OKAY SO. the ocs i marked with hearts are some of my fav designs/characters, but i didn't mark All My Favs. def at the top of my list are theojake, eos and the boys, catbunny, roykha, polobo (i swear i will do their lore sometime soon), and fady <3
this was a very busy year for me, so im surprised i got Anything done FHJFF im proud of the improvements i've made!! astraeus marks the first time in ...years? that i've (technically) drawn a nose, polobo are the first time i used new brushes, and then fady is the first time i (technically) drew visible sclera! idk if i will again/often but like whoaa.
sometimes when u search up tags it pulls up ancient posts with the same tag and some of my first ever character designs bro...i've come a long way LOLL i can't wait to keep improving rahh, there's this new pencil brush that i'm really intrigued by but it's a big change from my present sketchy lines so we'll see if it sticks. i think it necessitates a better art style than mine so it might be too good for me sob
promised poll, just out of pure curiosity!! not gonna change how i present my ocs based on the results or anything fhghhg
which do u personally care more abt, for ur own ocs and/or for other characters??
visual design
lore and/or story arc
i value them equally
i hate characters every time isee one i close my eyes
The pub's energy had ramped up as the night wore on, the lads' voices growing louder with each round. You adjusted your fitted black top and jeans, feeling the fabric hug your curves just right—nothing over the top, but enough to catch a few glances. Mason's eyes had lingered on you earlier, dark and appreciative, before he forced himself to look away. Secret still, after all. But now, with the conversation shifting from dating tips to outright ogling, the air felt thicker, charged.
Marcus leaned forward first, his gaze sweeping over you with a wolfish grin. 'Bloody hell, you look proper fit tonight. That top's doing things, innit? If I weren't with the missus, I'd be chatting you up myself.'
The others jumped in, chuckling and nodding. Bruno whistled low. 'Yeah, mate's right. You've got that glow—whatever you're doing, keep it up. Looking like you could walk onto the pitch and distract the whole backline.'
You laughed it off, cheeks warming under the attention, but your eyes darted to Mason. He sat rigid now, pint halfway to his lips, those brown eyes narrowing as he watched the lads pile on. His jaw ticked, a subtle flex of muscle that you knew meant trouble brewing. He wanted slow, controlled, but this? This was poking the bear.
One of the newer lads, Harry—cocky from a good game last week—grinned wider, leaning across the table toward you. 'You know what? Sod it. I'm making a move. Fancy a dance later? Or we could ditch this lot and grab a drink somewhere quieter.' He winked, bold as brass, oblivious to the storm gathering beside him.
Mason's glass hit the table with a sharp clink, hard enough to make heads turn. His brown hair fell slightly over his forehead as he straightened, that easy smile gone, replaced by something feral. 'Back off, Harry. She's not interested.'
The booth went quiet for a beat, the lads exchanging glances. Bruno raised an eyebrow. 'Whoa, Mount, easy. Just banter, mate.'
But Mason wasn't having it. He slid out of the booth in one fluid motion, his hand clamping around your wrist—not rough, but firm, possessive. Those deep brown eyes locked on yours, burning with a jealousy that sent heat pooling low in your belly. 'Come on,' he muttered, voice low and edged with gravel. 'We're leaving.'
You didn't argue, heart pounding as he tugged you up and through the crowd, ignoring the catcalls and questions from the group. 'What's got into you?' Marcus shouted after, but Mason didn't look back. Outside, the cool Manchester air hit your skin, but it did nothing to cool the fire in his touch. He hailed a cab with quick efficiency, bundling you inside before giving the driver his address. The door barely shut before his mouth was on yours, hot and demanding, tongue pushing past your lips in a kiss that tasted like possession.
'Fuck slow,' he growled against your neck as the cab pulled away, his hand sliding up your thigh, fingers digging into the denim. 'Not when they're looking at you like that. You're mine.'
By the time you stumbled into his house, the door slamming behind you, clothes were already half-off. He kicked it shut and pinned you against the wall, brown eyes wild, hair disheveled from your fingers raking through it. His hoodie came off in a rush, revealing the lean muscles of his chest, honed from endless training sessions. You yanked at his jeans, freeing his cock—hard and thick, veins pulsing as it sprang out.
Mason's hands were everywhere, rougher than usual, shoving your top up and over your head, bra following. He palmed your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they peaked, then bent to suck one into his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. 'Say it,' he demanded, voice muffled against your skin. 'Tell me you're mine.'
'Yours,' you breathed, arching into him as his free hand worked your jeans open, dipping inside to stroke your pussy through your panties. Already soaked, the fabric clung, and he groaned at the feel, pressing two fingers against your clit.
