#like imagine they have the garment hanging there and the hair woven in and everything and just sometimes…a Body Fills It

[tabithatwo]

I used to be a firm antler queen is a rotating position believer and I often thought it was the girl slated to be the next sacrifice being honored before her turn but every day I get more and more convinced that the antler queen isn’t any of them. Vanity fairs article about Jackie potentially being the antler queen started it rattling around in my brain (I don’t necessarily think it’s her or a figure of her, that theory just kicked off the concept of a Not Them antler queen). Now if you read the death and near death dreams as “it” manifesting as imitations of them, we see the wilderness guiding them where it wants them, taking sacrifices as it pleases without their input or a system to speak of. Eventually we know they do come up with their own system for the sacrifices, like they learn it’s rules enough to meet its requirements with intention or bargain with it or something along those lines. These Paul moments Ben has with the flickering, those can’t be nothing. I’m sorry but while it’s possible they’re really deep diving THAT hard into his delusions or fantasies, I find it really unlikely with the weird specifics embedded in them. Odd language, flickering tape screen, the transformation of the cabin, the way they seem to be pushing him somewhere. And he DOES keep getting framed with antlers. As has Lottie, the most obviously, and Jackie in her death dream. The framing of Lottie might not be framing her As Antler Queen, but as very intertwined with the wilderness. Ben seems to be an object of its interest too now, if we take the Paul scenes to be something more than his mind wandering. Jackie was framed with them as she took the hot chocolate (and her physical body was later integral to their survival which feels relevant to me too). With the antler queen BEING Lottie’s therapist in 2x07, I’m really starting to think it’s potentially projection of the wilderness. Like…they’re offering their sacrifice to some more literal physical projection of it somehow. Whether it’s viewed as mass hallucination or only one of them can see it and the rest play along or it’s a turn into the explicitly supernatural. I just really think these death dreams are a tangible supernatural realm, with Travis saying they could communicate with “it” when they’re near death. So maybe it comes out in other ways out there. I’m not saying I like this or hope for it or think it’s likely, because I’m not sure how I feel about it and so much is dependent on where the show goes, but it’s a possibility that went from nowhere on my radar to buzzing around my brain at warp speed, especially after 2x07. ANYWAY this is what the inside of my brain looks like at midnight after a really terrible day lol cheers to yellowjackets huperfixation taking the edge off I guess!

#this is potentially and probably very off base but I haven’t seen it discussed much as a possibility and it’s currently making me feel crazy #like imagine they have the garment hanging there and the hair woven in and everything and just sometimes…a Body Fills It #they look around like if I’m here and you’re there and everyone else is over there who’s driving the ritual sacrifice?? #an old god trickster god takes human ish form god baby! #this show has taken a way harder left into supernatural than I ever expected and it’s only s2 SO! #maybe I’m crazy but idk there’s something Real happening with the Surreal in this show! that much is certain! #yellowjackets #shauna shipman #jackie taylor #taissa turner #natalie scatorccio #van palmer #misty quigley #lottie matthews #ben scott #antler queen #yellowjackets theories #travis martinez

[allthingskakashi]

6. you look really cute in that sweater. ← made me feel things

Fluff prompt 6 : "You look really cute in that sweater."

• Knitted Heartstrings •

[ Kakashi x Reader] // 2.5k words

A/n : this title is meant to be cute but i think it just sounds grotesque

It had been a few weeks since winter had arrived at Konoha, bringing with itself a carriage full of moments, gift wrapped with warmth and joy to sprinkle all around. It brought cosy nights to be spent laughing by the fireplace with a loved one, in an icicled platter and first love blossoming in the first fall of snowflakes in a tiny snow globe.

Wherever the eye went, there were sheets and sheets of cotton white snow, shimmering in the sunlight like broken pieces of diamond. The small village looked ethereal.

For you, winter had always been special. There was something about the smell of snow that imbued your heart with hope, like any time now something magical would happen. Many scorned at the childish illusions that you knit inside your mind, dismissing it as a result of one too many Hallmark movies, but for you… the only melody that mattered was the one of your heart. And it said,

it was winter, and everything was magical.

You looked outside your window at the bustle of villagers on the street, wrapped up in cosy sweaters and colourful scarves. It was the first day of the Annual Winter Carnival, and even though it was barely 10 a.m., there was already a long line in front of the hot chocolate stand. Beyond the eager queue, you could see a line of small shops, each adorned with something different: winter clothing, holiday cards, Christmas decorations, plum cakes and pumpkin pies, you name it.

You adjusted your red scarf around your neck, putting on a pair of mittens as you smiled to yourself. It was a beautiful day outside and the festive spirit all around made the sun shine just a little brighter for you. Picking up your keys and wallet from the table, you headed for the door, crossing your nearly decorated Christmas tree on the way. The tall green tree was already bedecked in shining ornaments, colourful streamers and twinkling lights. The only thing it was missing was a tree topper and you made a mental note to pick one up from one of the ornament stalls that were sited around the town square.

You made your way towards the gleeful crowd far ahead, your boots drawing patterns along the soft snow as you went. The sapphire sky seemed to beam down upon your town, every storefront greeting the eyes with beautiful wreaths woven by flower shop workers and window displays of snowmen built by Academy children with styrofoam.

You spotted Gai in the distance, huddled up with Lee and Tenten, all of them holding what looked like mugs of cocoa in their hands. Despite the biting cold, Gai and Lee had on their usual green outfits, you noticed. All three of them waved as they saw you approaching and you waved back at one shivering and two fully unbothered figures.

As you looked around you could spot most of the Leaf shinobi. Some had even arrived from neighbouring villages as they always did at this time of year. Your eyes fell on Sakura and Ino laughing as they tried on funny hats at one of the garment stalls, and Kiba teaching Akamaru how to make a snow angel on the ground. Pretty much everyone was here, laughing, talking, enjoying themselves. Everyone other than…

Anyway.

Such sights of blithe happiness were scarce in the kind of world you lived in. Amidst missions, deaths and tragedies, you always had a black cloud looming over you at all times, following you everywhere you went. It came with the job, there was no way to escape it. But even then, at times like these, it almost felt as if you were a part of the normal world. As if the grains of food on your plate didn’t depend on taking lives.

Taking in the beautiful sights of early winter and humming to yourself as you continued scouring the surroundings, you stopped in front of one of the clothing stalls. It was a small one manned by a middle-aged woman but despite the smallness of the store, the collection of knitted sweaters it displayed caught your eye immediately.

There was one hanging at the back that had piqued your interest the most. It was a cream coloured piece with the image of a pug in a Christmas cap embroidered on it and the word “woof” sewn just above it. It was love at first sight and the knitted sweater was just hanging there, begging for you to come get it.

Stepping in to get a closer look, you requested the woman to get it down for you. You waited as she handed you the object of your admiration and as expected, the soft material melted into your hands. You ran your fingers along the embroidery, admiring the stitchwork and already imagining how perfect it’d be for a cold night in in your pajamas with a nice book and a box of cookies.

You asked if you could try it on, and as the woman nodded in permission, you put the sweater over your head, hastily slipping into it. But in your hurry, you had somehow mixed up the neck and the sleeves, causing you to find yourself in a tangled mess with your head inside the sweater and your eyesight fully obstructed.

You struggled to untwine yourself, squirming and wiggling as you tried to differentiate the damn neck from the arm holes. You knew you looked like an absolute klutz, you even heard some giggles from a passing group of children that you were pretty sure was directed at you, but you were almost getting out of breath and your hair was starting to stick into your mouth, so you decided to put your focus on getting yourself out first and your dignity afterwards. You heard the woman’s voice beside you offering to help and you were just about to take her up on it when you finally managed to slip through, panting as you caught your breath.

