#back with some dappled sunlight <3 been a little while

[eurydia]

rest for the wicked

still version and details below

inspired by him appearing at the Grove: (gifset)

the flowers are asphodels. they're apparently fatal to mice

I pictured him sitting under a hanging tree

#bg3 #bg3 fanart #bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #aka disney princess raph #careful out there i heard there's a devil reciting poetry and taking people out for dinner #i should give you the coordinates just in case #so you can avoid it #...right? #back with some dappled sunlight <3 been a little while

[flonkertn]

𝐈𝐕𝐘 - 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : rafe cameron x pogue!reader , jj maybank x pogue!reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : cheating, sexual references, a little angsty (i need to write jj comfort i feel so bad), swearing

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1.9k (future chapters will hopefully be longer!!)

𝐚/𝐧 : my first series aah! i’m actually so excited i’ve wanted to publish my writing for so many years. the series will be heavily inspired by the song ‘ivy’ by taylor swift, some chapters more so by the lyrics but i’m trying to capture the vibe of the song as well (it’s my most listened song this month help me). feedback would be greatly appreciated!! pls enjoy <3

White flurries drifted slowly down in the winter air, most falling to the ground just to be swallowed whole by the ocean of snow that lay beneath, but some clinging to the cool, frosty glass of your window which provided them an eerie home.

Soft sunlight crept over the curved edges of the clouds, it’s fingertips clinging to the rounded corners mercilessly, it’s rays dappling as they peeked through the now raindrops that sat waiting on the panes, barely illuminating the room and forcing a glow to sit idly on your skin.

Beams bounced off the cluttered walls in an attempt to bring forth life, appearing to work as your droopy eyelids pry open and expose your quickly dilating pupils to the world that surrounds you.

While the air outside is cold, your skin absorbs the radiating warmth of the limp body resting beside you, bones slotting into the crooks of your figure and hugging your frame so gently, ghosting above as though you were formed from glass.

Yet, as your eyes scanned the room, the arm that sits snaked around your waist tightened it’s grip, subconsciously holding you close despite the soft snores that begin to ring through your ears.

Flashes of the night before pass through your mind, fuzzy and grainy and out of order, but as your gaze meets a downturned picture on your nightstand, a golden frame that encases a photograph of your boyfriend, the oh so familiar guilt builds back up in the pit of your stomach, and you know exactly whose arm is currently tugging at your hips.

Rafe Cameron.

The ill-defined affair with the Kook Prince had been consuming you for the past 3 months, and you were certain you’d called it off, but he always seems to crawl his way back into your head, and your sheets.

You knew it was wrong, and you knew that it would kill JJ if he found out, he’d burn the world to the ground and take himself with it, but Rafe just seemed to have a hold on you, this ability to control your every move wether you liked it or not, and you sure as hell liked it.

Fingertips traced over his knuckles as you peered down at his strong arm, his hot breath falling on your neck and melting the hair and the fabric and anything else that stood between his lips and your skin, eating away at it desperately just so his mouth could briefly make contact.

Bold, black letters forced their way into your peripheral as you pushed your head ever so slightly to the side, careful not to wake the sleeping lion, the tamed beast, that inched it’s way further into you. The digits “7:16” planted on the clock and assured you that you had at least 2 hours before JJ would be awake, let alone be making his way over to your apartment.

“Rafe” Your voice was barely a whisper, but enough to make the body next to shift in it’s place and bring it’s limp head up to meet your gaze, a smug grin tugging at the corners of it’s mouth as it leant in for a kiss.

“Mornin’ , princess” He rasped, planting a few more on your cheek and jawline before flopping down onto his back, rubbing his forehead between his fingers, pinching at the skin, and turning to look at you again.

You said nothing. You knew you should just tell him to leave but you couldn’t muster the strength, opting instead for a cold glare and a gentle sigh, the look in his eyes competing with the one in yours, neither of you seeming to gain the upper-hand.

“Maybank on his way?” His body turned away from yours, pushing up from the mattress with his wide-spread palms before his feet made lonesome contact with your cold, wooden floor and reaching for his previously abandoned boxers.

“No we got a couple hours, he’ll still be asleep” You sat up, forcing your eyes away from his figure just as he turned back around, so predictable.

“Really?” You could hear the smile in his tone, accompanied by the metal clang on the floor as he dropped his long-forgotten trousers, the belt still looped through the fabric hooks due to the anticipation you both felt last night, rushing through each “step”, as you called it, desperate to feel your bodies sticking to one another once more.

The mattress sunk, taking you with it as it compensated for the pressure of the new weight it was forced to carry. You could sense how smug Rafe felt, just how wide his shit-eating grin really was, the feeling flowing off of him and into you like a soundwave.

“A few hours.” He quips.

You reluctantly nod, knowing he’s just trying to rub it in, the fact that you slept with him. Not your boyfriend, but him. You kissed him and fucked him and fell asleep in his arms and now you were inviting him to stay, a series of events that you’d both lived through on multiple occasions, but somehow Rafe got more and more proud of himself each time it happened, it seemed to boost his ego further, if that was possible.

Before you could argue, or even think to, his hands were wrapped around your body again, dragging you on top of him and kissing you more, fingertips grazing your skin and massaging in his touch, pressing it into you as if to mark his territory and clinging to your plush thighs which sat either side of his waist, an action he knew would pull a smile from the depths of your heart and paint a hazy, rose blush across the apples of your cheek. And it did.

“So happy you have a lazy boyfriend.” The barely coherent murmur was trapped in between your lips and sent a vibration down your throat, allowing you to register what he said and swat at his bicep, and yet he only deepened the kiss and sent a groan down your throat, his smirk present against your skin.

A few moments pass, lips pushing into his before you pull away, watching as his head runs after you like a lost puppy, trying to win you back. “You should still get up though, he’ll be here by the time you get out of the shower.”

He lies there, dumbfounded, brows furrowed and eyes glued to you as you climb off of him and out of bed, sliding your feet into the security of your slippers and taking his shirt for yourself, the hem falling at your upper-thighs as the rest of the fabric drowned your figure.

“I’ll start on breakfast.”

His voice chases after you as he shouts, “I do not take that long!”, but you continue down the hall and into your kitchen, a wide smirk playing on your lips as the springs of the bed creak, indicating that Rafe is taking your advice.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

JJ’s knuckles were turning white by the time you opened the door, his unnecessarily aggressive knocking jolting you into action shortly after Rafe left, every part of your brain working to remind you who you were actually dating and reciting each detail of the blonde boy like a worm in your ear so you knew how to react when you opened the door, a process you’d now become accustomed to.

“Hi hon-“ He cut you off as he pushed his way inside, moving you with his hands that pressed into your hips as he shut the door behind him. “How come you haven’t been answering your phone?”

His eyes were wide and ridden with concern, shifting between your own so vigorously and pulling you just a little closer, knowing if you stood any nearer to him he’d kiss you before you had the chance to answer his question.

But your eyes were wide too, face filled with guilt and fear and hesitation, searching your brain for an excuse like your life depended on it.

The precious feeling of his calloused fingers on your supple skin should’ve brought you comfort and eased the ache that you felt in your ever-tightening chest, but despite the incandescent love that his touch brought forth, and the memories that it produced, it can’t seem to ease your rapid and raging heart, whose beat pounds against your ribs and begins, in a desperate attempt, to claw it’s way out of your body and break free.

“My phone is still in my room, on charge.” Gesturing down the hall and smiling as you shook your head a little, trying to persuade him as best you could. After he paused for a moment, a split second, but still a moment too long for your liking, you raised your eyebrows and forced your smile to grow, hoping and praying that he’d agree and move on.

JJ wasn’t even considering that you were lying, he trusted you, and he didn’t think twice about your phone. It wasn’t until he pressed a long-awaited kiss to your lips and strutted into the kitchen that the subtle and innocent doubt started to seep in.

“How come you’ve used two plates for your breakfast?”

You froze. You just froze. There was no movement or reaction besides your breath hitching and a slight stumble backwards, so movement indeed, but you didn’t process it. Your brain was scrambled and mouth couldn’t function, you were paralysed and what was a second for him, was almost an hour for you.

The relaxed muscles in JJ’s back were staring at you, his eyes focused on the messy countertops that lay before him and not the horror that ensued behind;the fear that you currently exerted. And your brain longed to copy the relaxed stance of the body in front of it, but it couldn’t.

“I uh.. I wanted eggs and I wanted pancakes and…” You were rambling, your mouth was moving and white noise was falling out without it being processed by the rest of you. You couldn’t bare to watch as JJ turned around to face you, his expression awfully calm given the circumstances, but then again, he didn’t know what you knew.

“...I can’t have sweet and savoury on the same plate! Madness J, honestly.” Now you were accusing him of being mad? God, it was pathetic. It was like you were in a car crash and you were somehow the car.

But he just smiled, chuckling to himself a little as he lowered his head, as he took a step further and kissed you once more, hands tangled in your hair which manages to ease your aching momentarily.

“You’re so weird when it comes to food.”

His body pushes gently past you and towards your bedroom, releasing a ground-shaking breath from your lips, so loud you wonder if it echoes in JJ’s ears the same way it does yours.

It had been so long since you’d slept with Rafe, or done anything with him that the tension felt so strange and new, like the first time it happened.

You didn’t know how to act around JJ, flinching at his touch and zoning out once your eyes finally registered the “on my way love” that sat expectantly on your phone screen. Eventually you learnt to deal with it, to suppress the fear and memories and things went back to normal, at least around JJ they did. Yet somehow, now it was worse than ever before. You’d spoken to him for, what? Thirty seconds? And yet you felt as though you’d never be able to breathe again.

You’d had sex with Rafe dozens of times, stayed over at his, slept in his arms and kissed him in the confinement of any walls that could surround you, whispered sweet nothings into his ears and let him do the same to you, caught and memorised the glint in his eye whenever you smiled. But you didn’t mean it, and at least JJ didn’t see it.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @sadfury @f4ll-for-you

#rafe cameron #rafe obx #jj maybank #rafe cameron x reader #jj maybank x reader #outer banks #ivy #taylor swift #drew starkey #rafe #jj #rudy pankow #fic #series #fic series

[aamirastories]

Part 3

I'm putting these out quite regularly now as I have a lot of this already written, but will slow down now to give a chance to catch up for those following along!

The Hikers

March 10th, 2023

My legs were on fire. I looked up. When my father said this was going to be a short climb to the top, I would love to know what scale of measurement we’d used. 

I looked down. Sure, we’d come a long way. Looking up again though, the top seemingly faded seamlessly into the clouds.

“Come on! We’re almost there!”, my father said.

Now I knew what deja-vu was. It was hearing that every hundred or so metres. My father was an ex-Navy seal – tall, rugged with short greying hair. Our bond grew after my mother passed away and whilst I struggled growing up, Dad had really been working on his bond with me and this hike was an example of that. Years of demanding special ops missions and training have left him tough, physically and mentally and even out of service many years, he still kept himself in great shape. I on the other hand was only just beginning to get used to this increased level of torture-come-training that he led me through weekly. I was skinny and was never comfortable with exercise, though I did always prefer exploring and Dad and I always had a bond through this. I however, was exhausted.

We continued climbing up the gradual slope, my legs burning with each step. I focused on regulating my breathing as I tracked our progress, counting over 500 laborious steps upward. The ground unexpectedly levelled off into a plateau still shrouded in mist, surprising me. Where was the peak?

“Almost there!” My dad called out ahead, striding vigorously towards the blanket of clouds. I hurried to catch up, confused. We'd hiked miles, the thin, cool air signalling high altitude.

As soon as I entered the fog, it enveloped me completely. The astonishing vista left behind vanished - there was only a haze of white. We wandered sightless amidst the swirling vapor; the mountain's peak shrouded. A surreal sensation came over me, as if floating in another realm high above earthly bounds. I focused on my father's broad back as my anchor point, shadowing his tireless gait through this bizarre, muffled limbo.

Just when unease began overwhelming me, the fog thinned. Crisp blue sky emerged above while sunlight dappled the rocks golden. Scrambling up boulders, I grasped a ledge, pulling myself to the summit on hands and knees, my heart racing and my lungs on fire, before standing up. I got a little lightheaded, but my father steadied me, as the weight of the rucksack on my back obeyed gravity and threatened to help me take the quick way back down the mountain. 

I looked around. The view was gorgeous. The sky was a rich blue with only a faint wisp of cloud on the horizon. There was a nice cool breeze which I appreciated as it helped to cool my face, sweat still pouring down it. I slowly turned, taking in the vista, careful not to lose footing again. 

In the distance. What was it? I called out to my father.

“Dad? What’s that?”

It took him a moment. I pointed in the direction, and he finally spotted it, as it grew closer.

“An aircraft maybe? Seems to be going quickly whatever it is.” he replied.

“The trail though, it’s not white, it’s grey, almost black.” I added, and focused on it more, shading my eyes with my hand placed over my eyebrows. It was hard to discern a particular shape of it although it did glint in the sun, so I could only surmise it was made of some kind of metal.

It was coming more quickly now, the front of it turning a more yellow orange, and suddenly my heart began to race again.

“It’s definitely not an aircraft” my dad said. He picked up his phone and zoomed into it, getting a closer look.

As it got so close, we felt we could almost make out the shape of it, trying to work out exactly what it was, it exploded. The sound hit us about 4 seconds later, a loud bang, this deafening peal accompanied by a blast of scorching wind that sent us both backwards.

“WOW!” My dad said as he looked at me.

Where the object had previously been, a blue cloud was hanging in the air, spreading and becoming fainter as it did, the wind beginning to carry it over our heads. We stared at it for a matter of minutes before it completely faded. I could swear, before my dad looked at me that the faintest smell of what I could only describe as coriander was in the air but dismissed it immediately. We breathed air that had been endlessly hot – I could still feel the residual heat on my face. As the smoke dispersed, the sky looked pale and empty again.

“Come on, let’s head back down again. I need to write this down before I forget and post these pictures to some friends.” my dad said and began to step cautiously down the steep slope. I looked back up, no sign of where the object had been, before turning again and following him down, my path tracing his.

#science #fiction #young adult

[nicad13]

Crossroads: Chapter 7

The Recovery

Summary: Din learns more about the Force, comes to understand why he can’t trust happy thoughts, and gets to be the little spoon.

Yadier makes his wishes known. Rayne relives a bit more of Order 66 before she accepts.

Notes: Canon-compliant through Season 1, alt version of Season 2. Posting some old fic before the sequel, which will hopefully be complete by the end of Season 3. Start now so you're ready! AO3 link in the Source at the bottom.

Illustration by @catstanbulite.

Tags/Warnings: PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Sexytimes

Rating: Mature

---

Let’s get together to fight this Holy Armageddon So when the Man come, there will be no no doom Have pity on those whose chances grow thinner There ain’t no hiding place from the Father of creation

Bob Marley, One Love

---

Rayne woke up the next morning to find that a small, green, alien baby had replaced the Mandalorian in bed with her at some point during the night. She figured out what had happened easily enough and closed her eyes once more, enjoying the easy warmth of the morning.

Enjoying sleeping somewhere other than the cramped coffin of the bunk on the ship.

After another hour or so, she woke again to the sound of Yadier’s burbling, followed by his hands plastered against her face, followed by a string of nonsense words, one of which may have been a close approximation of “frog.”

Someone was hungry.

Taking the hint, Rayne opened one eye so she could poke him in the nose with a reasonable amount of accuracy. He replied with a giggle and a raspberry.

Breakfast it was, then.

She picked him up and headed to the ship. Din had left the ramp down, testing whether the beacon would truly keep the critters out. So far so good. Rayne paused half-way up the ramp. “Permission to come aboard?” She thought maybe she heard a mumble from behind the closed door of the bunk, so she figured it was safe to proceed. She saw that the door was, in fact, closed, so she placed Yadier in his crate while she stepped into the fresher for a moment.

When she came back out, Din had made minimal progress, getting as far as opening the bunk door and poking one bare foot out.

She tried to resist. She really, really tried.

She failed.

Light as a feather, she ran a finger along the bottom of Din’s foot.

He screamed. And, with the reflexes possessed of any self-respecting Mandalorian warrior, thrashed his way back into the bunk, banging every surface with both elbows, both knees, and his head.

She poked her head around the opening with a fair amount of caution to find him sitting, curled up in the back, tangled in the sheet. She didn’t need the Force to feel the glare pounding out from the other side of the visor. “Stop that.” His tone was snappish, and she couldn’t blame him.

She did, however, smile. “That was hilarious.”

He growled at her. Good god, he growled at her. It took every ounce of self control she possessed to not burst out laughing. “Will you forgive me if I make you breakfast?”

“Yes.” His tone switched to petulant, but she’d take what she could get.

Breakfast was served, sins were forgiven, and their first full morning on Methuselah began.

---

She showed him how to use her bow and he took to it easily, as he had with every other weapon he ever touched. He walked into the forest with it in his hand, quiver slung across his back, following a game trail. After two miles, he saw a spot on higher ground with a clear shot at the trail, hiked up to it, and settled down, leaning back against a tree.

When it came to the basics, hunting game was much like hunting bounties. Sometimes it was best just to pick a comfy spot and let things come to you.

The air was still but pleasant, sunlight dappling the leaf-covered ground as it filtered through the trees. After several minutes, the birds began to chirp, having grown used to his presence.

It was… nice.

He still couldn’t quite get used to things being so nice. Still couldn’t quite trust it. If it’s too good to be true…

He took a breath, trying to shake the thought. Things would get real again when they left for Coruscant. Until then, he would try to stop looking a gift blurrg in the mouth and let himself enjoy things here.

A few hours passed. He dozed off a few times. The birds chirped some more.

A decent-sized deer trotted down the trail. A buck. Big enough so that it would be a pain in the ass to carry back, but it would see them through for much of their stay. Din waited for it to stop and turn its head away before moving into position, pushing up onto a knee and nocking an arrow onto the bowstring without a sound. He pulled back on the string and took aim.

He waited, taking note of the timing of his heartbeat, the slight bump of the arrowhead with each thump, the correction back down in between. He waited for the buck to turn and face him.

It only seemed fair.

When it did, he held his breath, corrected his aim, and loosed the arrow in the gap between the beats of his heart. He heard the thwack of it hitting home and the buck sprinted twenty meters down the trail before dropping.

The birds stopped chirping.

Din sat back and waited, knowing that the buck would take off if he approached it too soon and he would spend the next hour chasing down the blood trail of an adrenaline-pumped animal. Instead, he gave it half an hour to die in peace, knowing his shot was clean. When time was up, he hauled himself to his feet, pulled his knife from his boot, and descended to the trail. His approach was silent until he reached the animal. It did not appear to be breathing, but he called out a sharp “Hey!” just to be sure.

Nothing.

He field-dressed the deer, maneuvered it over his shoulders, and carried it home.

His thoughts wandered as he walked, pondering the economy of killing something directly to eat it versus killing someone, getting paid for it, then buying something that someone else had killed and eating that. If he had to be covered in blood, it was nice that it didn’t come from a body that had been talking to him five seconds ago.

Come to think of it, it had been a good several days since anyone had tried to kill him.

It was all very quaint.

He just couldn’t trust it.

---

Rayne was up on the roof of the ship when he got back, working on the port engine cowling that had gotten damaged on their pass through the asteroid belt. Yadier was in the middle of the clearing, levitating pebbles, his toy frog, and the large bearing. When she saw the deer he laid out by the fire ring, she gave a low whistle. “Your freezer big enough for all that?”

“Barely.”

“Steak for dinner tonight?”

“Yes. What’s the radius on the beacon?”

“About fifty meters.”

Din nodded. He boarded the ship, then came back out a few moments later with an arm full of plastic bags, a small vacuum pump, and an enormous butcher knife. He disappeared into the woods to find a suitable spot to process the deer somewhere beyond the beacon radius, came back, hauled the animal over his shoulders, and slipped back into the woods again.

Something about Din’s tone was off, and his posture was stiff, almost angry. Yadier seemed to sense it, all of his pebbles and toys now on the ground, ears flat against his shoulders. When Din disappeared into the forest for the last time, the baby looked up to Rayne, his question written clearly all over his face. Don’t worry about it, kiddo, she pushed the thought to him. He’ll come around when he’s ready.

---

Rayne watched Din come down from the flight deck after tucking Yadier in for the night. “All good?”

He seemed to consider for a moment, hands clenched, then approached. “Can we have a word outside?” His voice was low.

“Sure.”

She followed him down the ramp, out into the night. When he continued past the fire ring and out toward the trail by the lakeshore, she understood the reason for their little hike – he wanted to be out of whatever kind of telepathy range Yadier might have. When they were half a mile away, he stopped and turned to face her.

A meteor fell across the sky, the fire of its passage through the atmosphere reflecting off of Din’s helmet.

“We have a problem.”

She figured as much. His mood hadn’t improved since returning with the deer. “What’s up?”

“I think he’s re-wiring me.” His tone was hard, touched with anger. “He might be doing it to you, too.”

She stopped to consider. “Could be. What’s your evidence?”

“I’ve been alone for most of my life. I liked it that way. The day after I picked him up, I tried to hire Kuiil as a crewmember. I’d only known him for two days. I only knew Omera for a few weeks, but…” he shook his head, lifting his hand with his thumb and forefinger spacing a narrow gap. “I was this close to taking the helmet off and… changing everything about myself for her. Losing my soul for her. When Cara decided to stay on Nevarro, it stung way harder than it should have. I even… god… I even tried to talk a droid out of the suicide mission that wound up saving the rest of us. And now I’m standing here doing therapy hour with the enemy sorcerer I slept with after knowing her for less than three days and then convinced to leave her well-established business to guard me and my enemy sorcerer kid to get him home.” Frustrated, he turned and paced away a few meters, then paced back. “It’s not me. None of this is me.”

“Hm.”

“Anything different with you?”

“I did let a Mandalorian talk me into leaving my well-established business after I pulled the incredibly unprofessional move of sleeping with him while he was still a paying customer despite the fact that he’s wrapped in the one material in the galaxy that serves as Jedi repellent. So, yeah.”

He drew an aggravated breath. “You sound like you’re almost okay with that.”

“Getting someone to do something they really don’t want to do is hard. Yadi’s good at blunt-force stuff and simple healing, but it’s going to be a while before he can finesse getting someone to do a hard 180 without them knowing about it immediately. Pushing someone into something they’re not opposed to, or something they want to do but are holding back on, that’s easy.”

“You’re saying I wanted all this?” She could hear his Mando’a accent creeping into his voice, clipping his t’s.

“I’m saying you weren’t against it. Your situation demanded that you get more help from other people, so you did the reasonable thing and got it.”

“Yes. But I liked it. I never liked working with people before.”

“Maybe you found better people to work with this time around.”

He shook his head. “Nothing else explains your change in behavior.”

She shrugged. “You did happen to catch me at a moment when I was bored and…” She bit back on the word “lonely,” uncomfortable with that admission on the heels of Din’s sudden reclamation of solitude. It gave her a moment to think back on the state of his brain structure when she had healed his skull fracture. She hadn’t had a lot of time to poke around in those moments, but had noticed the structural abnormalities that were the result of long-term trauma. She wondered what the best way to get at this was. “Did you like being alone before?”

“Before what?”

Before your life turned into a complete shitshow. She tried again. “Would it surprise you to learn that a life full of violence can alter your brain structure in ways that make it difficult to form connections with other people, and you have those altered structures?”

He tilted his head, putting it together. “I’m following.”

“Let’s say Yadier is re-wiring you. Chances are this is just another form of healing. He’s not manipulating you. He’s fixing you.”

Din turned away again. “It’s that easy?” The words grated out through his teeth, angry. “Change the way I think, the way I feel, just tear out the old wiring and shove new stuff in? Like I’m some droid?”

“Did you object to it so much when the wiring was getting damaged?”

“I don’t like it either way. I don’t like being… programmed. I watched you talk Stormtroopers out of their orders. I watched you put an entire platoon of them flat on their backs. God knows what Yadier’s doing to me. I don’t like being in a place like this and feeling like I can’t trust it because it’s all too good to be true.”

“You had a few moments of happiness and you’re worried that what you’re feeling isn’t real.”

“Yes.”

She took his left hand and pulled his glove off, stuffing it in his belt. Closing her eyes, she brought his forefinger to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss to it. After a moment, she took his finger in her mouth. His breath hitched as her tongue made promises he knew damn well she could keep. After a few minutes, she withdrew his finger, opened her eyes, met his gaze through the visor, placed his hand at her hip, and confirmed the effectiveness of her work with a hand at the hard length of him.

“That feels real enough.”

He turned and led her back to the campsite.

Hard. Soft. Warm. Tender. All of it real.

In the moments after, with all the impurities of doubt wrung out of him, he had gotten to the roots of his discomfort.

“I was… difficult, today.”

“Yeah, you were.” She smiled as she said it, and allowed him to pull her in close by way of apology. “Have it figured out, yet?”

“Yes.” His tone shifted to melancholy.

“And?”

He turned over, facing away from her but pulling her arm around with him so she was tight against his back, flattening her hand against his chest. She held him, feeling the air move through his lungs as he spoke of his childhood.

“The Mandalorians brought me to the covert and tried to place me in a family. They brought me to my new parents and I refused to speak to them. I already had parents. They were dead. I didn’t… want anyone to replace them. They wouldn’t just let me… It didn’t work out. Didn’t work out with the next five families. So I gave up. Decided I wasn’t wired for it anymore. They put me in the Fighting Corps instead.”

She tightened her hold on him, on this man who had likely been stolen as a child, only to find himself unwanted by his captors, passed around, then placed into the very war machine that had stolen him and destroyed his wiring in the first place. If he had, in fact, been stolen, that he was totally unaware of it all… it made her heart ache to think of it. To know this piece of him that he wasn’t even aware of, to withhold it because she had no idea how to tell him, knowing it would break him in half…

“I didn’t want to pretend to be something I wasn’t,” he continued. “I hated it when they did it to me and I didn’t want to be that. I didn’t want the kid… I didn’t want Yadier to think I was… I tried to manage his expectations.”

“That worked out well.”

He huffed out something between a laugh and a sob. “Yeah. I thought that part of me… the part that wanted a family… I thought that part of me was dead. Now it’s… back, and I… a different part of me hates how it feels.”

She held his hand with a gentle grip, accepting this part of him.

“I hate how it feels because I know I’ll just have to kill it again when I give him up.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. We have other things to do first that require you to be his father. Enjoy him while you can. People come and go from our lives all the time. It sucks when they leave, but that’s not a reason to pretend like they were never there. Life is better when you let other people into it.”

“You’ve done fine on your own for the last five years.”

“You understand how careful I have to be about who I’m with, right?” She felt his hand tighten around hers. It hadn’t occurred to him, but he understood when it was brought to his attention. “It’s not just about my own safety. Whoever else knows what I am... they’re at risk, too. Not a lot of people are up for that.”

He threaded his fingers through hers, realizing the implications of her choosing to be with him. She trusted him with her secret. She trusted his ability to handle the dangers that came along with connecting to someone who was a member of a group that was hunted to the edge of extinction. Qualifications that a vanishingly small number of people could meet. An exact reflection of his trust in her.

He finally realized that he wasn’t alone.

He didn’t have to be alone.

He didn’t want to be alone. For reasons that made sense, regardless of what his son was doing to him. Even if this was Yadier’s work, he understood that his son was doing nothing more than trying to restore what he once had.

Again, he realized that you sometimes don’t realize how broken something was until it got fixed. Sometimes, when it got fixed, you were afraid to take it back out just to break it again. But after a while, you remembered what it was like to have it, and you realized you were so tired of life without it, and it was enough to make you take the risk with it once more.

He pressed back against her, his skin to hers, absent of his own armor but finally trusting the armor she carried with her all along. He drew in a breath, held it, and let it out in his response.

“I’m glad you’re with us.”

He felt her lips press against his spine just above his shoulder blades. Warm. Soft. “I’m glad, too.”

He made it all the way through the night with her under the stars.

---

They began to settle into a routine. A light breakfast. Rayne would go for a run, taking Yadier with her in his crate as it repulsed along behind her. Din would get some helmet-free time in the sun while they were out, then swim once he got warm enough. He would forage for greens and fruit when they came back and did some Force-training in the clearing, usually some version of Yadier Force-throwing stones at Rayne while she was blindfolded, swatting them apart with her lightsaber. After the first week, Din would pitch in with harder throws and bigger rocks, encouraging Yadier along. Rayne and Din would trade off with the saber so that he could get a feel for it, though they lacked anything capable of sparing with it. Rayne and the baby would follow training with a swim. After lunch, in the heat of the day, the guys hit the rack for a nap while Rayne picked a spot to meditate, sometimes in the forest, sometimes on the beach, wherever it seemed easiest to reach out to the Force and listen. Later in the afternoon, Din would sit in the shade at the edge of the forest with Yadier and read to him, splitting the time evenly between Basic and Mando’a, while Rayne would hole up in the ship and work on the fob scramblers. One more swim for all of them together before dinner, more of a wade for Din, not wanting to have to deal with a submerged helmet if he didn’t have to. Din and Rayne prepped dinner together, learning to work around each other in the cramped galley as needed, grilling over the fire whenever possible. Din still took his meals alone on the ship. After dinner, they would turn Yadier loose on the shoreline to splash around and chase tadpoles against the blazing sky of the setting sun, reasonably sure that he wouldn’t decimate the frog population on a full belly. The stars would come out, and sometimes the spotchka would follow, Din suffering through the ridiculousness of drinking it through a straw, something he would never do before anyone else. When the baby finally wore himself out, they took turns putting him to bed, bundling him into his crate and, most nights, put him up on the flight deck where he could still see the stars. Most nights, they lay together at the edge between the clearing and the forest, watched the stars turn, watched the meteors fall, traced the lines of strengthening muscle, and unwound in the ways they best knew how. Most nights, hours later, Yadier would reach out with his mind, and they took turns gathering him up to bring him back outside to snuggle in between them.

Rayne discovered that many things were, in fact, rituals for Din.

Beskar was inspected and cleaned after dinner every evening. Helmet first, by himself on the ship, and then he would come out to join her and Yadier for the rest of it. Gloves off, he would detach each piece, turn it over in his hands, run his fingers over every surface. Only the first time around had he found any damage that required attention. From the blaster bolts that caught the back of his helmet and backplates when they had made their escape from Rayne’s planet. The marks left behind weren’t so much damage as they were simply new cosmetic imperfections, but they did require treatment to render the beskar once more impermeable to the elements. A simple matter of polish application and removal. Deformities in the surface remained, but were sealed. Once passing inspection, each piece was re-attached before moving to the next. Every evening.

Next, the knife was honed on the days it was used, which was most. He floated the honing steel over his knees, running his blade over it from heel to tip, aligning its edge, the ring of it sounding out through the clearing.

The Amban hung unused in its place by the door to the flight deck. His sidearm only left its holster when disrobing. Even so, they were disassembled and cleaned once a week.

Even in the moments before intimacy, the reverent detaching of the armor, placing it in its drawer if they were on the ship or stacking it neatly if they were outside, held a sense of worship for him.

It all had a sense of utility about it, the care of these objects that his survival depended on. In contrast to the helmet rules and resulting disruption in meals, going through these motions seemed to calm him, bring focus to his thoughts, center his mind. Religion, in this manner, almost seemed to make sense for Rayne, who had abandoned most of what she had learned of Jedi mysticism with the exception of meditating on the Force, the only thing she could really feel, the only thing that bore evidence of its existence.

In this, the attention to the details of the tools of war and defense, the Mandalorians and the Jedi were not so different.

---

One evening, sitting by the fire after dinner as they watched Yadier splash around on the shore, their conversation drifted back to the issue of using the Force for mind control and influence.

“Would you like a demonstration?” Rayne asked.

Din tilted his head, hearing the challenge in her tone. “Maybe. What are the terms?”

“One easy one, one hard one. Easy one first. You tell me to stop as soon as it’s too much for you. I’ll have to take a peek in your head first, but I promise to stick to surface stuff.”

“Deal.”

“Okay,” she smiled.

“Actually, hang on,” he interrupted. “I’ll be right back.” He got up, strolled back to the ship, and went up the ramp. He returned a minute later and sat down with a sigh. “Ok. Ready.”

She laughed, looking out to the lake, unable to face him directly, and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “That was it.”

Again, the head tilt, followed by a slow turn to the ship, then back to her. “Seriously?” His voice was low, like he couldn’t decide if he was angry or amused.

But definitely not “pissed.” Absolutely anything but that.

“What?” She turned her palms up in innocence, laughing. “You were about ten minutes out from that anyway, so it was the first thing I found in your head. Thought the hard one might be better for you on an empty tank, so, you’re welcome.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. It had been frighteningly normal, and proved her point. He’d had no idea she’d pushed him into it. “Okay. I’m ready for the hard one.”