He dragged you to the bedroom then, shedding the rest of his clothes, his body all coiled power—athlete's build, thighs strong from sprints, abs tightening as he pushed you onto the bed. You stripped fully, legs spreading instinctively, and he crawled over you, cock dragging against your inner thigh. No teasing tonight; jealousy had stripped away the patience. He lined up and thrust in deep, filling your pussy in one hard stroke, stretching you around his length.
'Fuck, so tight,' he grunted, hips snapping forward, setting a brutal pace. The bed creaked under the force, his hands gripping your hips to hold you steady as he pounded into you. Each thrust hit deep, his cock dragging against your walls, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. You clawed at his back, nails leaving red trails, and he loved it—head dropping to bite your shoulder, marking you.
Sweat slicked his brown hair, sticking it to his forehead as he fucked you harder, jealousy fueling every drive. 'No one else gets this,' he rasped, one hand sliding between you to rub your clit in tight circles. 'No one touches you like I do.' The pressure built fast, your pussy clenching around him, and he felt it, groaning as he slammed in deeper.
You came first, walls fluttering, soaking his cock as waves crashed over you. He followed seconds later, burying himself to the hilt and spilling inside, hot cum flooding your pussy in thick pulses. He collapsed over you, breathing ragged, but even in the afterglow, his arms stayed wrapped tight—like he couldn't bear to let go.
For a moment, you lay tangled, his brown eyes softening as they met yours. 'Sorry,' he murmured, pressing a kiss to your lips. 'Lost it back there. But... yeah. Mine.' The slow pace? Tonight, it shattered. But tomorrow? Who knew.
Charlie St. Cloud AU, WIP, Gale/John and Gale/Marge
[Prologue] [Ch. 2] [Ch. 3] [Ch. 4]
Chater 5:
The road to town is pitch black at night but Gale knows it well, can perfectly imagine the sudden drop off to the left and the unobstructed view of the ocean beyond it. There’s no moon tonight so it’s just a black expanse dusted with stars, the water occasionally glittering with the distant swooping beam of the lighthouse further up the cliff behind the cemetery; Gale turns his eyes back to the road and takes extra care along all the familiar winding curves of it to better occupy his mind on the way in.
“Whoa – hey, Major!” Artie calls some teen my minutes later when Gale steps into one of the few places in town with its lights still on. Gale tries not to regret this decision instantly as he slips past a knot of older women all laughing far too loudly and sloshing their drinks over loose grips to step up to the end of the booth table Artie’s ensconced himself in across from-
“Well! I’ll be damned.”
Gale blinks, like that might somehow change what’s right in front of him.
Artie glances between Gale and a man Gale would have never expected to see again in his life — a man he never would have even thought of again were he not sitting here plain as day. Somehow. “Oh. Have you met Perry before then, sir?”
“Could say that,” Gale allows. “Long time ago, though.”
“Indeed. What was it that your rabble called you back then — One Engine Cleven? Or was it no engines? The details of your…exploits still escape me, I’m afraid.”
“Jury’s still out. Excuse me.”
Gale slips away again to head straight for the bar and wishes, just briefly, that he were the type to order something stronger than a ginger beer when he gets there. He feels more than hears someone approaching from behind and standing just close enough to loom.
“No hard feelings, eh Major Cleven?”
Gale plucks a toothpick from a little bowl of them on the counter and pops it between his teeth to gnaw on – a habit he hasn’t felt the need to indulge in in quite some time considering the quiet life as he now leads, but sometimes needs must.
“Wasn’t me laid out flat by one good punch, Captain, so I’d reckon that’s your call, not mine.”
“It’s Commodore, actually. Major.”
“Huh.” Gale accepts his drink and raises it a little in a silent toast to the bartender. It’s clear that Perry’s waiting for him to say something else, perhaps to correct himself, but Gale’s hardly going to give him the satisfaction.
“Since you mention it though, speaking of that night — I find myself wondering whatever happened to your little fan club, eh? They all come home to become well-decorated undertakers like yourself, or have they all gone on to bigger and better things, living their own happily ever after American dreams?”
Gale turns his back on the wall of liquor behind the bar and tries to find Artie through the Saturday night crowd, such as it is, but he’s lost somewhere in the corner of his booth by the door, no help at all. Gale sips at his drink and hopes his intention to give no answer at all is coming through perfectly clear, but of course it’s too much to expect that an elevation in rank would also bring about any sudden ability to not be an absolute prick.