You smoothened out the sweater with your hands, before reaching up to sweep away several strands of your now tousled hair, when suddenly your eyes fell upon the tall figure in front of you, leaning against the stall with a book in his hand.

The sudden sight gave you a scare that almost made you jump as you let out a surprised squeak.

“Kakashi!?”

Your widened eyes fixed on his face, meeting his placid gaze as you watched Kakashi’s mouth stretch into a smirk.

“15 seconds.” he stated in a flat yet chaffing tone.

You furrowed your brows at him, voicing your confusion. “Huh?”

“You got out of that 15 seconds faster that I’d expected you to”, he replied, as you felt your cheeks getting warm with embarrassment.

Not only had he been here watching you make a complete fool of yourself, he had also been revelling in it.

That dingus.

But you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered, so you settled to play defensive instead.

“And in all your seconds of standing there and watching, did you at any point consider offering to help?” you said, sparing him a narrowed glance.

“Nope” Kakashi replied instantly, the smirk intact on his lips as you rolled your eyes, feeling your own irrepressible smile get the better of you.

Meanwhile, the shop lady pulled a mirror out from the back and placed it before you. You situated yourself in front of it, stepping back to take a look at yourself. You could feel Kakashi still standing there, his eyes on you, peering at you over his book and your stomach churned and flipped inside your body.

This was…new.

Kakashi and you went way back… but minus the friendly greetings and conversations at certain social gatherings, there hadn’t been much interaction between the two of you. Mostly because both of you usually preferred to keep to yourselves. All that, however, changed after you were sent on a recent tailing mission together.

The mission was primarily supposed to last a week, but due to certain complications, you ended up having to be away for over a month. You were both asked to lead the team, and working so close together required many nights to be spent discussing strategies and team formations. You spent more nights in each other’s company, drawing maps and going over plans than you spent sleeping; just the two of you under the wide black sky, awake in the silence of the night with nothing but the whisper of crickets to interrupt you. And in some of these times, your conversations slipped beyond strategic discussions, delving deeper into the kind of territories that required the dark of the night to be revealed.

It wasn’t something you’d ever seen coming, talking to the copy ninja, really talking, but it had happened nonetheless. And when it had, it felt like the most natural thing the world. Like dipping your toes into the pool on a hot summer day.

Even though neither of you had fully bared your souls to each other yet, he was quite easy to talk to and you had come to realise that you had more in common that you would ever have guessed. And that beneath his serene exterior, Kakashi hid a tide of emotions.

Of course, it wasn’t all hefty talk. You had a good laugh the time he told you how the scar on his right arm, which people assume to be the result of a valiant battle is not from a battle at all but a rather embarrassing kitchen mishap. And this other time you had a heated debate about how miso ramen is definitely NOT better than shoyu ramen. The debate ended up in a draw but sitting with him in the glowing twilight, talking about nothing and everything… it made you feel some kind of way.

And then of course, there was that one night. One moment which had stuck out to you the most, amidst all others.

It was just another tiresome day, and you had taken refuge in the woods for the night. Almost everyone in your team had suffered mild injuries, including yourself. You had gone up to Kakashi to ask for a bandage for your sprained wrist since your own med kit was devoid of one and then…instead of simply handing over the bandage to you, Kakashi had taken your hand in his and wordlessly wrapped it around your palm. And for some reason, something about that one moment had stirred something inside you. Kakashi hadn’t made a big show of it, no, it didn’t even feel anything out of the ordinary. But the way he had gently held your wrist in one hand as he carefully bandaged it with the other had made you short of breath. No one had ever shown such gentleness towards you before, not in that way.

And even though nothing had really happened between the two of you yet, ever since that mission things didn’t remain quite the same anymore. The silences became thicker, the glances lingering. Chance encounters became deliberate and every conversation turned to memorabilia. There seemed to be this unspoken attraction, a spark that lit up like firecrackers every time you came in each other’s vicinity.

So yes, all of this was rather new and you weren’t quite sure how to deal with it yet.

Keeping your mind from reminiscing any further and pulling it away from your churning stomach, you glanced at your reflection in front you. The sweater did fit you perfectly but disappointingly enough, it didn’t look quite as good as you’d hoped it would, and suddenly you weren’t so sure of your choice anymore.

Kakashi’s eyes were still on you, registering your frown, and it was as if you could feel his gaze tear through your bones, pulling away all your layers. It was unnerving and you cleared your throat, breaking the silence.

“So, what are you doing here, anyway?” you called out, your eyes still fixated on your reflection as you turned to catch glances of yourself from various angles. “Didn’t take you for much of a carnival kinda guy.”

You saw him smile out of the corner of your eye as he straightened up, coming around lazily to stand behind you.

“I’m full of surprises”, Kakashi shrugged, enunciating every word as his figure towered over yours, the warmth of his body almost tangible to you.

His sudden closeness to you made your breath catch at the back of your throat and you struggled to maintain your composure, staring straight ahead at your reflection to keep your gaze from meeting his, which you knew would be just enough to send your heart hammering.

The moments seemed to freeze as the both of you remained standing, both pairs of eyes fixated on the mirror as air around you started to take a life of its own. You thought you would almost lose your mind when Kakashi’s words finally broke the rippling silence.

“You look really cute in that sweater.”

His words, so arbitrary yet soft hung in the air between you as you felt your heart grow vicious in your chest. You could feel it thrashing inside you, pounding so hard you were scared even Kakashi would be able to hear it. You knew your cheeks were about the same colour as a ripe cherry and you felt your mouth twitching with words that you couldn’t form.

You looked up slowly into the mirror and found the reflection of Kakashi’s eyes, waiting to meet yours. Even through the glass, his gaze burnt with an emotion that almost frightened you.

“You uh- you think so?” you heard yourself stutter, that sweater in the mirror suddenly looking like the most beautiful thing you’ve ever worn. You turned around a few more times, running your hand along the soft fabric again. “well uh I guess it’s not…bad” you said, your voice coming out more nervous than you would’ve liked it to.

Kakashi grinned, moving from behind you and starting to walk away as you pulled the sweater up, getting ready to take it back off. Thankfully for you, it came off this time without requiring any excessive wiggling.

You watched Kakashi’s slightly hunched figure walk away in the other direction, before stopping to turn back around at you.

“So, are you going to take that?” he called, a tease to his tone as he stood holding his book in one hand, the other warm inside his pocket.

“Maybe. I’m still deciding” you called back in the same tone as you watched him smirk, before being faced with his back again as he turned away slowly, walking ahead with his book open in front of him.

You watched him go, wondering if he would turn around again, but he didn’t and his striking silver hair disappeared from view as he became one with the crowd. You turned to the lady in front of you, the sweater hung over your arm as you struggled to hold the grin that threatened to erupt any time now. For some reason, the sweater in your hands didn’t feel like a piece of cloth anymore but something that had your heartstrings sewn amidst its threads.

You folded the soft fabric carefully, making it into a neat ball before holding it out to the lady with both hands, grinning at her.

“How much will this be?”

#kakashi #kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake #hatake Kakashi #kakashi fanfiction #naruto fanfiction #kakashi headcanons #kakashi x reader fanfiction #kakashi fanfic #kakashi x y/n #kakashi x you #Naruto headcanons #naruto #kakashi imagines #kakashi scenarios #naruto imagines #naruto scenarios #kakashi fluff #kakashi x reader fluff #kakashi x reader fanfic

[rolandtowen]

Dumbass Romantics, the first part of a series exploring the ways in which Sokka and Zuko falling in love after the War. 

