piece of home with him to Tokyo. But then...

“Why the sunflower then?” Gesturing in general to the plants, it was obvious there was more affection to that one plant.

Surprisingly, this time Sawamura blushed brightly, and began stuttering in his reply. “W-well...uh....it’s just...um...”

Glaring, Youichi reached over and smacked Sawamura on the head. “Bakamura...get to the point!” He watched impassionately as Sawamura clutched his head tightly, and dismissed the tears.

“Mochi-senpai, that was unneeded! Ugh....but it’s just...they’re beautiful flowers aren’t they?” Sawamura turned his head towards the flower, smiling softly, “but more importantly, they’re incredibly strong. They turn to face the sun, even when facing adversity.”

Sawamura’s voice became quieter as he spoke about how the sunflowers seemed to carry the weight of the world on their proverbial shoulders; “they slump over Mochi-senpai! They support so much all by themselves.” But then his voice became emboldened, “but they always crane their necks up, fighting past all their problems to look at the sun. Don’t you find it inspiring senpai?”

Youichi stared at the pitcher, blinking slowly and confusedly. Sawamura had a tender look in his eyes, alongside the gentle smile on his lips. With tousled hair, and sun-kissed skin, Sawamura looked ethereal. He could feel a blush spreading across his cheeks the longer he stared at Sawamura.

But the moment ended soon when Sawamura opened his mouth again. The vein in his forehead twitched in anger.

“Plus, Miyuki gave it to me!”

#daiya no ace #sawamura eijun #eijun week #ace of diamond #kuramochi youichi #ray ray writes #diamond no ace #growth is a process #day 2

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alteriius · 6 years

Text

Dysphoric

FANDOM: Final Fantasy XV PAIRING: Noctis/Prompto WORD COUNT: 2,311 LINKS: AO3 | FFN

Trans Prompto, dysphoria and a little bit of bed sharing. If this is the type of content you enjoy and you like my work, consider buying me a coffee! Also open to requests!

“Admit it, we're lost!”

“We are not lost.”

Prompto Argentum is the first to admit that Noctis isn't much of a liar. Hell, his honesty is probably a hazard to Lucis, as far as most its politicians are concerned, but that mattered little. He could say with confidence that most people preferred an honest king to a liar, even if he came baring disheartening information.

But as much of a liar Noct wasn’t, that didn’t mean he couldn’t tell one. Being a blunt guy didn’t mean he wouldn’t pretend that he knew where they were going until it was clear that he’d lost their way well over an hour ago.

“Dude, we're totally lost. There's the coeurl we killed like thirty minutes ago!”

“Okay, for on thing, that was maybe twenty minutes, but fine, yes,” Noctis says with an eye roll so aggressive that Prompto wouldn’t be surprised if they rolled right out of his head. He leans heavy on his “good” leg, eyes scouring the trees for their destination to no avail before making their way back to Prompto. “We’re a little lost.”

“Finally!” Prompto says, raising his hands toward the sky, as if reciting a silent prayer to the Astrals, thanking them for this blessing. Noct’s half-hearted glare stops him from actually singing his praises to the Six.

“You're more than welcome to show me where I should be going if you know so much better,” Noctis says with a wave of his hand, gesturing at the foreign landscape stretched out before him.

Oh, hell no.

“Right, uh, buddy. Pal. Kinda defeats the point of a camera man is he taking the lead.”

There’s another roll of his eyes, but Prompto doesn’t miss the way Noct’s lips twitch upwards into a smile that gives away his amusement.

“Yeah, you just wanna take pics of me falling on my ass,” Noctis says and Prompto touches a hand to his heart, offended by the mere concept that he would enjoy the opportunity to ruin his friend’s reputation. But he doesn’t have the chance to continue messing around, if only because they need to be adults for once, instead of letting Iggy do all the legwork for them.

“We're gonna have to camp soon. It's getting late,” Noctis says and any glee Prompto had found in their antics disappears. He groans at the idea of sleeping on the ground again. This would make the fourth night in a row—and this time, he couldn’t even blame Ignis being cheap.

“Ya know, I think we need to convince Ignis that sleeping on a giant magical rock that sends a smoky wisp thing up into the air to alert everyone to where it's at is probably not very beneficial to our health.”

“Tried it.”