“You sure? You’re not gonna like it.”

“I’m sure.”

“Say ‘stop’ when you’ve had enough.”

“Okay.” He watched as she leaned forward, elbows on her knees, head down. After a moment, his hands lifted of their own accord and moved to the sides of his helmet. “Whoa...” He fought it, fought her, and his arms locked up. For a few moments, he was frozen, battling against the unseen Force acting on his body. His arms moved again as he began to lose that battle, and his thumbs slid along the lower edge of his helmet. “Whoa, whoa, ok, stop.”

The Force vanished and he yanked his hands away from his head.

“See the difference?”

“Yes.” He took a few hard breaths. “How hard were you trying?”

She shrugged. “I was at about ten percent when you said to stop.”

He shook his head. He’d been at ninety-five by the time he’d tapped the brakes. Even when it came to one of his greatest moral imperatives, she could overpower him with ease. “I thought you said getting someone to do something they really didn’t want to do was hard.”

“Without them knowing they’re getting Forced, yeah, that’s hard. Making them think they’re doing it out of their own free will takes a lot of skill. I have a fair amount of practice with it.” He nodded, remembering how she handled the Stormtroopers. “I blunt-forced it with you just now so you’d know what was going on.”

“How hard would it be for you to make me think I’d want the helmet off?”

She didn’t answer immediately, seeming to consider. After several moments, she met his gaze through the visor. “Maybe we shouldn’t look into that one too hard.”

---

Din threw two handfuls of rocks at her, one after the other, Yadier doing the same. Reading their intensions, Rayne pulled the lightsaber through all of it, feeling the vaporized dust against her skin where the blindfold didn’t cover her face.

Din stepped back and sighed.

“What’s wrong?” Rayne asked as she pulled the blindfold off.

“This is too easy for you. I’m bored.”

She smiled, deactivating the saber. “How may I entertain you instead?”

He did a slow turn, casting his gaze about the clearing, until he settled on the Razor Crest. He considered for a moment, then shrugged. What could go wrong? “Lift the ship.”

She lifted an eyebrow to start, her expression dubious. “No promises, but I’ll give it a shot.” She approached the Crest until they were about twenty meters from the port ramp, Din behind her with Yadier in his arms. Rayne closed her eyes , bowed her head, and raised her left arm.

She reached out tentatively at first, gathering the ship with the Force, feeling for the lift surfaces, the points that would best withstand the haul without tearing the ship apart. Once she had a handle on that, she raised her other hand, and began to lift.

Din heard the creak of the hull, heard the shift of stone as the landing gear unweighted.

Heard the snap of the primary com antenna as it broke off and went sailing over the lake.

“Dammit…”

“I got it,” Rayne countered as she reached out with her right arm, Force-caught the antenna before it hit the water, and brought it back. By the time it was in her hand, the ship had settled back onto its landing gear. She turned to face him and shrugged.

Yadier reached out to her, babbling a long string of nonsense, and Din handed him over after she set the antenna on the ground. Rayne took him, noting his attention focused on the ship. “I think he wants to give it a shot, but I don’t want him tearing the ship apart. I might be able to channel him through me. Between his power and my skill, we could probably do it.”

Din considered. Yadier had gotten stronger over the last few weeks; things that used to tire him out quickly now seemed to have little effect on him, just like any other kind of exercise. “Sure. Just don’t let him hurt himself.”

“No problem.” Rayne turned the baby so he was facing her, and she met his all-encompassing gaze. “Whaddya say, kiddo? Be my battery? We’ll lift your dad’s ship?”

Yadier smiled.

“Ok, then.” She held him in her left arm and extended her right, once again reaching out to the ship, feeling for the best places to pick it up, feeling the baby at the back of her mind, watching, learning, ready.

Now.

The ship creaked once more and the landing gear groaned as a hundred tons of steel lifted off of it.

And the Razor Crest hovered ten meters off the ground.

Din’s face went slack under the helmet. His eyes flicked from his ship to his son, secure in Rayne’s arm, eyes closed, serene with his head tucked under her chin, his hands flat against her shoulders. For her part, Rayne’s eyes were also closed as she took long, deep breaths, working hard, but not terribly so, steady, solid. Din looked back to the Razor Crest, silent, floating.

“Ok. I’ve seen enough.”

Rayne exhaled as she uncurled her fingers and lowered the Crest to its gear with a gentle release. Yadier relaxed as she turned back to Din. “Still bored?”

“Nope.”

---

Yadier was having an absolute blast.

During the day, he loved the lake and swimming and the frogs and the sun on his face.

During the night, he loved the light and warmth of the fire and the glow of the fireflies and the stars in his eyes.

He loved when his father read to him and taught him words. He learned to call his father buir. He knew it wasn’t his father’s name, not like how Yadier was his name, but it was what you called the people who took care of you. His father liked it when he called him buir. He couldn’t see the smile behind the mask, but he could feel it, and he loved to make his father happy.

He loved when his father’s friend took him for runs through the forest, to watch the trees flow by. He loved when she brought out the glowing sword and he could play with the Force with her.

Lifting the ship was so much fun, even if it did tire him out. She told him maybe they could do it again later, but not to try it without her until he watched her do it a few more times. They were stronger than the ship was, and they had to be careful not to break it.

Sometimes they meditated together. This was less fun, but she taught him that this was where their power came from. This was how they could understand it better. Most of that sailed right over his head, but he understood there was something important about it. She told him they had to be careful, about not hurting other things or other people. She also told him to be careful about other voices he might hear, to let her know if anything reached to him through the Force. He knew there was more she wasn’t telling him, that she didn’t really know how. But he knew she wanted him to be safe.

And so he began to call her buir as well.

His father took good care of him. So did his mother.

Her reaction was not the same as his father’s. She didn’t seem to know what it meant. She just gave him a puzzled smile and continued with the lesson.

That was ok. His father would help her figure it out sooner or later.

---

Din came down the ladder from the flight deck, turned, and saw them both curled on the bunk, sound asleep in the rainy afternoon. Rayne was on her side and the kid was tucked under her chin, tiny arms wrapped around her arm that was in turn wrapped around him.

He leaned against the bulkhead, thoughts drifting to earlier in the day, spent inside the ship on the one day of thunder and rain. She had been teaching Yadier deflection; Force-tossing tools through the air at him, having him repel them and hold them all aloft. He’d managed it until there had to have been fifty bits of metal hanging in the air and he’d dropped them all, collapsing with the exhaustion of fine-tuned control. He’d reached up to her, the word buir squeaking out. Mother. He’d called her mother. She hadn’t understood it, thinking it was part of his usual babbling, scooping him up, calling him verd’ika in return. Little warrior. “You did so well,” she had said, holding him close. “You’re getting so strong.” Holding him in one arm, she’d picked up the tools, showing him where they all went. “Next time you’ll be strong enough to help me put this all away.” The kid had replied with a raspberry. Don’t get your hopes up.

He called her mother. Of all the Mando’a she knew, the word for parent was absent from her vocabulary.

It made his heart ache.

Now, she began to twitch in her sleep, the muscles in her legs and jaw clenching and releasing, her brow furrowing. She’d woken Din up in the middle of the night more than once with this kind of thing, claiming vivid dreams. Dreams. Nightmares. It was all the same. He watched as the kid managed to turn over in her grasp and reached up to her jaw with one hand, a tiny groan escaping his throat. She stilled a moment later, and the kid settled back down.

Din slid down to a lower rung on the ladder and sat on it, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He called her mother. He was also apparently alleviating her nightmares. Had he been doing the same thing to him? Din thought maybe he had. He called her mother.

The only other person to serve anything near to a caretaker role to Yadier lay dead on Nevarro. Din had buried him himself. Kuiil had done his best to protect the child and paid for it with his life. Would Rayne pay the same price? Would Din have to bury her, too?

I’d have put your Amban through your throat. Her words to him after knowing him for less than two days, if she’d discovered anything sufficiently nefarious on his ship. She hadn’t been joking. He had no doubt as to her ability to do it, either. She may not be a Jedi in title, but, dammit, she had it in her. Under the clumsiness and cover of a respectable living, the Force burned inside of her. It burned through her, and when he lay with her, shed of the beskar, he could feel it burn through him, wrap itself around his spine, creep up the back of his neck until it reached his helmet, held at bay there, surging at his throat, ready to blow his mind if he ever dared take the bucket off.

She wouldn’t admit it, but she was a warrior. Not a soldier; she lacked trained discipline. But she was strong. Fierce when she needed to be. His people had clashed with hers in the past, but for now, the two of them, together, could shepherd the little boy he had found to safety, the little boy that they both knew could be the key to saving this godforsaken shitpile of a galaxy.

She could more than hold her own.

She was worthy of being the mother of his son.

She was worthy of the signet Din bore on his shoulder.

Three. We can be a clan of three.

The thought grabbed him by the throat and wouldn’t let go. He knew it’d been there for a while now, its seed planted in his gut that first night he’d led her to his bed, wondering what the hell he was doing in one half of his mind, knowing damn well what he was doing in the other half.

Decision made, he took a deep breath, stood up, and went back up the ladder, wondering how exactly one went about inviting a woman with the blood of the Jedi coursing through her veins into a Mandalorian clan.

---

“Join me on the flight deck.” His tone was light, almost hopeful, and she wondered what could be so interesting up there.

She followed him up the ladder and watched as he pulled up a crew manifest. “You actually have a crew manifest? How law-abiding of you.”

His only response was to shrug and step aside so she could read it:

Spacecraft Designation: Razor Crest

Spacecraft Registration: [dynamic]

Owner/Captain: Djarin, Din

Engineer/SIC: Rollins, Rayne

Passenger: Rollins-Djarin, Yadier

Her first response was a small laugh at his workaround for the ship not being registered anywhere and to make a mental note to investigate it further. Her second response was suppressing a snort at being second-in-command of the two adults on the ship.

Her eye hung on the last entry.

She took a long, slow breath. “Din, you can’t just-”

“Wasn’t my decision.”

“He decided on his own last name?”

“He called you buir today.”

“He keeps saying that. What does it mean?”

“When he says it to me, he means father.”

Rayne froze. She was familiar enough with Mando’a to know that it was a gender-neutral language. So when Yadier had said it to her…

Din tilted his head. You ok in there?

“He called me mother.”

“Yes.”

“Did you teach him to do that?”

“Nope.”

Not trusting her legs, she sank into the starboard jump-seat, gaze focused somewhere outside through the windscreen.

Din took a seat in the pilot chair and swiveled it to face her. “You’re unhappy about this.”

“No. I’m just unqualified for this.”

He leaned forward, taking her hands in his. “You’re more qualified to be his parent than I am. You’ve taught him more about himself over the last three weeks than I have in a year. You’ve taught me more about him than I learned on my own in a year. You know what goes on in his head. You’ve taught him how to handle it all. You’ve taught him how to harness what he has. You put your whole life on hold to help him.”

“That makes me a good teacher. That’s not the same thing as being a mother.”

“I see how he looks at you. I see how you look at him. Don’t lie to me and tell me you don’t feel it.”

“That’s not… I’m not saying that.”

“What is it, then?”

She took a long, slow breath, elbows on her knees, pulling her hands away to thread her fingers through her hair and rest her forehead in her palms, speaking to the floor. “My first rite of passage as a Jedi… we each had to face our greatest fear.”

“Yes.” Din remembered when she had sketched it out to him earlier, how she had found the crystal that formed the core of her lightsaber. Unable to hold her hands, he placed his feet on either side of hers. “You succeeded.”

“… Yes…”

Her pause was longer than he expected. “What happened, Rayne?”

A long breath, in and out, followed by more silence.

“What did you see?”

“People dying because of my inaction. Children dying because of my inaction.”

“It came to pass.”

A shorter pause this time, and her fingers bent into the curls at the top of her head. “Yeeaaahhh…” The syllable was drawn out, shaken. Another breath, and she continued. “The night we got back.”

“Order 66.”

He watched her nod to the floor. “I crawled through the vent shaft to the nursery. Where the toddlers were.”

Din saw where this was going. He pulled his gloves off and shifted off of his seat to take a knee before her, threading his fingers through hers while at the same time careful to avoid touching her with the helmet. “You don’t have to say it.” His voice was low and soft over the modulator.

“You need to know,” she responded, her fingers tightening around his. “You need to know that I couldn’t save them.” Her words were spoken around tears, now, apparently the one memory she had been unable to disassociate herself from, the one memory that evoked everything that came with it upon the first telling. “You need to know that I hid in that fucking shaft and did nothing while I watched twenty toddlers get slaughtered.” Her breaths came in long, shuddering draws.

“Hey…” He pulled her to him, not entirely sure what the right thing to do here was, knowing she didn’t like the feel of the beskar, not knowing if she would even notice in this moment, holding her there on the floor of the flight deck. “You were ten, Rayne. There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“The way it happened… the person who did it… I’d fail again today. There’s no way I could save them. Even today.”

“Hey…” he said again, pulling away a little this time, just enough so he could look her in the eye. “It’s not just you anymore. Whatever happens next, I’m with you. It’s both of us. And Yadier’s not helpless. You’ve seen to that. You’ve protected us in ways no one else ever could. You’ve taught Yadier to protect himself. I will protect both of you with my life.”

She met his gaze through the visor, the blue of her eyes reflecting the beskar of his armor. “I never had a mother. I don’t really know how to be one.”

“Remember what you told me back at the hangar?”

That almost got a smile out of her. “I told you a lot of things back there.”

“You said babies need affection, to be talked to, played with, and loved. You do all of that with him just fine. You also said he was a good judge of character. As far as he’s concerned, you’re his mother. I’m not inclined to argue with him.”

Rayne stopped herself half-way through an eye-roll and smiled. “I never expected you to use my own words against me.”

“Easier with yours than mine.”

She flattened her hands against his helmet, just above the visor, and rested her head against them. He leaned into her, glad for her adaptation into the gesture as she breathed into it. “Well, that was the worst job interview I’ve ever had.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Offer still stands. Not sure the boss will take no for an answer.”

“What happens when we find his people?”

“Nothing changes. I’ll always be his father. You’ll always be his mother.”

She dropped one hand to the pauldron on his right shoulder, tracing the mudhorn sigil there. “Does it matter that I’m not Mandalorian?”

“No. You follow enough of the Resol’nare to qualify.”

“Six Acts?”

“Six Actions. First is to wear armor. You carry yours around in the form of the Force all the time. Next is to speak Mando’a. Defend yourself and your family. Contribute to the clan. Raise your children as Mandalorians. Fight for the cause of Mandalore.”

“About those last two…”

“Four out of six is fine. Our clan, our rules.”

“So this makes me part of the clan?”

“Yes.”

He watched as she closed her eyes, forehead still against her hand against his helmet. Waited as she worked through the implications. “Is this… is this all from him, or…”

“I want it, too. We both want you in our family.”

He watched as her lips formed around the last word, appearing to have as much trouble saying it out loud as he used to. With a final sigh, she sat up, meeting his gaze. “Where do I sign?”

“Nothing to sign. Just say the words of the gai bal manda.”

“Name and soul.”

“Yes.”

“What are the words?”

“Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad.” Din took a sharp breath, suddenly realizing that perhaps when he had spoken the words to his son, sometime during those first delirious days after Nevarro, they may not have counted. “And then you say his name.”

He watched again as Rayne’s lips traced over the translation. I know your name as my child. “Um… Din…”

He took a long, deep sigh. “Yeah. I think I need a do-over.”

They descended the ladder to find Yadier in his crate, sitting up and playing with his rubber frog. He reached up, asking to be held, the word “Buir?” squeaking out of him.

Din picked him up and sat on the edge of the bunk with him in his lap while Rayne went to the back of the hold to retrieve a chair. “I screwed up last time, kiddo,” he said. “This only works if you have a name.” He waited for Rayne to get settled. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Din took a breath, running a finger along his son’s ear, feeling something tighten in his chest as the baby looked at him with those enormous eyes. “Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad, Yadier.” He brought his forehead to the baby’s, holding him there for a moment before pulling back.

Yadier looked up at him and smiled, burbling. “Buir!”

Din tilted his head and nodded. “Yes.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. Your turn.” He handed her his son.

Rayne held him in her lap, regarding him with a serious expression. “Your dad says you want me to be your mom. You sure about this?”

“Buir!” he repeated, looking directly at her.

“All right then.” She looked up to Din for a moment. He remained still. Silent. Sensing no objection, she looked back down to the kid. “Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad, Yadier.” Following Din’s lead, she placed a kiss at the top of her son’s head.

And just like that, Rayne was a mother.

They were a family.

Din saw that his hands were shaking and he clenched his fists on his knees. After all the families that had declined him as a child, after instead being raised in the Fighting Corps, after believing for so long that he was incapable of having a family, incapable of being a father, destined for a solitary existence, now, finally, at an age where many Mandalorians who survived this long were just reaching the grandparent stage, he had a son of his own. He was a father. His son had a mother.

Rayne laughed. “We’re in our mid-forties and our son is six years older than we are.”

Din sighed. “He better grow up quick.”

---

The next day, he handed her a bullet casing, clearly ornamental, made of beskar, strung on a short length of leather. “Open it,” he said.

She unscrewed the flat end and pulled out the contents.

A small lock of hair, dark brown, almost black, bound with a black elastic, just long enough to betray a loose curl. She held the elastic end in one hand as she ran the fingers of the other along the length of it. Feeling how soft it was.

“I thought it might even the score a little,” he said.

She slipped the lock back into the casing and closed it. “Finally cut your hair.” She smiled.

“I did.”

“Thank you,” she said as she fastened the leather around her neck, the casing lying just below the hollow of her throat.

He tilted his head at the sight of her wearing beskar, understanding what it meant for her to accept it, to wear it against her skin. He hooked one of his fingers around one of hers. “Thank you for wearing it.”

She ran her free hand through what had become shaggy lengths on the back of her head. “Mine’s getting too long, too.”

“You can borrow my clippers if you want.”

“I’ve never done it myself.”

“I can do it,” he offered.

Her expression was dubious.

“I can’t promise I’ll do it well,” he clarified. “You keep yours shorter than mine and I’ve been doing this for thirty years.” He shrugged.

“Oh, what the hell.”

Five minutes later she found herself standing in the middle of the hold of the ship, naked so that she wouldn’t get her clothes full of hair, Din running his clippers up the back of her head. He took two passes, pulled the clippers away, and paused. “Huh. Woops.”

“What?”

“Kidding.”

She sighed.

“You deserved that for tickling me.”

“You hold a grudge, don’t you?”

“I do.” His tone held a smile, though, and when he was done, she checked the results in the mirror in the fresher.

Not a terrible job, all things considered.

He swept up while she got dressed, and when she returned, he was holding one of her locks, already bound in elastic. “May I keep this?” he asked.

Her expression clouded over, thinking back to the Padawan braid she never had the chance to grow out, never had the chance to sever had she ever made it to become a Knight. Something that might have otherwise happened about twenty years ago. Would she have kept it? Would she have given it to him in this moment?

He mis-read her pause. “Is this creepy? This is creepy. I’m s-”

“No, it’s fine.” She smiled. “You just get to see it every day.”

“I… should have explained. Mandalorian parents exchange these when they adopt children or bear their own. Makes up for the helmet.”

No, it doesn’t. “So, even when they’re married, they don’t…”

“No. Only in the dark. Our secrecy is our survival.” He paused, lowering his gaze to the second casing he had pulled out, turning it over in his fingers. “This is the Way.”

This is insane. Of course he was raised with the most fundamentalist upbringing Mandalore could possibly cook up in its stew of civil war and political factions. Of course the product of such upheaval would come to adopt the most powerful Force user in the galaxy. It made his admission of her into their clan all the more remarkable.

“Yes, you can keep it.”

“Thank you.” His tone was quiet as he slipped the lock of her hair into the casing and strung it around his neck, tucking it under the cowl.

Din had missed the weight of the Mythosaur, had missed the press of beskar against his throat. Having it back again felt good.

For so long, he thought he would never wear such a thing. A buir’ruk. A parent stone. A vessel containing a small piece of the mother of his son. It grew warm against his skin in seconds, and he hooked one of Rayne’s fingers with one of his own, head still bowed. “Thank you,” he repeated.

She took his other hand in hers. “You’re welcome,” she murmured.

---

Last day.

Rayne had completed and tested the fob scramblers with success. Yadier’s was embedded into the back of the Mythosaur pendant. Din’s was wired into the inside of back of his helmet.

They were free.

Din was sitting in the shade, a small can of paint at his foot, chestplate in his lap as he brushed red paint onto it. Earth-toned red. The color of his old armor. The color of dried blood.

Rayne brought her own chair into the shade and sat before him. “What’s up?”

“Bare beskar would be too conspicuous on Coruscant. Camouflage is in order.”

“Does the color mean anything?”

“Yes.”

He let the silence stretch for a while as Rayne watched him work. She didn’t press him to elaborate. When he was done with the chestplate, he set it aside to dry, and picked up his left thigh guard. “Red is in honor of my parents.” His tone was soft.

“Would you like any help?”

“No, thank you.” He pulled the brush through the length of the guard. “But I would like you to stay.”

“Okay.”

She stayed with him for the next hour as he bent over the armor and painted. Quiet.

Together.

---

Their last night on Methuselah. The sky rained down with meteors. The fireflies blinked. The cicadas buzzed. The frogs peeped.

She lay in his arms, under the stars, thinking of the number six.

The Resol’nare. The Six Actions.

The scars of six thin lines above his knee.

The scars in his mind, not quite healed over, but better than they were.

She wondered. How much he had taken.

How much more he could yet stand to take.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu

[ichorai]

pearls and pastries ; j.jk

pairing ; pirate!jungkook x baker!reader (gender-neutral)

summary ; a crew of pirates have been pilfering your village for several weeks now and one particularly keen buccaneer has stopped by your bakery practically every visit; whether it be for the delectable pastries or for the sweet baker he's taken an interest to, jungkook couldn’t say. but there’s a catch - the baker doesn’t know that he’s a pirate.

themes ; fantasy, angst, fluff, pining, slight action, pirate au, baker au, medieval au

words ; 3.6k

warnings / includes ; descriptions of weaponry, stealing (from the rich), jungkook being a sad lovesick sap, pirate!bts, poetic sadness but when do i not do angst lmfao everything i touch turns into written sorrow </3

a/n ; written for the @ficscafe fic exchange event for @sunshinerainbowsbts !! i hope you like it <3 i'm definitely considering writing a part two to this :D

Jungkook wasn’t quite fond of parrots. Well, his mislike wasn’t necessarily directed towards the multi-hued rotund bird itself, but the fact that the wretched thing was squawking out a poor rendition of what Jungkook had announced earlier whilst clambering down the crow’s nest.

“I’m going to the bakery! I’m going to the bakery! I’m going to the bakery!” the winged devil screeched from atop Jimin’s shoulder, ruffling its bright feathers as if taunting him.

Shooting it the nastiest of scowls, Jungkook reached behind his head to untie the vermilion bandana holding his overgrown locks away from his narrowed eyes. “You better shut that bird up before I toss it to the sharks, Jimin.”

“If I let you do that, I’d also have to throw you overboard. The both of you are equally annoying,” the other pirate snorted in contempt, glancing up at his younger friend striding across the ship before moving his gaze back to the knapsack he was emptying for the pilfer. Out fell several empty bottles of rum, a few gold pieces glinting in the harsh midday sun, two jewel-encrusted daggers, and a worn eyepatch that suspiciously looked to be the same as the one Yoongi always wore over his left eye. “You seem to forget that we’re here to steal from the rich, not buy fancy breads! You’re lucky that Namjoon has half the decency not to kick you off the boat. Jin, however fond he is of you, still calls you a moocher.”

Rouge faintly dusted across Jungkook’s cheekbones as he coughed into his fist, lifting his shoulder in a half-shrug. “I steal stuff sometimes,” he muttered under his breath. It was useless to defend himself against someone who saw straight through him.

“Sometimes, my foot!” Jimin scoffed, hiking the bag over his shoulders. “Bringing back a goblet you found rolling down the street doesn’t count, you know that, right?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes to the cloudless sky, far too stubborn to admit that Jimin was right. With not another word, the young pirate clambered off of the large vessel and onto the rickety docks, grunting upon landing. It didn’t bother him much that Jimin was irked at his lack of contribution. They were rich enough as it is; what was the rush?

The air was tangy with sea salt and damp wood as he inhaled a deep breath, setting off for your bakery. Walking there took exactly three hundred and seventy two steps. Jungkook had memorized the shortest route to your little shop, mumbling the numbers under his breath with a growing grin blossoming across his lips. He subconsciously rolled the sleeves of his white tunic down, the fabric concealing the pirate tattoos inked all over his arms.

When the youthful sea wolf stepped foot into your store, a familiar chiming of the bell hooked atop the door echoed across the cream-walled room. At the reverberating sound, your head peeked out from the kitchen situated in the back. An illuminating beam danced on your features, eyes lighting up with mirth at the sight of Jungkook.

It made the muscle within his chest slam against his ribcage, desperate to be freed from its confines because it belonged to you, and only you. He wasn’t quite sure when the sudden fixation for the village baker his crew was stealing from started, but he had acclimated to his own change of heart by visiting you as often as he could.

“Fancy seeing you here today. Are you coming in or are you now my human door stopper?” Your heavenly voice floated towards Jungkook, snapping him out of his thoughts. Sheepish, he shuffled inside, engulfed by the warm scents of chocolate cakes, powdered pastries, caramelized fruits, and toasted almonds. His stomach gave an impatient snarl at the sight of tempting desserts. You had also walked to the front of the counter, dusting your flour covered hands on an apron. Some of the white powder had managed to smudge on your cheek, and Jungkook had to resist the urge to reach over and thumb it away.

“Hi,” he said with the brightest of grins. “I’ve missed you.”

At his bold statement, you suppressed a chortle. “I think you missed those chocolate cream puffs you like so much, not me. What’ve you been up to while you were gone?”

Jungkook hesitated at that. For the short amount of time he’d been visiting you, not once had he mustered the courage to tell you of his true origins. A savage pirate like him shouldn’t even be around the likes of you. You had no idea that he was part of the crew that was robbing your village, and the very thought of you finding out had him terrified. You were a taste of all the goodness in the world, and Jungkook was afraid you’d crumble into ash if he dared touch you. The sinner had no rights touching an angel, after all.

“Visiting family,” he hummed, quick to move on. If you noticed his strange demeanor, you didn’t say anything. For that, Jungkook was grateful. “I brought something for you.”

There was something about your smile that seemed to expel any and all feelings of gloom in a room. Jungkook was no exception to this feat, his knees almost buckling against the soft pink counters. He righted himself by leaning his elbows on top and propping his chin up with a palm. Gods, he didn’t know he was in this deep.

“Oh?” you set your hands on your hips, tilting your head to the side. “To what do I owe such pleasures?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “For those cream cheese tarts you made me last time I visited. Thought I’d repay you.” Whilst saying this, he used his free hand to reach into his back pocket, fishing out a string of authentic pearls, adorned with a glimmering clasp of gold the same hue as the sun.

Your smile melted into a confused pucker, brows knitting together in a muted painting of hesitance, yet you ogled the expensive necklace dangling by one of his spindly fingers nonetheless. Where on earth had he gotten such a valuable treasure? “But you already paid me with money. I really can’t take that, Jungkook.”

Disappointment was easily detected as he slanted his lips to the side. “Alright, then.” He tucked the pearls back into his pocket. It surprised you how easily he had complied.

The worrisome atmosphere was quick to dissolve when the bell jangled once more. A small child meandered in with a toothy beam, holding a small pouch of clattering coins in their palm. They were no taller than Jungkook’s midriff, and he liked it a little more than he should have watching a certain softness adorn your features at the sight of the kid.

“I recommend the cinnamon apple pie. Or maybe the brown sugar crepes if you’re looking for something sweeter,” Jungkook said, gesturing to the treat behind the display glass. The child angled their head to stare at the taller man with wonder. “Anything Y/N makes is to die for, though.”

The child excitedly babbled something in return, but you didn’t quite pick up what they had said. You were far too focused on Jungkook’s animated features when he kneeled down to point at some more desserts. Sure, he was a handsome man, you’ve known that since day one. You’ve never really looked at him in this light. It was as if he were carved from pure luminosity, whittled by the hand of the most skilled sculptor. Everything about him was practically perfect; the gentle slope of his nose, the angles of his raised eyebrows, the dappled rouge of his lips, the beauty marks mottling his dewy skin, the dangerous cuts of his jaw, the twinkle of gaiety you found in his irises. With the sunlight filtering through the windows, it basked Jungkook within a golden radiance, the shadows casted along his face only highlighting his best features, doing nothing to aid your fluttering pulse. Has he always been this beautiful?

“I’ll have a slice of apple pie!”

The sudden clinking of coins being dumped onto the counter snapped you out of your trance, and you kindly wrapped up what the child ordered and handed them the paper bag. Both you and Jungkook watched as they smiled in thanks and trotted out of the bakery. Curse his handsome physique.

A little flustered by your earlier thoughts, you busied your hands by sorting the coins the kid had coughed up. Jungkook, ever the kind soul, merely stood with you as you worked, engaging you in entertaining conversations to keep you occupied while your store was empty. Where did the sun go once it disappeared down the horizon? Why did everybody else seem to enjoy the bitter taste of coffee except him? Why did his heart beat so quickly when around you? The last question he couldn’t muster the courage to ask, and much to his perturbation, he already knew the answer. You enjoyed Jungkook’s company very much; to the point where you couldn’t quite remember what it was like before he had sauntered into your life.

Before the both of you knew it, the sun was already setting. Jungkook noticed the way you deflated just slightly when red kissed the sky. It was a telltale sign that Jungkook was long overdue to go back to his ship. Yoongi would have his ass if he was late again. The whole situation was ridiculous, really. He felt like a fairy tale princess running away from the ball before his clothes grew into tatters. Well, in his case, he supposed it’d be pirate-wear.

Your smile betrayed only the gentlest hint of disappointment as you thrusted a bag of warm cookies into his arms. “Take this for the road,” you had said.

And so Jungkook did, smiling like an idiot the whole way back. A part of him absentmindedly wondered what your face would look like when you noticed that he had left the pearls on the countertop for you.

The ship rocked as the young pirate scampered across the deck at a startling speed, flinging the doors to the cabins open. Six older pirates stared at his panting form, a few looking on with unsurprised indifference, most glaring at him in disappointment. Jimin merely stuck his tongue out, his childish way of saying I told you so. There was expectancy in the captain’s eyes, but it waned away at an instant upon seeing that Jungkook carried nothing of value. Namjoon pinched the space between his brows in mild frustration.

Stiffly, Jungkook jerked his arm to thrust the bag in his hand forward. “Cookie?” he asked. Nobody said anything. Jungkook slowly brought his appendage back down, guilt roiling in his abdomen. “I take it you guys don’t want the cookies?”

With a huff, Namjoon stalked forward. “Of course we want the cookies, give me that.” He snatched the bag out of Jungkook’s hands and tossed it to Taehyung, who caught it with eagerness vividly splayed across his ruffled features. “I do have to admit, we’re getting tired of you bringing back nothing but sweets every time we go on raids, Jungkook. C’mon, kid, this is a team effort here. Look, just today Yoongi managed to steal a dozen coffers from a nobleman. The least you can do is try.” True to the captain’s word, there was a mountain of chests and boxes full to the brim with gold coins and shimmering jewels piled to the side of the cabin.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Jungkook nodded in understanding, though not without a miniscule frown twinging his lips. What was a pirate without his treasure, right?

Taking note of his glum demeanor, Namjoon clapped a hand to the younger man’s shoulder. “We’re not mad at you—”

Yoongi snorted at that.

“We just… want to help you help us,” Namjoon finished, ignoring the salty pirate’s quip from behind him.

The youngest man on deck raised his hand to his forehead in an awkward salute. “Yes cap’n!” Shame prowled within his chest; just thinking about the dishonor he brought to the pirate reputation by loitering in a bakery all day, ogling at sugary treats (and the sweet baker, but Jungkook digresses).

A part of him felt even worse knowing that he’d see you less and less, what with the other pirates breathing down his neck. He could only hope that you’d still look forward to his visits, though few and far in between.

Authentic bottles of expensive wines were shoved into his knapsack by Taehyung, lacing chains of aureate crammed into his hands by Hoseok, bars of cold silver wedged into the pits of his arms by Jimin, and more treasures thrown at the youngest pirate to hold as they lithely ran across the village. Being one of the stronger and more agile ones of the group had its downfalls, after all. He was being treated like a pack mule, hauling all the treasure for them. Not that he was going to complain; Jungkook knew that he deserved the rough-housing.