Sokka and Zuko seem to keep “accidentally” flirting with each other with romantic gestures from their respective cultures. It takes a while for everyone else (and them!!) to catch on. Set a few months after the end of the war, featuring chronic pain and cultural flirting.

Read it under the cut!

The Fire Lord hated the cold. He supposed he should have commissioned a fur cloak before visiting Katara and Sokka, but where could his tailors find fur on such short notice? He couldn’t bring himself to slaughter dozens of squirrel-toads just for one coat. He had settled on a cloak woven with extra koala-sheep wool, but stepping out of his ship’s warmth now and into the crisp air of the Southern Water Tribe, Zuko knew he should have heeded Sokka’s advice to him to dress warm.

The cold was a bitch. But thankfully, he didn’t have to dwell on it long.

“Zuko!” Came Katara’s voice from somewhere below him. Zuko hurried down the rampart and came to meet his old friend. He went to bow formally, but she laughed and pulled him in for a hug. “Maybe save the bowing for when we have dinner with the old folks tonight.”

Zuko raised his eyebrow.

“Oh! It’s nothing big – just my Dad, Bato, Kanna, and Pakku. I do hope you’ve worked up an appetite for stewed sea prunes, that’s all my Dad can make without blowing the kitchen up – unless you’re allergic to sea prunes, of course, but I guess you wouldn’t know yet seeing as you’ve never tried them—”

“Katara,” Sokka’s voice startled Zuko a little bit, coming from his left side. Zuko shifted his head so he could hear him better. “You’re rambling again. Let the man breathe!” Zuko let out a low chuckle and turned to fully face Sokka.

“It’s good to see you too, Sokka.”

“And you, jerkbender! Spirits, aren’t you cold? I told you bring layers!”

The trio started to walk towards Katara and Sokka’s village. Zuko pondered what he should say: admit weakness and say he was, in fact, cold; or be miserable for the rest of his visit in silence?

“I’m okay, it’s just that the Fire Nation hasn’t ever had a need to make warm clothing. My tailors wouldn’t even know where to start on finding fur for a cloak.”

“Well then,” Sokka said, “it’s lucky for you that we have polar leopards!” And with that, Sokka unclipped the fur-lined cloak he was wearing and draped it over Zuko’s shoulders, fastening the metal clips with practiced ease. Zuko was shocked.

“Sokka, I can’t take your cloak!” He protested, stopping in his tracks.

“Relax, jerkbender, there’s more where that came from. When are you going to learn to dress up for your visits, dork?”

Katara chimed in. “The last time Zuko was here, his body temperature was elevated by his righteous search for the Avatar. I’m sure peace and love have probably cooled your hot head off quite a bit, huh?”

Zuko only hummed, looking down at the cloak that had been thrust upon him. It really was, quite warm. And quite intricate as well! He ran his fingers over the moon phases embroidered at the seams, a striking white against the deep blue of the cloak.

“Enjoying my handiwork?” Katara asked.

“Yeah, I am.” Zuko answered in a daze.

He wasn’t sure if he should tell them what it meant in Fire Nation culture, to place your own cloak on another’s shoulders, to literally and figuratively place another under your protection. Really, Zuko couldn’t remember the last time he had been given anything as a gift. Charity was not a concept Ozai was familiar with. Sokka couldn’t have possible known that what he just did was like the Fire Nation equivalent of a betrothal necklace. Still, it did leave Zuko touched that Sokka would so willingly give over such a valuable garment. He decided to leave the matter alone and revel in the warmth of the cloak.

“Sooooooooo, do you wanna go fishing together?”

Zuko sighed. He was a little bored. When they got back to the village, Katara had immediately ditched them to go help Kanna and Hakoda prep for the night’s family dinner. Leaving him and Sokka to do…. whatever until dinner time rolled around.

“Uh, I don’t really know how to fish—”

“That’s alright! I can teach you. Just grab your cloak!” Sokka leapt up and swept out the door. “You are coming, right?” Sokka called from afar.

“Yeah, I’m coming!” Zuko hollered back. He fiddled with the clasp on Sokka’s – er, his cloak—and stepped back into the cold.

Sokka was at the edge of the village, spears in hand. “You ever been on a kayak before?”

Zuko chuckled. “No, the ships I’ve been tend to carry more than one person, I don’t suppose you’ve got one of those?”

Sokka punched him in the shoulder. “We can’t use one of the warrior’s boats, we’ll scare the fish!” Oh. That made sense. “Now I get it, you really don’t know anything about fishing, do you? What have you got to say for yourself?”

“Two things: one, prince; two, fire nation. We much prefer Komodo sausage to seal jerky.”

“Well, your hotness, let me show you how it’s done.” Sokka hopped into one kayak, patting the one next him. “I assume you at least know how to use a paddle?”

Zuko laughed. “I may have been an adrift refugee once or twice. I think I can handle a paddle.”

“Good,” Sokka smiled at him as he climbed into the one-seater kayak. Zuko took a few moments to adjust to the shift in his center of gravity, then nodded at Sokka.

“Let’s catch some fish.”

It turns out, Zuko is not a natural at spear-fishing. He watched closely the first few times Sokka threw his spear, bringing up fish each time. “Go on, try it,” Sokka encouraged him. Zuko looked into the depths and tried to aim for the blurry shadows he took to be fish. His spear came up empty. “That’s okay! It took me a few fishing trips before I really go the hang of it.” Sokka analyzed his form. “Make sure you extend your arm a bit before your release the spear, then you can change your angle more easily.”

Zuko nodded, mirroring the way Sokka was holding his spear. They waited in silence, kayaks knocking gently into each other on the waves. A fresh school of fish appeared underneath them, and they released their spears at the same time. This time, even Zuko had caught a fish! Only one, compared to Sokka’s two, but it was his first fish! Sokka smiled widely at him. “I knew you could do it.”

“I guess I should call you Sifu Sokka now, my fishbending master.” Zuko quipped.

Sokka blushed and he hoped the gathering snow hid it from Zuko. “I think we should probably get back; you don’t want to miss Dad’s stewed sea prunes.

“Definitely not.” Zuko replied. “What, what does one do with a fish once they’ve caught it?”

“It depends – I think it being your first fish, we should celebrate it! What do you say to making some boiled fish dumplings?”

“I think that if you’re teaching me, it’ll be wonderful.”

If it was even humanly possible, Sokka blushed harder.

When they docked their kayaks, Zuko noticed that Sokka was favoring one of his arms over the other. Normally, it wouldn’t be strange to see a person favoring a side, but Zuko knew Sokka was ambidextrous. He didn’t say anything, so Zuko kept his observations to himself. Kanna met them outside her home, and positively beamed when Sokka told her that Zuko had caught his first fish.

“Well, better a late bloomer than never, eh?” Zuko laughed but still bowed his head in deference.

“It is very nice to finally meet you, Lady Kanna. Sokka has told me much about you in your letters.”

“Oh, he has, has he?” Kanna gave a mean side-eye to Sokka, who was suddenly very interested in the icy ground. “He’s told me about you as well. You have my gratitude – I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if you hadn’t gone to the Boiling Rock.”

“It was my pleasure, Lady Kanna.”

“Just Kanna, just Kanna, my dear. Well, come in! I see Sokka has leant you a cloak, but you still must be freezing! In, in!” Kanna shooed them inside. “I will take special care of your first fish, Zuko. Anything you had in mind?”

“Uh, dumplings?”

“Excellent choice, dear. Fish dumplings coming right up!” She disappeared into the kitchen of the home.