A laugh spills from Prompto’s lips as a smile spreads across Noct’s face. The two of them walk onwards in the dimming light, searching for anything that might resemble safety once night fell. It’s the aforementioned sliver of smoky light that leads them to their destination and it’s not until he takes a running leap to the top of the rock that he realizes how shit out of luck they are.

“Aw, man,” Prompto says aloud, letting loose a whine as he swivels on his heels to look at his friend. “We’re gonna freeze our balls off out here, Noct.”

That was to be expected, but it somehow slipped his mind that as infinite as Noctis’s internal storage apparently was, their camping equipment had a home in the trunk of the Regalia, rather than the Armiger. Tents, sleeping bags… Come morning, they were both going to have nasty colds and aching backs to match.

“I have, uh…” Noctis says, pausing to hum softly before something flickers into existence in his hands, pulled from the Armiger. “This?”

This is a just a single, solitary blanket, not particularly thick and superior to what Prompto could offer—which was nothing—but it does little to make him feel better about the night they’d be spending away from their other comrades.

“That’s… not gonna get us very far.”

“Yeah, but it’s all we’ve got,” Noct says, shrugging off Prompto’s observation before he tosses the blanket to him. It covers Prompto’s face and by the time he’s wrestled it from the top of his head, Noctis is disappearing over the edge of the rock to retrieve a few pieces of firewood so they don’t actually freeze to death.

Apart from this sad little blanket, a fire was going to be their only means of staying relatively warm.

A sigh leaves his lips as he tips his head back for a moment to look at the stars starting to appear in the sky amidst the warm hues of the fading sun.

Looks like he's stuck prepping their, uh… sleeping arrangements.

Their camp is a sorry one. It can hardly be called one at all, but the sky is clear and the daemons are distant, so despite the chill in the air, they still had plenty to be thankful for. The fire isn’t going to stave off the cold as much as he’d like, but it’s better than nothing and it’s easy to ignore the chill in the air when he’s teasing Noct for cheating and using magic to start the fire.

It’s easy to ignore the temperature that’s steadily dipping sitting here with Noct, sucking down dinner that was little more than a nice meal of enhanced cup noodles. It’s not until they’re getting ready to underneath their single, solitary blanket that he begins to feel the cold. Their jackets are peeled away, laid down to defend them as much as possible from stone beneath them.

The rest should be easy. Years of knowing Noctis had given them time to have plenty of sleepovers in the past. There were perhaps too many times where Prompto ended up crashing at his place—in his bed—because he’d missed the last train. Not to mention, Noct was his best bud. The only real tragedy here would be if he wasn’t allowed to cuddle away the cold with him.

Noct is the first one to find a home in their shoddy sleeping arrangements. That’s no surprise. What he’s not expecting is for Noctis to stop him before he can crawl in to join him.

“C'mon, man, I'm freezing my junk off out here.”

“You’re not wearing that to bed.”

Violet blue eyes find a sudden interest in the stone beneath his feet more than the face of his friend. He can’t help biting down on his lip, chewing on the tender flesh there for a moment as he mulls over how to win the ensuing argument.

Anyone with half a brain would know what Noctis was talking about—and it’s not the pants he’s borrowed from him to keep the cold from clinging to his skin like it would if he slept in his boxers as per usual.

“Aw, come on, man. Don't be Ignis,” he tries, wringing his hands in front of him, chest constricting the minute the words were out of his mouth. That is 100% your anxiety, he tells himself, not wanting to believe it’s anything else, despite the likelihood of it.

The way Noct’s face scrunches up at the mere suggestion that he’s even remotely similar to his adviser elicits a breath of laughter from Prompto, though he knows a loss is in the cards. All he’s doing is prolonging the inevitable.

“I'm not ‘being Ignis’. You can't sleep in a binder, Prom.”

“Uh, and I can't sleep with my tits, like, on you.”

“Like they’re any different than mine.”

From day one, it’s been obvious that Prompto was the only one bothered by the disparity between his identity and his body. The only “disturbance” that had occured due to Prompto’s confession was Ignis being surprisingly upset that he hadn’t been told in advance so he could tailor meals more appropriately to minimize the negative impacts of what Prompto liked to call his “monthly hell”—and Prompto couldn’t have been happier to say that the extra effort wasn’t necessary.

But Noctis had known longer than Gladio or Ignis. He had found out back in high school, when his stupid uterus had decided to be on anything buta schedule and Prompto had been forced to tell the prince of his fucking country that he was trans and could he please go buy him a couple things because he couldn’t very well walk down the street bleeding everywhere.