“Hold onto these for me, will you?” Yoongi gruffly uttered as he slid the thick hilts of gem-encrusted daggers into his belt. Jungkook complied hesitantly, but not without a suppressed groan of annoyance. “They’ll sell for more than a pretty penny, so don’t lose them.” The older pirate seemed to be in a grumpier than usual mood, considering he lost his eyepatch and the mottled scar crossing over his eye was on display for anybody to gawk at. It would’ve been worrying to Jungkook if he wasn’t aware of the fact that Jimin was merely prolonging his juvenile game of ‘keep away’, attempting to dance away from Yoongi’s inevitable wrath.

Perhaps being a pirate wasn’t his true calling, because Jungkook found that his mind kept wandering off to the matters at hand—running away from the guards. Though it was a relatively easy task (the guards were quite thick-headed in this village), he thought about the pretty plants dangling from the balconies of a building they jogged by, or the scents of exotic spices carried by the souq market not far from where they were. Most of all, much to his expectancy, his thoughts were centered around you. Had you gotten many customers for lunch rush? Were you lonely without him? How many times have you smiled today? Jungkook was all too fond of your smile.

Blinded by his unsaid affectionate ramblings, he only barely caught on to Namjoon’s quiet, “We shook the guards off for now. Be careful next time, Seokjin. The sun’s about to set soon; we should head back to the ship before it gets dark.”

Jungkook hissed out a small sigh of relief, bending over to catch his breath. Jogging across the village would have been no problem, but running with treasures twice his weight draped all over him was a different story.

When he righted himself back to standing, the sudden pit of shocked trepidation unfurled within his abdomen. There you were, beautiful as ever, but a terrifying sight to see. Normally you’d be the only person he would want to see, but as of this moment, you were the absolute last person he fancied bumping into.

Why now? He had the most rotten of luck.

Today you weren’t wearing your regular apron, but a pair of fitted grey trousers and a soft beige blouse far too large for you, hanging off of one of your shoulders as you cradled a basket of breads and cheeses and other groceries in your arms. It was a simple outfit, but one that made his heart clench nonetheless. The glinting of iridescent pearls draped over your décolletage had his breath stolen away from him as raw sentiment overtook his form. You were wearing the pearls he left for you and you never looked more beautiful. Jungkook, on the other hand, was clad in clothes that practically screamed pirate; a golden-clasped corset tightened about the small of his waist, a tattered white button-up tucked into his dark trousers, worn sea boots covering his feet. A large gun was also slung over the belt cinched around his hips, along with multiple daggers of the like, and not to mention all the riches and jewelry the other boys had thrown at him.

You couldn’t see him. No, it would absolutely ruin Jungkook.

Perhaps dropping everything he was holding in a panicked effort to dash away as quickly as he could was the worst possible thing he could have done to not warrant any attention.

The concerned and confused questions erupting from the other pirates as they whipped their heads towards their youngest comrade went completely ignored. He scampered away from them, lunging towards a shadowed alley and hiding behind a teetering pile of musty boxes. A stray cat nuzzled against his leg, but Jungkook merely shooed it away with a frustrated glare and not-so-subtle shushing gestures.

What a fool I am, the young buccaneer berated himself, pressing a knuckle against his temple in frustration. He waited for another minute, before slinking out from the shadows, peering around the corner to see if you were still there.

No sign of you. Relief seized his chest, but not without the gentlest flower of disappointment staining whatever solace he felt, a weed amongst the roses. Jungkook’s mind was still reeling from the fact that you were wearing his pearls.

Treading carefully, he strode out of the alley, turning the other direction before halting in his tracks completely. A queer, garbled noise tumbled past his lips.

It was you, a confused smile gracing your features, and all Jungkook could think about was how the sunlight was made for you, how you glowed in front of him, how he wanted to cradle you into his chest and murmur confessions of his pure, unadulterated love into your ear. But Jungkook didn’t do any of that. Instead, he merely stood there, as if he was imitating a statue in all of his pirate glory. Terrified, regretful, and ever so angry at himself.

Fate was a cruel game.

The pearls shone prettily on your skin. A reminder of the best mistake he’s ever made.

Your eyes had yet to wander down to fully take in his appearance, for your expression still held fondness for the man that’s visited your bakery so often, still having no idea that he was a filthy pirate, locked into his molten gaze. “I think you dropped something…?” The golden chains dangled loose between your fingers as you held them out to him. Jungkook didn’t take them, frozen on the spot.

It was as if he could pinpoint the exact moment you found out his true origins. Your brows furrowed upon seeing the weaponry strapped onto him, one of his pirate tattoos on display (Jungkook cursed himself for not thinking of rolling his sleeve back down), and the six other men watching in silent despondency behind them. You had always been a sharp one, far too smart for your own good.

Or, perhaps, it's always been obvious. Jungkook was only wishing for the impossible.

“You’re a pirate.”

The statement wedged a stake into his chest, splintering his heart into pieces. When you stepped away from him, confused horror marring your beautiful features, Jungkook knew that it was over.

He lost you.

A flurry of emotions, overwhelming and tumultuous, evidently took over you at his lack of denial. You looked to be just as heartbroken as he was.

“You’re a pirate,” you repeated, dazed. You wanted him to say something, anything. Much to his surprise, you didn’t sound angry. You took several steps back this time. The weight of pearls around your neck suddenly felt choking.

The sudden calling of his name had his head whipping around to look at his captain, watching the brutal exchange with gentle sternness. “We have to go.” The guards’ll be coming soon, no doubt.

Jungkook looked back to you, any and all words lodged in his throat. Despite the fear in your irises, a soft expression of acceptance folded over your visage, for under all his pirate exterior, he was still the same man that you thought so fondly of from your bakery. The look was short-lived however, quick to fade away when Jungkook reached out for you hesitantly. A part of him pondered how a simple baker managed to steal from the stealer. You had robbed him of his heart, and Jungkook didn’t even try to stop you.

Upon seeing you inch away in mortification at your new revelation, Jungkook retracted his arm and pursed his lips. The agony clawing at his stomach was begging to be set free. He wanted nothing more than to get onto his knees and plead for your forgiveness.

I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I’m not the man you thought I was. I’m sorry I fell in love with you.

His name came out again, this time from Yoongi. That meant it was serious.

“I’ll come back,” Jungkook said, tears rimming the bottom of his warm doe eyes. You watched him start to trek backwards. “I promise.” The words felt heavy on his tongue, like he was swallowing down a knot of thorned ivy.

Before you had the chance to say anything back, he was gone, bounding back to his ship with his comrades. Not long after, the distant barks of guards pursuing them rang throughout the village. You took that as your cue to leave. Swallowing down the urge to cry, you forced your eyes away.

You hoped he wouldn’t uphold his promise, for the both of your sakes.

#ficscafe #kdiner #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts fantasy #jungkook fantasy #pirate bts #pirate jungkook #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #bts x you #jungkook x you #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios

[dreamerstreamer]

Into The Woods

Pairing: werewolf!Dream / Clay x human!gn!reader

Summary: [Werewolf!AU] It’s love at first sight when you move into a quaint, little house by the forest’s edge, but you soon find that there’s more waiting for you in the woods than you originally thought. 

Word Count: 10k

A/N: my third commissioned story! this work has been altered so everyone can read it, but the plot remains the same. this story was a blast to write, and i hope you all enjoy it! <3

With a step back and a firm tug, the back door slammed shut with a satisfying click. You grinned as you turned the key in the lock. Slipping the silver keyring into your pocket, you turned on your heel, your gaze sweeping over the vast open forest that stretched out before you. Viridian green leaves loomed over the earth, standing in stark contrast to the clear, cerulean blue sky that stretched across the horizon overhead. On the ground below, the occasional wildflower sprouted up and out of the earth, their soft petals shyly unfurling and fluttering in the warm summer breeze.

For such a lovely view, you never would have guessed that you would be able to afford a place like this for so cheap.

Then again, Elmwood Ridge wasn’t a particularly notable town. Best known for its countless acres of elm forests and the large lake that laid at its centre, the town had become something of a nature reserve unto itself, despite being anything but. It was a quiet, quaint region, somewhere you had always distantly dreamed of visiting, if only because of its peaceful atmosphere. You never thought that you would end up living there, though.

It had been a split second decision made on impulse, and looking back, maybe it wasn’t the smartest move you’d ever made, but you didn’t regret one bit. Your new house was two stories tall and built with lovely stone bricks that looked like they came right out of a fairytale. The triangular sloping roof hung just over the sides of the house to provide some shelter from the rain, and the second floor had two balconies—one in the front and the back. Needless to say, you were sold in a heartbeat. Not only was the house pretty, but so was the price tag. You vaguely remembered hearing something about complaints of noisy wolves in the forest, but you weren't deterred. A little noise never killed anyone, and you were more than happy to share your space with nature.

Hopping down the back steps, you gently tread across the soft grass, careful not to step on any flowers as you walked. After moving in two days ago, you had planned to take the day off to hike and learn all that you could about your new backyard. You would head into town tomorrow and look for a job then—right now, all you wanted to do was explore and appreciate your new home.

Gazing up at the rustling elm leaves one last time, you smiled to yourself before stepping out of your lawn and into the forest.

In the distance, a faint howl rang out across the trees.

Between stretches of chestnut wood, a flash of tawny brown and golden fur dashed across the earth, powerful paws pushing off the ground with each leap. Landing atop a fallen log, the wolf raised his head, his muzzle raised toward the sky as he inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring.

Fresh. Clean. Warm. The faintest scent of flowers.

He exhaled, emerald eyes blinking as he scanned the open forest around him.

Carrying out routine morning patrols around the pack’s territory was one of the alpha’s many duties, but Clay still wasn’t quite used to it.

Stepping down from the log, he let his tongue hang out of his mouth, his ears flicking as he took in every sound. Somewhere above him, a bird flapped its wings, chirping as it took flight. Along the breeze, he could pick up the distant scent of deer coming from the south. His eyes flashed at the smell. He would have to report that to the pack when he returned—it had been a few days since they last had a large hunt. Sniffing one last time, he began weaving between the looming trunks, his entire body rapt with focus.

He had only been appointed as alpha a little less than a month ago, and although he had technically been taught the ropes, it took more than just a few lessons for a wolf to truly become alpha. He could still remember how the former alpha had pressed his nose to his side, nudging him onto the rock peak in front of his pack with an aging howl. He had been getting older, and everyone knew it—it was only a matter of time until a new leader was selected, but Clay never would have dreamt he would be the one who was chosen.

Only a few people were as surprised as he was, though. He was one of the larger wolves in the pack, and while he wasn’t the tallest in his human form—that title belonged to the young, curious Ranboo—he was by far the strongest, having led more than his fair share of hunts before. It was only natural that he ended up in his position, and he was welcomed into the upper ranks with open arms.

A glimmer of warmth washed over him at the memory, and he would have smiled if he wasn’t shifted. He had never felt such pride before, feeling everyone’s excited gazes on him as he howled up at the gleaming, full moon. The shouts that filled the starry night sky made his heart swell in his chest, and he just knew he was going to do his best to make everyone proud. He would protect them to the ends of the earth, if he had to.

Kicking away a stray branch, his eyes quickly flicked over his surroundings. He recognized this area, and he knew that he had almost completed a full circle around the pack’s perimeter, by now. There was only a tiny stretch left before he would return to the camp and fill everyone in. Raising his head, he let his jaw fall open to catch any aromas that travelled along the breeze.

All of a sudden, a new scent wafted over his nose, an unsettling sense of unfamiliarity striking deep within his core.

There was something in the woods—something that did not belong here.

In an instant, Clay’s lips were pulled back in a snark, his sharp canines bared as he sank his paws into the soil below. His claws latched onto the dirt, his grip firm and unwavering as he pressed himself closer to the ground, careful not to let his scent travel in the air.

They weren’t common, but every now and then, hunters would venture into the woods with their heads held high and guns drawn. Most of them came hunting for game, shooting down the occasional deer or elk to bring back to their own families. Clay didn’t have a problem with those hunters, but as for the ones who came in search of wolves?

Clay wasn’t sure he could be so lenient with those ones.

Prowling forward, he kept his haunches low, his tail brushing over the shrubbery as he took step after step toward the strange, new scent. Ever so slowly, he crept closer, his pupils dilated in focus. Suddenly, he stopped, freezing in place.

He could hear footsteps.

Inhaling deeply, he let his eyelids fall shut.

One, two, three...

His eyes shot wide open, and he whipped his head up, only to go stock still as a silhouette came into view.

It was a person, a regular person.

He blinked as he lifted his head, his expression growing neutral as he watched you crouch down to examine a small pile of stones stacked beside a tree, one that he vaguely remembered being made by Tommy and Tubbo when they went exploring a few weeks ago. There was no gun strapped to your body, no pack hanging off your hips as you rose back up to your feet. You didn’t seem to be a threat at all, and from the back, he couldn’t tell if you were even carrying a weapon.

Just then, you turned to the side, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat.

The world suddenly fell away, his surroundings melting into nothing more than a hazy blur as his eyes locked onto your face. His heart came to a screeching halt in his chest.

You were beautiful.

The light framing your lovely face made your cheeks seem all the more lively as you rose. He watched as you brushed your fingers delicately over the bark of a tree, your brilliant eyes meticulously tracing over the curve of every leaf as you walked past. Your feet never lingered in one place for long, constantly moving and skittering across the forest floor like a rippling stream. It was almost as though your every movement cast streaks of dappled sunlight everywhere you stepped, the marvelling spark flickering in your gaze making his head spin with wild abandon.

Clay felt something warm and tight curl against his insides, unmistakably soft and affectionate. It was almost hard to breathe with the way his lungs squeezed and shook behind his ribs. He hadn’t felt this feeling before, but he had heard enough stories to know exactly what it was.

His mate—you were his mate.

There wasn’t any one way to truly describe what a mating bond was, but the most commonly accepted one was that it was a connection that tied people’s souls together, uniting them in perfect harmony. Every werewolf had a mate, and most of the time, they would find their mate in another one of their kind. But right now, as Clay stood in the forest, his gaze glued to the most beautiful human he had ever laid eyes on, he knew that he wasn’t going to find his mate in some other shifter like everyone else had said he would.

Having a human for a mate was rare at best, and unheard of at worst. After all, not every human had a mate, and he had heard stories of shifters being rejected by their human mates. Some of the elders in the camp still refused to believe that having a human mate was even possible, but nearly all of the younger shifters had accepted it—embraced it, even. But never in his pack, at least, had someone learned that their mate was a human.

It looked like he was going to be the first.

For a few long moments, he simply stood there, watching you silently with wide eyes as you slowly made your way deeper down the path. A part of him wanted to chase after you, yearned to walk by your side for as long as his legs would let him. But as soon as he raised his paw, he quickly lowered it again, a pang of guilt shooting through him.

He couldn’t go up to you—not like this, and most certainly not now. He didn’t have nearly enough experience under his belt as an alpha yet, and bringing you to his world could just make everything even worse if he wasn’t careful about it. He swallowed, taking a single step back as you slowly slipped out of view, disappearing into the trees and carrying your lovely scent away with you.

Anxiety gnawed at the inside of his gut, and he couldn’t help but wonder if you would even return. Surely you must live around here to be hiking in these woods—maybe you would hike here again, if not even more often.

He paused, then nodded to himself before whipping around, his tail swishing behind him as he clenched his jaw.

Tomorrow. He would come back tomorrow.

A few feet deeper within the trees, the sound of a stick snapping shattered the forest’s silence.

Along the lightly-treaded path, you whirled, your head pointing toward the sharp sound. Pausing, you raised your head, your gaze darting to the forest canopy above. The sun peaked down at you between swaths of vibrant green, and you squinted, raising a hand to shield your eyes. The trees remained quiet around you, only whispering with the soft rustles of their leaves.

A moment passed in silence. A robin warbled.

You let out a long exhale and shook your head. Turning once more, you stepped over a small crack in the ground, humming as you walked further into the woods.

It was probably nothing.

Sapnap grunted as he dropped the pile of sticks onto the ground, the wood clattering at his feet in a heap. He scowled at the sight, resisting the urge to kick the pile down. He couldn’t believe Wilbur had actually tricked him into doing something as simple as collecting firewood. It wasn’t difficult or anything, but he was the beta, for crying out loud! He could have at least passed the buck to someone like Tommy, that brat.

“Sapnap.”

Sapnap blinked at the familiar voice, turning to find himself standing face to face with Clay. His dirty blond hair was disheveled atop his head, and his cheeks were flushed with heat. A smile tugged on his lips at the sight. “Oh, hey, Clay. Welcome back.” He squinted at the way Clay’s chest heaved, his breaths coming out shaky and uneven. “Um, you good, there? Did you run back here or somethi—”

“It happened,” Clay blurted.

Sapnap blinked, raising a single brow at him. “What happened?”

Clay swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I met my mate.”

Sapnap paused. “Oh. Oh.” A wide grin stretched across his face, and he reached over to clap a hand to Clay’s back. “That’s awesome, man! I’m guessing it happened on your patro—”

“My mate’s human,” Clay said suddenly.

Sapnap paused again. “Oh. Oh.”

Letting out a deep sigh, Clay’s shoulders went slack at his side as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his scalp. “I, um,” he said, his words coming out in a hazy rush. “I don’t think I’m ready to—” He stopped, feeling Sapnap’s patient gaze rest on him, then opened his mouth, again. “I can’t just reveal our world so soon. I’ve only been alpha for what?” He gestured vaguely. “A month? I’m not experienced enough, yet.” He slumped forward, a hollow, wistful look settling onto his features. “It would be too much for both of us.”

Sapnap nodded thoughtfully, understanding flooding his face. “It’s okay, Clay. Take your time.” He fell silent for a brief moment, then quietly added, “Did you reveal yourself or anything?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I was too surprised to even move.”

Sapnap’s lips quirked up into a tiny smile. “Then there’s no rush,” he said. “You’re allowed to build up your confidence first, dude. Your confidence as a wolf. As an alpha.” His eyes flashed with soft reassurance. “As a mate.”

Clay raised his head, blinking as Sapnap gently nudged his shoulder with his. “You can do this. Plus,” he added, his tone growing more lighthearted, “I’m your beta. You know I’ve got your back.”

The chuckle that escaped Clay’s lips was low and short, but he could already feel the tension seep out his shoulders like a leaking dam. “Thanks, Sap.”

Taking a step back, Sapnap hummed, offering him a lopsided smile. “Anytime.”

Clay turned on his heel, jerking his head toward the centre of the camp. “Well, I need to organize today’s hunt, but I’ll catch you later. I trust you’ll keep things under control while I’m gone.”

He nodded. “Of course—you know me.” With a short wave and a small grin, Clay began walking off in the opposite direction. “Oh, also,” Sapnap suddenly shouted after him, “don’t forget to grab something to eat before you go hunting today, yeah? I know you missed breakfast.”

Clay didn’t look behind him as he shot a thumbs up at Sapnap from behind his back, but Sapnap could already picture the way he would roll his eyes with a smile. Shaking his head, he turned back to the firewood scattered around his feet, a new glower creeping onto his face.

He was so getting back at Wilbur for this.

Every morning after, Clay dutifully woke up early and strolled deep into the woods, shifted into his wolf form as he scented the air and patrolled the area just as any good alpha would. But time and time again, that one sweet scent never seemed to return, almost as though it had vanished from the forest entirely. At times, he thought he caught the faintest whiff of it, but some further exploration would only reveal a small patch of flowers, never you.

Needless to say, his disappointment was palpable.

It had been a full week now, and Clay was running out of hope. Maybe he was wrong—maybe you wouldn’t ever come back. His heart ached at the thought.

He had been too hasty, wasn’t he?

Hanging his head, he whimpered to himself in the quiet forest, sniffing absentmindedly as he ambled about almost aimlessly. He still had a duty to fulfill, he knew, but he couldn’t ignore the empty feeling burrowing deeper and deeper into his chest.

But right then, just as he paced another few feet forward, he heard it.

A melody.

It was soft, the singing travelling down from the west in a distant murmur, or perhaps a hum. If he hadn’t been paying attention, he surely would have missed it. He didn’t know this song, didn’t recognize it one bit, but he could already tell that it was sweeter than any thrush’s song or any loon’s call. He felt his heart flip in his chest, and just like that, he knew.

In a flash, he was racing across the earth, his paws flying out beneath him in a blur as he ducked under branches and darted past deer, missing the way they startled at his sudden approach. The song was louder now, and he could smell it—smell you.

It was only a few seconds later that he came to a stop, his paws digging into the ground as his heart leapt into his throat.

Soft hair. Bright eyes. A dazzling grin.

You were back.

You had headphones on this time, he realized, and you were humming aloud to yourself, your feet most likely moving in time to the beat of whatever song you were listening to. You were a little off-key and occasionally stumbled over the refrain as it came around, but he found himself entranced nonetheless. Even when you were doing something as simple as humming, you were stunning.

Why come back today of all days? he distantly wondered to himself. What made today so different from any other day?

He wracked his mind as he felt the sun shine down on him gently, warming his back as he crouched down a little. He rarely kept track of the days—that was Sapnap’s job—but he knew that there hadn’t been any special events or holidays going on in the human world. Pressing his ears flat against his head, he scratched his paw at the ground in confusion. Just what made today so special?

That was when the realization slammed into him.

It had been a week since he last saw you.

Once a week—you must hike here once a week.

If he could smile in this form, he already knew that he would have the biggest, stupidest grin plastered to his face. He wanted to leap for joy and howl like there was no tomorrow, but he didn’t want to alert you of his presence just yet. Again, it had only been a week, and he was still far from being a worthy mate for you.

Once a week, he thought once more, his eyes glued to you as you skipped further down the trail and out of his sight. I can wait another week.

The wind sang in his ears as a gentle breeze brushed over his tawny fur, the forest murmuring a silent lullaby into his ear as he whirled back around. As much as he wanted to stay with you forever, he had a patrol to finish and a pack to defend. He let his eyelids flutter shut for the briefest of moments, your face engraved into the rosy crevices of his heart as your humming filled his ears once more.

He couldn’t wait to see you, again.

One week later, you grumbled to yourself as you stomped through the woods, complaining about your new job under your breath. Clay wished he could comfort you, but stayed put with his claws buried in the dirt.

Two weeks later, you watched with wide eyes as a doe and her fawn drank from a nearby stream. He made sure not to hunt those two down in particular later that week.

Three weeks later, you were snapping photo after photo with the camera hanging around your neck, your eyes absolutely brimming with curiosity. He thought you were prettier than any view the forest had to offer.

As one week stumbled into the next, the months began to pass in a blur. Summer collapsed into autumn as the leaves turned gorgeous shades of crimson red and golden orange before tumbling from the sky. Shortly after that, the forest was covered in a blanket of ivory white snow, leaving the branches bare and awaiting the return of spring. The snow soon melted into rain, and puddles littered the forest floor while flowers began to bud and bloom once more. In almost a whirlwind of seasons and waiting, summer rolled around once more, marking the first anniversary of your arrival in Elmwood Ridge.

With each passing season, Clay continued to watch you from afar with a tender gaze. Some days, he would listen to you hum as you trekked along while other times, he would only manage to catch the tiniest of glimpses of you between the trees. No matter how short the instance was, every second he got was well worth the wait, and Clay could feel his affection bloom like a new spring flower. As the trees grew larger, as did his confidence. Time was the best teacher the forest had to offer, and it didn’t take much longer for Clay to grow comfortable with his duty as the alpha of his pack. But despite his newfound strength, he still didn’t feel ready enough to approach you outright, to reveal himself to you as he was. Doubt swirled in his mind like a raging storm, eating away at him like a gnat digging through mud.

He was beginning to fear he may never be ready.

Lifting his head, he sniffed the air, the now familiar scent of his mate drifting across the new summer breeze. You were taking a new path today, he noted in an instant. Perhaps you were doing some exploring.

Padding through the trees, leaves crunched beneath his feet as he leapt over logs and puddles, following after your scent as it grew stronger and stronger. It only took a few moments for him to find you standing atop an elevated rock face, your head lifted as you gazed up at the light scattered between the tree leaves. Your face almost seemed to be glowing in the pale, morning sunshine, your eyes looking like two dewdrops as they curved into tiny crescents. Clay’s heart rattled in his chest, and he resisted the urge to howl to the heavens above.

You were lovely, his mate. If only he could work up the courage to properly tell you.

Basking in the sunlight, he watched as you took a few steps forward closer to the cliff’s edge, your eyes still trained on the sky above. It wasn’t a terribly deep fall, he knew, but the fall was most certainly far enough to hurt someone if they fell at the wrong angle. He narrowed his eyes as you stopped dangerously close to the edge, halting just a few inches from the drop. Surely the stone was strong enough to support your weight, even as old as it was, right?

Apparently not.

Clay saw the cliff crumble before you did.

Terror shot through his body like a bullet as he watched the rock face collapse under your shoes, your feet tumbling out beneath you. Your hands desperately reached for the cliff face, but he could tell from the way your scream cut through the forest’s silence like a sharpened blade that you weren't going to be able to grab it in time.

There was no time for him to think—his body moved first.

In one moment, he was standing with his mouth slack and his emerald eyes blown wide with horror. In the next, he was lunging across the rock face, his jaws wide open as he reached for the lower collar of your shirt. The moment he felt his nose brush against the back of your neck, he snapped his jaws shut, careful not to pierce your skin with his sharp canines as the cloth caught between his teeth. Your weight bounced beneath him once, and the gasp that escaped your lips made his head spin dizzily.

Close—you were so close, and your scent was intoxicating.

You turned your head ever so slightly, and he felt it the moment your eyes locked onto his. You were scared, he could tell, but as you took in the sight of the wolf holding onto you, you almost seemed to relax in his grip. Planting his paws firmly against the rocky earth, he tugged his jaw up and backwards, pulling you away from the cliff face and over even ground. Your hands scrambled to latch onto the cliff edge, helping to pull yourself up until finally, he let go of you, your now torn collar resting against the back of your neck.

Heaving a sigh of relief, you let yourself collapse against the rock face, lying on your back as you gasped for breath. Your chest felt tight like a wound-up spring, and adrenaline pumped through every vein in your body, yet you felt oddly calm. After a minute or two, you slowly pushed yourself forward on your arms until you were just barely slouching forward, looking over your shoulder. A few feet away from you, the wolf stood, his eyes trained intently on your face as you swallowed.

“Um,” you breathed, your eyes desperately scanning him up and down. “Hello?”

He didn’t say anything in return, simply shuffling further away from you. He was giving you space, you realized after a brief moment, and you blinked as you scrambled to sit completely upright. His fur was a soft, golden brown, and you had half the mind to distantly think that you wanted to run your fingers through it. Something about him seemed comforting like that.

“Hi,” you whispered once you were seeing him eye-to-eye. “Ah, um, thank you for saving me.”

Maybe you were just imagining it, but you could have sworn his eyes widened in an almost human-like manner. He didn’t move from his spot a few feet away from you, and you swallowed. You thought you would be more scared than this, more terrified of the beast standing before you. But as you sat there, watching as he blinked at you, you felt as though you were anything but. An unfamiliar yet strangely comforting warmth curled around in the pit of your stomach as you tilted your head at the wolf.

He felt so... safe. So familiar, almost like you had met him before.

“Are—are you a nice wolf?” you asked after another moment, your voice faltering the tiniest bit. “I’d like to think you’re a nice wolf, since you just saved my life.”

Once again, you were greeted by silence, the only indication that he had heard you at all being the way his ears flicked. What am I doing? you suddenly thought, your mind running at a million miles a minute. I’m talking to a wolf—an animal. I’m not a Disney character.

This was weird—or at least it was supposed to be. Yet, as you stared at this wolf who simply stared back at you with these bright, stunning green eyes, you couldn’t help but feel that everything in this moment was just perfect. Like you had been waiting your entire life for this moment to happen.

“You’re really pretty,” you suddenly blurted. In an instant, you were slamming your palm over your mouth, your cheeks flooding with heat. “Oh my god, that was embarrassing,” you murmured, your voice coming out muffled. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart hammered against your ribcage like a caged bird begging to be let out, and ever so slowly, you lowered your hands from your mouth, offering the wolf a shaky, sheepish smile. “Um, thank you, again,” you said gently, honestly. Leaning forward, you pressed your hands against the cool stone to balance yourself, your fingers digging into the rock as you spoke. “I don’t really know how you knew I was there or how you knew I was going to fall, but I really appreciate it.”

The wolf blinked at you once more, then took another step back, subtly dipping his head. Your smile widened at the sight. Pushing yourself upward, you rose to your feet, brushing off the dust from your frontside before standing upright, fidgeting almost nervously.

“I—I,” you stammered, suddenly feeling awkward, “I think I’m going to go home now, but...” You swallowed, raising your hand in a small wave as heat rose in your chest. “...thank you so much, again!”

Before the warmth in your heart could burst, you whipped around, sprinting away as fast as your legs could take you. You didn’t see the way the wolf practically crumbled into a ball on the ground, whimpering to himself as you disappeared out of sight.

Bolting down the hill and past the trees, branches blew past you in a blur as you dashed between the trunks and over patches of wildflowers. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears like a beating drum, and your chest felt oddly light. You couldn’t shake the memory of how intense that wolf’s gaze had been on yours, his eyes swirling with something that made your stomach churn and your mouth go dry.

He really was pretty.

Sapnap yawned as he stretched his arm behind his back and above his head, rolling his neck as the joint popped back into place with a satisfying crack. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept in like this, but he did not regret it one bit. Clay had given him the okay, after all. One late morning wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“Sapnap, you are not going to believe this.”

Sapnap yelped, whipping around with eyes as wide as saucers as he stumbled back a step. The drowsiness left his body in an instant, almost as though he had never been tired to begin with. Clay’s hand shot out to grab his arm, steadying him as he swallowed, relaxing once he realized who he was looking at.

“Holy crap, Clay,” he gasped, pressing a hand to his racing heart, “you scared me! I know you’ve gotten better at this whole stealth thing, but that was just straight up terrifyi—”

Clay’s grip on his arm tightened. “I saved them today,” he whispered.

Sapnap froze, and there was a beat of silence. “You did what, now?”

Just like that, Clay had flung his arms up and around his head, his fingers buried in his hair as he began to pace, his tone frantic and rushed. “There—there was this steeper area with this cliff but it was kind of hidden, and then it was breaking and I just knew something bad was going to happen, and I couldn’t just let that happen, so I moved without thinking and I was pulling them back and—”

A pair of hands suddenly grabbed onto his shoulders, stopping him dead in his tracks. “Breathe,” Sapnap instructed calmly. “You need to breathe, dude.” Clay opened his mouth, but Sapnap spoke before he could. “You are talking so quickly right now, and I can’t understand you when you talk like that.”

Clay closed his mouth, mulling over the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions steamrolling through his head. After a few moments, he finally spoke once more. “I still can’t believe it,” he murmured, suddenly sounding completely and utterly awestruck. “My mate actually stopped and thanked me. And called me pretty.”

Sapnap’s fingers loosened around Clay’s shoulders, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. “Yeah?”

Clay sighed, sounding absolutely lovestruck. “Yeah.”

Pulling his arms back to cross them over his chest, Sapnap eyed him up and down, cocking his head. “So,” he began gently, “how are you feeling?” When Clay opened his mouth, Sapnap quickly added, “Slowly, please.”

Clay groaned, teasingly rolling his eyes before leaning back on his heels, rocking back and forth as he began to speak. “I only revealed myself as a wolf,” he said softly, “so I don’t know if they know about the mating bond yet. I don’t even know if humans can feel it like we can.”

He tilted his head back, gazing up at the cerulean blue sky. “But there’s something about the way we looked at each other that makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, humans can feel it,” he whispered, sounding breathless all at once. “Call it a gut feeling, I guess. I don’t know.” He cast a glance over at Sapnap, his eyebrows furrowed. “Do I sound crazy?”

A thoughtful look flickered across Sapnap’s face. Then, he grinned. “A little bit, yeah.”

Clay sighed, something he noticed he had been doing a lot more, lately. “I just…” He swallowed. “I just don’t want something like that to happen ever, ever again.”

Suddenly, he fell quiet, his lips parting as the wheels in his head began to turn. Sapnap watched as a tiny spark came to life within his focused gaze, small but oh-so vibrant.

“You got an idea there?” he prompted after a few seconds of silence.

Clay blinked once. Twice. Then, a smile stretched across his face—a smile as bright as the full moon.

“Something like that.”

It was probably a dumb idea for you to return to the forest for your weekly hike as if nothing had happened, but you couldn’t quite quench the curiosity that bubbled up inside you every time you thought about the wolf who had saved you. His gaze had been fiery, yet compassionate, and he had been purposely so gentle when tugging you away from the cliff. You weren't a fool—you knew how powerful a wolf could be. Then why did he treat you so kindly?