Sokka sat down on floor, covered by blue fabrics and pelts. Zuko noticed how gingerly he set himself down, now obviously favoring his right side. Sokka’s lips were drawn tightly as he rubbed circles into his left shin. Zuko could have almost swore he heard Sokka whimper. Almost.

“Sokka,” Zuko knelt down next to his friend. “Talk to me.”

“Mmph,” Sokka scowled.

“Words, Sokka.”

“It’s mostly my leg—you know how I broke it on the day of the Comet?”

Zuko grimaced. He did remember. Even in his lightening-induced fever, Zuko remembered. He heard his physicians set Sokka’s leg and pop his shoulder back in place. He wanted to forget those sounds of Sokka in pain, but he couldn’t.

“Well,” Sokka continued. “Ever since then, it still… it still hurts. Katara’s tried everything, but I’m probably stuck with it forever. My leg hurts the worst, but my shoulder’s the most inconvenient. I’m old enough to start putting braids in my wolf tail, but I just—can’t. I can’t lift my arm above shoulder-level. And I know I’m wallowing to the guy who literally got half his face burned off but—”

“But nothing, Sokka. You’re allowed to be in pain. Here, you know what, pull up your pant leg—”

“Geez, buy a guy dinner first will you?”

Zuko blushed but Sokka did as he was told, exposing his left shin and ankle. Zuko focused a little bit of heat into the palms of his hands. He placed one on Sokka’s ankle, scanning his face for any pain. When Sokka relaxed into the touch, Zuko placed his other hand on Sokka’s shin, applying the slightest bit of pressure.

“You know, with those hands you could almost be a healer like Katara.”

Zuko snorted. “And you need to learn to let people help you.” After a few minutes, he pulled his hands away, fearing that if he kept them there too long he’d burn his friend. “If you want, I can help you braid your hair. I won’t even tell Katara.”

Sokka smiled shyly at him. He guessed Zuko didn’t know the importance of braiding another’s hair in water tribe culture—reserved for family members and, well, lovers. But Zuko was kneeling in front of him, in a water tribe cloak, offering to help him with a warrior tradition. After everything they’d been through, Zuko was family—and maybe, he could be open to being something more?

“Okay,” Sokka nodded. He pulled two beads from his pocket, both striking shades of blue, one carved by Kanna and one by Katara. “You know how my Dad wears his beads? It’s the same idea.”

“I caught my first fish today, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing I can’t do now.” Zuko settled himself closer to Sokka’s face. “I’m going to let your hair down now, is that okay?” Sokka nodded again.

Zuko took out the hair tie and separated two sections of hair thick enough to support the beads. For lack of another set of hands, he resorted to holding the sections in his mouth while he carded the rest of Sokka’s back into place and tied it into the wolf’s tail again. Sokka was suddenly very aware of how close Zuko was to him—more specifically how he never wanted him to leave. He loved the warmth that radiated from him, but furthermore, he couldn’t remember the last time someone helped him with his hair. He hadn’t asked anyone since he got back from the war, and while they were on the run… he was focused on more important things than his hair. Sokka risked a look at Zuko’s face: he was rewarded with Zuko’s adorable concentration face. Wait, adorable? Where had that come from?

“How do you know how to braid, anyway? I didn’t see a whole lot of braids in the Fire Nation.”

“My mother used to let me braid her hair when I was feeling anxious or overwhelmed. You know, it’s calming, repetitive, doesn’t involve fire—perfect for mess of emotional issues like me.”

“Hey, you’re not a mess.”

Zuko laughed darkly.

“Well, not anymore than the rest of us. We all already had our own issues and then a war happened on top of that. You were just lecturing me on letting people help me. You don’t have to be alone in this.”

Zuko’s fingers trembled as he finished the second braid. “I know. I’m still getting used to having people I can actually trust.”

Kanna suddenly called from the kitchen. “Are you two done lounging around or are you going to help an old woman with this fish?”

They looked at each other and laughed. They did kind of forget about everyone except each other.

“Hey, Zuko,” Sokka started as Zuko stood up and held out a hand for him.

“Yeah?”

“You can braid my hair anytime you want.”

Zuko resisted simultaneous urges to bow and to hug Sokka. He smiled instead.

“I’d like that.”

Bonus:

Kanna had heard everything of course. But she couldn’t bear to interrupt them sooner. Tui and La, if those two didn’t end up together she’d have a riot. In the few months since Sokka had been home with her, he hadn’t opened up to anyone about his pain. And he certainly hadn’t asked anyone for help with his braids.

Spirits, those two were good for each other. Dumbasses in love.

#my fic #mine #rolandtowen #zukka #fic #zuko #sokka #chronic pain #the dragon and the wolf #cloak sharing #avatar #atla #avatar: the last airbender #firelord zuko #ambassador sokka

[im-pretending-imthere-already]

By the warm current

Tw: heavy topics and mention of murder and abuse

As kids, my sister and I spent our summers near the river, often falling on our long garments. Our knees scraped and bruised by the sharp rocks that lay beside the strong, warm stream. The hot days rushed by as we spent our hours playing under the hot, blinding sun. If my sister adored anything, it was birds. Often we spent our days searching for them in the scorching heat of the summer, looking for all the wings that have been neatly crafted, threaded into shape. Our collection of feathers of all colours were kept safe, hidden to preserve their infinite beauty, kept in a wooden rustic box under our bed. The box neatly tucked away between the sheets that were perfectly stored by mother. One grim evening, one of my older siblings had found our box hidden between the worn out blankets, that night we were forced into womanhood, our childhood was stripped away from us. Our summers were no longer warm, our knees left with scars.

What is it to truly be a woman? A question I still struggle with. Reverend Michael often referred to womanhood as preparing to serve God by serving your husband, which we spent the following years doing, leaving our ambitions and dreams of independence behind. Our personalities were to be crushed under the high expectations of becoming nothing other than slaves which men used. Our days were spent caring for our younger siblings who occupied our time dirtying the floors we just scrubbed. Our womanhood, reduced to becoming mothers and leaving our aspirations for our sons. Too tall, too confident, too short, too skinny, too immodest, too fat, too lanky, too talkative, too hairy, too loud, too aggressive, our existence is nothing more than a checklist for men to choose from. Growing up, I admired adulthood. I admired the idea of growing up to serve my husband, the idea of dressing modestly and spending my time cleaning, to become a woman. But as I reached womanhood I began despising it. 

My teenage years were regulated by the women of the church who made it their mission to crush my dreams, my life was to be sacrificed for god. Waking up to the screaming children of the church who demanded breakfast, my days were the same every single day. After the tedious mornings of cooking, cleaning and caring tirelessly, we met the citrus trees sprinkled with the soft dew on their delicate leaves in the community garden as we planned to prepare our annual lemon pie. Every year we were to prepare a feast full of food, including our lemon pie as the dessert for the mating party. This glamorous party was only a facade, a sweet glaze over a dark oppressive, controlled, and abusive future. This year was different however, as I was becoming a woman of age, all day I had been thinking about what was to come, the life I was forced to have, pushed into a designated role my whole life. This is it, this is the dream of the church, this is what my life was to be, what my family had planned, what the reverend had envisioned.

That day I realised I couldn't do this, after seeing all the women blatantly eyed by the men of the church, scanned from bottom to up, graded as if they were a gift to be expected, a helpless little kitten to be chosen from a shelter or rescued from a basket left on the road. My older sister stood beside me, we glared at each other exchanging the same thoughts. Our life was more than this, our dreams were not to be forgotten, hidden in the blankets of our mind. I had heard about a couple of people who had escaped before, I didn’t know how to but we had to get out. That night I decided to do the unthinkable, I had to make a plan, I had to take action, I had to escape this cage and fly away. 