Words could never express how grateful he was to have a friend that would not only go out and do exactly that, but would also deal with the weeksthat the press spent trying to track down who he was dating.

So if there was any one person that Prompto should feel comfort being around without a binder, it should probably be Noct—if only that was enough to will away his dysphoria.

“Prom,” Noctis says, voice as soft as it is stern. It’s the tone of his voice that dissolves whatever drive he has to keep his chest as flat as possible. Much as he hates the fat sacks hanging from his chest like a pair of anatomically-infused weights, sleeping in a binder is a bad idea.

Noct's right. He knows this; he knows that the ache in his chest isn’t anxiety.

“Fiiine, just… turn around, would ya?”

Noct does as told, but that doesn’t mean Prompto’s satisfied.

“And close your eyes.”

Prompto can’t even see his face to confirm whether or not he actually does it, but he decides that maybe—just maybe—Noct is trustworthy enough to assume that he did as told.

“And cover them with your hands!”

“Prom, really?” Noct asks, though Prompto hears more amusement than irritation in his voice, despite the exaggerated sigh as his hands move up to comply with Prompto’s demands.

“Listen, I'm not taking any chances with you after that time you grabbed me, Mister!”

Noct sputters, ears flushing bright even in the dim light as he tries and fails to make anything but words. It takes him so long to figure out how his mouth works that Prompto’s already stripping his tank off when he says, “It was an accident! Besides, you’re one to talk! You had your hand on my ass how many times today?!”

“Dude, I have to make sure you still have one after all the lazing around you do. Think about how disappointed Lady Lunafreya would be if her husband was assless?”

“Hey, I have an ass!”

“Yeah, sure, buddy,” he says with a laugh as he peels off the tight, black binder, letting loose a breath of sweet relief that came with the first opportunity he’s had to breath properly all day. But the absence of it reminds him of another issue as the air hits his bare skin, causing a shiver to rock his body. “Hey, uh… Don't suppose you have an extra shirt? Iggy had all of mine for washing… And the tank is a little…”

Tight, he wants to say, but the thought of how it would emphasize a part of his body that he hated second most was enough to make him cringe. But as always, Noctis doesn’t question him, doesn’t second guess whatever is on Prompto’s mind.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he pauses to fish through the armiger a moment before retrieving one of his spare shirts and Prompto was grateful when he reached back without looking to hand it to him. He doesn’t scold him for pulling his hands away from his face to do it, either. “Here.”

“Thanks, man.”

It’s when the shirt is in his hands that he knows he’s been more than blessed by the Gods, given the friend that he has.

“Oh, Noct,” he whispers, tone exaggerated. “My favorite fabric. How did you know? Not even my nips will suffer tonight.”

He hears a huff of laughter from his friend, but the joke that follows has Prompto gasping in mock offense.

“It's my subtle way of saying, ‘Please keep your shirt on’.”

“Like you haven’t seen ‘em before, your highness.”

Both of them chuckle at that, knowing the truth of it. It’d be hard for Noct not to see his bare chest once of twice when he was constantly getting his ass kicked. How many times had he needed to help bandage a wound that he’d waited too long to grab a potion for?

Prompto pulls on the shirt offered to him, relishing in the familiar soft fabric that was easy even on the most sensitive of skin.

“Okay,” he says, signalling to Noct that he can finally turn back around. This time, their eyes meet and a smile lights Prompto’s face as Noctis opens up the space he’d previously closed off for his sake. He’s quick to settle into their makeshift sleeping bag, laying close—too close by the standards of some—to his friend and curling an arm around him. “Give me your best octopus impression.”

Noctis wastes no time in leeching off Prompto’s natural warmth while Prompto suffers a few minutes through the chill that’s settled into Noct’s limbs. He spots a hint of the same tired smile he’s been seeing all evening before it disappears into blond locks.

“Night, Prom,” Noct mutters, voice already slurred from sleep. He was going to wake up with a stiff back tomorrow. He was going to wish they'd never wandered out of Gladio and Ignis's field of vision, but he had none of those regrets right now.

“Night, Noct,” he whispers, the soft snoring he gets in response eliciting a giggle from him that fills his chest with warmth instead of the usual anxiety.

Nah, this couldn’t be counted among his regrets, no matter how sore his back would be come morning.

#final fantasy xv #Prompto Argentum #Noctis Lucis Caelum #promptis #ffxv fanfiction #Allen writes.

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