You had to find out.

Marching through the brush and shrubbery, you whipped your head this way and that, scanning every strip of forest you could lay your eyes on. Wolves were good at hiding, you knew that. After all, if they weren’t as stealthy as they were, they would never be able to catch a meal. But you had been hiking for almost an hour now, and you still hadn’t seen a single glimpse of the wolf. You couldn’t say you were completely surprised, since it wasn’t like you knew every inch of the forest, but you were frustrated to admit that you were at least a little disappointed. Maybe this was a lost cause.

But then, you heard it.

The sound of a stick snapping.

Freezing, you paused, turning as you glanced to the sides. Nothing out of the ordinary stood among the bushes. You stopped again, then pursed your lips.

No, something was there.

A tender curiosity sparked between your lungs, but it was coated in a thin layer of reluctance. Sucking in a deep breath, you whipped around, squinting at the seemingly empty trees around you as you opened your mouth.

“Wolf?” you called out slowly into the quiet. “Is that you?”

At first, all was quiet, and you held your breath. The leaves rustled around you almost tauntingly, and you distantly heard the caw of a crow. You were just about to give up and go home when a flash of gold caught your eye.

Standing motionless a single yard away was a wolf—your wolf.

A grin stretched across your face, joy surging through your body as you carefully took a few steps forward. Oh, this was definitely a dumb idea, but you was more than brave enough to keep going.

“Hi, there.” You shuffled your feet, a tentative look passing over your face. “You’re, um—” You gulped. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

Clay’s eyes went wide, and he took a step back. No! he thought, hoping you would be able to read his expression, even as a wolf. Never. Not in a million years.

You stared at him for a long moment, blinking slowly as you scanned his face up and down. Then, your lips quirked up into the tiniest of smiles.

“No,�� you murmured in the softest of voices, and he felt his heart melt in his chest. “If you were going to do something, you would have done it by now, wouldn’t you?”

Clay nearly sank in relief, and he barked. You raised a brow at the sound, furrowing your brows slightly. “Do you want me to keep you company?” you asked, beginning to walk up to him. “Is that what you’re doing?”

You had only made it a few steps when he suddenly barked again, taking a step toward you. In an instant, you froze, watching with bated breath as he curled around to your other side and gently nudged at your leg with his nose. You shot him a curious glance, stumbling forward the tiniest bit. “Hey,” you said, “what are you...?”

You trailed off, a cut rock face suddenly catching your attention from the corner of your eye. The stony grey wall was nearly perpendicular to the ground and looked almost eerily similar to the one you had nearly fallen down the week prior. Just like that, it clicked.

There was another small cliff right there. He was trying to keep you away from it.

“Oh,” you breathed, your lips splitting into an even wider grin as you made sure to steer away from the short cliff, “you don’t want me falling again, do you?”

He snorted, and you blinked at him. That sounded far more human this time—almost too human. It almost reminded you of a dog, if anything. A triumphant smile slowly crept onto your face, and with your head held high, you turned on your heel, marching onward and away from the rock face.

“Well, wolf,” you said, a teasing arrogance seeping into your tone as you glanced over your shoulder at him, “I promise you that I’ll be much safer this time arou—woah!”

The toe of your shoe caught on a protruding stone, and with a sharp yelp, you stumbled forward, gravity pulling you downward with a harsh pull. With a flail of your arms, you only just barely caught your balance as your hand shot out to grab onto a tree and steady yourself. Your heart flipped in your chest as you planted your feet firmly against the ground, the soles of your shoes pressed flatly against the earth as your fingers curled into the bark. Your chest heaved with surprise as you stood upright, turning to look over your shoulder at the wolf. He blinked at you, and while you knew wolves couldn’t quite smile, something about his gaze almost seemed cocky—like he was laughing at you. Heat crept up your neck and onto your face, your cheeks bursting with warmth.

“Y-You did not see that,” you sputtered, coughing into your sleeve as you brushed off your pants dismissively.

Almost as if to spare you some embarrassment, he turned his head away from you, although you could see his eyes glance your way every few seconds. Pouting, you huffed, whirling on your feet as you continued to trudge down the path. Soon enough, the sound of soft footsteps trailed after you, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sound, knowing that he would follow you even if you weren't looking.

That night, you dreamt of whispering trees and a pair of bright, viridian green eyes.

What had once been a weekly ritual of watching from afar soon turned into an amicable companionship between human and wolf. You weren't afraid as you walked into the woods to see a familiar pair of eyes waiting for you, your eagerness to see him only growing with each passing week. Clay himself could hardly contain his excitement. Actually walking beside you was so much better than simply watching from the woods, hidden by the trees. He loved your company and absolutely basked in your presence, even if you sent his heart into an absolute frenzy.

“Sometimes,” you said aloud one day, “I really do think you can understand me.”

Clay stiffened, praying you wouldn’t notice the way his ears pressed flat against his head as he turned to look at you. You sat on a tree stump while he padded atop the fallen trunk it sat beside, your gleaming gaze slowly blinking at him as he silently circled around you.

“I think it’s got something to do with the way you react to some of the things I say,” you murmured. You watched the way his tail flicked behind him, the soft fur brushing gently against the low-growing plants. A second later, you sighed, waving your hand. “Ah, I’m probably just imagining things.”

Clay nearly heaved a sigh of relief, continuing to pace. You would say surprising things like that every once in a while, and it would send his heart racing. Well, you usually only said one absurd thing per week, so you probably weren’t going to say another thing like that toda—

“Can I pet you?”

His paws came to a halt. Perhaps he thought too soon.

Before he could even properly process what you had said, You were backpedaling, shaking your head with an apologetic look. “Agh, that’s a terrible question. You’re a wolf, not a dog. There’s no way you wou—”

All of a sudden, he was crawling up to you, jutting his forehead toward your hand. His muzzle was clamped shut as his eyes bore into yours, and you gaped at him, the realization beginning to dawn on you.

“Wait,” you breathed in disbelief, “you’re actually going to let me?”

He didn’t move, lowering his eyes to the ground almost shyly as his ears curled toward you. Slowly, you raised your arm with a shaky hand and reached forward, letting your fingers gently brush over his tawny fur with a feather-light touch. You nearly gasped at the feeling, not noticing the way his legs trembled beneath him.

“Wolf,” you whispered after a few seconds, “you’re really soft.”

Clay nearly combusted on the spot. Perfect—everything about you was just perfect.

With your hand buried in his soft fur and the summer breeze ruffling your hair, You smiled, sighing with warmth lighting up your heart as the wolf at your feet melted beneath your touch.

Sapnap tapped his foot impatiently, squinting up at the glaring sun. George slept in, again. He was kind of used to it now, but even though he wasn’t surprised, he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was more than just a little ticked off.

“My mate pet me today.”

Sapnap tensed for a split second, turning to see Clay staring at him with wide eyes. Relaxing once more, he stared at him for a long, long moment before speaking. He really needed to start giving him some sort of heads up at this point.

“Dude,” he said, “I know that the last time you asked me if you sounded crazy, I said a little bit, but I feel like I might have to change my answer.”

Clay shot him a glare, and he couldn’t stop his lips from twitching in amusement. “Sapnap,” he said bluntly, “you act like you don’t talk about Karl and Alex like this.”

Sapnap looked taken aback for a moment, raising a finger, then lowering it with a defeated look. “Touché.”

As Clay walked off with his head held high and a bounce in his step, Sapnap chuckled, watching him leave with a small smile. He recognized the gleam in his eyes, the rosy hue of his cheeks.

Love—Clay really was in love, wasn’t he?

“I’ve been thinking,” you said one day, a few months later.

Clay perked up at the sound of your voice from where he lay at your feet, soaking in the first few rays of sun. It had been well over a year since he had first laid eyes on you now, and a little over a few months since you began walking together. It was only a matter of time until the leaves would turn golden brown once more as autumn descended upon them.

“I dunno,” you murmured, knocking your legs back against the stone you sat on. “I feel like I should give you a name instead of just calling you wolf all the time.” You flashed him a shy grin, your gaze darting this way and that. “It feels kind of awkward, you know?”

He cocked his head. A name? Chances were you probably weren't going to guess his actual name. He supposed he wouldn’t mind a nickname. Then again, he didn’t think he would mind anything that you might do. Lowering himself closer to the ground, he let out a quiet bark of approval.

Your lips twitched the tiniest bit at the sound, and you hummed, drumming your fingers against your thigh. “How do you feel about... Aaron?”

His emerald eyes flashed as he took a step back, ducking his head the slightest bit. Your lips pursed into a small pout, and you leaned down to rest your chin on your hand. “Alright,” you murmured, “not Aaron, then.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek for a second. “Roy?”

Clay didn’t even have to think about it for more than a second before he was whimpering, pressing his head to his paws as he dropped his haunches close to the ground. You snorted at his obvious disapproval, tapping the toes of your shoes together with a pensive look.

“Okay,” you said slowly, drawing out the vowel sound, “maybe we should try some less... human-sounding names.” You tilted your head, letting your gaze trail up the tree trunks and up at the sky above. The sun wasn’t shining directly into your eyes this time, and you blinked with surprise to see a puff of white fluff blocking out the light.  

“What about,” you offered with a hum, “Cloud?”

You glanced down again, only to see the wolf staring back at you blankly. You couldn’t quite read the look in his eyes, but you had a feeling he wasn’t quite satisfied with this one, either. Lowering your chin, you puffed your cheeks, glancing this way and that across the forest around you. You couldn’t just call him something like Leaf, or Sky—those would be too obvious, too plain for a wolf as lovely as him.

Sighing, you let your eyelids flutter shut, letting the sun wash over your cheeks and warming your skin. He was... special, even if you knew you were biased in your opinion. There was some special quality about him, something that made your chest swell and your heart skip a beat, almost as if he came straight out of a—

“Dream,” you whispered at last.

Clay’s ears perked up at the new name, and he lifted his head, flicking his ears at you. Maybe it was the name itself, maybe it was the way you said it, or maybe it was just you, but something about it just felt right. He barked once, lifting his tail as he stepped toward you.

You blinked at the sight, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Dream?” you repeated. “You like the sound of Dream?”

He barked again, leaping up onto his hind legs for a moment. You grinned, giggling at the sight of such a large wolf acting almost like a dog around you. “Alright,” you murmured, reaching your hand out toward him, “Dream it is.”

Leaning closer to you, he sank into your touch as you rubbed your hand over his head, scratching behind his ears as he let out a soft whine from the back of his throat. Your eyes softened, and you curled your knees a little closer to your chest, resting your chin on them.

“It probably doesn’t matter to you since you’re a wolf and all,” you said softly, your voice almost sounding shy in the quiet of the morning, “but my name is [Y/N].”

Clay felt a tender warmth blossom in the cracks beneath his chest, heat unfurling from the depths of his soul as something inside him swelled beyond belief. Your hand continued stroking his fur all the while, not at all noticing the way he pressed his head a little closer into your soothing touch, yearning and longing for more.

“[Y/N],” his heart sang, shooting from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. “[Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N].”

Had a name ever sounded as beautiful as yours?

Sapnap was going to wring Skeppy’s neck. Skipping out on a morning meeting was one thing, but skipping it to hang out with your mate? Not even he did that.

“[Y/N].”

Sapnap didn’t bother flinching as he turned to see Clay standing in front of him, panting like his life depended on it. This was far from the first time this had happened, and he was sure it most certainly would not be the last. “What?”

Clay shook his head, half-looking like he was about to collapse on the spot. “My mate’s name is [Y/N].”

Sapnap blinked, then his lips curled up into a smile. “Congrats for learning what it is, man,” he said honestly, patting Clay’s shoulder with his free hand. “That’s fantastic, really. You’re making progress.”

Clay swallowed, and he reached up to drag a hand down his face before letting it drop loosely at his side. “Sapnap,” he said slowly, his voice sounding quiet and raw, “I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

Sapnap’s eyebrows knit together, confusion rippling across his features. “What do you mean?” he asked. “You can’t keep visiting?” Something uncomfortable and cold tugged at the back of his mind. “There’s no way you’re just gonna give up like that, are you?”

Clay’s jaw dropped. “What? No! I mean that...” He paused, squeezing his fist for a moment as he sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t think I can keep showing up in only my wolf form.”

The cogs in Sapnap’s whirred to life as he took in his friend’s clenched jaw. Then, his eyes went wide. “Are you saying...?”

Clay nodded, pursing his lips as he swallowed thickly. “I’m going to reveal who I am.”

His eyes flashed with determination.

“Who I really am.”

You hummed as you twisted the key in the hole, the back door locking shut with a click you had grown used to hearing every week for the past year and a half, now. Whirling around, you could already feel the smile start to spread across your face as you leapt off the porch and ran toward the well-worn path, the forest beckoning you forward with a distant howl. You didn’t remember when exactly your weekly hikes grew to become your favourite part of the week, but you couldn’t imagine life without them, anymore.

Sucking in a deep breath, your chest swelled at the fresh air rushing into your lungs, excitement flickering through your body with every step you took. You couldn’t wait to see Dream again, as strange as it may sound. He had grown to be a greater comfort than you would have ever imagined, even if he was just a wolf. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but you knew your feelings were true—you couldn’t deny the warmth he made you feel.

Whipping around a tree trunk, you felt your heart skip a beat. You already knew Dream would be waiting for you at your rock—the one he had saved you from all those weeks ago. It had become a sort of meeting spot for them, and every week without fail, he would appear there, no matter how early or late you were.

As the shrubbery gave way to a clean, dirt trail, you lifted your head, squinting your eyes. You recognized this part of the forest, and you knew that you were getting closer. Just then, you saw it—the familiar streak of grey stone slanting up from the earth in a small cliff face. Usually, Dream would sit at the cliff base, his ears already pointed toward you. But today, your brows furrowed when you didn’t see a pair of ears facing you, but a head of hair.

Someone else was at your rock.

Slowing your pace to a walk, you paused for a moment, eyeing the figure sitting at your usual meeting spot. It was a man, you realized, and he was facing away from you. He wore a simple white shirt with jeans, and his hair was a shade of dirty blond with streaks of gold. Even if only from the back, it looked almost oddly familiar gleaming underneath the morning sun.

Taking a tentative step forward, you curled your fingers into your palm. “Hello?” you called hesitantly.

The man startled for a moment, then turned toward you, his face coming into view. As his gaze locked onto yours, he opened his mouth and uttered two simple words.

“Hi, [Y/N].”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat.

His voice was soft, gently wrapping around you like a soothing blanket. Your gaze only briefly raked over the comforting smile gracing his lips, instead focusing on the gleam in his eyes that danced with something warm and inviting.

His eyes were green—a shade of green that you had grown to know and adore.

No, you thought, your heart trembling in your chest. He couldn’t possibly be...

You took another step forward, closing the space between them by another few inches. With your eyebrows knitting together, your voice dropped to a small, curious whisper. “Dream?”

He shot you a crooked grin, chuckling softly. “That’s my name—or at least the one you gave me.” Leaning forward, he rose to his feet, the sun casting a bright streak of light across his cheeks. “My real name is Clay.”

All of a sudden, you felt as though all the air had been sucked out of your lungs. “Clay,” you repeated, your mind slowly growing murky with confusion, “but you’re also Dream. How...?”

A sheepish look skittered across his face, and he ducked his head. The way he lowered his chin was familiar, looking almost far too like a certain wolf you knew. “I—I guess you could say I live in two worlds with two forms,” he began. “Sometimes I’m a wolf, sometimes I’m a human.” He shrugged nonchalantly, but you didn’t miss the way his shoulders remained tense. “You already know one of them, but I didn’t want to keep hiding this form from you, so...” He gestured to himself with a bashful look. “...here I am.”

You blinked at him slowly, the muddled fog in your head slowly giving way to a strikingly warm clarity. But before the clouds could fully part, your lips began to move.

“You’re still pretty,” you blurted, your eyes going wide as soon as the words left your mouth.

In a flash, Clay’s cheeks flushed crimson, a haze of rosy pink dusting his freckles. “H-Huh?”

Waving your hands in front of you, you took a step back, embarrassment shooting up your spine. “I-I mean to say that you’re still pretty as a human! Because you’re pretty in both of your forms!” You stiffened, exasperation soaking your features as your knees buckled. “Wait, no, oh no, that’s also embarrassing... wait, please, um—”

Suddenly, he began to laugh. You fell quiet as you watched Clay clutch at his stomach, his lips split into a wide grin as peals of laughter tumbled from his lips. A familiar pit of warmth flared up in your stomach, one you had felt standing here with Dream so many times before.

He really was Dream, wasn’t he?

As his chuckles finally died down into silence, he stood upright once more, wiping a barely there tear from his eye. “I’m sorry for laughing,” he managed with an apologetic smile. “You must be confused about, well, everything.”

You offered him an honest, lopsided grin. “A little.”

His smile slowly melted from his features, and he cleared his throat as he turned to face you head-on. “Well, this is probably going to sound weird, but you and I...” He swallowed, his gaze flashing. “We’re mates.”

You blinked, your lips parting in surprise. Something in your chest slowly expanded. “Mates?” you repeated softly.

He nodded, his expression firm yet hesitant. “Yes, mates. It means that in one way or another, our souls are connected.” Inhaling deeply, he screwed his eyes shut before continuing. “It’s a lot to take in, I know, but I just want you to know that you don’t have to accept the mating bond.” His voice was trembling now, growing quieter by the second as he squeezed his hands into fists at his side. “You don’t owe me anything. I know this must be scary for you, and the last thing I want is for you to feel pressured because of m—”

“I’m not afraid.”

Clay’s eyes shot wide open, and he raised his head, shock etched into his features. “You aren’t?” he whispered.

The smile on your face was open and kind, and you shook your head. “No,” you murmured, sincerity lacing your every word. “Not at all. Dream, Clay... no matter what your name is, you’re still you, and I know you.” You took another step forward, your eyes never leaving his. There was hardly any space between them now, and Clay could feel his shoulders begin to shake with the sheer gravity of the moment. “I can’t explain it, but I just know I do.”

He swallowed, a whirlwind of anxiety and affection brewing just beneath the surface of his skin. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I know I’m just a stranger to you.”

You shook your head, again. “You’re not,” you said quietly. “Not to me.”

Before he could even register what was happening, you were reaching for his hand, clasping your palms around his fingers and holding them gently. His heart flipped in his chest at the feeling of your skin against his, and something stung at the back of his eyes.

You were so warm.

“I want to do this,” you whispered, just for him to hear and him alone, “I promise. I—” You gulped, your gaze remaining steady. “I might not know anything about your world yet, but I want to learn.”

You squeezed his hand. “I want to learn more about you.”

Clay sucked in a ragged breath. With shaky fingers and a gentle touch, he pressed his other hand to the back of yours, squeezing back ever so slightly. “I want to learn more about you, too.”

The smile you flashed him easily outshone the sun and every star that scattered across the night sky, and for a moment, he thought his heart had stopped in his chest.

“I’m glad,” you said, your eyes gleaming with delight. “I think we’ll have plenty of time to do that on our hike.”

Right then, a breeze came drifting past, the distant scent of rain filling the air. The trees murmured with rustling leaves and flapping wings as two birds landed on a hanging branch above, gazing down at the two silhouettes standing at the base of the rock face. Just for a moment, or maybe even two, the entire forest went still.

And unbeknownst to you and Clay, right between your feet, a flower began to bloom.

#commission #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #dream x reader #dream team x reader #mcyt scenario #mcyt fluff #mcyt x you #mcyt x y/n #mcyt fanfic #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt imagines #mcyt imagine #dream smp x you #dream smp x y/n #dreamwastaken x you #dreamwastaken imagine #dreamwastaken scenario #dreamwastaken fanfic #dreamwastaken fluff #dream team x you #dream team x y/n #dsmp x reader #dsmp x y/n #dsmp x you #dream x you #dream imagines #dream imagine #dream fanfic

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Do you have any fic recs of Sherlock being soft for John and John only.

Hey Nonny! 

Ahhhhhhhh your request had me thinking that yes I do, and I did tag a few fics with “soft Sherlock”, but I’ve never started a list, so here ya go!

SOFT SHERLOCK

See also: Sherlock Soft With Children

Soft. Happy. Content. by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 223 w., 1 Ch. || Sleepy Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Spooning, Morning After, Sherlock POV) – Sherlock reflects on his state of mind. Part 6 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

A Perfect Figure by ecb327 (K, 622 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, First Person POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Light Angst) – Sherlock build a spot in his mind palace for John.

I Knew You Loved Me by inevitably_johnlocked (T, 743 w., 1 Ch. || Morning Cuddles, Fluff, Clingy Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Slice of Life, Morning After, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Declarations of Love, Pet Name, Bed Sharing, Snuggles) – John and Sherlock share a lie-in the morning after their first time. So fluffy and gross your teeth will fall out. Part 4 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

Peacock by ClassyGirlsWearPearls (T, 1,189 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Cranky Sherlock, Soft John, Hand Holding, Soft Sherlock) – A study in Sherlock and John.

Mizzle by MrsNoggin (K, 1,233 w., 1 Ch || Friendship, Fluff, Platonic Johnlock, Humour, Slice of Life) – John can't decide if it's raining or not. Sherlock doesn't understand.

And, Usually, He's the One Who GIVES Me a Headache by Cumberbatch Critter (T, 1,315 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, POV John, Cranky John, Headaches, Head Massage) – A migraine is never fun.

Together is What we Have, Together Protects Us by Phantom of the Black Pearl (K+, 1,566 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship / Platonic or Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Sherlock, Worried Sherlock, Slice of Life) – After a case one evening in the flat Sherlock voices a concern that causes the pair to consider why they've chosen to stick together after all that's happened

Here to Stay by MockJayPhoenix12 (K, 1,574 w., 1 Ch. || Post Reunion, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Headache, Bed Sharing, Care Taker Sherlock, Hand Holding, Fluff) – On Sherlock's first day home, John wakes with a migraine.

Evermore by SosoHolmesWatson (G, 2,068 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4,  5-Year-Old Rosie, Love Confessions, Song Fic, Parentlock, Oblivious John, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Disney Songs, Beauty and the Beast) – For the past years, John and Sherlock have lived at Baker Street again, raising Rosie together--as friends and nothing more. Ever since the little girl has watched her first Disney movie, she is obsessed with princesses. When John comes home one day, he finds his friend and his daughter in the middle of a reenactment of her current favourite. Part 1 of Made of Music

Let the Sun Fade Out by nothingislittle (E, 2,711 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff & Smut, Praise Kink, PWP, Obsessed Sherlock, Bottomlock, Heart-Tearing Love) – "He could warm the sun itself, Sherlock thinks, could heat their flat with just his presence, could brighten the room with one dazzling smile or just the sparkling in his eyes. John is everything, he’s beautiful and he shines, he’s everything."

Unquantifiable by 221b_hound (M, 2,799 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Sherlock/Sally Friendship, Grumpy John, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Pet Names, Texting, Sweet Sherlock, Princess Bride References) – John remains a terrible and foul-tempered patient, but he does try to make up for it with pet names and text message silliness. In the meantime, Sally Donovan visits Baker Street for a hint about the Milverton case, and has to deal with a Sherlock Holmes who can't find words big enough to thank her for saving John's life at the warehouse. For afters, there's a viewing of The Princess Bride. Part 33 of the Unkissed series

Pillow Talk by 221b_hound (E, 2,925 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, Est. Rel., Preening Sherlock, Limpet Sherlock, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Sex on Furniture, Scent Kink, Masturbation, Fluff, Soft Sherlock,  Sherlock’s Bum) – John gets home late from work and Sherlock is nowhere to be seen. John walks through the flat, distracted by memories of all the excellent sex they've been having, and finally finds Sherlock asleep in the upstairs room - apparently having fallen asleep mid-wank while inhaling the scent of John's pillow. Well, you should always finish what you start, John thinks... Part 3 of Lock and Key

The General Idea by agirlsname (T, 3,022 w., 1 Ch. || Retirement, Promise of Forever / Proposal, POV John, First Kiss, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Soft Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Crying / Emotional Sherlock, Love Confessions) – After twenty years of friendship, John is used to Sherlock acting weirdly. But the news Sherlock finally brings himself to deliver change the carefully built dynamics between them, and John realises it's time to act.

Affirmation by jamlockk (E, 3,096 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Dev. Rel., PWP, Love Declarations, Emotional/Overwhelmed Sherlock, Comforting/Caring John, Gross Fluff) – "Sunlight dappled John's skin, casting a glow across his spreadeagled form as he dozed among the rumpled sheets. Sherlock knew the expression on his face was hopelessly soft but for once did not care about showing his true feelings so openly. He simply stood there, in the doorway, gazing at the impossibly beautiful man currently snuffling softly in his slumber." Part 8 of All the ways we love

Untouched by KittieHill (E, 3,239 w., 1 Ch. || Kissing, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock, Body Worship, Sherlock’s Scars Mentioned, Masturbation, PWP, Rimming, Multiple Orgasms) – Sherlock leaked a lot. John had never needed lubricant. John loved watching it, had once spent an entire afternoon edging Sherlock so he could watch as the thick precome drip, drip, dripped onto Sherlock's belly.

Morning Sunlight by slashscribe (E, 3,565 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Morning Sex, Fluff, PWP, Established Rel., Soft Idiots) – A thin band of soft morning light peeks between the curtains and stretches across John’s torso, laying dormant across his forearm, dipping into the space between his arm and his chest, illuminating his right nipple but just brushing the edge of his left, disappearing into his armpit, and reappearing again right over Sherlock’s eyes where his head rests, nestled against John’s shoulder. Sherlock is not annoyed by the light’s intrusion on his sleep, not when it rests so soft and tantalizing on John’s skin, a work of unintentionally erotic art. A PWP with so much emotion.

Living Musical by VeeTheRee (G, 4,149 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hobbies, Summer, Song Fic, POV Sherlock, Painting, Play Fighting, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Love Declarations, Hair Petting, Promise of Forever) – A one-shot of John and Sherlock being domestic during summer. There is paint, fluff, and music from Imagine Dragons, namely from the album 'Speak To Me', specific song in this one-shot is 'Living Musical'. Part 1 of the Happy Fluffy Johnlock Time series

Date Night by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 4,451 w., 1 Ch. || Anxious / Worried Sherlock, Caring John, Schmoopy Fluff, Fidget Cube, Baking / Cooking, Date Night, Established Relationship, POV Sherlock Holmes, Understanding John, Grumpy Sherlock, John’s Bum, Kisses, Hugs, Domestic Fluff, Touching, Hair Petting, Light Humour) – It's John and Sherlock's first Date Night as an official couple and Sherlock needs it to be PERFECT. Mrs Hudson helps. Part 7 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

If He Knows by shamelessmash (M, 4,513 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Fic, Pining Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Angst, First Person Sherlock POV, Texting, Internal Monologue, Blanket Forts) – I imagine mornings: John handing me a cup of tea, hair sticking out at odd angles. How he would bend down to kiss me, smiling fondly as he pulls away. The way his skin crinkles at the corner of his eyes, the way his skin looks in the morning light. The soft sigh as he sits in his chair with the morning paper, the way his toes curl in the carpet, the way he rolls his shoulders before sinking deeper into his seat. I watch him, how he is when he is content, as it should be. As he deserves. Happy. With me.

all things warm and tender by darcylindbergh (E, 5,177 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Romantic Fluff, Rimming/Anal/BJ’s, Body Worship) – Grinning and giggling, John slides back down under the sheet and pulls it over his head. He finds Sherlock waiting for him, eyes bright and hair wild, the firelight bleeding through the thin fabric, colouring everything in soft peach and topaz, and in that moment he is so suddenly, unexpectedly, ethereally beautiful that John forgets how to breathe.

Pillow Talk by scullyseviltwin (M, 5,183 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Angsty Fluff, Pillow Talk, Bed Sharing, Worried John, First Time Morning After, Soft Sherlock, Sexuality Discussion, Love Confessions, Kisses and Cuddles) – John has been looking at Sherlock for ages, it feels like.

a very soft epilogue (my love) by darcylindbergh (E, 5,395 w., 3 Ch. || Retirement, Domestic Fluff, Dancing, Dogs, Grumpy Old Men) – Across the pillows, Sherlock shifts and hums, the creases of his face deepening and then smoothing before settling. John watches him wake up, his chest swelling with affection and fondness, and thinks he’ll never get tired of Sherlock in the mornings, sleepy and soft. It’s been some forty-odd years, and John hasn’t gotten tired of it yet. Part 5 of things fairy tales are made of

Naked by sussexbound (E, 6,166 w., 1 Ch. || Frottage, Fluff, Intimacy, First Time, Love Declarations, Trust) – John takes a deep breath, and then lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Sherlock, how would you feel if you were sitting out here doing one of your bloody experiments, and I just waltzed out of the loo and started fixing myself breakfast completely starkers? Hmm…? ”Sherlock’s lips inch up at the corners into a pleased hint of a smile he can’t seem to suppress. Part 2 of Intimacy

Christmas by WhimsicalEthnographies (E, 7,673 w., 1 Ch. || Worried Sherlock, PWP, Drunkeness, Christmas, Est. Relationship, Idiots So In Love) – John feels a lump rise in his throat, and it hits him, again, that this beautiful, infuriating creature is his. Completely, one-hundred percent his.

How To Give Your Boyfriend Who Doesn't Know He's Your Boyfriend the Best Valentine's Day Ever by unicornpoe (T, 9,832 w., 1 Ch. || Valentine’s Day, Fluff and Crack, Soft Sherlock, POV Sherlock) – Sherlock is pretty sure that John Watson is his boyfriend. He's also pretty sure that John doesn't know it. But with a little help from a magazine, some friends, three crepes, five dates, one awesome CD, and a stalker van, John is bound to realize just in time for Valentine's Day.

Someone I Love by hudders-and-hiddles (M, 10,002 w., 2 Ch. || Canon Compliant, HLV-Filler Fic, Pre-Slash, Jealous John, PIning Sherlock, Angst & Fluff, UST/URT, Dog Tags) – John gets married and Sherlock finds comfort in wearing John's identity tags around his wrist.

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

holding steady by darcylindbergh (E, 12,724 w., 4 Ch. || Post S4, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Growing Old, Gone Fishing, Mood without Plot, Soft Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, POV John Third Person, Anxious Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Touching, Feeling Old, Sherlock Worship, Crying Sherlock, Cuddles, Comforting, Introspection, Retirement, Hand Holding, Forehead Kisses, Caring John, Bed Sharing, Emotional Love Making) – Sitting on a thick wool blanket at the end of a rickety dock side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge, a styrofoam container of wet, dark dirt between them, they’re fishing. John knows what this is about. This is about finally figuring it out.

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss, Insecure John, Pining John, Hug, Greg Finds Out) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

The Invocation of Saint Margaret by Ewebie (E, 15,831 w., 1 Ch. || POV John,  Crossing Timelines, Light Angst, Fluff, Series 3 John / Series 1 Sherlock, The Matchbox, Mushy Romance, First Time, Bisexual John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Sensuality, Emotional Love Making, Snippets of Time) – When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

How To Unfold a Heart by elwinglyre (E, 25,477 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It, BAMF John, Mentioned Eurus, POV First Person Sherlock, Case Fic, Fluff, Slow Burn, Topping from the Bottom, 3 Yr Old Rosie, Introspection, Sexual Fantasies, John Worship, Ogling, Hand Holding, Kidnapping, Domesticity, Sherlock Whump, First Kiss/Time, Doctor John, Caring John, Soft Sherlock, Sensuality, Touching, Crying, Love Confessions, Anxious Sherlock, Rimming, Toplock, Fingering, Bossy Bottom John) – To Sherlock’s dismay, John’s return to Baker Street with Rosie is only temporary. Sherlock’s daily visits to Regent Park with John and Rosie illuminate his lost childhood memories and missed opportunities. But with each trip to the park, Sherlock also feels a growing sense of hope. That is until the past horrors return unexpectedly in a cryptic note folded in the shape of a heart. To decipher the message, Sherlock must uncover the nature of the hearts around him, including his own.

A Quiet Life by DiscordantWords (M, 25,176 w., 6 Ch. || Post S4, Retirement, POV Sherlock, Awkwardness, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Minor Character Death, Questionable Parenting Choices, Non-Linear Narrative, 20 Year Old Rosie, Meddling Mycroft, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Angst, Sherlock Whump) – There had been three days of silence and a funeral. Sherlock had the terrible feeling that whatever happened next would depend, entirely, on him.