Reverend Michael was my father however he was never a typical father, more like a shepherd grazing his sheep, controlling us to become nothing more than slaves for his sick fantasies. He slept in the cabin house beside ours, but I knew he was going to arrive late today due to the ceremony, like every year before. It was the perfect time, as if the universe aligned for our freedom. In my nightgown I slid out as my sister was fast asleep. The night was dark, the air thick and foggy, the moon barely lit watching over me as I ran barefoot, in my white gown to the reverend's cabin. I knew where to look, under the vase he kept his spare key, which I used to unlock his door. I walk in knowing exactly where to find what I'm looking for, his diary, kept in the last drawer of his desk conveniently hidden in between his bibles. I flick through the delicate pages looking for something useful, when I stubble across the gold mine. It wrote the name of a woman named “Angela Zachery” and her cabin number''14”, suspected of breaking out “Mary Williams”. I quickly close the book, return his diary precisely into its spot and leave the same way I entered, leaving no trace behind me. 

The coming night my mind was occupied with one thought, cabin 14. I couldn’t just leave, I had to make sure it was clear. It took a couple nights which felt like forever but eventually I got there. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a Friday night, everyone had got to their cabins early after a hard day of work and the daily evening lecture was longer than usual. The pathways were empty, the road clear. I made my way, a little more professional than the night of the ceremony, in my brown dress and hand woven cardigan that wrapped its threads around my shoulders supporting me through my journey. If I was found by any person or even if “Angela” was a scam I would end up 6 feet deep into the ground before sunrise. I took the chance walking across the church to his cabin, no one was around, no one to be seen spying. I knocked on the door anticipating the worst, painting the images of my death. My life dissolving into nothing more than a forgotten story in the depths of my memories, an old story tale kept at the back of a dusty bookshelf. The door opened ever so slightly as I felt the fear shake through my body. She grabbed me inside so hard I stumbled inside falling to my knees in front of her as he shut the door aggressively. I introduced myself and explained my story and she sat there listening. Her eyes stared at me aggressively yet with a shadow of love. Her agreement brought me feelings, flushing my skin, red. Independence, freedom, individuality, expression, life. All books that she dusted alive within an instant. My dreams of independence and freedom rushed back through my bones to the crevices of my every thought. It was scheduled Thursday night. 

The night before the escape was probably one of the hardest and most important nights of my life, I was breaking the cage and finally getting the opportunity to fly, but the thought of leaving everything and everyone I knew terrified me. I wasn’t to ever clean after my siblings, but I wasn’t ever going to see them again. I wasn’t going to have to make lemon pie for the church, but I wasn’t going to celebrate with all my family ever again. Laying in my bed I couldn’t get my eyes to shut as I laid there staring at the ceiling. The only support holding me together was the sheets I laid in and the light breathing of my sister beside me. 

My bags packed, my thoughts collected, my breathing stable. This was it, this was my freedom. I get to leave and not look back. It was starting to get dark, the last evening to spend in this hell of a place. The trees rustling in the wind and air smelling of wood fire. I had kissed each of my younger siblings goodbye, hoping I would remain alive in their memories. My sister spent that evening reading, which we did often. An outlet we used to let our imagination roam free to live the lives we wish we had. As we put our coats on we stared at each other with fear, the sun had set and the sky was so empty reflecting the withdrawal we were to be hit with. We looked at each other and left, never to set foot in the cabin ever again. 

Angela has sent some, waiting for us. He had a car organized outside the fence, we just had to make it outside. In the dark night, we threw our long dress off and climbed the fence gripping the holes with all our strength, looking back I could see Angela in the distance leaving. Climbing faster and faster, our bodies shaking with fear, our hearts anticipating our freedom. Hand over hand, foot over foot, we rose higher and higher. It felt like forever until we reached the top, then at the tip I stared into my sisters eyes when I heard a bang! My soul left my body for a moment from the fear as I saw my sister's body growing limp, her back falling into the fence becoming one with it. I stared into the sky for a moment, knowing I was targeted, I had no time. I had to leave my sister behind, running my way down the fence. I felt the wind brushing my cheeks, the heat irritating my skin. As I reached the last few steps I fell onto the floor, my vision blurring into two. There was no option but to get up, leaving my sister hanging on the fence and running into the truck. 

As fast as my life gained sweetness it got bitter again. I stayed in a home with many people, I had food and clothing. But life without my sister was hard, the image of her murder remaining drilled into my head. I saw the soul leave her body, I saw her life end. I often wonder how different things would have turned out if I never left, if I was caught, if we moved a metre to the right, if we left on Friday? 

My favourite place grew to become the beach, reminding me of the warm river my sister and I loved ever so dearly,  connecting our dreams to every nook of the world. As I sit here today, on the warm sand, I often find myself looking beside me to find my sister's spirit constantly gifting me with feathers. Today I have the privilege of sitting on this beach, feeling the wind through my hair, the cool breeze on my shoulders and my sister's feathers can be forever stored, kept safe and loved, not to be a secret but to be a memory of resilience.

- all feedback is appreciated <3

#religious trauama #creative piece #creative writiting #shortstory #creativestory #sisters #creative #writing #truama

[ligninandink]

Spirits Along the Edges of Memory

SUMMARY: Jiang Cheng will cast a balding spell on Wei Wuxian if he doesn’t move back to Lotus Pier after everything is said and done.  Wei Wuxian, scared and bewildered at this oddly specific threat, finally gets to go home. Lan Wangji then promises to come visit often.  So often, in fact, he kind of just drifts into terminal orbit around Yunmeng.

A.K.A. Wei Wuxian’s mischief and stubbornness is partly his need to exert some kind of control over his own life.  Lan Wangji knows Wei Wuxian trusts him but how far does it go? He courts Wei Wuxian in the rainy season when nature spirits bless them with every step, during moonlit boat rides and fragrant night hunts where nocturnal critters serenade them.

(Also, no beta. Sorry.)

Part 01.

He can hear the rain hiss over the silence in his rooms.  Once only a soft sprinkle it now came down in gossamer films, shattering against the baked shingles and gurgling along the rain chains around him.  Hazy and comforting he allows it to lull him back to sleep. Maybe it will give him a chance to capture his elusive dream again.

Somewhere far away from here a long set of legs are carrying a lithe body through this weather.  He imagines them slick with sweat and rain, the white layers embroidered with clouds clinging to each curve and hollow.

Would he use his qi to stay dry?  Maybe he is floating on Bichen, just above the dove gray clouds swollen and moody like a woman in her last days of pregnancy.  

"Wei-Gongzi," a tiny voice calls out.

He focuses lazily on the carved beams supporting the roof.  There is a window just high enough on the wall for him to see a sliver of the lowered sky.  He doesn't answer.

"Wei-Gongzi, there is a guest."

A feeling almost passionate enough to become something more coils itself inside his belly and his stomach tightens, pulling on his various puncture scars.  All he wants is to luxuriate in not being harrassed, to take this time to recharge and resupply before he has to plaster on a smile for the outside world again.

Apparently that’s too much to ask for.

“Is Sandu Shengshou back already?”

“Wei Ying,” a deeper voice answers.

Oh.  Wei Wuxian chuckles to cover up his startled shivers, “I was just thinking about you, Lan Zhan.  Come in.”

Only the windows are opened to the elements, illuminating sections across the room.  They gently swath Lan Zhan in shifting light as he drifts through each block only to stop, not quite crossing into the pillowy alcove where Wei Wuxian hasn’t bothered to get up from.

“Hm, what’s wrong?  Come closer,” Wei Wuxian coaxes rolling onto his stomach, indecent in his undergarments.  “I don’t bite.”