“I find myself particularly wondering about your…Bucky,” Perry continues, all slimy and unctuous as he was that night at the pub what feels like a lifetime ago. Heavy petting, he’d sneered, long before Gale even understood what he wanted from John besides his attention at all times. Gale still wants to punch him for it. “Whatever happened to that mad little guard dog of yours? He still yapping at your heels, refusing to let you speak for yourself? Pawing at you just because he can?”
Gale shoves off the bar and makes for the door, and fuck being polite about it. He steps on toes and shoves his way past shoulders in his way, and for the most part people get out of his way with only a grumble.
“Sir? Major Cleven?” Artie calls after him when he passes by, and he may be making his escape but he’s still got some semblance of manners, enough to admit he’s not about to go shoving his way straight through the middle of that group of women that seems to have only gotten bigger and rowdier since he arrived, their chairs and handbags and all blocking his easy exit. “Gale, are you alright?”
“Oh dear, don’t tell me, Major,” fucking Commodore Bryan Perry drawls and tuts behind him. Gale sets his half-empty bottle on Artie’s table with a solid, glassy thunk. “He didn’t get himself killed on one of your daylight suicide missions, did he? If he flies half as horribly as he natters on that’d hardly be a surprise-”
Gale’s fist flies fast and true and cartilage crunches under his knuckles. He throws his full weight behind the twist and the swing which means he goes down when Perry does, and though the bastard’s just as easy a knock-out as when Curt had taken him out Gale keeps going. There’s no honor in this, no sportsmanship, just gritted teeth and snarling, choking grief driving his fist into that slack smug face over and over and over and over-
“Gale!”
Someone hauls him back with surprising strength, yanking at his shoulders and refusing to let go even when he lurches forward in an attempt to finish what he started. He’s not done yet, that pricks’s still got teeth in that fucking mouth of his that are just waiting to be swallowed, but Artie’s in front of him now and shoving him against whoever’s pulling him back, and then he’s stumbling outside and gasping deep lungfuls of the cool evening air, crisp with the salt of the ocean air stirring across pier that ends just a few hundred yards away.
“Shhh, just calm down-”
It’s Marge. Christ, it’s Marge, and from what he can tell by the reflected harbor lights trained on the boats moored for the evening she’s looking up at him with nothing but soft understanding that he knows even now he doesn’t deserve, not from her. She’s put herself squarely in between him and the door to the bar that’s already swung closed after them, her hands up like he’s about to charge at her to get back to it.
“It’s okay. Take it easy.”
He rasps a choked off, “Marge-,” and hardly recognizes the sound of his own voice, waterlogged and thick. “He- about Bucky, he said-”
“I know what he said, I heard him. He had no right to say it, Gale, and it was cruel. I know.”
Gale nods, swallows, sucks down each breath like he’s just run six miles in all his gear, bends down to brace on his knees with a wince for the pressure of it on his aching knuckles as he coughs, all that sick grief trying to come up but failing, sticking to his ribs and around his lungs until he’s retching with it.
“Gale…oh, honey.” A soft sigh, barely audible over his pulse pounding in his ears. He can see her shoes as she steps closer and then she’s rubbing his back, big slow circles over his shoulder blades, down one side, across the curve of his spine, up his other side, constant circuits that give him something else to focus on.
The door bursts open with music from the jukebox and the sound of laughter and chatter and Marge clucks her tongue, turns to stand in front of him instead to block him from view and moves her hands up to curve softly behind his neck in the process. She’s wearing a skirt tonight, he realizes, a full one with a crinoline and everything, dolled up for a night out even in a town as small as this. He’s interrupting, he’s kept her yet again from doing what she wants by dumping all the broken pieces of himself in her lap and expecting her to fix him up right. He’s supposed to be better than that these days, at least.
Gale straightens and Marge’s hands instantly fall away from his neck, tuck around her elbows, and then slip behind her skirt to no doubt link together tightly as she takes a little half-step back from him.
“You gonna be okay?”
He scrubs his aching hand over his mouth, his chin, and forces himself to take a deep breath in, the coppery tang of blood close and heady over the softer briney wash of the ocean. He nods, but Marge doesn’t even seem to see it, frowning at his battered knuckles that he tucks behind his back as quickly as he can.
“I’m fine, Margie. Go on back inside, don’t let me keep you from-”
“I’m just out with Jane and Mack,” she says over him, in a rush like she has to get it out as quick as she can. “They wanted to thank me for helpin’ out with a new plane they’ve got up at the airfield, got it off the ground today for a test flight. Went really well.”
Gale nods again; out of sight, he digs his thumb into the bruises already blooming around skin split over the peaks of bone.
“That’s…congratulations. ‘S a big deal.”
“Yeah.”