How To Unfold a Heart by elwinglyre (E, 25,477 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It, BAMF John, Mentioned Eurus, POV First Person Sherlock, Case Fic, Fluff, Slow Burn, Topping from the Bottom, 3 Yr Old Rosie, Introspection, Sexual Fantasies, John Worship, Ogling, Hand Holding, Kidnapping, Domesticity, Sherlock Whump, First Kiss/Time, Doctor John, Caring John, Soft Sherlock, Sensuality, Touching, Crying, Love Confessions, Anxious Sherlock, Rimming, Toplock, Fingering, Bossy Bottom John) – To Sherlock’s dismay, John’s return to Baker Street with Rosie is only temporary. Sherlock’s daily visits to Regent Park with John and Rosie illuminate his lost childhood memories and missed opportunities. But with each trip to the park, Sherlock also feels a growing sense of hope. That is until the past horrors return unexpectedly in a cryptic note folded in the shape of a heart. To decipher the message, Sherlock must uncover the nature of the hearts around him, including his own.

Deck the Halls by itsalwaysyou_jw (T, 31,018 w., 24 Ch. || Advent Fic / Multiple One-Shots, Assorted Tags) – One Johnlock ficlet for every day leading up to Christmas. Who is ready for pining, first kisses, established Johnlock, and everything in between? This collection of stand-alone ficlets will have it all.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Definitions by siennna (T, 101,528 w., 12 of ? Ch. || Dev. Rel., Pining, Fluff and Romance, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff, Cuddles, Girl’s Night, Texting, Virgin Sherlock, Drunk Sherlock, Background Mollstrade, Hair Petting, Laying on Lap) – Sherlock’s journey in defining his flat mate and stumbling through the muddled world of emotion. {{This feels complete; the chapter count is listed as ? but I feel like it is done}}

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #soft sherlock #Anonymous #long post

[danny-phantom-writings]

Let’s Try Something Different This Time - Pt 8 - Gravity

Summary: Dan Phantom escapes from that damned thermos. He finds himself in a new timeline, untouched by his carnage and ready to be destroyed. Though ... perhaps he'll find more entertainment doing something else this time.

Or: I write a Dan Phantom fic using the Dannymay prompts for each chapter, just to see if I can. Here we go!

Pt. 1 Pt. 2  Pt. 3  Pt. 4  Pt. 5  Pt. 6  Pt. 7  Pt. 8 Pt. 9  Pt. 10  Pt. 11  Pt. 12

Pt. 13

Read it on AO3 here!

-

The following morning was warm and bright, the chill of the night long forgotten. Dan sat in the branches of a tree, back leaning against the trunk, arms crossed, as he looked out over the garden, not really seeing it. He was too busy thinking.

He had decided that the thing from last night had to be a ghost of some kind, even if he couldn’t sense it. It must be able to create these illusions, like the fires that weren’t real, in which case it made some vague sort of sense that he wouldn’t have been able to sense it. He didn’t really understand it, though. He was sure the woman might be able to tell him something. She had lived here for a while and had previously mentioned something else putting her on edge. Was it this thing that had done it, or was it something else? Perhaps he should ask her about it.

As if somehow called by his thoughts, the back door opened, the woman stepping out with an empty bag slung over her shoulders. She took a deep breath of the morning air and let it out slowly, a content little smile on her face.

He was a bit confused when, instead of tending to her garden like one would expect, she went into the woods. He followed her, just to see what she was up to. There wasn’t much else for him to do right now anyways, so he might as well. He might ask her about that thing, if he felt like it. He wasn’t sure about that one yet, wasn’t quite sure yet whether or not it was a good idea. Having any sort of conversation with her would practically ruin his plans, which meant no fun for him. Any interaction would if he didn’t think it through carefully first.

The walk through the woods was slow, but it was pleasant. The morning was even nicer under the shade of the trees, the sunlight falling in a soft dappled pattern across the leaf strewn ground. It caught in the woman’s hair occasionally, turning black curls into dark chocolate.

Eventually, she stopped, looking up into the branches of the trees. Only took a glance to see what she was after. He smirked, amused. Was that really what all this was about? She was just out picking apples. Not quite as entertaining as he had hoped it would be, but whatever.

She paced around the group of apple trees a bit before adjusting the bag on her shoulder and starting to climb. He wasn’t sure why. There were plenty of apples on the bottom branches, well within reach. But no, she was now nestled amongst the highest, thinnest branches. It looked like an accident waiting to happen. But she was filling her bag pretty quickly. Maybe she’d finish before the branch she was leaning on gave out. Based on the quiet creaking (she had to hear it, even if her hearing wasn’t as good as his.) he wouldn’t hold his breath.

Sure enough, before long the branch gave a loud CRACK.

He hadn’t processed what he had done until it was already done and when he had he cursed himself for being so reactionary.

When he had heard the crack, he had darted forward, faster than the woman could see to grab her. His core told him he had to do it, so he reacted without thought. Of course, that meant he had hold of the cursing woman. There were plenty of other ways to prevent her from falling that didn’t involve him revealing himself at such an inopportune moment and ruining his “scare her mad” scheme, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He supposed he’d just have to try and salvage the situation.

He lowered the woman to the ground and dropped her, watching her fall ungracefully with a smirk of amusement. He decided to stay floating, towering over her. He’d be more intimidating that way.

“Well, I see we’re trying to fight with gravity today.” He teased with a sneer.

The woman growled and shoved herself off the ground, glaring up at him the best she could.

“Shut the fuck up, asshole.” She turned her back to him, brushing off the dirt and grabbing her bag.

“That’s an odd way to say thanks, but I’ll accept it. You’re welcome.”

She picked up the apples scattered on the ground with a sigh, putting them back in her bag before turning back to him.

“Sorry about that. I tend to lash out when I get rattled.”

“You don’t say? I could never have guessed.”

“Alright, the extra helping of sarcasm isn’t necessary, big guy.” She was smirking right along with him, though, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I’m Nita, by the way. I noticed you never asked.”

“Because I don’t care.” Dan said, allowing himself to look bored.

The woman, Nita he supposed, nodded, looking like she had come to some sort of realization.

“Alright, I get you. You are an asshole. At least I got that part right.”

Dan chuckled, crossing his arms.

“I suppose you could say that. Genocidal maniac, psychopath, sadist, or monster would also work.”

Nita laughed loud, knocking him a bit off balance. He frowned at her, falling onto his feet

“Alright, edgelord, whatever you say.” She waved him off, turning her back to him to walk back home.

Shit. He messed this whole thing up, didn’t he? So much for his plan.

#danny phantom #dan phantom #phantom #danny #dannymay #dannymay 2021 #dannymay day 8 #dannymay gravity #dannymay day 8 gravity #dan redemption #dan phantom redemption

[pillage-and-lute]

An Ever Fixed Mark (Part 9)

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, (here) Part 10,

Read it on Ao3 HERE, 

WARNING: Character injury as a major plot point. Lots of mentions of blood.

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

Roach’s hooves hit the dirt like hammers, scooping up great clods of earth with each beat. Her gait barely registered to Geralt as blood welled up underneath his hand. There was so much, too much. His lap was soaked, it ran over the saddle and down his trousers, staining his boots and roach’s sides. It mixed with the dust on the sides of the road to form horrible rust-colored clots barely visible in the dark.

And Jaskier.

Jaskier was dying, his face white, his eyes rolled back, almost closed. Geralt pressed his hand tighter to the wound on his husband’s thigh and pressed Jaskier to his chest with his other hand. He wasn’t riding with reins, he didn’t need them. Roach sensed his desperation, likely smelling his anguish and fear. He had to trust his horse and Jaskier...Jaskier would have to trust in him. In the distance, the lights of Oxenfurt glittered in the darkness.

------

They had been traveling back to Oxenfurt anyway. The summer was still feverishly hot and travel had been rough. Even with his newfound resolve to do right by his husband, Geralt’s temper had been fraying. He knew he’d been talking less, marinating in the heat and his own sweat. He knew it was annoying Jaskier, who kept trying to make conversation, but Geralt wasn’t well built for heat, and his black armor and clothing cooked him. 

Jaskier had been complaining for days, too. There weren’t many settlements around for him to play in and the fields were too hot, the waterways too muggy, and the forests too oppressive. They slept in the open without a tent to avoid simply cooking in their sleep. 

There had been a moment, though, not so bad as the others. A clearing in a forest, lush, but with plenty of shade, and Jaskier had looked so beautiful. 

Geralt had been remaking some potions, teaching Jaskier the names of some of his less monstrous ingredients, pointing out what was good for salves, what was safe for humans, and so on. 

Jaskier had held up a buttercup, root and all smiling at the little petals. “I knew they were poisonous, of course,” he said, stroking the root with his thumb. “But I never thought they could be useful.”

“Only this,” Geralt said, taking it from him and cutting the roof. “Sagebrush buttercup, the root is still poison, but combined with Moonmoss it’s okay enough for a witcher.”

“Not for humans, though.”

“No, still poison.”

Jaskier had toed off his boots and leaned against Geralt’s shoulder, picking the flower up again, rootless now, and twiddling it in his fingers. “Seems fitting,” he said at last, and put it behind his ear.

Geralt wasn’t great with words and those had been cryptic, but he felt like he was missing something important.

“Hmmm?” he asked. Jaskier was getting really good at understanding him anyway.

“A Jaskier, only okay enough for a witcher,” Jaskier said, smiling a little sadly at Geralt.

There was such an odd tone there, something more there. Like Jaskier truly thought he was only suited to...but down that road madness lay. It also lay in the way sweat made Jaskier’s cheeks shimmer in the dappled sunlight. 

“Why are you Jaskier?” Geralt asked, going back to grinding the roots with the flat of his blade. It could have been phrased better, but Jaskier understood.

“It seems a little silly now, but when I was about ten or so I was rather melodramatic,” Jaskier said, ducking his head. 

“Hmm,” Geralt said. 

“I felt...so alone. There was just no one who seemed like me. Father thought music and poetry and anything except hunting, fistfights, money and war were silly. I annoy people,” he tilted his head back onto Geralt’s shoulder. “I annoyed you at first. Still do sometimes. --It’s okay,” he said, cutting off Geralt before he could hum his dissent. “I seemed to be a burden and a pain to everyone, something fleeting in their lives. I felt like a buttercup, fine to see in passing on the side of a road, but bad in a pasture, poisonous to eat, of no use to anyone and likely to get crushed by a boot.”

“The boot in question being your father?” Geralt said, setting aside his crushed roots and beginning to shred the Moonmoss, horrible, slimy pale stuff, between his fingers.

Jaskier knocked their heads together gently. “Congratulations, Geralt. You navigated an extended metaphor. Anyway, it was a little melodramatic, but so am I, so it stuck, at least in my mind.”

“I think it’s better than Julian,” Geralt said, scooping his moss and root mixture into the boiling pot.

“Me too,” Jaskier said, quietly.

Around them, a light summer rain had started, sprinkles and mist, mostly, but in the deep shade it was almost chilly, even to Geralt. Jaskier picked up his lute and played a pleasant tune for a while, fingers light on the strings. Geralt let his concoction bubble before pouring it into one of his Brimstone Glass vials. He examined the way the light hit the bottle, making slightly more of a show of it so that Jaskier might notice.

Dinner was cold rations, a hot meal being too hot, even in this pleasant respite. They’d picked up dark rye bread in the last town and were eating it with a paste of late-season wild garlic. Jaskier began eating but he shivered and said “Geralt, could you be my hero and pass me the doublet.”

Geralt pretended his whole body didn’t tingle whenever Jaskier called him a hero. He didn’t need to ask which doublet. Jaskier had plenty, but the doublet, that was the basilisk leather. Geralt held it out and took Jaskier’s bread as he slid the doublet on. Passing the bread back to Jaskier when both sleeves were fully on his arms. 

The rain picked up, still pleasant compared to the heat, but Jaskier and Geralt stood, Jaskier holding his bread in his mouth, and packed up those parts of their camp that would suffer from the rain.

“Do you see--” Jaskier asked, just as Geralt handed him his lute oil.

“Is the--” Geralt said, interupted by Jaskier handing him the hoof knife he’d been searching for.

“Do you think--” Jaskier began.

“The horses will be fine, should we--”

“Yeah, keep the tent packed away, the bedrolls--”

“Will be fine if we lay them on grass instead of mud,” Geralt finished. Then he realized how close he was standing to Jaskier.

“Jaskier,” he said, reaching out for the raindrop quivering on his husbands cheek. “I--”

Jaskier fell to the ground with a cry.

There was a crossbow bolt in his leg and already blood was wetting the forest floor. 

The bandits were dead in seconds. They’d likely only seen a well-dressed noble, all alone. They’d never expected something like Geralt. 

Anger and panic and dreadful fear all fought for dominance as Geralt dispatched the luckless thugs. The fear was icy cold in his veins. Whatever evil, dark coldness had first driven humans to create fire filled his blood. 

There was fire as well. Fury and anguish rose in him like great tides of flame. It was like the Trials all over again, he was being burned from the inside out, being remade until something new lived in him.

He stepped over bodies without a second glance, boots leaving bloody prints on the ground, soon to be washed away.

Jaskier was curled by Roach, hands clutching at the wound in his thigh and surrounded by scarlet. 

Geralt left Thunderbolt, Jaskier’s horse, tied in the clearing, Roach never needed tethering and sprang to his command. In his arms, Jaskier bled. They were so close to Oxenfurt.

They had to make it.

------

That had been then. Now, the lights of the city blazed in Geralt’s sight and he cursed himself and everything else. 

Jaskier was cold in his arms.

Before he had twitched or grunted, sometimes, horribly, he’d cried out at being jostled. He was still now, and too cold. His human heart was beating slowly, slower now than Geralt’s. But he had to live. He just had to. Jaskier had to live because...

Because Geralt loved him. Wholeheartedly and without reservation Geralt loved Jaskier, was so in love with him that it had clouded his judgement.

He’d been about to say as much, about to tell Jaskier the truth, when his husband had been struck down.

Geralt loathed Destiny, but he knew too much to deny her existence. This had been a judgement.

Geralt knew what life he led, he knew his Path, had known that humans couldn’t walk it. And he’d brought Jaskier anyway. This was punishment for falling in love and not leaving Jaskier safely in Oxenfurt like he’d planned from the start. 

The basilisk doublet flapped around Jaskier like a shroud. Had Geralt really thought it was enough? A single, simple doublet? Had he intended to fight cold and hunger and sickness with the swords he strapped to his back? Had he planned on fighting Destiny herself to keep Jaskier safe?

If Geralt could have struck Destiny down he would have.

The doublet hadn’t even kept Jaskier safe from the crossbow bolt. It was still embedded in his thigh, a terrible reminded as Geralt staunched the bloodflow. It hadn’t been enough. Geralt might as well have killed Jaskier himself. 

Jaskier’s father would certainly say that he had. Witchers would be hunted. There’d be a war and people would die all because Geralt had fallen in love. He’d been selfish and kept Jaskier at his side, luxuriating in praise and a pair of beautiful eyes. Dreaming that he could have love instead of leaving Jaskier in Oxenfurt where he was safe.

Geralt was taking Jaskier to Oxenfurt now, he only hoped his husband would still be alive when they got there.

Roach’s hooves rang on cobblestone as the first vestiges of the city flew past. Geralt flew into the city, louder than a rumor and faster than a plague. His eyes sought the telltale signs of magic, glowing gold and fighting to see in the darkness and the rain.

His love was going to die. He was so still against Geralt’s chest he was never still. 

Geralt prayed. He hadn’t prayed since the Trials. Even then, that hadn’t really been a prayer, that had just been a scared little boy screaming for somebody, anybody, to make it stop. 

Geralt prayed to every god he could think of. He wracked his brains as Roach ran through the city, trying to remember who was the god of poetry. Jaskier had been magic, a poet who could talk to the dead, such a person couldn’t just die this way. Geralt made an appeal to Justice, who he didn’t believe in.

Jaskier is good. He begged. He deserves to live. 

Take me instead.

Geralt’s eyes, moving in a far different plane than his mind, saw what he’d been looking for. 

Smoke. There. Green smoke, nearly invisible against the darkness and the rain. It curled up from the chimney of a building, poorly built and leaning out into the street but Geralt knew there was magic inside. 

He jumped from Roach, not taking the time to slow her down. His boots skidded on the cobblestones but he ran to the door, shifting Jaskier to one arm and knocking to wake the gods.

“Healer!” he screamed. “We need a healer!” His hand slammed the rusted knocker down like thunder.

“Please!” he was crying without tears, his voice taking a desperate and thin edge. “Please, we need a healer!”

The door was swung open without ceremony and Geralt barged inside. There was a workbench with scrolls across it but Geralt swept them off, laying Jaskier onto the wood like an offering at an altar.

The mage, placed a delicate hand on his chest and pushed him back.

He followed, feeling numb. The addrenaline was fighting his system, the fear of the ride stopped dead because there was nothing more he could do. 

That was the worst part. There was nothing more he could do. Geralt sank against the wall in the corner of the room, his heart racing and his mind achingly blank.

Some small part of him realized that Jaskier’s feet were bare. He’d left his boots back at camp. 

The mage was flowing magic over Jaskier in waves. It gathered in a purple mist over his wound, mixing unpleasantly with the blood.

“Pick up those scrolls,” snapped the mage, who didn’t look at him.

Geralt did, his body moving without input from his battered soul. His fingers smoothed yellowed parchment and curled it back up into neat tubes. 

“He’ll need paying for,” said the mage, hands poised over Jaskier as her magic slithered.

“Name your price.”

“I don’t want coin.”

Geralt gritted his teeth, watching the magic pull the bolt from Jaskier’s thigh. “Name. Your. Price.”

“What if I ask for your name as payment?” the mage said, not looking at him.

“I’ll give it to you.”

“And if I ask for your life?”

“You can have it.”

She hummed. Geralt knew it was a habit of his own but it set his teeth on edge.

“What if I ask for that?” she said.

She was pointing to Jaskier’s mother’s ring, the opal glittering on his finger.

“It’s not mine to barter, but for his life, I’m sure he’d understand,” Geralt said. 

“Luckily for you I’m not interested in trinkets.”

“What do you ask?” Geralt said, fed up with the games. Whatever perfume the mage was wearing was making his head spin too, it was nice, fruity and clean, but too heady for his heightened senses. 

“I want a baby,” the mage said, levelling stunning purple eyes on him.

Geralt’s mind reeled. “I can’t give you one.”

The mage sighed. “I know,” she growled, yanking her magic as it swirled. She snatched up a jar of something dreadful and began to smear it.

“Even if I promise you my first born,” Geralt said. “It’ll never happen.”

“I know that, witcher.” She spat it like a curse, but Geralt got the feeling that her issue was not with his profession. 

“Witchers come by children by the law of surprise,” he said, watching the salve sizzle on Jaskier’s skin and wincing.

“I want my own.”

Geralt scoffed, eyes fixed on Jaskier’s leg as it started to ooze.

The mage whirled to face him, her hand coming up and slapping him before even his witcher reflexes could stop it. 

“Go,” the mage snapped, eyes flashing. “I don’t want your derision.”

“But Jaskier--”

“Won’t be helped by you,” the mage snarled. “Go do something useful and come back when you’re ready to pay up.”

“With a baby?”

“I’ll think on payment,” she said, magic turning Geralt’s feet for him. “Leave.” 

The door slammed behind him. 

Geralt stood on the cobblestones, water soaking through his boots, meeting Roach’s gentle gaze. He stroked her muzzle, feeling the velvet against his palm. 

Jaskier’s feet were still bare, he thought. Mind too tired and broken to even bother with baby-wanting mages. Jaskier’s boots were at camp. 

Geralt rode there and back, before dawn. He’d been able to pack everything up and find stables and lodgings without ever actually thinking of anything except Jaskier.

Jaskier’s cold, bare feet. Jaskier’s closed eyes. Jaskier’s blood all over their campsite and Geralts clothes. Jaskier’s lute, tucked away safely in it’s case an unfamiliar weight on Geralt’s shoulder. 

Jaskier’s eyes as Geralt had almost said I love you.

That thought, as Geralt stood outside the mage’s door again, still bloody and clutching Jaskier’s boots in one hand, finally broke through the haze.

Geral was in love with Jaskier. 

The mage had asked for his life, his name, and he’d agreed without even having to think. 

Geralt didn’t just love that Jaskier was beautiful, or that he adored Geralt. Geralt loved Jaskier, whole and simple. He loved that he slept like an octopus, he loved that he hated mint. He loved that Jaskier loved poetry. He loved him.

It seemed to be carrying over into everything else, and had been for some time without Geralt even realizing it. Geralt loved music now. He loved poetry. He loved sleeping curled besided someone else. He loved buttercups. 

His buttercup was lying somewhere inside the mage’s house, maybe dying. Maybe dead. Because of Geralt. It was Geralt’s fault.

He knocked on the door. 

It opened at the first tap. 

The mage was there, but Jaskier was nowhere to be found. Geralt’s head whipped around, panic rising in his throat.

“Stop,” the mage said calmly. “He’s in bed upstairs.”

“Is he--”

“He may live. He may not. Anything now is up to him.”

“I want to see him.”

“I want payment.”

Geralt growled. “I didn’t bring a baby with me.”

The mage pouted at him infuriatingly, violet eyes laughing. “Obviously not. I considered what you said.”

“What?”

“About the Law of Surprise.”

“You said you wanted a baby of your own.”

The mage sighed. “I want the choice.”

“You don’t get that choice.”

Her gaze narrowed dangerously. “Do you think I don’t know that? I want to be whole.”

“A womb won’t make you whole. It doesn’t make someone a mother either.”

The mage’s eyes flashed and she stepped forward dangerously but Geralt was simply out of emotion.

“My mother gave me up to be made a mutant. She had a womb but what kind of mother does that. His father,” Geralt gestured upstairs to where he assumed Jaskier was. “Gave him up in the hopes he’d be slaughtered. He may be the reason Jaskier was born, but he’s not a father.”

“I want the choice,” the mage said stubbornly.

“You still have the choice to be a mother,” Geralt said. “Some mothers end up with children and don’t get a say in that so go...adopt some kid.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

Geralt scrubbed his hand over his, frankly, filthy face. “I don’t have the energy for that. Look...what’s your name?”

“Yennefer.”

“Yennefer, decide on payment - not a baby- so I can give it to you and see my, my bard.”

“I’m claiming the law of surprise.”

Geralt blinked at her blearily. She was exceptionally beautiful, but she was also in the way of seeing Jaskier. “That’s only if you save my life.”

“Then I’m claiming it from him.” 

Geralt didn’t have it in him to argue. Destiny had heard the claim. Whatever good luck Jaskier saw next was hers. 

Geralt walked slowly up the rickety stairs, heart sitting low and heavy in his stomach. He paused at a door, hearing a heartbeat beyond. It was Jaskiers. It came as a surprise to Geralt that he could recognize it so readily, but he knew it as well as his own.

It was thready and thin right now, though, and Geralt hesitated. Moments of their time flashed before his eyes, meeting Jaskier, how beautiful he’d looked in his wedding attire, him threatening thugs with a fish knife, him talking to the dead. And he lay on the brink of death in the next room. Could Geralt actually bear to see him like that?

Geralt would probably never forgive himself for a lot of things, including bringing Jaskier with him in the first place, but if he left him now...no.

Geralt walked into the room and knelt beside the bed. Watery dawn light filtered through the window, across Jaskier’s pale face. It was much too pale. The past weeks of sunlight and freckles seemed to have been erased from him, making him much more the man Geralt had met at Chateau Lettenhove, and less the man he’d come to love. 

Geralt washed his hands and face in the washbasin in the room. He still felt grimy, even with his hands scrubed raw, but he knelt at the side of the bed and took one lute-calloused hand in both of his. 

Whatever happened next, whichever way Jaskier was tipped on the scales of life and death, Geralt would be with Jaskier when it happened. 

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Tag List! Some of these don’t work well, let me know!

@llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @aziz-the-fangirl @mordoriscalling @bastardofmothman @negativenuggetz @morte-mistrata @ailorian @hayleynzlive @filledepluie @bygodstillam @sociowithatardisachevyandawand@faery-god @honeysuckletook @theflurtifly @saibowtie @werevampiwolf @frywen-babbles @the-kewlest @innocentbi-stander @1stbonesfan @aqueenrisesintheeast @toothhurtyam @marauders-fan-account @ineffable-lasagna @limevodka @rocknrollphanda @seralyra @permanently-exhausted-witcher  @aj-itated @watchthewolvesfall @00qtea @the-blondey @birds-of-forgiveness @westmoor  @abstractartwithoutpaint @darkonesdagger7437 @onwardsandfourwords @underwaterattribute @whenrainbowsend @goldbvtton @little-piece-of-tamlin @in-love-with-writing002 @flustratedcas @fontegagrilledcheese @so--many-fandoms @kirk-spock-in-the-impala @oniongrass @flowercrown-bard @maya-the-yellow-bee @comfyswitcherblanketfort @wellthisstinks @thenameislion-dandelion @flowercrown-bard @obsessedchildsworld @debellatis @zotinha456 @tumbleweedtech @goblin-loves-shiny-things @birdsflyhome @holymotherwolf @the-shenny-of-azkaban @darkangel91939 @enkelikauneus @saphiramalbec @silvermirror1997 @just-a-himbo-and-his-feral-bard @iamaqt314 @itsthelittlethingsnlife @oneshots-galore @inikokoru @gryffinqueen  @anythinggoesfandoms @artemisthehuntress @pomegranatebitch @nuitarius @ub-sessed @tookarma @spearmint-honk @nicelytousled @wingirl2015 @live-long-and-trek-on @kingcitywitch @flowrhippieprincess @oneshots-galore @laughingatlivedragons @letmereadplease  @annafortoday @dapperanachronism @jaybeefoxy @gods-no-longer-tread-here @flustratedcas @nbspaceboy  @comorbid-corvid @ellwren @red-wasabi89 @ouradarablelove @chanonce

#the witcher #geraskier #arranged marriage au #major character injury #geralt finally figured out some feelings #but oh no! #there's drama! #Jaskier #Geralt of Rivia #Yennefer #appearing for the first time

[whenisitenoughtrees]

to be honest, capable (of holding you) (part 1/3)

He walks forward, crouching over the snake, and when it doesn’t stir at all, he works up his courage and pokes it, just a little. Its scales are warm and smooth under his fingertip, and he resists the urge to stroke them. He doubts he could get away with that.

“Janus?” he asks, trying to keep the somewhat hysterical laughter from his voice. “That you?”

Thomas didn't know that Janus could turn into an actual snake, but he's glad to hang out with him regardless. More than glad; ecstatic, even, because he's been trying to figure out how to befriend him for ages, and this seems like a good first step. What he can't figure out is why human-Janus is being so weird about it.

(Alternatively: Janus doesn't trust easily. He wishes he could stop trusting Thomas— it would be so much less terrifying.)

Chapter Warnings: brief fear of strangulation (no actual strangulation occurs)

Chapter Word Count: 2,926

Pairing: platonic Thomceit

(part 2) (part 3)

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

It starts with the snake in the sunshine.

Thomas supposes that’s not entirely right, because in order to be truly accurate, he would have to acknowledge that ‘it’ started a long, long time ago, when he was a kid, or perhaps even when he was a baby. He’s not certain; he’s never thought to ask any of the sides when, exactly, they developed. And he’s also not certain when they became… the way that they are, instead of just being regular, non-sentient parts of his personality like literally everyone else on the planet is made up of, when his heart became someone called Patton, his logic someone called Logan, and so on. But he doesn’t think that any of that is particularly relevant for this specific situation, so for all intents and purposes: it starts with the snake in the sunshine.

He spots it when he’s coming down the stairs, and promptly stops up short on the third to last step, because, snake. In his apartment. And he knows that things like this happen in Florida, knows that wildlife has a tendency to encroach on human settlements (and he has heard enough horror stories about alligators in people’s backyards to last a lifetime, thank you), but it’s never happened to him before, and he’s not sure what to do about it.

It’s lying in the sunlight slanting through the window, coiled tightly, unmoving. It is white, with dappled yellow patterns all across its back, though there appears to be some kind of black marking on its head. It’s fairly large, too, far larger than any snakes he’s seen outside of a zoo, and he briefly entertains the notion that this might be a zoo escapee, though he’s not certain of how that would have happened. Or of how it got into his apartment in the first place. He definitely would have noticed it sneaking through the door, right?

He manages to overcome his initial fear, carefully dismounting the last few steps and approaching cautiously, sure to stay out of striking range. He doesn’t know much about snakes, doesn’t know how to tell if this is a venomous one or not, and he’s not taking any chances. Though, isn’t it something to do with the shape of their heads? Don’t venomous snakes have pointed heads? That sounds right. And this snake’s head doesn’t look particularly angular, so perhaps he’s safe, though he still doesn’t want to get bitten, venomous or not. The next step should probably be to call animal control and let them handle this.

Something about it seems off, though. Something in its markings, perhaps, that particular shade of yellow, or that odd blot on its head—

Wait. That can’t be right.

He stops. Takes a few steps forward, squinting. Goes so far as to rub his eyes, because perhaps there is a spot in his vision, fooling him into seeing something that doesn’t exist.

But no, it’s still there.

The black spot on its head isn’t a natural marking at all. He’s still not entirely sure his eyes can be trusted, but for all the world, it appears as though there is a tiny black bowler hat perched between this snake’s eyes.

And just like that, everything clicks. All the fear rushes out of him at once, leaving him breathless with relief. He can’t say that there is no apprehension about this new set of circumstances, and a healthy dose of confusion is steadily building, but this is far better than there being an actual, real snake in his apartment.

He walks forward, crouching over the snake, and when it doesn’t stir at all, he works up his courage and pokes it, just a little. Its scales are warm and smooth under his fingertip, and he resists the urge to stroke them. He doubts he could get away with that.

“Janus?” he asks, trying to keep the somewhat hysterical laughter from his voice. “That you?”

Slowly, the snake lifts its head, looking up at him with slightly glassy eyes. For a few seconds, they both participate in what has to be the strangest staring contest of Thomas’ life. Thomas loses, because the snake that is probably-almost-definitely-Janus doesn’t seem to blink.

Snakes don’t have facial expressions. Thomas is fairly certain of that. And yet, he gets the distinct impression that Janus is waiting for something; it’s in the gleam of his eyes, the slight tilt of his head, almost like he’s issuing a challenge.

“It’s totally cool if it is,” he clarifies, raising his hands. “Uh, you can feel free to stay there as long as you want. But uh, I just wanted to make sure that it was you and not some random snake.” He smiles, casting about in his mind for something to say. He’s not yet sure how to talk to Janus, not sure how to interact with him now that he’s offered up his acceptance, but he’s certainly going to try his best. He wants to get to know him, wants to understand him better. He deserves nothing less. “There’s only room for one snake in this apartment.”

Janus stares at him for a while longer, and then nods, a fluid, intelligent motion that is slightly disturbing coming from something that looks like an animal, but Thomas can deal. If his sides can shapeshift into his friends, and puppets, and giant frog monsters with abs, he can cope with his snake-like side becoming an actual snake. It’s hardly the weirdest thing he’s ever seen.

Janus returns to his coiled up position, apparently intent on taking a nap, and frankly, Thomas can’t blame him at all. A nap sounds great right about now. He’s not entirely sure why Janus has chosen to do so here, rather than in the mindscape; he’s certainly never seen any of the other sides sleep in his apartment. But he’s hardly about to make Janus leave, even if he’s bemused and a bit discomfited, so he wanders off to grab a snack and get back to editing, leaving Janus to sleep in the sunlight.

He’s gone by evening, and Thomas isn’t entirely sure when he left. It’s a few days before he shows up again, in the exact same spot, in the exact same sunbeam, and Thomas greets him but otherwise leaves him be.

From then on, it sort of becomes a thing. On cloudless days, Janus pops up as a snake to sun himself in the living room. Sometimes Thomas will chat with him, making idle conversation that he’s not sure is listened to, and sometimes he stays silent, content to do his own thing while Janus does his. It turns into a comfortable habit, on his end, at least, and he hopes that Janus is comfortable with it too. He thinks he is; at least, he never gives any indication otherwise.

He��s still not sure why exactly this is happening, but he hardly feels the need to complain.

But then, Thomas walks downstairs one day to find Janus staring directly at him.

He pauses, thrown by the change to their routine. Most of Janus’ body is curled in on itself, like usual, but his head is reared, and as Thomas watches, he sways back and forth slightly, a constant, seemingly automatic motion. His tongue flickers in the air, but he makes no sound, neither hissing nor speech, and though Thomas isn’t sure that he’s capable of talking while he’s like this, he’s heard him hiss a few times, so this silence is unnerving.

“Hey,” he says uneasily. He gives a half-hearted little wave, which he regrets almost instantly, feeling like an idiot. “Uh, is something the matter?”

Janus looks pointedly to the window behind him, and then back to Thomas again. It only takes Thomas a few seconds after that to realize what the issue is.

It’s raining.