The room seems to dissolve away from him, leaving only Lan Zhan’s pale skin and white robes resembling a painting against the unlit shadows.

“I’m dirty from the road.”

Wei Wuxian hums again then calls out, “Mianmian, where is the bathing tub?”

“I will bring it--”

“Nonsense, put one of the layabouts on the pier to work.”

“Yes, Wei-Gongzi!” Mianmian chirps.

Something flickers across Lan Zhan’s supremely stoic brows and Wei Wuxian says, “Now, now, I even have a set of clothes made especially for you when you visit.”

“I see,” Lan Zhan says, smiling faintly.  “Thank you.”

Wei Wuxian clutches his blanket to his chest in theatrical shock, “What, you’re not going to argue?  Or say you’re sorry for imposing?”

“I thought I had an open invitation?”

Wei Wuxian grins, “Aw, you remembered.”

Lan Zhan watches with lowered lashes darkened by the rain until Wei Wuxian was within the same softly lit patch splashing in from the window.

“Hi,” Wei Wuxian says.

“Hello,” replies Lan Zhan.

---

“I miss you.”

Wei Wuxian nearly chokes on the tea he was tasting as he sets the table for a snack.  Clutching the poor tea cup, he looks up to see Lan Zhan in low-slung trousers and a single inner robe hanging loosely from his shoulders.  His mind blanks out.

Lan Zhan drops on the mat next to him, not across, but nearly on top of him and Wei Wuxian ties to scramble away.  He trips on his clothes instead and can only soundlessly beg for mercy when Lan Zhan caught him, holding him in place by an immovable arm around his waist.

“H-Hey,” Wei Wuxian’s voice cracks.  “Me, too. Ah, Lan Zhan...”

“Mmn?” Lan Zhan responds while carefully prying open Wei Wuxian’s fingers from the tea cup.

His hair is still damp, and Wei Wuxian’s dream is now sitting next to him with water trickling down his chest, turning the robe translucent.  He can make out the Qishan Wen iron brand on Lan Zhan’s chest.

Wei Wuxian manages to croak, “Aren’t you cold?”

He’s steaming, is not the thought Wei Wuxian wants floating around in his head right now.  Lan Zhan’s body heat is much higher than the surrounding humid air.

Lan Zhan looks at him and Wei Wuxian helplessly traces a bead of water curving down his face, “No.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian hears himself say, “that’s good.”

“I was only given this to wear.”

“Wait, what?”  Wei Wuxian snaps out of his daze.  How? Did he really forget something that basic?  “No, stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Yes, yes he did.  The white outer garments with their accessories is still folded neatly in the carved sandalwood chest.  He’d only retrieved the top tray which held the layers closest to the body.

“I’m so sorry,” Wei Wuxian says, handing over the missing pieces.

Lan Zhan graciously accepts, “I don’t mind.”

Well, I do.  Wei Wuxian manages not to say that out loud.  I can’t think with you like that.

“Wei Ying.”

“Hm?”  He pretends to be busy, mopping up the miniscule spills on the table.

“Will you help me with my ribbon?”

---

“There, I hope you like it,” Wei Wuxian says, struggling to hide his trembling hands.  

Lan Zhan traces the long fall of hair over the carefully placed forehead ribbon then followed the subtle designs woven at his temple and gathered into his topknot.  “Thank you.”

“Heh, you’re welcome,” Wei Wuxian says, plopping down next to him again. “It’s a secret but I used to help Shijie with her hair all the time.”

“Wei-Gongzi even helps Mianmian!”  The little girl who escorted him in pipes up from the entrance.  “My hair is so thick. It’s annoying but no one lets me cut it.”

“I would be very sad if you do,” Wei Wuxian says, waving her over.  “And your mother will scalp me in retaliation.”

“I won’t let her!”  Mianmian fiercely declares from behind the large basket of food.  “You’re my master, I will protect you from everyone!”

Lan Zhan nods approvingly.

“Ah?  How are you going to protect anything if you keep falling asleep during your studies?”  Wei Wuxian says, taking the basket. “And Hanguang-Jun please don’t encourage her.”

Mianmian sniffs, “I am your first disciple!  It’s my duty.”

“I have not accepted you,” Wei Wuxian points out.

“Yet!”

“Persistent isn’t she?”  Wei Wuxian sighs at Lan Zhan.  

“A good trait in a Cultivator,” Lan Zhan says with all the gravitas his title grants him.

“Are you two ganging up on me?  How is that fair?”

Lan Zhan ignores him and watches Mianmian’s dedication to arranging the sweets just so before presenting them to him, “How are your mother and father?”

“They’re good!  They’re somewhere in Baling right now but I asked if I can stay with Wei-Gongzi.”  Mianmian says while carefully folding a couple of bamboo leaves into a bird and sat it next to Lan Zhan’s utensils.  “For Hanguang-Jun!”

“Thank you,” he admires the little construct then blinks when it flaps its wings.  “How clever.”

“Heh, Wei-Gongzi taught me,” Mianmian says, tossing her head in pride.  “He says his paper puppets are going to be next if I can master this.”

“Mianmian,” Wei Wuxian raises a brow at her.

Mianmian looks up, “Oh, yes, thank you for the compliment!  I also like what Wei-Gongzi has done with your hair.  You look really pretty. I mean, you always look pretty but this style looks good on you.”

“I--” Lan Zhan, caught off guard, simply finishes with, “thank you.”

“Seal the rest and weigh it in the river to keep cold,” Wei Wuxian instructs and Mianmian bows in confirmation.

She salutes Lan Zhan and he acknowledges her before she leaves.  “She’s just like her mother.”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian smiles.

Lan Zhan lifts his cup, enjoys the fragrance then says, “If you don’t take her in, I will.”

“Lan Zhan, are you here just to steal my kids?”

“I thought you haven’t accepted her?”

“Taking on that kind of task requires reflection, you know,” Wei Wuxian takes a sip from his own cup.  “It’s a lot of responsibility, of course I’m going to take my time.”

“Mmn,” Lan Zhan’s eyes sparkles in the light and Wei Wuxian glimpses the smile behind his cup.

“Wait, are you...” Wei Wuxian leans in, suspicion narrowing his eyes.  “Are you teasing me?”

“I, Lan Wangji, do not know what you mean,” Lan Zhan solemnly states, settling into an even straighter position.

“Uh huh,” Wei Wuxian says, wincing in sympathy at what the other man has subjected his poor spine too over the years.  “Anyway, how are Zewu-Jun and the kids?”

Lan Zhan’s shoulders slopes a little at the mention of his brother and Wei Wuxian felt immediately contrite, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No, it’s fine.  He’s doing better but is still in seclusion.”

“I see, I wish him...” Wei Wuxian trails off, not sure of what to say with everything that has happened between them.

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan says quietly.  “He will appreciate the sentiment.”

Wei Wuxian wonders if this is similar to what Lan Zhan had to go through when he was accused, judged and executed without a fair trial.  Was it worse or better that Lan Zhan knew him so thoroughly that he never faltered in his support despite what Wei Wuxian had also done?

He stares at the feathery shadows cast across Lan Zhan’s cheeks, “Lan Zhan, thank you for coming.”

When Lan Zhan looks at him with eyes reflecting the shimmering rain Wei Wuxian’s breath hitches, and when he says, “I wanted to come earlier.”  Wei Wuxian feels his face heat up.

He looks away first and clears his throat, “Well, you’re here now, unfortunately it’s raining or I would take you to all of my favorite places.”

Lan Zhan picks up one of the little sweets, watching as it wobble slightly before taking a careful bite. “Why let a little rain stop us?”