A breeze picks up off the water, little ripples lapping at the supports of the pier and a chorus of sailboat riggings singing softly with it, wood creaking. It ruffles Marge’s hair and the hem of her skirt, chills the back of Gale’s neck as it slips past.
“Well. Guess I better get back inside, but…can I come see you tomorrow?”
“Cemetery’s open every day.”
Marge smiles, barely there but it’s real. “Right. And you’ll be there, of course.”
“Where else would I be?”
Gale rubs a sticky smear into the back of his palm before the blood can bead up and drip on the boardwalk.
“Okay. You sure you’re gonna be alright?”
“Just fine, Marge, go on back to your night out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Alright, I’m goin’. ‘Night Gale.”
“Goodnight.”
She goes, glancing back at him over her shoulder just before she steps through the door.
“Marge-“
The door stops an inch away from shutting and Gale’s face is already burning even before Marge slips half past it, her head tipped just a little as she holds the door open far enough to lean out. She at least doesn’t look upset to be called back, which is about as good as he could hope for.
“Yes?”
“You uh…you like it, then? Flying?”
She smiles again, slow and wide, her whole pretty face lighting up with it. “I really do, Gale. I get it now, I think, the way you always looked about it before..well. It sure is somethin’ anyway.”
“Uh-huh. Sure is.”
“Goodnight, Gale.”
“Night.”
The door clicks shut behind her, and Gale stands there staring until his fist throbs and the back of his neck prickles with another breeze gone just the wrong side of cool.
The road feels longer going up the cliff than down it with nothing ahead to mark the end of the trip, just the narrow beam of his lights in the unending dark, pierced with slow regularity by the distant flash of the lighthouse out across the water. He swings in the cemetery gates when he spots them, barely visible at night as anything more than a dark gap between the crowded, looming trees that line either side of the road. He shuts the gates behind himself again with a clang, drives home through the dark on paths he knows like the back of his hand, his own perfected little section of the world.
There are no services the following morning for him to look presentable for so Gale throws on his sturdiest work clothes, opens the gates around his usual time, and gets straight to work on some of the bigger landscaping maintenance that needs doing before winter sets in. He has to start deadheading the roses and cutting them back to mulch over, and the long hedges on either side of the gates need a good trimming to last hopefully through the winter if he cuts them back far enough. The flower beds out by the road need some serious weeding and pruning before he mulches them against the cold like the roses; the whole place needs a good clear-out of fallen limbs to add to his firewood, and a nice tight mowing for the last of the summer-tall grass. He won’t get it all done today, of course, but with the new chill on the breeze he wants to be good and ready. The last thing he wants is to be working out in the cold for long hours if he doesn’t have to be, and his evening trips to the clearing are more than enough time spent in the snow and the wind, thank you very much.
He works on the hedges, starting with the manicured greenery flanking the right side of the gates and making his way clockwise around the perimeter until the manicured holly becomes overhanging tree limbs that he trims back and the wild bushes that grow up between the trunks, right to the edge of his nice green grass that he prunes carefully – a natural, thorny barrier that deters any troublemakers who aren’t warned off by his mildly-lunatic reputation first.
He glances over his shoulder every so often just to check on things as he works, and eventually when he turns he spots a figure in the distance standing at one of the plots right in the middle of the current section, just barely visible from here but Gale doesn’t need to see clearly to know her anywhere.
His trimmers sink deep into the soft, loamy soil when he stabs them blade-first into the ground. As he starts to cross the expanse of the empty section he dusts off his thick working gloves, knocking his hands together harder than he needs to to make sure he doesn’t startle her the way he used to, moving like a ghost through their little cottage. Marge doesn’t move when he steps in between the tidy rows of headstones until he stops a few plots away from her, standing there with her hands laced in front of her and her eyes fixed on a bone-white headstone, thankfully still spotless despite the geese’s havoc wreaked on plenty of the others.
Major John ‘Bucky’ Clarence Egan.
Gale doesn’t read the rest of the epitaph, doesn’t want or need to. Deciding what it should say had been miserable enough six years ago, it’s not a memory he likes reliving.
“Y’know, I really should’ve figured you’d come out this way,” Marge sighs, her eyes still fixed on the stone. “Should I be embarrassed it took hearin’ Mack talk about you and your work out here to realize I’d somehow wound up right in your backyard?“
“Never told you exactly where I laid him, not your fault. Just one of those things,” Gale reasons, shrugging. He plucks his gloves off to stuff them in one of his back pockets and pretends that he doesn’t see Marge glancing at his bruised red knuckles and the dark scabs in the same pattern as Commodore Bryan Perry’s teeth scattered across them.
“It’s a pretty spot,” she nods instead, easy as anything. “I can see why you picked it. Reckon he’d have liked it, too.”