And not a light rain, either, not the kind that casts grey shadows over the world and taps gentle, soothing rhythms against the windowpane. This is a storm, dark and furious, wind whipping and tearing into the trees and sending gust after gust of the torrential downpour against the glass. It is late afternoon, but it may as well be night for how dark the sky is. There is certainly no trace of sun poking through, and thus, no light for Janus to lie in.

He walks closer, though hesitantly. “I’m not sure what to tell you, buddy.” He winces as soon as he says it; ‘buddy’ doesn’t fit Janus at all, feels too presumptuous, like he’s assuming a closeness that doesn’t yet exist. He’ll keep trying. “I can’t control the weather.” He pauses, looking back to the snake, who has drawn up slightly, his head now almost level with Thomas’ waist. “Um, is there not anywhere in the mindscape that you could find some sun?”

Janus hisses, loud and sharp, opening his mouth to flash some fang. Instinctively, Thomas takes a step back.

He’ll take that as a no.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I’m not sure what to do, then,” he says. “It’s supposed to be like this all day.”

Snakes cannot look disappointed. They cannot glare. They are literally incapable of those facial expressions. So how Janus is managing to convey angry dejection is absolutely beyond him. And he doesn’t know how to comfort him, doesn’t know if comfort would even be welcome; in a way, Janus is a lot like Virgil, not that he would ever dare to speak that opinion out loud. They present themselves entirely differently, but at their core, they are both proud, stubborn and guarded, if in varying ways. Thomas has learned Virgil fairly well by now, knows how to slip past his walls, but Janus is a different story.

But still, seeing him so disappointed doesn’t sit right with him. So he reaches out on instinct, running a finger down the scales just past his head in an attempt to offer comfort through touch, and he doesn’t realize that this may have been a mistake until Janus stiffens, going completely rigid and still. He pulls his hand back hastily.

“Sorry!” he says. “I should’ve asked first, I’m sorry.” He frowns, glancing from Janus to his finger and back again. “You’re really cold. Is that normal?”

Snakes are cold-blooded. He does know that much, knows that they rely on external factors in order to maintain their body temperatures. He just never thought that such a restriction would apply to Janus, considering that he is, in fact, an imaginary snake and not a real one. But if he’s wrong, if Janus truly does need an outside source of heat in order to stay warm himself, then that would explain his distress.

Janus hisses at him again and ducks back down, curling into himself until he resembles a convoluted knot, his head nowhere to be seen. It’s almost upsettingly cute, not that Thomas would risk voicing such a thought. He crouches down instead, considering his options. Would Janus accept his help, if he offered it?

There’s only one way to find out.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Um, look, I can’t turn on the sun for you, but you look super uncomfortable, so if you wanted, you could… wrap around my arm, or something? Body heat would help, right?” He hesitates; Janus is fairly long, probably about five feet, possibly a bit longer, so the logistics might be a bit tricky. But he’s sure they could figure it out, if Janus would be amenable. Slowly, he stretches a hand out again, placing two fingers on Janus’ scales and stroking them with a feather-light touch. He really does feel cold.

Janus uncoils himself, hissing loudly, but he leans into the contact in a way that almost seems like desperation, like he’s trying to steal all the warmth he can from Thomas’ fingertips. And after a moment, the hissing stops, and he regards Thomas with an almost wild stare.

“Really,” he presses, unsure of what Janus is thinking. “I wouldn’t mind. Unless it’s not something you’re comfortable with, in which case, that’s fine, we could figure out something else. I… might have a heated blanket?” He casts back in his mind, trying to figure out if he does, in fact, possess a heated blanket, or if he just used to have one and is remembering incorrectly. If he doesn’t still have it, he’s not sure that he owns anything else that would help; snakes like heat lamps, he thinks, but he definitely doesn’t have one of those. Could he turn on the oven and set Janus in front of it? Would that work?

He is jolted out of his thoughts by the sensation of Janus’ head rubbing into his hand, like a cat seeking attention. He freezes, and so does Janus, and for a long moment, they have another one of those staring contests. Then, Janus sets his head primly on the back of his hand, still staring, as if asking for permission. Something bright and warm blooms in Thomas’ chest, and with his free hand, he gestures to his arm, trying to suppress the grin that wants to spread across his face.

Janus hesitates for a second longer. Then, he slithers up and around Thomas’ arm, and Thomas shivers at the sensation of frigid scales sliding across his skin. At first, it seems as though this won’t work, that Janus is simply too big to settle comfortably, but Thomas watches in fascination as Janus begins to shrink, landing on a much smaller size, perhaps two feet long, a length that can wrap around his arm with ease. Somehow, throughout the process, the tiny bowler hat remains perfectly balanced.

And just like that, there is a snake looped around Thomas’ arm.

“Alright,” he says, trying not to sound as giddy as he feels, because this is the closest he feels like he’s gotten to making a personal connection to Janus in months. “Okay, cool. Um, I was planning on getting some more editing done, so you can just hang out while I do that, I guess. Feel free to hiss at me or something if you get uncomfortable.”

Janus remains silent, which he will take as a good sign. In fact, he remains silent for the better part of an hour, lazily regarding the computer screen as Thomas attempts to wrangle his filmed material into something worth posting. He ends up doing most of the work with one arm so as to disturb Janus as little as possible, but he finds that he doesn’t mind. After a time, he almost forgets that Janus is there at all, becomes accustomed to the chilly weight of his scales on his arm, the slight movements as he shifts in place every now and again.

But then, those slight movements become bigger movements, and Thomas stills, tensing as Janus uncoils and begins to slither his way up his arm and under his shirtsleeve. His breath catches, and chills shoot down his spine; Janus is warmer than before, but still cool, and the sensation as Janus moves across his shoulder and emerges from his shirt’s collar is odd, unfamiliar. He exhales shakily as Janus continues to move, looping himself around his neck several times, just tight enough that Thomas is very aware of his presence, of the fact that there is a snake coiled around his neck, and as much as he knows that Janus will not physically harm him (and probably couldn’t, even if he tried), there is an element in his hindbrain that is gibbering at him, insisting that everything about this situation is a very bad idea, and that he needs to remove the threat.

God, he hopes Virgil isn’t paying attention to this. Except, judging from the way he’s feeling right now, judging from the almost audible oh god oh god get him off get him off, he definitely is, and Thomas is very surprised that he’s held back from showing up in person.

And then, Janus lets out a whistling breath and tucks his head between the coils and Thomas’ neck, and all the tension leaks from Thomas’ body as his rational thinking catches up to the situation. The way Janus is gripping him is nowhere near tight enough to cut off his airflow, and it never was, even though he seems to be pressing up as close to his skin as possible. But why--?

Was his arm not warm enough?

“You good there, Janus?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He receives no response, neither a hiss nor any additional motion, so he tries again. “Are you, uh, asleep?”

Again, no reply, so it’s probably safe to assume. He smiles, wide and unrestrained, and powers down his laptop. The storm outside has calmed to a softer rainfall, pattering against the windows, and other than that, the world seems quiet and still. It’s earlier than Thomas usually goes to bed, but he actually feels like he might manage to fall asleep if he tries, and a little bit of extra rest never hurt anyone. He’s been working in bed already, thankfully, so while he can’t lie all the way down without dislodging Janus in some way, Logan won’t lecture him too much if he falls asleep where he sits.

He reaches over to the lamp at his bedside and turns off the light.

“Goodnight, Janus,” he murmurs. Predictably, he receives no response, but Janus’ scales still press against him in the dark, a comforting presence as he drifts off.

------

General Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii @severelylackinginquality @aceawkwardunicorn @gayerplease @elizabutgayer @dwbh888 @thatoneloudowl @sanderssides-angst @gayboopnoodle @wildfire5157 @ldavmp4 @a-ghostlight-for-roman @sammy-is-obsessed @imlovethomassanders

As a note, I am willing to have a separate taglist for this fic if you just want to be tagged for the other two chapters. So if you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask! But please do specify which taglist you would like to be added to.

#sanders sides #ts sides #platonic thomceit #character!thomas #janus sanders #ts janus #my fic #i'm not gonna lie this whole fic is an excuse to get c!thomas to hug janus

[lykegenia]

The Dragon Knight’s New Clothes

The speed with which Davion left Hauptstadt left him no time to pick up clothes, so now he's back to square one and very much missing enough layers to cover up his... secrets. When he and his companions stumble on a farmstead his prayers seem answered, but there's also the other matter, the reason why he had to flee Hauptstadt in the first place, and the fear that it will happen again. Set between Episodes 2 & 3. 

Hints of Davion x Mirana

--

Read on AO3

--

Normally, Davion is perfectly fine with silence in his travelling companions. The life of a dragon knight requires long hours on the road, not all of which can be filled with talk, even on the days where there’s no hunt to keep the quiet. But normality seems to have taken its butterfly wings elsewhere for him lately, and the current silence is getting awkward. It’s just him and Mirana. Marci took Sagan scouting shortly after sunrise and left them alone together, and while she seems content with their current situation, she’s also the only one between them wearing clothes. She doesn’t have to worry about the strength of errant breezes finding their way to places, and she has the weight of a weapon at her side as insurance against any trouble they might run into. Her feet aren’t slipping around sockless and blistered in too-large boots taken off a dead man.

A man he tore to pieces.

He swallows, glances to his companion to take his mind off the remembered taste of blood in his mouth. Her shoulders are loose, her gaze soft and hair flowing where the wind lifts it back from her face, the unassuming brown sparking copper in the dappled sunlight. He swallows again.

“Soooooo…”

“Is there a problem?” she asks, slowing a little. A quizzical knot appears between her brows and he raises his hands in surrender.

“No problem!” he says. “It’s just… you’re quiet.”

“I was enjoying the peace.” If there’s a note of annoyance for his interruption it flashes too quickly for him to catch it.

“You must not get much chance to just stop and smell the flowers,” he supposes, after a moment. “Being a princess and everything.”

“There are always little things, if you let yourself look for them – but you’re right that my duties rarely allowed for anything more.”

Allowed. Past tense.

“You never snuck away to try something more fun?” He grins, and when she only quirks a brow at him he clears his throat. “No, never mind, I think I know the answer to that… I’m sure Marci will be back soon.”

She throws him a smirk. “Are you worried about her?”

“Actually,” he says, letting his thoughts tease out, “I’ve been wondering about you two.”

“What about us?” The smirk draws in, a warning that seems to dim the sunlight itself.

He shrugs. “She takes your orders, but you don’t exactly treat her like a servant or a squire, and you have that –” he waggles his fingers experimentally – “hand language. You must have known her a long time.”

She turns away from him, her eyes going to a bird cleaning its beak on the branches above them as her arms fold in a loose cross over her chest.

“We came to the Nightsilver Woods together, if that’s what you’re asking,” she says. “We were already companions before then.”

“Just the two of you?”

Something in the memory pains her. “There was no one else left.”

“What about Sagan?” he asks.

“A gift from my goddess, so that I might do Her work.” The smile comes back, and he’s glad for it. “He was adorable as a cub – so fluffy. He used to chase the reflections from my arrowheads.”

“I never had a pet,” he confesses, without quite meaning to. A memory of a mongrel begging at the back door for scraps threatens to pull him in, but it was a long time ago and his mind can’t conjure the dog’s appearance. It probably ended up like the rest of his village, anyway.

Mirana’s eyes find his face, too perceptive, too understanding. Before he can think of a new subject to distract her, he notices the birds have all gone silent. The undergrowth rustles nearby, concealing something huge. He darts forward, fists ready in place of a weapon, but an instant later he catches a flash of white and relaxes in recognition at the wide, blunt head that pushes out from among the trees.

“Sagan!” Mirana ducks forward, arms outstretched, and the tiger butts her in the shoulder, purring like an avalanche as Marci slides down his back.

A brief conversation follows in the silent language the two women use between themselves, the signs made by their hands too fast for Davion to follow. He waits patiently, even dares to give Sagan a scratch under the chin, his fingers inches from the mouth full of sabre teeth the length of his hand.

Finally, Mirana turns to him. “There’s a farmstead about five miles west of here. If we’re welcomed it would be a good place to get some rest.” She throws a casual look over him and he resists the urge to tug the too-small cloak further around his body. “Perhaps we might also find you some better clothes.”

“I’d like that.” What he likes less is her singular ability to make him aware of his body – and not in the fun way.

She starts to lead off down the path but stops, sighs, her fingers going to pinch between her brows in an attitude of long-suffering patience.

“Ride Sagan,” she says. Orders, really. “It’ll save your feet.”

He can’t help but lean closer, grinning. “That’s surprisingly nice of you, princess.”

“And it’ll stop you slowing us down.”

He chuckles at that. Even in the few days they’ve spent travelling together he’s learned the difference between her wry mock threats and the times she truly intends to bite. As he winces over to tiger and vaults into the saddle, he almost misses the look exchanged between his two companions.

“How do I, uh, steer?” he asks. The neck in front of him is too short, the shoulders much broader than those of a horse, and there aren’t any reins.

Mirana smirks at him. “You don’t.”

--

They reach the farmstead as the sun is on its last descent towards the distant hills. Barley stalks sway gently under the wind as they climb the path to the house, and when a young teen tending vegetables by the back door spots them, Davion can hardly blame them for dropping their rake and running inside. The three of them don’t exactly make for an ordinary bunch of travellers, especially not with Sagan padding along behind them. There’s a stag slung over the saddle, intended as a sort of offering by Mirana, who took it down with one of her arrows before he even knew it was there. While most would follow the custom of hospitality without such a gift, they have only a few coins from the bandits he killed, and they need more than just shelter for the night.  

“Better let me do the talking,” he mutters as they pass into the yard. It’s not the first time he’s had to explain to some poor local that he’s not a marauding thug, and that was without the daunting presence of the war tiger at his back.

For a moment, Mirana considers, but nods and hangs back, passing a hand over her holstered bow as if to reassure herself it’s still there. With another self-conscious tug on his attire to make sure his decency is covered, he advances towards the farmhouse’s front door and as he passes a soft fragrance of thyme and lavender rises from pots placed beneath the windows, though it’s too early in the year for the buzzing of bees. A memory tickles at the back of his mind but he pushes it away before the herby scent can be tainted with ash, and in the instant it takes to centre himself the door swings open to a tall, broad woman with steel-grey hair and an iron brow who steps out just far enough to not appear suspicious.

“You’re an uncommon bunch, right enough,” she comments, her face half shadowed by the overhanging thatch. “What business have you?”

Davion offers her his most winning smile. “We’re travelling from Hauptstadt. If you have enough spare for a hot meal and room in your barn for the night, we’d appreciate it.” He gestures to his companions. “My friend here managed to take down a deer, and we’ll happily share it with you.”

“Half of it,” Mirana corrects, with a hand on her tiger’s shoulder. “And the hide. Sagan needs to eat too.”

The farmer passes a calculating look over them, lingering longest on Davion and the scars so clearly visible across his shoulders, but in the end he guesses their fearsome appearance works in their favour. Their would-be host shrugs. If such travellers wanted to pillage and burn, they’d have no need for subterfuge first.

“We’re always happy to have well-mannered guests, especially ones with news of the road,” she says. “At this time of year the stock is out so your cat will be fine in the barn. Just keep him away from the back field, I’ve ewes ready to drop and they don’t a need a fright to help them along.”

Mirana nods. “Thank you. Is there somewhere we can put the deer?”

If the farmer is surprised by Marci’s strength as she hauls the carcass off Sagan’s back, she doesn’t show it, only points to the gate set into the far wall to show the way to the outbuildings. “And you always dress like that, do you?” she asks a moment later, still eyeing Davion.

He glances down at himself as if it’s going to suddenly change the nature of his attire, but the princess answers before he can open his mouth.

“There was trouble with bandits.”

“Only for your friend here?” The farmer’s eyes narrow.

“We met on the road,” she says smoothly. “If you have some spare clothes, my companion would appreciate the return of her cloak.”

The farmer accepts the half-truth with a solemn shake of her head. “Some of my late husband’s things should fit you, though he never kept quite so trim as you seem to be.”

She beckons them into the house. Davion follows, ducking under the lintel to avoid knocking his head, but pauses when he realises Mirana isn’t behind him.

“I’m going to bed Sagan down,” she tells him. “I’ll join you shortly.”

He smiles, nodding, and resists the urge to reach for her as she turns away. Inside, the whitewashed walls split the house into two, a kitchen with a large, scrubbed table in the back, and a parlour of sorts with a gathering of chairs around a large fireplace that overlooks the garden. An old woman snores in the armchair closest to the window, but she doesn’t stir at the prospect of visitors, even though the stairs leading off this main room creak under Davion’s weight, the wood worn to a polish by generations of use.

“Tayran,” his host calls out as a young woman appears from one of the upper rooms, “go help your brother with the veggies, will you? We’ve three more mouth to feed tonight.”

Tayran, a few years younger than Davion and sporting the same square jaw and brown eyes as her mother, nods and ducks along the hallway, but not before she’s let her gaze rake along the expanse of his muscles not covered by Marci’s cloak. The smile he offers in return is friendly enough, but not encouraging. He needs the clothes more than he needs someone to take them off again.

Seemingly oblivious to the exchange, his host has gone on ahead to the main bedroom and has taken a key to a heavily locked chest in the corner by the washstand. She digs through it, muttering, though he notices she never quite fully turns her back to him, and after a moment she stands again, with a shirt, breeches, and quilted jerkin draped over her arm. After a pause where she casts a critical eye at his boots, she stumps over to a dresser and pulls a rolled pair of wool socks from one of the drawers as well.

“These are the best I can do,” she says, handing the ensemble to him. “Afraid we’ve no salve for those badly fitting boots of yours, though.”

“It’s no problem,” he replies. “I really can’t thank you enough.”

She huffs. “You can pay it forward. That’s what decent folk do. I’d best go see if yon slip of a girl has managed to get any meat off that stag yet – there’s plenty of room to change in the barn,” she adds, as she chivvies him from the room.

--

Dinner a few hours later is a crowded affair, the family’s meagre supply of chairs not enough to accommodate their guests, which means Davion’s legs are folded awkwardly around the tree stump serving him as a stool, his knees already bruised from all their accidental knocks to the underside of the table. The dim light for their meal comes from the fire and from a storm lantern hanging in the rafters in the centre of the room, and in the darkness beyond this the house groans and creaks as it settles for the night. After the disdain Mirana showed for the inn in Hauptstadt he wondered how she would react to such simple surroundings, but she nods graciously as their host ladles her a portion of stew and doesn’t complain that it’s being served with a wooden spoon. Marci is already tucking into hers as if she hasn’t eaten for days.

He smiles down at his bowl. The stew itself tastes good, the venison paired well with bacon and fresh vegetables, and it’s so thick the slice of bread he’s been given can be planted into it like a battle standard. Their host seems satisfied with their enthusiasm for her food, too. She has yet to sit down, her own portion left off as she pours a clear liquid into a motley collection of cups.

“Don’t knock this back,” she warns as she passes the drinks around. “It’ll beat you round the head like a club and go through your pockets for loose change.”

Davion can’t resist. He makes a great show of tasting the liquor. “A fine vintage, ma’am. Comparable to an Icewrack white, I’d say.”

Opposite him, Mirana narrows her eyes, like she wants to kick him under the table.

“My, you’ve expensive tastes,” their host rumbles. “You won’t find anything half so fancy in these parts.”

“Oh? Shame.”

“Where have you been that serves Icewrack white?” the elder asks from the head of the table. It’s the first Davion’s heard her speak, and her voice is cracked with age and suspicion.

“Oh, a few places,” he answers, careful. “I’ve spent most of my life travelling.”

“You must have many stories,” says Tayran, leaning forward on her elbows while her younger brother rolls his eyes next to her.

“Some, I suppose.” Davion shrugs. “My – uh, I had a friend who was much better than telling them.” He can’t mention having a squire; it would invite too many questions.

The elder seems content with him, but then her eye swivels towards Mirana. “What about you?”

“Mama,” their host chides. “We don’t interrogate our guests.”

Mirana sets down her wooden spoon. “It’s alright. We came from further west, on business.”

“Wrong time o’ year to be travelling the high passes.”

“My business could not wait,” she replies. Not for the first time, he wonders what calamity must have drawn her from her woods, put the grit in her voice as she speaks of it.

“And what about you?” Tayran asks him. Her eyelashes flutter. “If you’re looking for work you’d be far more likely to find it back in Hauptstadt, or on one of the farms in the valley.”

He disarms her with a grin. “And leave my companions without a defender? My honour wouldn’t allow it.” He shrugs elaborately. “I’ve got some friends near Levinthal who should be able to help me after I go that way.”

“More people who owe you favours?” Mirana asks, casually enough, though it’s clear she hasn’t forgiven him for the cockroaches that came included with the last one.

“It’s likely just as well you travel together,” their host interrupts. “There’s rumours of some sort of monster roving about these hills. Someone found bodies ripped apart not a week’s journey from here, and whatever it was killed a dragon knight an’ all. Dangerous times, these.”

The chill that grips Davion’s spine doesn’t go away, nor the knot in his stomach that feels like another gang leader’s ring just waiting to be hocked up onto the table. Mirana and Marci both have stilled to watch him, but he doesn’t meet their gazes. Instead, he draws in a breath and stretches his best tavern-pleasing smile across his revulsion.

“Thanks for the warning,” he says. “We’ll be extra careful.”

The conversation moves on after that, well into the night. On isolated farms like this one, travellers may bring the only news of the outside world for weeks, and new stories of far off places are always welcome. Finally, drowsing under the effect of the wine and the full meal and with the supply of fire logs running low, Mirana rises to make their excuses for the night. They have an early start in the morning, and don’t want to trespass any further, she says. Davion follows.

In the doorway, however, an unexpected hand reaches out in a caress across his chest that stops him before he can make it out into the cold. His breath fogs as he turns, finding Tayran in the shadowed alcove where the family keeps their coats, the smile on her face one he’s seen on more than one young woman on his travels.

“It’ll be cold tonight, you know,” she purrs.

From the corner of his eye he sees Mirana pause at the sound of the voice, but when he turns fully she’s already resumed her pace, perfectly measured, her shoulders straight, and he wonders if he imagined it. Tayran’s hand moves up to cup his cheek, to bring his attention back to her.

“If you want a better offer than a draughty old barn, I’d be happy to oblige. If you’re not already spoken for, that is?”

“You mean with –?” He coughs. “No, I’m not. We’re not, ah – like that.”

She steps closer. “Good. Would you like to hear more about my offer?”

--

When he lets himself into the barn a little time later, bright moonlight spills around him, though his eyes take less time to adjust to the unlit interior than he expects. An oil lamp glows in the far corner.

“Your ‘better offer’ fell through then?” a voice chimes through the darkness, low with disdain.

He finds Mirana with Sagan’s head in her lap, running a soft brush over the tiger’s fur, her scowl and the sour curl of her mouth revealing the nature of whatever else she wants to say. She doesn’t look at him. His own anger rises in response.

“I didn’t take the offer,” he snaps, quiet enough not to disturb Marci. “Not that you have any reason to care.”

“I didn’t want to waste time looking for you in the morning.”

But the gaze fixed on him now flickers with calculation, the same astuteness she turned on him after he let the elf go, as if he’s a puzzle box with no clear solution.

“She was a pretty enough thing,” she comments as he unfolds a horse rug over the straw as a makeshift bedsheet. “Many men would have gone after her.”

“Yeah, well – I’ve said it before.” He throws his head down on his folded arm. “I’m not most men.”

Now more than ever, he thinks ruefully as silence descends again. If he were the sort of person who believed the gods cared at all he’d wonder if they turned him into… whatever he is… as a punishment for hubris. For a little harmless flirting. He yanks the blanket up to his chin and rolls over – he’s slept in less comfortable places, but that doesn’t make the cold, prickly ground any less frustrating. A bed would have been much better. A bed with a bit of fun thrown in, for the both of them, and yet he chose to leave, and he’s going to go mad trying to work out why.

“You’re afraid,” Mirana says into the quiet. “Worried that what happened at Hauptstadt – what you became – that it’ll happen again.”

After a long moment, he unclenches his hand and sighs. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“For what good it will do, I can watch over you, if you like.”

He shifts. The offer feels unfamiliar. A dragon knight is sworn to protect others, and though the rational part of him knows if he does turn she’ll be dead before she realises it, there’s a warm glow of comfort from the assurance in her voice. She asks nothing of him, only honesty.

“If the transformation happens…”

“I’ll shoot you.” He hears the smirk.

“Thank you.” He squeezes his eyes shut, willing away the images his mind conjures, her blood on his hands, and prays to whichever gods are listening that if the worst comes her draw will be fast enough.

#dota dragon's blood #dota: dragon's blood #dota: db #dota 2 #mirana #princess mirana #davion #davion the dragon knight #davion x mirana #mirana x davion #miravion #dragon's blood

[seaswalllow]

concept below :P

snippet one is mostly establishing format, snippet two, though... ;]

--

> User: E@>>J registered.

> Audio components active. Visuals active.

The camera's screen flickers. It is held in a surprisingly steady hand, although its wielder is excitable- and loud. As the pixels resolve themselves into a grainy picture that steadily sharpens, you can make out grass underfoot.

Shadows flicker on the edges. They resolve, too, into the shadows of two other boys.

> User: EF33@ registered.

> User: C2?3@@ registered.

The voices of all three fade in.

> "-did you bring the extra flashlights? Batteries? Snacks?"

The camera-holder scoffs. From your angle, you can see him dig the toe of a scuffed sneaker into the earth.

> "Yes, I did. Water, too. I'm not an idiot."

Speculative noises arise from his companions. He pans the camera up aggressively, zooming in on the shorter one who makes direct eye-contact and shrugs.

> "You're excitable."

The taller one seems more careful with his words. This earns another aggressive- relatively over the top- scoff.

> "And you're a bitch, Ranboo. Ranboob."

> "Well now that was just uncalled for-"

Ranboo's protests are overlapped by the camera-holder walking forward, and beginning to talk.

> "Let's get going! It'll be nighttime by the time we get there, and you'll want to go back because you're a little bitch-"

> "Because we don't want to break our necks-"

The camera is snatched amidst the argument; the camera flips enough for you to see that it is the other boy waving to you.

> "While they argue, we'll keep walking. We're walking down to this ravine that Tommy had found."

As he speaks, he briefly pans over to the boy arguing with Ranboo, before returning to the path in front of them. In front of you, the woods loom. This close to the edge, sunlight dapples the floor.

The boys overhear him, and their arguing seems to cease. Tommy speeds up to walk in front of the camera.

> "Tommy, is there anything that you wanted to tell us about the ravine?"

> "It's haunted, bitch."

This draws a yelp from their companion. Tommy's expression twitches with a barely concealed smile; neither the camera holder nor Ranboo seem as amused. The camera holder skirts around a tree, and you watch as a squirrel scuttles past.

> "What do you mean, haunted? Tommy, what do you mean haunted?"

> "There's no way that it's haunted. You're trying to get a spook out of us."

Ranboo and the camera holder's complaints overlap. Tommy waves a hand dismissively at the camera.

> "Take a look and find out, Tubbo. There's supposedly a sad little man who wanders around the place, playing with the lanterns-"

This time, the camera pans up again to Ranboo, who shakes his head at it.

> "This is going to end so badly."

> "It'll be fine! Just don't pussy out and run off on your own!"

A huff sounds from behind you. Tubbo pans the camera around to catch more of the forest; here, the undergrowth sprawls wildly about the floor, and it nearly trips Tommy up. Birdsong grows fainter, and fainter, and Ranboo rubs at his arms.

> "Should I turn the camera off until we get there? I'll save its batteries."

> "We brought extra, it'll be fine!"

> "Besides, if we end up getting murdered in the forest, at least someone can stumble onto the camera-"

> "Someone's just gonna leave the camera behind, right-"

The three boys' arguments overlap each other, but Tubbo does not shut the camera off.

--

Tommy brings the group to a stop in front of a hill. From behind Ranboo, you can't see why they've halted; when Tubbo pans the camera around, you can see the cave entrance.

The sunlight hardly reaches you here, thick as the canopy is. It doesn't stretch much further into the cavern.

Tommy pulls out a torch, and flicks it on. Ranboo does not follow suit; Tubbo does.

> "So this is the ravine. It goes down a passage, and then supposedly opens up."

> "I still say this is a bad, bad idea. We are going to break something, we are going to get murdered-"

> "We'll be fine. We're three big men, we can take whatever bitches try to jump us. I'll just flex- and punch them-"

> "And break your hand."

Tubbo sounds amused; Ranboo has hesitantly taken out a torch and flicked it on.

> "You go on then, bossman. You want to show us this badly, you go first."

> "Fine! Fine."

Tommy steps into the cavern; the camera is panned down to note that the floor dips down immediately within the entrance. He forges on, further, gravel crackling underfoot.

The party pauses at indentations in the floor, scrapes around it- Tommy pokes it with a foot. The camera zooms in on it.

> "Looks like somebody hollowed out this place at least a little. Did you say that this place was manmade?"

> "Well, somebody had to have found it if there's a fucking ghost here."

> "If there's a ghost here, then someone died, and we shouldn't be here at all!"

Tommy does not answer, having moved on. Tubbo only pans the camera to Ranboo- your view bobs, presumably from a shrug.

> "Come look! I found the way down, look at how cool that is-"

The camera just catches Tommy sliding into a crack in the wall, and beginning to make his way downwards. Tubbo follows. He makes a surprised sound, and points you at the stairs.

The very clearly manmade stairs. They are unevenly hewn out, and although Tubbo doesn't slip, you can hear Tommy swear up ahead as he grabs at the walls for support.

> "Definitely manmade."

Ranboo's voice does not sound terribly excited with this revelation. Tommy has stopped firing back particularly acerbic retorts- Tubbo silently zooms in on his white-knuckled grip on the torch and doesn't say another word.

> "How deep can this go? We've been in here for what feels like hours-"

The camera jerks up sharply at Tommy's loud swear, and you come to an abrupt stop. Tommy steadies himself for balance on the floor, and the camera peeks around him, Ranboo whistling under his breath.

The three beams of light play over the expanse yawning below them; pathways arch, thin and winding, between the cavern walls. Tommy's light lingers over a lantern, rusted and long-burnt out, before it wanders further down to the floor. Below them, something clicks, once, twice, three times. A rock, presumably, hitting the floor as they enter the path.

Ranboo's, meanwhile, explores the pathway that sprawls in front of them and follows it down. The camera flicks between both, before Tubbo starts cautiously following the path in turn.

> "So somebody clearly was here. They spent lots of time here if this wasn't- natural."

Tubbo's light flicks to a wooden pathway, rotted through.

> "No way all of this was natural, bossman."

Distantly, Ranboo can be heard muttering under his breath. Whatever it is, it is worried; but it's too quiet to be distinct.

By now, Tubbo is halfway down the path. Closer to the ravine floor, more cracks can be seen in the walls.

As one of their lights wander across the walls, Ranboo clears his throat.

> "Guys. Guys, are those- what is that in the walls? Buttons?"

Tubbo hops the last distance off, and wanders closer to one. The camera, grainy as it is in the low light, zooms in on one of the little square mechanisms. It's wood, and oddly smooth, despite the rot that's wormed its way in.

> "Sure seems like it."

> "You should press it."

Quick as a flash, Tommy comes up behind him, and presses it. Other than a gentle click, despite Ranboo's scandalized hiss, nothing happens. It pops back into place.

> "Next question: why're there so many of these?"

> "Someone was bored, probably."

Tommy's peeled off again, turning in a circle. Tubbo zooms the camera in on a crack in the wall.

> "Is this an actual cave system?"

Tommy moves ahead of him, peeking into the crack. Crack is inaccurate- more like an opening, oddly tall enough and spacious enough for two of them to fit through comfortably.

> "...This isn't a fucking cave."

Tommy disappears into it, and Ranboo hovers outside. His attention is drawn somewhere deeper into the ravine- Tubbo zooms in on him.

> "Shadows got to you?"

> "I thought I saw something."

Even in the low light, Ranboo's troubled expression is easy to make out. Tubbo swings the camera around to follow where he stares. The torch cuts deep enough to come across the other wall- not a single thing moves.

Tubbo swings the camera back to Ranboo.

> "Here, you follow Tommy, and I'll go behind."

> "For you to spook me too?"

Nonetheless, Ranboo does follow Tommy in. Tubbo pans the camera a last time down in the direction he was staring in- nothing. A rusted lantern swings in a breeze.

Odd, that. A breeze in a cave.

The view lingers on it, and when it's pulled away, seems grainier than normal.

> "This is an actual room. This isn't a cave. Someone made this room."

Tubbo zooms in on more scratches in the side of the wall. Some of it looks like somebody was hacking away at the walls. Others...

> "What, someone hacked out this room, and went- hold up, hold up. What the fuck is this shit on the ground?"