---

TBC

Also on AO3

#romance #wangxian #mdzs fanfic #don't look at me #I'm soft #when and where is the CQL emotional support group taking place? Please send me an invite #specifically if it’s about the Jiang siblings because CQL expanded on their relationship #now my feelers are CRUSHED over them #mdzs #the untamed #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #mdzs live action

[shamelessly4shameless-blog]

The Scent of You.

A happy little one shot for a slightly hung-over Saturday night. Let me know what you think or just say hi :) xx

He has to roll the sleeves up. That is the first thing he notices besides the sudden warmth. Mickey folds the sleeves over neatly, creating a precise line of cuff across the back of each hand. His teeth stop chattering almost instantly although his shoulders are still trembling.

The sweater has that proper lived in feel to the fabric, the scent of Ian woven through it in the way that old clothes do, their owners scent lingering long after they take the garment off. Mickey had always found that kind of gross when he and his siblings went through the piles of cast-offs at the relief centre as kids.  He hated the thought of wearing someone else’s smell around, even if his own was unpleasant and back then it really had been. No money for the water bill meant no showers except at school and more often than not Mickey was on suspension and couldn’t go in, so his only option was to be dirty. He grimaces at the memory and runs a hand reassuringly through his clean-cut hair, enjoying the feel of under-shave beneath his fingers. Just like Ian’s.  

However this sweater, a little bobbled along the arms and hanging too low down his ass, smells sweetly of Ian and Mickey doesn’t mind it at all. In fact he really fuckin’ likes it and lifts the sleeve to his nose, inhaling deeply, seeing ribbons of auburn hair trailing behind his closed eyelids.

The Gallagher house is ridiculously quiet at this time of night. Mickey pokes his head out of the bedroom door and listens but can’t hear a thing except the ancient boiler gurgling away and a pipe juddering with air bubbles. The lights are on downstairs suggesting someone else is awake but Mickey isn’t wearing any pants and besides, Ian is in the room behind him, so whoever is down there is not going to be someone Mickey wants to talk to.  

He steps lightly down to the bathroom and relieves his straining bladder, tipping his head back and enjoying the feeling of his belly deflating as his piss fills the bowl. Normally he would just shake his dick a couple of times and let any stray drops get soaked up by his boxers but he doesn’t want to get any pee on Ian’s sweater. It would feel wrong. Like, morally wrong, and that is not something that Mickey thinks about many things.

There is no toilet paper, or at least none that he can see, so with a muttered curse he sidesteps to the sink and after looking furtively over his shoulder, quickly runs the tap and washes himself off and then, just because why fuckin’ not?, he washes his hands too. Proper fuckin’ domesticated.

He feels a little silly for doing it, but also a little proud because despite spending most of his life with a layer of grime covering his skin, Mickey actually enjoys being clean. He likes taking showers with soap, and styling his hair with a comb, and he likes dabbing a little of Ian’s cologne on his jaw after shaving. Not much of course, not really enough that it can actually be properly smelt on him, that would be too risky and also fuckin’ embarrassing. People would think he is some bitch marking himself with his ... boyfriend’s scent or some faggy shit like that and that is most definitely not what Mickey is doing.

He checks his hair in the mirror and turns his face left and right. He thought he was getting a pimple but the stupid fucking thing seems to have fucked off which is good. Ian doesn’t get pimples. Mickey smirks proudly as he thinks this and then quickly scowls at his reflection and wipes the look from his face.

Mickey sees the door open a fraction and is drawing breath to tell whoever it is to fuck off when Ian pokes his head round the door, confusion replaced with a beautific smile.

“There you are!”

“I had to take a piss, that okay with you?”

Mickey speaks irritably, uncomfortably aware of the fluttering that smile sets off in his chest.

“You wearing my sweater?”

Ian squints at him and then his smile widens and he steps into the room properly, bare chested and Mickey realises that is isn’t just his face that flushes when he is asleep, the plains of his torso are a dusky pink, glowing with youth and health. Holy fuckin’ Christ. Mickey swallows and runs his tongue along his lower lip, utterly enthralled.

“You are wearing my sweater!”

“It was dark, I just grabbed for whatever.”

Mickey is defensive and weirdly worried that Ian is going to make him take it off.

“It looks good on you. I like the way your ass peeks out a bit.”

Ian has that annoying look on his face again, the one he gets when he is thinking some gay, romantic shit that is definitely going to make Mickey feel uncomfortable if he says it out-loud and of course, Gallagher always has to fuckin’ say everything out-loud.  

“Makes it feel like you’re properly at home here, with me. Like you’re part of the family.”

Fuck sake.

“Really? You all walk around with your asses hangin’ out?”

Mickey quips as Ian pulls him into a tight bear hug and rests his chin on top of Mickey’s head, sighing so happily that Mickey’s own lip curls upwards involuntarily.

“If anyone in this house had an ass half as good as yours, I’d wish that we did.”

“Ugh. Weird fucker!”

“Sexy fucker.”

Ian grips the object of his affections firmly and Mickey huffs a small sigh of his own in relief. This is territory he understands and can work with.

“Lets get you back to bed, Firecrotch.”

“Mmm.”

Ian hums an agreement at the back of his throat and grabs Mickey’s hand, tugging him forward.

“Will you keep my sweater on?”

Ian asks, sliding across the sheets to make room for Mickey.

“Yeah sure, if you want. You steal the quilt all the fuckin’ time anyway.”

Mickey arches an eyebrow in the darkness, curling himself back against Ian, biting his lip at large hands settle on his hips, edging the fabric up slightly to get to his bare skin, allowing himself to imagine a bobbly, saggy old sweater that might eventually smell equally of both of them. He wonders how many years that would take and as Ian’s thumb strokes over his nipple, Mickey hopes it will take a fuckin’ lifetime.

#shameless #shameless us #shameless fanfiction #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #Ian loves Mickey #fluff #joy #Gallavich Love #Gallavich

[pratktcven]

moonless

moonless heith. not rated. established relationship, future fic, mild hurt/comfort. keith cannot sleep. many thanks to faorism and blackcatbone for looking this over! you guys are awesome. ♥ also available on ao3

.

The first time Keith wakes up, he thinks little of it. It is not unusual for him to toss and turn before he settles and, as a light sleeper, it isn't unusual for him to wake unexpectedly. So when he does wake—his unconsciousness interrupted by the unknowable—he merely rolls onto his other side,

tucks his arm beneath his head,

and closes his eyes.

.

The second times Keith awakens, he is less lucid.

Sleep clings stubbornly to his eyelids, weighing them down.

He feels overheated and fatigued.

Sluggish.

He struggles to sit up. The muscles in his neck and arms are weakened. His fingers feel numb and he cannot tighten his hands into fists. He fights to peel his thin black undershirt from his body; once free, he tosses the garment in the corner with the rest of his armor.

Then he lies back against the thin floor mattress—careful not to jostle Hunk—and lets dreamlessness take him.

.

Humidity presses down like an unwanted blanket on Keith's sweat-damp body the third time he awakens. He lingers at the edge of consciousness, unmoving and unable to mark the passage of time in the unchanging blackness. It could be seconds—

It could be minutes—

It could be hours—

.

The fourth time, Keith listens to Hunk's soft and steady snoring, and refuses to move.

.

The fifth time Keith's awareness returns—or perhaps it is the sixth?—he hisses in frustration. It is suffocatingly dark in the room they have been given and the night around them does not waver. Yet it is not the darkness that bothers Keith so much as the heat; as the thick stillness of the hour; as the foliage-smothered breeze.