Their footsteps don't echo here, muffled by what appears to be softer ground. As multiple torches are pointed down, Ranboo crouches down, and pokes at it, before taking a handful. Dirt trickles through his fingers.

> "Did someone just- just haul down some dirt to shove into a random cave room? What kind of- who made this place?"

None of the others have answers for him; Tubbo crouches as well, and digs his hands deeper. He does not meet stone anywhere underneath.

> "It goes deep, too. Wonder why."

Tommy ducks out of the room; his footsteps echo as his feet meet stone once more.

> "There's more further down the hall. There's- guys. Guys, come look."

This time, his confusion sounds tangible.

The camera is lifted back up to eye level, as they follow his voice, into another room.

> "That is very clearly a bed. That is a bed. That is a table. And a chair across the room. Did- there was somebody living down here."

> "Tommy, what kind of ravine did you take us into?"

Tubbo takes the camera closer to the bed. Most of the fabric is long gone, eaten away by moisture and insects. The wood creaks as he reaches out a foot to nudge it.

The table is in no better condition. Tommy attempts to lean on it, only to jump away as it creaks.

> "They're definitely not here. Right? Why would you even live down here? How?"

The camera bobs with Tubbo's shrug.

> "Maybe this was like... someone's secret base."

> "In the middle of a ravine, in the middle of the forest?!"

> "I didn't say it was normal!"

> "We should leave."

Outside, the lantern chains gently scrape together, again. Ranboo jumps, and Tommy shoves him with a shoulder.

> "Calm down. Whoever was here is clearly long gone- and if we see a ghost, we have some cool footage!"

> "Or we just- don't mess with them because we don't know what would've killed them down here."

> "But ghosts, Ranboo. Ghosts!"

By now, they're ducking out of the room. Ranboo continues to look back behind him; Tommy continues to walk further into the ravine.

Above them, the wooden pathways creak, and all three freeze.

The torchlight reveals nothing.

> "You've already gotten enough footage."

For all of Ranboo's efforts, Tommy keeps going, poking his head into cracks and walking up roughly hewn stairs.

> "Bossman, Ranboo might be right. It's time to go, we spent a good part of the day already."

Tommy's grumbles float back up to you, but he rejoins not long after.

It's at this point that they begin maneuvering back.

The footage is fuzzier than ever. Tubbo hums, disgruntled, and the view jostles; presumably as he lightly smacks it.

> "Something wrong?"

> "The footage's gone all weird; it's even shittier than before."

> "Give it here."

The camera switches hands; your view sweeps across the ravine ceiling, faintly catching four shadows. Tommy flips the camera over, presumably examining it by torchlight.

> "That's weird. Maybe the lighting's got to it. Or maybe it's the ghosts."

A faint thud sounds, Tommy letting out a huff.

> "Don't fucking- elbow me, you're like double my height-"

> "Don't try to freak us out!"

> "Okay, let's go, boys."

Tubbo's interruption breaks up the bubbling argument, as he takes the camera and starts back to the path. The view is slowly panned around them.

> "Nothing now, see? It's just you freaking out, Ranboo."

> "Or maybe whoever it is heard that we're leaving."

Ranboo is vocally displeased with the idea of Tubbo's suggestion. Tommy only snickers.

No other banter is picked up.

> "Look, there's that weirdass bridge again. It won't hold my weight, will it?"

> "No, definitely not, Tommy. It's been God knows how many years."

The camera sweeps back to face Tommy, who has a single foot gently testing the weight of the bridge. Ranboo hovers nervously to the side.

Behind Tommy, on the film, through the increasing static, a faint figure pulls itself up from where it was dangling its legs over the side. The camera freezes where it is.

> "Tommy. Tommy- are any of you seeing this? On the bridge?"

The figure pauses. So do the boys- they look at the bridge, and then back at Tubbo.

> "There's nothing there. See?"

The flashlight plays over the bridge, passing through the figure watching them. Faintly, a trenchcoat can be made out. A tattered sweater.

> "That- Ranboo. Come here. Look."

Gravel crackles to the side, and a sharp intake of breath can be heard; presumably as Ranboo approaches.

> "Tommy, get away from the bridge. Get over here."

Tommy moves towards the camera. The figure stops moving towards Tommy.

> "Oh, what the fuck. What the fuck."

The camera zooms, slightly. With three torches now focused on the figure, more details of the patches on the coat emerge. The man wearing it- he's folding his arms, staring them down.

From further down the bridge, a fourth voice echoes.

> "Hasn't anybody taught you boys not to play on rotting fucking bridges?"

#dream smp #tommyinnit #tubbo #ranboo #wilbur soot #found footage au #boys explore pogtopia babeyyyy #this became a whole fucking fic lmao #im also tired so thats how far im taking this concept <3 i may or may not do a follow up depending

[generaldisdainn]

Mandatory Relaxation

Happy Kristanna Christmas in July @somecallmejohn !! I’m your secret santa! :D Your suggestion was Kristoff being a goofball and Kristoff and Anna spending the day together in canonverse, so that’s what I tried to do!!! There isn’t too much plot- just a sweet snapshot of their day spent together. :-) I hope you like it!!! <3 <3 <3 

Rating: K

Pairing: Kristanna 

Word count: 2780

Kristoff hated watching Anna spread herself too thin. He could always see it coming- the frantic energy, the tired eyes- it all pointed to her over-expending herself.

He knew that assuming the role of queen meant more responsibilities and less free time for the two of them to spend together, but he felt that lately she hardly had any time at all. She was a brilliant queen, and Kristoff watched the way she ruled with reverence every day. He whispered how proud he was of her into her skin each night as they cuddled close. But lately she had seemed so tired. She was doing too much all out of the goodness of her heart. A neighboring kingdom had been dealing with a food shortage, and Anna was working diligently to figure out a way to allocate food and supplies to this struggling kingdom while still making sure that her people were taken care of. It was impossible to make everyone happy in situations like these, and he knew how much she hated disappointing people. 

She had finally come to a consensus with her advisors and the officials of the struggling kingdom, but the whole ordeal had left her tired and spent. He could tell in the way she carried herself, in the soft shyness with which her usually bright smile now tugged at her lips. It was why Kristoff decided to take it upon himself to help her relax. 

***

Anna awoke in the morning to heavy eyelids and a sore back. Despite the general aches and pains, she noticed that she felt surprisingly rested. Her mind was agile and ready for the day. It was refreshing. She opened her eyes and stretched against the morning sun, noting the way in which it crawled higher up the wall than what she was accustomed to seeing. She jolted at the sudden realization. There was way too much sun for it to be the time she usually awoke. 

“Kristoff, what time is it?” She glanced around the room in frantic search of her fiance. The bed next to her was empty. “Kristoff?”

Kristoff emerged from the bathroom and made his way over to the bed, a soft smile splayed across his face. “Morning, beautiful.” He reached over to embrace her, lips pursed to place a gentle kiss on her temple, but Anna pulled away, tugging at the covers and moving to get out of bed. 

“What time is it?”

“Sometime around noon,” he admitted sheepishly. 

“What?! Kristoff, I had a meeting at 8 this morning! Kai was supposed to wake me up hours ago!” 

Kristoff placed a hand on her arm to still her sudden movements. “Hey, easy feisty-pants. I called off your meetings today.”

“You what?”

Kristoff took a breath. “Anna, you’re exhausted. You haven’t had a break in weeks. You’ve been doing so much, and you know how proud I am of you, but you really need a break.”

Anna hummed thoughtfully. The anxious stutter of her breath calmed as she looked at the soft brown of her fiance’s eyes. She realized she suddenly had nowhere she needed to be. Relief washed over for a moment as she relaxed into his touch.

“Besides, I’ve missed spending time with you,” Kristoff added. He placed his lips to hers and she smiled against him. She loved the feel of him in the mornings- scratchy stubble and soft lips bringing her eagerly into her day.

“So everything’s cancelled for today?” she finally asked after they pulled apart.

Kristoff nodded.

“And no one’s upset?”

“No, Anna, not at all. Kai and Gerda thought that this was a great idea and were actually really excited. And they said everyone they talked to understood.”

Anna nodded slowly. “So we have a free day together then?”

Kristoff smiled and took her hand. “It’s all ours.”

***

They picked fruit from the garden for a late breakfast, letting the juice from nectarines run down their chins and kissing the remnants of the fruit off of each other’s lips. 

“We should do a picnic for lunch,” Anna suggested.

Kristoff nodded in agreement.

“I can have the cooks make something for us,” she said.

“I have a better idea.”

Kristoff led Anna into the town after grabbing a picnic basket and money from the castle. He intended to walk through town with her and purchase food for their picnic from the townspeople. He held Anna’s hand as they walked down the castle steps. He guided her, holding her as she held up the flowing fabric of her skirts to walk into the square. She was stunning. Her hair glowed in the warm rays of the sun.

He brought her to stands and carts where people sold fresh foods and hand-crafted items. Kristoff bought food for their basket as they went. He tipped each person generously. One of his favorite things about being a part of the royal family now was having the means to tip so generously. When he was a young ice harvester, he never had enough to tip at all, let alone well. He always wished he could give more, and now he had the means to do so.

Anna stopped and spoke to people in the bustling square as they made their way through the crowds. People were excited to see the two of them. Anna was adored for her endless grace and kindness, and Kristoff had even become a town favorite with the kids as he let them take turns riding on Sven and often told them stories about adventures in the mountains and tales of large ice golems in far away ice palaces. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve been out here. I forgot how much I love it,” she said to him as she swung her arm with his. They had made their way out of the main center and walked along the water at the pier, boats lining the shore with pride. Anna walked on a small ledge right next to the water and he held her as she balanced. “Look at how happy everyone is.” Anna sighed as she looked towards a group of kids who were playing some sort of made up game. They looked so happy, so carefree.

“You know, you play a big part in that.”

“In what?” 

“In helping make everyone feel so happy here.”

Anna blushed. “So do you, you know. I don’t think I tell you enough, but I’m so proud of all that you’ve done. I know you don’t always like the whole royal thing,” Anna straightened his collar and ruffled his hair. “But you’ve brought so much to Arendelle.” He truly had. She meant every word of what she said. He was the driving force behind building Arendelle’s first orphanage. He lead ice harvesting trips and taught the kids how to care for the reindeer. 

Kristoff rubbed a hand at the back of his neck and fumbled with something to say. He still found himself getting tongue-tied when he received such genuine compliments. He was always caught off guard by the way his heart would take flight at her kindness.

His fumbling was interrupted by the kids who were now barrelling towards the two of them.

“Kristoff! Queen Anna!” the youngest of the group cried. 

“Hey, guys!” Kristoff smiled. He immediately recognized the group from hanging around the stables. He knew the youngest boy as Bjorn- the one who was always asking for a ride on Sven.

“Kristoff, I’ve been practicing the song you taught me!” Bjorn began humming a gentle tune. 

Anna gave Kristoff’s hand a squeeze.

“I can never get that last part,” Bjorn grumbled as he faltered on the last section of the tune. “Can you sing it for me?” The other two boys lit up at the suggestion.

“Maybe some other time,” Kristoff offered. “I don’t have my lute on me.”

Bjorn gasped and scampered off suddenly.

“You’ve been singing to them?”

Kristoff shrugged. “Sometimes in the stables. They like to help me out in there.”

She had heard him sing many times, but she didn’t know he’d been singing to the kids in the town. Her heart swelled. 

Bjorn returned with a lute in his small hands. “It’s my dad’s! Please Kristoff?” The other two boys clapped excitedly and gathered around Kristoff as Bjorn pushed the lute into his hands. Anna smiled and sat down next to the boys. 

“Alright Kristoff, you heard the boys. You have to play. Queen’s orders.”

Bjorn giggled at that. 

Kristoff smiled and shook his head at his fiance. She was sitting like an eager child, legs criss-crossed and hands propping her head as she gazed up at him with eager eyes. 

He began strumming softly. Anna could tell he was a bit nervous. She knew he was more used to playing for their little family or in the stables, but not in the open like this. But it was just her and the boys on the pier. She could see him start to ease into the song.

Anna watched as he sang. He had a beautiful voice, something she always found herself learning all over again whenever he used it in song. He sang about a beautiful girl who rescued her sister and then saved a forest, a girl who was so deeply loved by a wandering man of the mountains.

***

They made it out to a secluded spot in the woods together. The trees dappled the ground with spots of sun and shade. It wasn’t too far off the beaten path. It was within walking distance of the town, but it was still off the trail just enough so that they were alone amidst the birds and the whispering of the wind through the trees. They shared breads and cheeses and stories and dreams. Anna watched Kristoff talk. She was in awe of the way his face glowed in the spotted sunlight, his hair shining in neat tresses.

“Here- tilt your head back like this, but make sure to keep your eye on my hand.” Kristoff instructed Anna as he posed to throw a grape into her mouth. He had offered to teach her after he had shown off his own ability in catching them. “Ready?”

“This is stupid,” Anna replied, although she stayed in formation.

Kristoff geared up and threw a handful of five, hitting her in multiple different places on her face. “You didn’t catch a single one!” 

“You cheated!” Anna tackled Kristoff to the ground in mock anger. She collapsed on top of him with bubbling laughter and he held her close, breathing her in and feeling her warmth on top of him. 

They laid like that for a moment, breathing and laughing together. Kristoff looked up at the tree-covered clearing and let out an easy breath. He felt so at home.

Anna clambered off of him and patted her lap. “Lay down- I want to play with your hair.”

“Hmmm you’re going to have to pay money for that. My hair doesn’t come for free you know.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “Just get over here, silly.”

Kristoff laughed and laid his head in Anna’s lap. She strung flowers in his hair. They were full of good food and laughter. He smiled contently as she ran her fingers through his locks, putting another flower carefully into place.

“Sing for me?”

“You sound just like those kids,” he teased.

“Can you blame me? You have a beautiful voice.”

Kristoff opened his eyes and looked up at her, her face softening into a smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She placed a hand on his cheek and he leaned into it. It was soft and small and warm. 

He hummed a gentle tune as she worked.

***

“You know, we’ve been so busy we’ve hardly gotten to talk about our wedding,” Kristoff mentioned as they walked back to the town from their picnic. 

“I think we should have two weddings.”

“Two?”

“Well, a more traditional one of course for all of the stuffy dignitaries and ambassadors, but also a special one with your family.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Kristoff, of course. And it wouldn’t be just for you. I want that too. And I know the Northuldra would come to that one.” Kristoff thought about Anna professing her love for him underneath a night sky, draped in a mossy cape. His heart swelled. “Do you remember when your family tried to marry us after we had just met?”

Kristoff laughed at the memory. It was the first time he really felt him start to fall for her, her radiant smile illuminated by the gems on her headdress and cape. “That was so embarrassing.”

“I thought you were cute. I know we hadn’t known each other for that long and that I was technically engaged to Hans at the time,” they both made a face at the mention of her ex-fiance, “but I think that was when I first started liking you.”

“You mean you like-like me?” Kristoff asked in mock surprise. 

Anna stuck her tongue out at him. “Like you didn’t like-like me then too. You came back for me in the middle of a snow storm.”

Kristoff’s eyes got serious for a moment. He reached out to take her hands in his and held them there, stopping their walk to look at her with sincerity. “I would do that all over again for you. I never want to lose you.”

“I know, Kristoff. I’m right here. I love you.”

“I love you too.” They shared a look in mutual understanding. It wasn’t something they spoke about often, but they both still dealt with the fears of losing each other after enduring life-threatening adventures. Every once in a while they needed to remind each other that they were there- that they were okay. 

“So two weddings, huh?” They began walking again. He looked down at her with a smirk.

“Yup! Is that too much pressure for you? Are you thinking about pulling out now?” she challenged, a playful gleam in her eyes.

He knew she was joking, but he couldn’t help but answer with sincerity. “Never.”

***

Anna read before bed that night for the first time in weeks. What used to be a nightly ritual had become something of a broken habit that she now hoped to get back into. 

Kristoff came out of the bathroom and approached the bed much like he had that morning, arms outstretched and leaning towards his fiance, but this time, she didn’t pull away. She closed her book and nestled into his arms, leaning against the wide expanse of his chest. It was still early in the evening. Usually she would be coming in from a long day of work and head straight to bed, but tonight they felt as though they had all the time in the world. She felt relaxed and at peace as he ran his fingers through her hair. She had taken it out of its braids and it fell down her back in gentle waves.

“Thank you, Kristoff.”

“For what?”

“For everything. For today. I really needed this.” She felt his lips on the top of her head, felt him nestle into her hair and inhale deeply. “I’m going to do this more often.”

“Like take days off?”

Anna nodded. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’m right here. And whenever you need another day off just let me know. I’ll beat up anyone who tries to meet with you.”

Anna snorted in laughter. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

“Imagine you punching a dignitary,” Anna said with a chortle after a moment of silence passed between them. Kristoff laughed alongside her at the thought. 

They fell asleep that night in each other’s arms, sleeping peacefully not because their day was filled with meetings and large decisions, but because their day was spent with laughter and sunlight and music.

Anna awoke that next morning with no aches or pains, no groggy feeling in her head or weights on her eyelids. She awoke to Kai like usual, but for the first time in a while, she took an extra moment to snuggle up to her fiance, to plant a gentle kiss to his temple, and breath him in before going about her day.

#kacij2020 #kristanna #frozen #kristanna christmas in july

[clumsyclifford]

bella! I don't know if you're taking requests/prompts? but if you ever feel like writing anything based on just friends by saint morgan, that'd be cool? xD (whichever ship you think it fits, but it reminds me of that cake fic you wrote based on "silent confessions at the foot of your bed") anyway yeah that's all

shal !! it took me two months but i finally got around to writing this. since you mentioned g&c cake i made it cake, and yes i did loop the song the entire time i was writing it (29 times!). also i have to say, EXCELLENT taste. listening to that song 29 times really made me love it. also i recommend listening to it while reading for optimal experience. anyway i hope i did it justice <3

- 

They go to the river.

River is a generous word for what’s really a racing stream, but the ambience is nice. It’s a warm Tuesday in December, and Calum’s restless for adventure. Luke can tell — somehow Luke can always tell; Calum doesn’t think he’s an open book but Luke only needs to give him a critical once-over before he’s got Calum figured out — so Luke suggests they go to the river, and Calum eagerly agrees.

Neither of them bothers to put on better clothes for swimming. They’re not really planning to swim, though it might happen anyway. It’s just nice to be outside on a gorgeous day like this. And Calum will take any and all opportunities to spend time with Luke.

“Dare you to go in,” he says as they approach the bank. Luke laughs.

“Darers go first.”

“Fine.” There’s no way Calum’s getting in; it’s warm but not that warm, and he doesn’t want to be cold the rest of the afternoon. Maybe he can manipulate Luke into getting in, though. He’s seen Luke caught in a rainstorm before, so he knows from experience that nobody looks quite as pretty while drenched. 

It’s too late for Calum to pretend he’s not thinking it, or convince himself that he doesn’t have the world’s worst crush on Luke, so he’s learning just to let himself indulge when he can.

“You so won’t,” Luke scoffs. Then he shrugs. “It’s nice out, though. Maybe in a little bit.”

Calum concedes this with a tilt of the head, and in tandem they sit down on the grass nearby, claiming a shady spot under a tall tree. Luke leans back, stretching his arms behind his head like a pillow, and closes his eyes. Calum props himself up on his elbow and watches Luke.

Some people are winter people, best framed against clean white snow and wrapped up in layers. Luke is a summer person. His skin gleams under the sun, eyes and sky competing to be bluest. T-shirts and shorts suit him best, and even hidden in the shade of the tree, he’s dappled with sunlight through the leaves. Pretty is hardly sufficient; he’s one of the most beautiful people Calum’s ever met, ever seen in his life.

They don’t talk for a minute. Luke’s eyes flutter open, as if by accident, but when he sees Calum they stay open. “What?”

“What, what?”

“Don’t stare at me,” Luke says, pink-cheeked.

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“No,” Luke says immediately, and then, “but just — don’t.”

Calum shifts so he’s on his back, side by side with Luke but not quite touching. “Fine, weirdo.”

“You’re the one who was staring!”

“Well, you’re the one who made it weird.”

“It’s weird to stare at your friends.”

“I don’t think it is. Not when they look like you.”

Luke is quiet. “Still,” he finally says, and that’s a soft rejection, but it had been a soft attempt anyway, so Calum takes it with a grain of salt.

Another couple minutes pass. It’s not humid, but the warmth lingering in the air makes Calum feel a bit drowsy, so he closes his eyes also, allowing them both to soak in the summer silence.

Luke breaks it by saying, “Um, this is a stupid question, but we’re really friends, right?”

Calum frowns without opening his eyes. “Of course we are,” he says. “That is a stupid question.”

“I guess you wouldn’t tell me if we weren’t,” Luke continues, like he hasn’t heard Calum.

“I wouldn’t be friends with you at all if we weren’t,” Calum argues. He opens his eyes and turns once again onto his side to look at Luke, who’s now gazing up at the branches above them. “What are you even saying?”

“I don’t know,” Luke says. He’s blushing deeply. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“Why do you ask?” Calum presses. “What are you thinking about?”

Luke shakes his head. “Nothing. Never mind.”

It’s obviously not nothing — Luke’s leg is bouncing, the way it does whenever he gets nervous — but Calum can’t imagine he’ll get any further with the third degree, so he backs off.

“I’m gonna get in the water,” he decides. He’s not totally sure what makes him say it, but it gets the result he’d hoped for: Luke purses his lips and says, “Me too, then.”

They both get to their feet and brush themselves off. “Is there dirt on my back?” Calum asks, turning out and attempting to look over his shoulder.

Luke steps behind him. “A bit, yeah,” he says. With one hand he braces Calum’s shoulder, and the other brushes the dirt off Calum’s t-shirt. Calum swallows, trying not to squirm under Luke’s firm grasp. As soon as he’s done, Luke moves away, and Calum reaches for the collar of his shirt and pulls it off.

Luke makes a noise. “What are you doing?”

Calum turns to him. “I’m not getting my shirt wet, I’ll just be colder,” he says, drawing his eyebrows together.

Luke bites his lip. “Oh. That makes sense.”

It does make sense, but it also does exactly what Calum had intended. After a moment’s hesitation, Luke also tugs his shirt off, and they both head for the stream.

The current is slow today, and when Calum trudges into the water it goes up to the middle of his stomach. He bends his knees and watches Luke slowly wade in after him, staring once again. Luke is skinny, but there’s something sculpted about him, like none of him is by accident; like someone built him, or sketched him with a ruler and then brought him to life, clean lines and sharp edges. Calum is dying to touch him, just to see if his skin is as hot as the sunlight it’s made of, if dragging a hand down his arm makes him bleed, if his hair is as soft as it looks. 

More than all of that, Calum wants to kiss him, so much he thinks he might lose his mind if he doesn’t get to.

Luke sinks low in the water, digging his heels into the riverbed so he doesn’t drift away. Calum lets the current bring him closer.

“Kinda cold,” Luke says, giggling. Calum looks at him and can’t look away.

“Kinda,” he says. “Bet you’re glad you’re not wearing a shirt now.”

“I am,” Luke acquiesces. “You’re a genius, Calum.”

“That is true. I am a genius.” There’s a pause. “You should dunk your head,” Calum says. “We should both. On three.”

“Really? You want to put your head in this water?”

“It’s just water.”

Luke ponders this but fails to come up with a decent counter-argument. “Fine,” he says. “Promise you’ll actually do it?”

“It was my idea,” Calum says, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I promise.”

“On three, then.” Luke bobs up and down. “One, two — three!”

True to his word, Calum submerges himself completely, then surfaces and shakes his head out. Luke has also kept his word, and his hair is plastered ridiculously to his forehead until he reaches up and pushes it back with one hand. The light is threading itself through the sheen of water over Luke’s shoulders and chest. Calum is helpless against it; Luke was made to be gazed at, and Calum is just a lucky spectator.

“You’re staring again,” Luke says quietly. Calum smiles and floats nearer to him.

“Yes I am,” he says easily. “You’re very easy to stare at.”

Luke’s cheeks turn red. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Luke says, flustered. “Because — I don’t know.”

“Do you want me not to?”

“Not to…what?”

Calum bites his lip, waving a hand underwater and sending the flow this way and that. “Whatever it is you’re telling me not to do.”

Luke shakes his head. “It’s just — never mind.”

“You can tell me, you know,” Calum says. Luke’s not moving away, which is a good sign, so Calum straightens up. He feels like he’s towering over Luke until Luke also straightens up, and then, hesitantly, Calum takes a step closer. One more step and they’ll be touching; one more step for Calum to be the first person ever to make contact with the sun. “You don’t have to say never mind. I want to know.”

Luke looks away, down at the rocks and sand under their feet. “My mum says she thinks you’re trouble.”

That’s not what Calum had been expecting. “What?” he says, strained. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Luke mumbles. “She says she thinks you’re going to be one of those people who takes the shy kid under their wing and then just ditches him a few weeks later. Like, one of those popular kids.”

Calum makes an offended noise. “I would never do that!”

“She’s looking out for me,” Luke says, and he sounds tired. “I mean, I…I’ve never really had close friends, so I think she’s just being overprotective. I don’t know. She got in my head. That’s why I asked you that, earlier.”

“Luke, I’d never. You know I’d never. We’re really friends. You’re one of my best friends.” Calum takes a deep breath. “You believe me, right?”

Luke finally lifts his gaze to meet Calum’s. “Yeah, I do. I just don’t think my mum will. I tried to tell her that and she wouldn’t listen.”

Calum is itching to take that last step, but there’s something stopping him. Maybe it’s just the look on Luke’s face. “Is she — does she hate me?”

Luke shrugs. “It’s more like she really doesn’t trust you. So…I guess that’s the same. Sorry, Calum. I mean — I like you, though. And I know she’s wrong.” Something occurs to Calum. “Does she know you’re with me right now?”

Luke laughs a bit, though it’s clear he doesn’t find it funny. “No, uh…I told her we’re not friends, anymore.” He winces. “I know that’s — I know that’s not — I’m a coward, you know? But —”

“It’s okay,” Calum says with difficulty. “You don’t want to upset her.”

“It’s more like I just wanted her to stop shit-talking you,” Luke says. “She doesn’t talk about you anymore, so.”

“That’s good.” Calum bites his lip, hesitant. “I thought you were going to say it was something to do with, like, hanging out with the gay kid or something.”

Luke’s face twists into an expression of horror. “No! Calum, no way.” He breathes a nervous laugh. “She couldn’t have a problem with that anyway. I also, um, like boys, and she’s never said anything about that.”

Calum blinks. “You do?”

Through the water, Calum can see Luke kicking up pebbles. “Yeah,” he says. “I thought I said.”

“You didn’t. Just boys, or…?”

“And girls,” Luke says. “But, um, it’s a bit — it’s not like I’ve ever dated anyone, or kissed anyone, or anything, so, you know, I could be wrong.”

“You’ve never kissed anyone?”

Luke blushes with his whole body, Calum notices, with distant amusement. It creeps up his neck and tints his ears before crossing his cheeks. “Uh, no.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Calum does a quick pro-con analysis, but in the end it’s nothing but hope and recklessness that makes him ask: “Do you want to?”

“Obviously I want to,” Luke says, rolling his eyes.

“No, I mean.” Calum licks his lips, which feel suddenly dry. “Do you want to right now. With me.”

The quiet that follows is the heaviest Calum’s ever been in. It stacks itself onto Calum’s shoulders, daring him to cave, to back down even an inch, but Calum just stands still and watches Luke. If he doesn’t want to, he can always say no. He has to know that Calum will back off if he says no.

Luke swallows hard. “Really?” Calum nods once, holding his breath. There’s another moment of silence while Luke studies his face, and finally he says, “Okay. If you’re sure.”

Calum’s never been more sure of anything in his life. At last the invisible barrier breaks down, and Calum takes the final step to bridge the distance between them. “Stop me if, um, whenever,” he says. Luke nods. Calum settles his hands delicately on Luke’s shoulders — electricity racing up his arms — and Luke moves his hands uncertainly around for a second, so Calum grabs his wrists and settles them on his own waist. “Okay?”

“Sorry,” Luke mutters. Calum shakes his head, a small smile on his face.

“It’s all good,” he says. “Can I…”

Luke nods slowly, so Calum wastes no time. He leans in and Luke meets him in the middle, and for a second everything in the world stops moving, stops existing, except Luke’s mouth on Calum’s, clumsy and unsure but decidedly Luke, who Calum’s wanted to kiss basically since they met. 

Not only is it exceptional for a first kiss, it’s exceptional for a kiss at all. Calum quickly wraps his arms around Luke’s neck and Luke’s wind around Calum’s waist, pressed together at almost every point. Despite the chill from the breeze catching on their damp skin, Calum feels like he’s on fire. If this is what it’s like to touch the sun, Calum never wants to stop. He’d burn himself up to kiss Luke forever.

Though Luke had been tentative at first, he surrenders immediately when Calum slides his tongue over Luke’s bottom lip, with a small sigh that makes Calum’s heart skip a beat, or cease altogether. Around them, the current pushes the two of them impossibly closer together; when Luke’s tongue finds its way into Calum’s mouth, Calum fails to suppress a shiver, and immediately Luke breaks away, concerned.

“Are you cold?” he asks breathlessly.

Calum laughs and shakes his head. “Not even a little bit,” he says, and pulls Luke back in.

The feeling of Luke under his fingertips is overwhelming, and Calum is sure that without the kiss grounding him, he’d float away entirely, or disintegrate, or burst into flames. He feels like he’ll do one of those things as it is, or maybe all three. Kissing Luke is also overwhelming, but in a completely different way, because it’s a two-way street. He’s kissing Luke, but Luke is also kissing him.

(Shamelessly, hungrily, lips and teeth and tongue against Calum’s. Calum has a hard time believing that this is Luke’s first kiss. Nobody should be this good on their first try.)

Eventually, and with a gasp, Luke breaks it again. Calum chases his lips for a last kiss, something soft, because as far as he knows he’ll never get to kiss Luke again. It fills him with dread to think it, but this had ostensibly only been a first-kiss offer, and now they’ve checked that box.

(They’ve destroyed the box. The box is in tatters. The box isn’t even recognizably a box anymore.)

Both of them stand there, unmoving as the stream brushes up against their skin, breathing heavily in each other’s space. Calum can’t think of anything at all to say, and Luke says nothing either; for a long time they just stay there, reluctant to separate and equally reluctant to shatter the silence. If they acknowledge it, then they have to move past it. Calum doesn’t want that. He wants to live in this moment for the rest of his life, to always be suspended in the moment just after kissing Luke, when he can still taste him.

Luke opens his mouth finally, and what he says is, “Oh. Um. Thank you.”

Despair floods Calum. “It wasn’t a favor,” he blurts out. Luke frowns in confusion. “I wanted to. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time. We don’t have to again if you don’t want to, but you should know.”

Luke exhales. “Oh.” His gaze skids lower, away from Calum’s eyes. Calum becomes hyper-aware of how close they still are. Luke hasn’t made any effort to move away, and Calum certainly doesn’t want to. That has to be a good sign, right? “I — um.” He takes a sharp breath. “My mum…”

Fuck. Luke’s fucking mum. Calum’s never hated anyone more. “So don’t tell her,” Calum says. 

Luke looks up at him. “I couldn’t do that to you. I don’t want to be with you like that.”

For a second, Calum’s throat closes up with the bulk of words building up, question marks all trying to force their way between his teeth, tangling up his tongue. “Wh— do you want to be with me at all?”

“Of course I do,” Luke says timidly. “I’m just. I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “It’s kind of scary.”

“Yeah,” Calum says, infusing his voice with as much comfort as he can muster while reeling from the force of Luke’s answer. Of course I do. “Yeah. It’s scary. Sure. Especially if it’s a secret. If it’s too, um, too much — I don’t want to put you in a position —”

“No, no,” Luke says. “I’m saying I want to anyway.” The blush has taken up permanent residence on his face, but somehow Luke’s voice is clear and unflinching. “If it’s okay with you, then it’s okay with me.”

Calum wavers. “Are you sure, Luke? It’s kind of a, you know.”

“I’m sure,” Luke says firmly. His eyes flit around Calum’s face, maybe searching for something. “We should probably, like, get out of the…the water.”

Calum tightens his arms around Luke’s neck, leaning his forehead against Luke’s. His heart is beating irregularly, and it might be from the cold, but it’s probably not. “Or we could not.”

Luke chuckles weakly. “We’ll catch cold or something.”

“It’s December,” Calum says, barely a breath. “Live a little.”

Luke doesn’t answer him, but he surges forward and kisses Calum with none of the reservations he’d had minutes earlier, and if the current washed them both away right now, or sunk them under and mysteriously claimed their lives, Calum knows he’d die happy.

#calum hood #luke hemmings #cake #cake fic #5sos #5sos fic #fic #my fic #i am queueing this lol #so i have no idea when it'll post lmao but i'm queuing (queueing?) it on october 29 at 8:30pm #so. that'll be fun whenever it posts #shal i have to say. GREAT song #the VIBES of this fic. especially with the song on a loop. mmmm #well chosen. VERY well chosen #also shoutout to iba for literally listening to the song with me....like.......just listening with me to just friends on a loop #iba i can't believe you did that you're the best and i would kill for you #i don't know if this shares the vibes of the g&c fic but i hope it satisfies anyway #xoxoxoxo i am breezing through these #i might move it up in the queue so it doesnt go after my currently 32 queued posts #we'll see #who KNOWS what i'll do! not me that's for sure #and now i am going to go make myself some ramen for dinner #bye lol #wheniminouterspace #ask #answered

[teacupfulofstarshine]

pattonella part 11: gratuitous references to “the oh hellos” and also them SOMFT

cw: injury mention, hospital 

the song that logan sings is "constellations" by the oh hellos; it's linked in text. i recommend listening bc it's gorgeous

wordcount: 3.1k

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7 // part 8 // part 9 // part 10 // read it on ao3!!

the villagers insist on throwing a feast that night to celebrate the bandits’ defeat. logan takes the opportunity to send a message to the castle via bird, telling thomas that they will return home tomorrow and telling remy and emile to prepare for virgil. roman dances around the bonfire with the villagers, laughing and joining in the party. logan, meanwhile, remains in the town’s small inn, sitting next to the bed. 

virgil is asleep, chest rising and falling. he’s been asleep since he collapsed in the woods, and logan is honestly unsure when he’s going to wake up. he knows that virgil is alive, but at the same time . . . 

he thinks back to virgil in the woods, glowing with power, eyes a blank sheet of light as he send shockwaves through the clearing. he thinks back to virgil’s voice, low and powerful, leaning in and calling him “beloved.” he thinks back to the way virgil dipped him, pressing a searing kiss to his mouth and burning the exhaustion right out of him. 

logan lifts his fingers and drags them across his cheek. his bowstring had snapped back during the fight, and it should have scarred and bruised or at least been tender. there’s nothing under his fingers but smooth, unblemished skin. he studies his fingers; they should be rubbed red and raw, he should barely be able to curl his fingers without pain. instead, he has full range of motion, and he isn’t in any pain at all. 

virgil had taken all of his pain and injuries and wiped them away like they were nothing. logan looks at virgil, wincing when he sees the dark circles under his eyes and the way his hair sticks to his sweaty forehead. 

“oh, beloved,” logan whispers, reaching out to touch his cheek. “i cannot wait to see your eyes open and hear your voice again.” 

virgil breathes, slow and deep, and logan gently leans in to kiss his forehead. 

*~*~*~*~*

patton is vibrating with nervous energy in the castle courtyard. thomas is standing on the steps of the castle, flanked by the advisor he’d been with when logan and virgil left and two guards. nate stands a few feet away from patton, watching him as he bounces on the balls of his feet. 

“are you okay?” nate asks. 

“yeah! i’m okay, i just - i’m so - i want - roman’s coming home! and virgil, and prince logan!” patton eagerly waves his hands around, bouncing up and down. “i’m so excited!” he turns around when he hears something behind him and sees the doctor from earlier, remy, coming down the stairs accompanied by two servants carrying a stretcher. “what - who’s hurt?” his stomach sinks. 

“easy there, patton-cake,” remy says. “nobody’s badly hurt. from the sound of prince logan’s letter, your brother went and pushed himself nigh on magical burnout, so he’s gonna need some serious help, but he’ll be alright.” 

“he - wh - what does that mean?” patton asks. before remy can answer, horns sound in the distance, along with hoofbeats on the cobblestone. patton whirls around, roman’s borrowed tunic swishing like a dress around his knees. the people gathered in the streets begin to  cheer loudly as the hoofbeats grow louder and louder. 

the horse at the beginning of the procession is a palomino shining like pure gold in the sunlight, brilliant white mane and tail streaming in the wind. roman sits tall and proud on its back, looking every inch the prince he is. patton can see logan behind him, riding a dappled horse with the reins of a black horse in his hand. there’s a body tied onto the black horse; patton tries not to think about it. the rest of the knights follow behind the two princes, one of them flying the banner of the kingdom. 

roman’s horse rears as he pulls the reins taught, coming to a halt in front of patton. “prince captain roman,” thomas says, voice booming and formal. “i trust you were successful in your mission?” 

“we were,” roman says. “the bandits are vanquished, and they will no longer darken the village’s doorstep again.” it’s strange, hearing the normally goofy and affectionate roman sound so formal and almost . . . stilted, but patton had been fully briefed. thomas, logan, and roman all have ways in which they are expected to act in public as the three princes of the kingdom. 

“excellent,” thomas says. “you have done well, prince roman, and you have made your family and your kingdom very proud.” stable attendants come up as roman dismounts, taking the reins of his horse. roman gently pats the horse’s nose. before coming up and bowing to thomas. “remy, i believe you have a stretcher for virgil?” 

“of course, your most royal highness,” remy says. logan carefully dismounts his own horse and takes virgil into his arms. patton makes an unhappy noise when he sees how pale and limp virgil is, but the stretcher attendants hurry over. logan gently lays virgil on the stretcher, touching his forehead softly. 

the rest of the knights dismount as well, taking their horses to the stables. two more attendants come for logan’s horse, as well as the one virgil had been riding, and logan comes up to stand next to roman. 

“i will receive you privately inside,” thomas says. “come with me.” he, the advisor, and the guards head back into the castle as roman and logan approach the stairs. patton looks at roman, and the youngest prince smiles at him, taking his hand and kissing it gently. 

“lord sanders,” he says, smiling. “truly, it is a blessing to be graced with your glorious visage.” he offers his arm to patton. “might i escort you inside?” 

“of course, prince roman,” patton says. he has to fight back a giggle at how silly and formal they sound as he takes roman’s offered elbow. they ascend the stairs together, nate at patton’s side, and roman leans down to whisper into patton’s ear. 

“i really, really missed you, pat.” 

patton looks up at him and grins. “me too,” he murmurs. 

*~*~*~*~*

roman is amazed that he maintains his princely composure until they get into the private sitting room. once nate shuts the door behind them, roman scoops patton up into his arms and whirls him around. patton shrieks with laughter as he locks his arms around roman’s neck. roman quickly grips underneath patton’s thighs, nuzzling into patton’s fluffy curls. 

“patton, patton, patton, patton, oh, i missed you so much, my sunshine love!” 

“roman!” patton laughs, clinging to him tightly. roman dizzily stumbles to a chair and sets patton down. 

“just one moment, my dearest. let me shed this armor and i will be all yours.” roman quickly sheds the heavy plates of his armor, his boots, and his chainmail, leaving himself in an undershirt and pants and socks. thomas stifles laughter as roman kicks the pile of armor across the room, scoops patton up, and settles into the chair with patton curled in his lap. 

roman reaches up and takes patton’s face in his hands, letting his fingers slide into patton’s hair. he leans up and showers patton’s face in little kisses all over - his forehead, his eyelids, his nose, his cheeks, his chin, his jaw. finally, finally, after he’s pressed a kiss to every single other inch of skin on patton’s face, he lands on patton’s mouth. patton squeaks in surprise and leans into the kiss, and roman pulls back when he feels something wet on his cheeks. 

“dearest, why are you crying?” 

“i - i just - oh, roman, i missed you so much -”

“oh, my darling, i missed you as well,” roman sighs. “it was so hard to be away from you, knowing that you were all alone here in a strange place.” 

“i wasn’t completely alone!” patton says. “nate was with me!” roman looks to see the servant, standing next to the door and wearing the crest of the sanders estate on his chest. “he used to be the person who changed my bedding and stuff, but your brother made him my - uh - what do you call it, nate?” 

“personal servant, lord sanders.” nate’s voice is light, slightly teasing, and roman turns to face him more directly. 

“nate, was it?” 

the servant stiffens in terror. “y - yes, your royal highness?” 

roman smiles. “thank you for taking care of my dearest one while i was away. i appreciate it greatly.” nate smiles, looking less terrified than he had, and roman returns to thoroughly reacquainting himself with the feel of patton’s mouth and back and hands and hips and legs. 

“oh, i missed you,” roman says. “every night, i thought of you. every day, i thought of you. no matter what i was doing, you were always on the back of my mind. i just - i was waiting for the day i could come home to you.” 

“i wanted you home so badly,” patton whispers. “i - i knew that you would come home safe, and i know it’s your job, but - but i was so scared for you. and - and vee, what happened to vee?” 

roman quietly details what happened during the fight - virgil’s glowing eyes, his magic, the way he’d healed them all and then collapsed. patton frowns. “he’s never expended that much magic before . . . will he be okay?” 

“he is with remy and emile,” logan says from the sofa. “they are skilled in their craft. they will take care of him.” roman looks over patton’s shoulders to see thomas pull logan into a hug. he’s shocked to see logan reciprocate, hugging thomas tightly. 

roman carefully sets patton on the chair and stands up, crossing the room to his brothers. when thomas lets logan go, he pulls roman in. “i was so worried for you, roman,” thomas hums, pushing his face into roman’s hair. “i know you’re strong. i know you’re capable. but every time i have to send you away, send you off to fight, to maybe die -”

thomas tightens his arms around roman, and roman lets himself melt into his oldest brother. 

“you and lo are really the only family i have left,” thomas says. “dad . . . he hasn’t really been here since mom died. and now that he’s sick, it’s only getting worse.” 

“i know,” roman says. he makes a grabby hand for logan, who rolls his eyes but lets them fold him into the hug. “i love you both so much. you know that, right?” 

“of course we know,” logan says. “we love you as well. you are our brother.” 

roman lets himself stay in that embrace for a few moments more before carefully pulling away and turning back to where patton is sitting on the chair, smiling fondly at him. roman bounces over to him, scooping him up and kissing him. “hello, my sunshine,” roman coos. 

“hello again,” patton giggles. roman lets himself fall into the rhythm of murmuring soft compliments to patton and petting his hair and kissing him and being kissed by him, and then -

“oh!” thomas says. “i have news for you all. it concerns virgil.” 

“virgil?” logan asks, frowning. “but remy has barely assessed him. surely we would have heard -”

“not about the magical exhaustion,” thomas says. “the other thing.”

“what other thing?” patton asks, looking at roman. roman shrugs. 

thomas sighs, sinking into a soft chair. “technically, there is a hitch with logan and virgil getting married.” patton gasps, and roman tightens his grip on him, soothingly. “the law does not permit royalty to marry anyone unless they are nobility or royalty themselves. as the heir to the sanders estate, you’re okay, patton. but virgil -”

“is my brother!” patton says defensively. 

“yes, but not by blood. you’re step-brothers, legally, and as such he isn’t recognized as nobility. so that means -”

“we can’t get married,” logan says softly. 

“that - that’s a stupid rule!” patton says. 

“it is,” thomas says. “unfortunately, i can’t change the law until i become the crown prince, at least, and since i can’t become crown prince until my brothers are married, we’re kind of at an impasse.” 

patton whines, low in the back of his throat. “so - so what do we do?” 

“i have found a loophole,” thomas says. logan sits upright, leaning forward, eyes gleaming with interest. “there are positions in the court that hold statue equivalent to that of nobility. one of them is court mage, and the other is court oracle. if we appoint virgil to either or both of those positions, he’ll essentially hold equal status to that of a nobleman. which means -”

“which means we can be married,” logan says. his eyes are bright and shining, and he begins to rock back and forth in his seat. one hand rubs at his pants in a fixed, repetitive motion. 

“what is he doing?” patton asks roman, softly. 

“stimming,” roman responds, voice soft and fond. “he does it when he’s really, really happy. he never does it in front of people, but he’s . . . i love seeing him happy like this.” 

“once virgil wakes up, we’ll tell him the news,” thomas says. “we’ll have a ceremony to appoint him to a court position, and then we can start planning the wedding in earnest.” 

“if we’re going to be planning for a wedding, i suppose i’d better begin planning for a proposal,” roman teases. patton’s pale face goes pink, and roman grins to see it.

*~*~*~*~*

“is he alright?” logan asks. he’s changed into a comfortable dark blue shirt with sleeves long enough to hide the way he stims nervously with his fingers. remy is carefully applying herbal poultices to virgil’s bared chest as emile grinds leaves together with a mortar and pestle. 

“he can’t drink the magic revitalization tea because he’s unconscious,” emile says. “so we have to get him to heal enough to get him conscious, and then we can dose out the tea. describe to me what happened, again?” 

“it was . . . incredible,” logan says softly. “he was siphoning energy from the bandits that he hit, and then he gave it back to our warriors to heal their injuries and restore their strength. it - it was . . . i do not have the words to describe how awesome it truly was.” 

emile frowns. “babe?” remy asks, touching his hand. “i know that face. what’re you thinkin’?”

“it sounds like a rare form of battle magic,” emile says. “i’ve heard of it, in legends past, but i didn’t know there was anyone who could still use it. it’s instinctual, you’re either born with it or you’re not, and it can’t be taught, only controlled.”

“will it always do this to him?” 

“no, prince logan,” emile says. “with time, he will gain a handle on his magic, and while he will still be tired afterwards it will not affect him with such severity.” logan sighs. 

“might i sit with him?” 

“course,” remy says. 

“i should warn you, prince logan, that you should not expect consciousness from him for at least forty-eight hours,” emile says. “he dangerously overextended himself. he must rest.” 

logan’s heart sinks a little, but he nods. “i understand. i am glad he is still alive.”  he pulls a chair up to virgil’s bedside and carefully takes his hand. virgil’s face is smooth and unworried, and logan can’t help the tiny smile that spreads over his face. 

“heal well, my darling. i will be here for you, from now until forever. i promise. i am planning for a proposal, do you know that? i wish to make you my husband properly, and when i propose to you i will make you feel as though you are the only man in the world. because you are the only man in the world, for me, virgil. i will have no one else by my side.” 

virgil breathes, slow and even, and logan gently squeezes his hand. 

*~*~*~*~*

patton is on cloud nine, even as they walk to the infirmary to check on virgil. roman is next to him, hair still damp from his bath, wearing a clean red shirt with light blue embroidery around the hem and sleeves. he’s holding patton’s hand, fingers laced together, and nate is on patton’s other side. 

“you look happy, sir,” nate says. patton grins.

“i am happy,” patton says. “i - you’re wonderful, nate, of course, but i missed roman so much i -”

“i understand,” nate says. “i’m happy to see you happy, sir.” roman squeezes patton’s hand, and patton squeezes back. 

his good mood sinks a little bit when they enter the infirmary. remy greets them, bowing his head in respect to roman. “prince roman.” 

“how is he?” patton says, clinging to roman’s hand. “how - how’s virgil?” 

“he’s exhausted magically and physically,” remy says. “he’s gonna be asleep for at least two days, and then he’ll need to drink a few buckets of that magic replenishing tea, but he’ll be alright.” patton sighs in relief, leaning against roman. “prince logan is with him. he hasn’t left his side since they came here.” 

patton blinks. “that’s . . . that’s so sweet!” 

“you can come in and see him,” remy says. patton nods, and remy points them in the right direction. they walk through the rows of beds together, but roman stops before they actually get to virgil’s bed. patton turns to him in confusion. 

“roman, wh -”

roman places a finger over patton’s lips. “listen,” he whispers. patton turns, and looks, and listens, and gasps. virgil is tucked into a hospital bed with his shirt off and covered in patches of green and white. there’s a wet cloth laid over his forehead, and prince logan is sitting at his bedside. he holds virgil’s hand in both of his, and he is singing. 

“this hill i’ll die on is about ninety meters of brick, 

colored indigo and inscribed with my name and lined with cedar,

but the words fall flat like 

cymbals crashing, like molars gnashing 

cause like constellations a million years away,

every good intention, every good intention,

is interpolation, the lines we drew in the array, 

looking for the faces . . .” 

logan’s voice is low and smooth, and patton presses a hand to his mouth. he had heard, of course, that the second prince was trained to sing and play music, but he had no idea that logan was so good at it. he sings to virgil, and roman carefully leads patton up to the bedside. logan lifts his head and stops singing when he notices that they’re there. 

“you’re such a good singer!” patton gushes. logan blushes pink. 

“of course he is!” roman boasts. “that’s my brother!” logan turns from pink to scarlet, but he’s rocking back and forth a little bit in his seat, so patton knows he’s at least a little bit happy. 

patton reaches down and gently touches his brother’s shoulder. “wake up soon, okay vee? we miss you.” virgil’s chest rises and falls, and patton pulls up a chair of his own to wait. quietly, logan begins to sing again.

#starshinewrites #sanders sides cinderella!au #pattonella!au #romantic analogical #romantic royality #platonic TLAMP

[winterune]

A Moment of Sincerity

Word count: 3327

Summary: On Natsume’s 18th birthday, Madara finds himself contemplating that Natsume would leave after he graduates high school.

My (late) entry for @natsumeweek 2020. Day 1 Prompt: Wandering/Belonging. 

A/N: Unbeta'd, and some of them (the final part) was written in the middle of the night, so I'm not sure how it turns out (even after rereading and editing some bits). Also referenced my other fic titled Camellia: Remembrance. I hope you enjoy ^^ ALSO! A belated happy birthday, Natsume-ku~n! <3 season 7 where u at

Read on AO3. 

~*~*~*~*~

Madara watched the boy blow the candles on top of his white-frosted cake. When the last of the flame went out, his friends around him blew their horns and threw the confetti while the Fujiwaras clapped in silence with smiles on their faces.

“Happy eighteenth birthday!”

“Happy eighteenth birthday, Natsume!”

Natsume couldn’t stop the smile breaking through his lips, a tinge of pink on his cheeks.

They set out to cut the cake and handed them out on white paper plates. Natsume had even saved a piece for him, placing it in his bowl on the floor. “Here’s yours, Sensei,” he said. Madara would rather have those fried shrimps he had seen on the table, but it was Natsume’s special day, so he offered no complaints and instead just dug in to the soft, fluffy, creamy cake before his eyes.

Madara had witnessed three birthdays in his time living with Natsume. The first was a quiet thing, when not even Natsume had remembered. It had been around the time they first met. Touko had started fussing around the house after the boy left—cleaning, cooking, nothing out of the ordinary but Madara could tell she was giving extra effort on everything. Then she left for the town, and he left for the mountains, and when he came back later that afternoon riding on Natsume’s shoulder, a strawberry cake waited for them in the kitchen, with the words Happy Birthday, Takashi-kun spread across the top and center on chocolate icing. Natsume’s shock had been a sight to behold.

The second was a boisterous event, mostly held by his friends from school. With cakes and cookies and presents, a banner and confetti and trumpets. You’d think they hadn’t seen each other for years with the way the loud bunch had thrown the party. They had talked for hours and hours until night fell, and they had to go home because they had school the next day. Natsume hadn’t been able to stop smiling for the rest of the night.

Birthdays. Madara never understood the meaning of it. The day of someone’s birth. Natsume had asked him once if he had a birthday. The beast living off as a house cat had scoffed and said he didn’t need one. Though, if Madara had been honest, it was more like he didn’t have one, at least as far as he was concerned. Madara didn’t even know how long he had been alive. For as long as he could remember, Madara had been roaming the sky and across mountains as a great white beast, cultivating power and terror, until all the ayakashi feared him and respected him. Until all he could do was wander and pass the idle days under patches of dappled sunlight or drinking under a bright moonlit sky.

Madara finished his fluffy cake with a burp, his stomach full. It was good, as always. Too sweet for his taste, but he had no complaints.

Natsume and his friends weren’t around. Only the Fujiwara couple were there, eating their slices of cake on the table in silence.

Touko gave a quiet sigh.

“What’s wrong?” Shigeru asked.

Touko brought a spoonful of cake into her mouth. It was a while before she spoke. “This’ll be his last year here,” she said, her voice quiet.

Shigeru looked up from his cake and stared at his wife.  

“Time…seems to move so fast, don’t you think?” When Touko looked up, her small smile was tinged with sadness, and Madara took it upon himself to leave.

Natsume and his friends were holed up in his room. He could hear their screams and laughter from down the stairs. Madara couldn’t find the energy to join their raucousness, so he turned left toward the front door and exited the house.

***

An excitement seemed to brim beneath the silence of the forest where the ayakashi usually gathered. Whispers and hushed glee spread throughout the woodland creatures, leading him deeper to a dark clearing his ayakashi eyes spotted through a break in the trees. Familiar figures were rushing in and out, carrying little trinkets over their heads and dropping them at the center. And then he heard the voices, high-pitched and low, familiar and not.

“Here’s more!”

“I found these.”

“Would he like it, though?”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Natsume-sama will accept them nonetheless.”

The two middle-class youkai stood at the center by a pile of what Madara had thought were the trinkets but apparently was an assortment of stones and twigs, flowers and acorns. Many lesser ayakashi darted into the pile to drop their forage, only to leave in search for something else. Hinoe stood by, overseeing it. She was the first to spot him at the edge of the clearing.

“Madara!” she called, hand held up high in wave. If none of the ayakashi had spotted him, Hinoe’s call certainly put him under the spotlight, and most of the lesser ones bowed to him before dashing away.

Madara strolled over to the pile, eyeing it with great interest. He could feel power coursing through it, not enough to attract attention, but enough for someone with a keen eye to know that something was there.

“What’s this?”

“A gift, Madara-sama,” the middle-class youkai said. “For Natsume-sama’s birthday.”

Madara blinked. A retort was ready on his lips, but he was cut before he could say anything.

“No, these aren’t just trash,” Hinoe said. “They’ve been bathed under the moonlight for the past month and now, they’re at the peak of their power.”

“They’re said to bless humans with long life!” the middle-class piped in, echoed by his ox-face friend beside him.

Long life.

Madara scoffed. He didn’t doubt the “gift” had some sort of power—he could feel it pulsing, like the throb of a beating heart. But he doubted the power was enough to bless “long life”, or if it would at all. He wouldn’t be surprised if they would take something from Natsume in return for it.

But Madara could already picture the boy’s face: a grimace, then a resigned smile. Natsume would still accept it, even when he wasn’t sure what to do with it. Too kind. The boy was too kind. One would have thought someone who had gotten into so much of youkai trouble had learned a thing or two about dealing with the lot, but in the three years Madara had lived with him, there hadn’t been a day when he was able to leave Natsume alone without getting into any trouble.

“All right,” the middle-class said after a short while. The kappa was the last one to drop a worn pebble on the heap. “I think we’re done.”

Every ayakashi in the clearing shouted and clapped their little hands. The gift pile glowed a dim blue in the dark, emitting a sort of warmth, as though the accumulation of moonlight-induced trinkets had produced a small fire deep within. Madara wondered how the hell they would bring these to Natsume. Drop them outside of his window? He could imagine Touko frowning at the sight of it.

“Let’s pack them up, everyone!” Hinoe said with a clap of her hands, but before anyone could move, Madara interjected.

“Give them tomorrow.”

“What?”

“He’s with his friends right now,” he went on. “Or do you want them to see stones and pebbles floating around in the air?”

Silence, where each of the ayakashi present looked at each other and murmured among themselves. It wasn’t until Hinoe grinned at him and said, “Since when were you so attentive, Madara?” that his temple pulsed.

Madara ended up ordering the couple middle-class youkai to get him the best alcohol they could find, announcing they would hold their own celebration tonight, and shouts of consent and joy were thrown around. They brought him to a spring deep in the woods that seemed to glow even when there was no moon to be seen.

***

Madara lay on his back on top of a boulder at the edge of the spring. A gap in the foliage above him showed a fragment of the moonless sky.

After a night-long merriment filled with drinking and laughter and singing, and more drinking, everyone was dozing peacefully, spread across the clearing. Quiet wheezes and snores, hushed breathing and a silent whimper as someone shifted in their sleep, turning on their side to hug an empty bottle of sake, murmuring incorrigibly. Madara couldn’t sleep, staring at the stars strewn across the stretch of dark indigo sky, blinking back at him.

A stir among sleeping reveler caused him to shift his eyes toward the source of the sound. A particularly tall ayakashi approached him. Her feet barely made any sound as she stepped over the grass and her sleeping companions.

“You’re not going back, Madara?” Hinoe asked as she reached him, her blue hair swaying in the cool gentle wind.

Madara shifted his gaze back toward the sky. “I’ll return in the morning.” It’s not as though he had never stayed out late. He would open the window in the morning, and Natsume would berate, but the boy would leave him be.

Silence fell. Hinoe sat on the grass with her back against the boulder.

“Who came up with the idea for the gift?” Madara asked quietly.

It was a moment before Hinoe answered. “I did.”

“Why?”

Hinoe shrugged in the dark. “I don’t know. It just came to me that we have never given Natsume anything.”

Madara scoffed at that. “We don’t owe humans anything,” he said. “And besides, it probably would’ve been better to assemble something that would help him with his future rather than something as lofty as blessing him with long life.”

“What’s wrong with blessing him with long life?” Hinoe asked testily. “That’s what all humans wish for.”

“It’s stupid. No matter what blessing he receives, we’ll always live longer, and then one day, he’ll be gone, like a flower falling off its branch, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

He could feel Hinoe’s glare, even if he didn’t see it, before she huffed and turned her eyes away. “I only wish he would live longer than Reiko.”

Reiko. Now that was a name Madara always had trouble sorting his thoughts on. A human girl around Natsume’s age who had been such a pain that he had done all he could think of to avoid her relentless approach.

“Do you remember, Madara?” Hinoe asked. “The last time we saw Reiko.”

He remembered. It had been burned to the back of his mind. Though the scene playing in his head was probably not the same as the one Hinoe was referring to. Because Madara had seen the human again, once, years after she had come to them on that late winter day and challenged him to a match.

Come on! Reiko had insisted. This could be the last time.

He’d look at her then, this small defiant human who had seemed to have the backing of a thousand gods with the way she had been pestering him time and again. Bold. Daring. Or should he say fearless? Stupidly fearless. Didn’t she know that he could eat her alive right then and there and she would never be heard from again?

But Madara had scoffed, because he hadn’t believed it would have been the last time they saw each other. Though, if he were being honest, even if he had known, Madara probably would have still refused. So he had grunted and said, “Good riddance then,” and Reiko hadn’t returned the next day, nor the next, until he found her sitting on a set of stairs leading down to a small cemetery in the mountains, her features looking older than the last time he had seen her.

***

“What brings you here, Reiko?” he’d asked her. The human he had known to have harassed half the mountain dwellers had looked frail, and sickly then. He had seen it in the gauntness on her face, a weakness in her drawn shoulders, and the indifferent look that somehow looked tired.

She had been staring at a bouquet of white flowers on one of the cemetery gravestones. Camellias, she had said those flowers were. The red ones symbolized noble death. But the white ones, when they were brought to a graveyard, it was said to send out a message—that those who had died would live on in their hearts.

Madara had never seen Reiko look so forlorn. Her voice, small and quiet, talking about flowers and death had brushed him the wrong way. Something was off, he’d thought, but he hadn’t known what.

Until she decided to perk up and challenged him once more.

Madara had scoffed.

“Come on, you never accepted,” she had said. “For old’s time sake.” And before him had not been the sickly Reiko anymore, but the Reiko he had used to know, with that exasperating spark in her eyes. “If I win,” she’d gone on, “you’ll give me your name. But if you win…”

You can ask for anything you want, was what he had thought she would say. It had gotten to be like a spell, the way she kept saying the same thing over and over every time she met a new ayakashi. However, what she ended up saying had frozen him to the spot.

“I’ll give you the Book of Friends.”

Madara had stared at her and found her staring back—some sort of resolve swimming just underneath those amber eyes. He had heard right. She hadn’t been joking.

Of course, Madara hadn’t accepted her challenge. She had left with her young daughter shortly after he told her he would take the Book after she died. Reiko hadn’t given him any sort of retort or comeback, only smiled and said thank you. He didn’t know how many seasons passed until that one early winter day, when Madara was walking past the cemetery and he noticed something that made him pause, transfixed: hundreds of white flowers on the bushes and undergrowth blooming in unison.

Camellias.

***

“I heard Natsume’s leaving.”

Hinoe’s voice broke through his reverie, pulling Madara back to the present. The stars had slowly gone out one by one as the sky started to lighten in the distance. Dawn would come soon. Madara turned over to his side then leaped to his paws on the soft grass wet with dew.

“Rumors reach your ears fast,” Madara said, shaking himself free off the night’s ruminations. His eyes felt heavy. He needed sleep.

Hinoe straightened up her back. “What are you going to do, Madara?” she asked. Madara stared at all the ayakashi still sprawled throughout the clearing. “Are you going to follow him?”

Madara looked back at Hinoe. “I suggest you give the present after he comes home from school.” Madara turned around without another word and made his way home.

***

Natsume came home one day when Madara was dozing in the corner of his room. The door slid open, followed by quiet footfalls as Natsume made his way to his desk. Madara heard a soft thump—Natsume had sat down on the tatami mat. A moment’s pause before the boy drew out a heavy sigh, and Madara opened an eye to see him plopping down on his back, his hands stretched out on either side.

Madara waited for a moment, then, realizing Natsume wasn’t going to say anything as he stared up at his ceiling, decided to go back to sleep. His head was pounding from all the sake he had drunk the night before. However, not a heartbeat had passed when he heard Natsume sigh again and this time, Natsume spoke.

“The teacher gave us one of those future plan surveys again,” he said. “I don’t know what to write in it.”

“Didn’t you say you were going to college?” Madara said, his eyes still closed. Ever since the season rolled from summer to fall, Natsume had been staying up late at night, studying. A couple times, Madara had seen Touko and Shigeru helping him decide what schools to choose and what things he could study. Natsume had even talked to Natori that one time he visited town for another job.

“You’ll have more chances to land a good job if you go to college,” the exorcist had said.

“Did you go to college, Natori-san?”

Natori only smiled and said, “I did,” but had not elaborated.

“I could just look for a job here,” Natsume went on. “I’m sure there’s something I can do. Help out in someone’s store or something.” He paused. “What do you think, Sensei?”

Madara was silent for a while. He couldn’t believe Natsume was asking these things when he seemed to have been quite excited the last time Madara saw him talk with the Fujiwaras. And why was he even asking him about his future plans? And his head still pounded hard and the light filtering through the windows didn’t help at all.

A migraine was coming.

Madara turned around on his paws to shield his eyes from the light and plopped himself back down, desperately wishing for sleep to come.

“I don’t care what you choose nor am I obligated to help sort your human problems,” he said. “Whatever you go with, rest assured that I will be with you all the way.”

Silence fell. It was a moment before Madara realized what he had said, and it made him internally cringe. When he was about to take it back, his head hurt so bad that even lifting his eyelid was too much of an effort.

“Sensei…” he heard Natsume say, so soft he almost missed it.

He had expected a scoff or a laugh, but all Madara heard was a sort of wonderment in his voice. And maybe it was all right, this moment of sincerity. Or maybe it was the sake talking. Or the migraine talking. Just to get Natsume off his back and let him have his peaceful sleep.

But there was one thing Madara knew.

Once upon a time, Reiko had wanted to entrust the Book of Friends to him. Once upon a time, Madara had promised he would. He could say that was the reason why he said what he said. Or even the promise he had made Natsume on the day they first met, before he became the boy’s so-called guardian. But despite the quiet excitement brimming under the surface, Madara had seen the faraway look on Natsume’s face when no one was looking. A slight frown, drawn eyes, and furrowed brow—almost the same expression he had seen on Reiko’s face all those years ago, when she came to him and Hinoe and challenged him to a match.

This could be the last time.

He had thought Reiko as bold, and daring, and fearless. But after living with a human for three years, Madara had begun to see her persistence as a way to hide her loneliness and anxiety.

And maybe, Natsume felt the same.

Madara forced open an eye and found Natsume lying on his side on the mat, gazing at him. Silent. Expecting. And maybe a little apprehensive, though who was he to know? Humans were such complicated creatures.

“I’ll stay with you wherever you go, Natsume,” he said.

Natsume blinked.

A moment passed, then another. Natsume didn’t say anything, and Madara frowned. That was the most cringe-worthy line he had ever said. He turned his face away and closed his eyes once again.

But then he heard it—a soft chuckle—and he imagined a small smile grazing Natsume’s lips as the boy whispered, “Thanks, sensei.”

Madara’s chest tightened and his stomach flip-flopped. A peculiar yet bothersome sensation he would rather not feel again, but it wasn’t bad. Madara’s ears drew back in contentment.

“Now leave me be!” he said instead. “I have a headache!” Natsume’s light laughter was the last thing he heard before he finally drifted into sleep.

~ END ~

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