Before tonight, Keith believed he was immune to such intense temperatures. He was raised from infancy in the scorching suburbs of Houston, and at sixteen, he was accepted to the Galaxy Garrison, which was deep in the heart of the American southwest. Then, for nearly a year after being expelled, he squatted in an old cabin that lacked air-conditioning. He never gave thought to how different the high, arid heat of a desert was from the pervasive and unrelenting humidity of a tropical rainforest. He wishes he had. Perhaps that way, he would be more prepared.

Perhaps that way, he would be able to find relief.

Perhaps that way, he would be…

.

When Keith regains consciousness for the nth time, he is exhausted and angry. He can feel the scratch of frustration in the back of his throat. He wants to shout—to release his brittle irritation the quickest way he knows how—but he also doesn't want to wake Hunk.

So instead, Keith channels his emotion into energy.

Rolls off their thin mattress.

Curses uselessly as he stands, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

The hut Keith and Hunk were given for the night is small and open and easy to navigate. The walls and floor are made of wood, and the thatched roof and woven swing door are made of desiccated reeds. Beyond is a narrow porch that encircles the entire shelter, with various rope bridges linking them to the other buildings scattered amongst the tree tops. Shiro and Lance are to Keith's immediate left while Pidge and Allura in front of him.

There is no movement from either hut, and Keith finds himself both disappointed and surprised. He doesn't know why. He hates his inability to fall asleep; he does not want his teammates to suffer the same affliction.

With a sigh, Keith scrubs a hand across his itching eyes and turns his gaze upward. Vines heavy with moss hang beneath colossal boughs, creating a dense network of unvaried shadow. Past that is the canopy, wherein thin gaps between the crown shy trees appear like invisible seams. This planet does not have a ring system nor does it have any natural satellites; the only light comes from the dim and distant stars, flickering white pinpricks pulled into unfamiliar arrangements.

Keith sighs again. Returns his gaze to the impenetrable dark of the forest. Runs his bare hand through his hair. The coarse strands are tangled into clumps against the nape of his neck and they stick unpleasantly to his skin.

I should just cut it all off, Keith thinks. He's let his hair grow unfettered in the last few months; the longest strands hang past the line of his shoulders and the shortest strands brush against the angle of his jaw. Such a goddamn hassle.

Keith imagines going back into the hut, tying his hair up, and using his knife to rid himself of his ratty mane in one fluid motion. He knows it would be easy. He knows it would be quick. Yet he does not move. He is too tired. The temperature is the same inside the hut as it is outside, and the oppressive humidity makes all movement unpleasant. Besides, Keith likes the wildness of his long hair. If he chopped it off, he would regret his decision as soon as the immediate relief faded.

He lets his hand fall.

It is best not to overthink it.

.

An indeterminable amount of time passes as Keith leans half his weight against the sturdy railing and listens to the cries of the local fauna. It is a cacophony of high shrills and warbling chirps, of echoing wails and deep growls; it emerges from the lush darkness in layers, creating white noise that is both strange and familiar.

Keith stands there until his trembling legs threaten to buckle. Tiredness pulls at him. His body aches from the long day spent fighting wave after wave of Galran sentries and his mind is static, void of anything but disjointed and nonsensical thoughts. He feels as though he could sleep for a thousand years—but he felt that way earlier, after the red sun dipped below the horizon and he stretched out on his borrowed bedding.

"Right to sleep?" Hunk had teased Keith as he laid beside him.

"Yeah," Keith said. "Had a long day."

Hunk pressed himself against Keith's back. Wrapped one burly arm around Keith's waist. Pulled Keith into the cradle of his body and pressed a kiss to the long column of Keith's exposed neck. The heat had been a distant thing, palpable but ignorable, and Hunk's proximity did not bother Keith; instead, Hunk's embrace comforted him.

"Good night," said Keith.

"Sleep tight," Hunk responded.

And between one moment and the next, Keith slept.

.

And between one moment and the next, Keith awoke.

.

Keith sways as he walks back into the hut. His bare feet whisper against the worn wood. He accidentally bumps against the jamb while pushing open the door and he grunts loudly.

Stumbles.

Catches himself and does not fall.

"Keith?" Hunk asks blearily, rolling onto his side. Like Keith, he is clad only in their standard issue undergarments, a pair of body-conforming briefs that hug his hips and cut off an inch past where his thigh meets his pelvis. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Keith murmurs as he shuffles back to their bed. "Sorry." He lies down. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"S'fine." Hunk's assurance is followed by an enormous, jaw-cracking yawn. Without his headband, which he removes every night, his silky hair swings forward against his cheeks. "Nightmare?"

"No," whispers Keith. "Nothing like that. I just… couldn't sleep."

Hunk hums gently and reaches across the small space between them. He curls his hand around Keith's jaw—his palm wide enough to cover the entire lower half of Keith's face—and his callused thumb settles beneath Keith's left eye where the rise of his cheekbone begins. It is not a demand for more, but a reminder.

I am here for you, Hunk says without words. For everything, big and small.

Keith sinks into the touch. It offers no relief from the pervading humidity, yet the unconditional care behind it offers more comfort than words can express.

"I'm hot," Keith admits sulkily. "And I'm tired. And I want to sleep. But it's like any time I manage to close my eyes, I'm awake in two minutes. And I just—" Keith cuts himself as his complaint edges into a whine. Clears his throat. Starts again, more softly, and says, "It's too hot."

"It is pretty hot," Hunk agrees. Then, with gentle reasonableness, he says, "If you're having problems sleeping, we can go back to the castle-ship."

It is a very tempting offer. Since the castle-ship could not land on this dense jungle planet, Coran took it into the waning exosphere directly above them. He and Matt are aboard; they are probably even still awake, elbow-deep in some machinery that needs attention after the battle they fought. If Keith activates his comm and asks on of them to lower the castle-ship's defenses, he knows he will receive a response.

And as he had earlier with his hair, Keith imagines it. He imagines getting dressed and hiking to the clearing where the lions are resting. He imagines piloting Red into space, docking in the main hangar, and working his way to his and Hunk's climate-controlled quarters. He imagines climbing into their bed and burying his face into his pillow. Yet most of all, Keith imagines his relief and how easily he would fall asleep.

"Fuck," Keith groans. It still takes a considerable amount of willpower to dismiss Hunk's suggestion. "I can't."

"You're exhausted," Hunk murmurs. "And you deserve a good night's rest."

"The Dh'reet gave us their hospitality and their homes," Keith answers diplomatically. There was a reason all the paladins and Allura remained planetside after driving back the Galran squadron stationed here. "If we left in the middle of the night, it would offend them."

It is not a response Keith would have given when he was younger and more mercurial, but his experiences as a paladin have changed him. Time has changed Hunk, too. He is less selfish and less petulant, shaped by his sacrificial duty to Voltron, and he understands Keith's refusal despite its detriments.

"Okay," Hunk whispers as he quietly accepts Keith's decision. "We'll stay."

And as the dark heat of the night folds around them, Hunk's hand slides from the curve of Keith's face to the nape of his neck.

.

Keith sleeps until he does not sleep. He does not know how much time has passed between his short conversation with Hunk and his waking; it is impossible to tell in the immutable blackness that surrounds them.

Next to him, Hunk snores. Keith exhales slowly and matches their breathing. He tries not to think about the leaden heaviness in his limbs as he lingers in the amorphous space between reality and dream. Instead, he opens his dry eyes and focuses on the curve of Hunk's strong, steadfast shoulder.

Reaches out.

Touches the warm skin of Hunk's back.

Closes his eyes and…

.

He sleeps.

.

#heith #hunk #keith #my fic