Gale nods back even though she’s not looking at him to see it. That seems easier than answering in a way that won’t end in blurting out that John would, and that he does, and that Gale knows so for undeniable fact.
“I’m glad you got outta Wyoming, Gale. Wasn’t right for you anymore, if it ever was.”
“It was home once, then it wasn’t. Happens all the time, part of life.”
“Sure.” Marge sucks in a deep, bracing breath and finally looks up at him, pasting a smile on her face. “Well. This is home now then, huh? Mack says you’ve got a house out here and everything?”
“Over that way,” he gestures and Marge turns obligingly, though the cottage isn’t quite visible from here, shielded by its own little copse of trees, younger than the ones that protect John’s clearing. “Old groundskeeper was gettin’ on when I showed back up, and it seemed like an easy enough job to take over for him. Keep the grounds nice, help folks with their burial services, sell plots. It’s quiet, and it’s not like the work’ll ever run out.”
“Well you deserve every bit of that peace and quiet,” she agrees so easily, not a hint of doubt, or anger, or bitterness — none of the things she looked at him with that day she’d left.
Gale dares to think maybe they haven’t been completely ruined forever. Maybe they can remember they were friends first, long before they ever even thought to be anything else. He clears his throat and meets her eyes to ask, “So — you’re a mechanic now?” as a sort of testing of the waters, and she just nods, smiles, ducks her head a little shyly. That’s promising.
“Yeah,” she laughs a little, tucks a soft curl behind her ear. “Yeah, I…well I needed some way to keep on lookin’ after myself once I left, and I found a couple girls who sort of did it during the war, offered to teach me. They built the planes instead of fixing ‘em, factory work, but they still know the ins and outs of just about everything in the skies right now, so I learned a lot. Cars and everything too, ‘course, once I started apprenticing to get whatever work I could, but I guess I…I wanted to know what it was like for you. Why you had such a hard time leavin’ it behind when you came home.”
Gale has to clear his throat and look away, gaze inadvertently drawn to the towering pines across the whole breadth of the cemetery, the ones that hide him and John from prying eyes every evening.
“Lotta reasons, Marge. Nothin’s ever that simple.”
“No, I know,” she murmurs, so easy. It sounds like forgiveness, though he doesn’t let himself assume it is. He hasn’t apologized, and he’s not sure he wants to. “I just…well I missed you, Gale. Workin’ on planes made me feel better about it and it pays the bills, so it’s been good. I like it.”
“That’s good. That you like it.” He’s trying not to think about Marge missing him, or looking for him in the skies he’s never going to fly again. “Mack’s treatin’ you alright?”
“Oh sure, he’s plenty tickled to get an extra pair of hands on a bunch of the old birds he’s got locked up in that barn of his,” she scoffs like it’s already a well-worn joke between the two of them — her and Mack, not Gale, of course. “Can’t believe he hasn’t gotten a mechanic in years ago, but Jane’s told me some of the trouble they’ve run into with financing a tiny community field like his, ‘specially with that new base just down the coast a ways with their own airfield and all. But they’re both real good to me, yeah. Taking me under their wing, really.”
“That’s good. That’s real good, Marge.”
“Yeah.” It comes out soft as a feather, gentle acknowledgement as she studies him until he has to fight down the urge to fidget under the attention. “You’re looking a lot better, Gale,” she offers, and that’s definitely forgiveness tucked into the corners of her mouth, softening her eyes. “You getting on okay?”
He knows what she’s asking, but answering that isn’t much easier than talking about how he’s feeling has ever been.
“Just fine. Healed up even better than new.”
Marge nods, turns her gaze back to John’s grave with a little purse of her lips.
“You reckon guardian angels are real?” Gale blinks and spares a glance for John’s headstone as well, just a flicker there and then back to her. ‘Blue skies from now on’. Birth date, death date. “Only I figure…there’s no way you should’ve survived that accident. A truck that heavy hitting you dead-on – at full speed? They told me at the hospital that you died for a couple minutes, heart stopped and everything…And now almost six years on you’d never even know to look at you.” Marge sighs and turns again to look at him. “I’ve been wondering for a while if maybe Bucky’s lookin’ after you. I know he would, if it was at all possible. It’s the only way I could stand to send you off in the first place back then, knowing he’d already be waiting on the other end to keep you safe for me.”
Gale flicks a glance at their copse of trees again, just the tops of them visible from this side of the cemetery, towering over the younger pines likely growing up from their own seeds around them.
“I mean if things had gone the other way, and it was you buried here or anywhere else…I know you’d be looking out for him if you could. You’d never let anything happen to him if you could help it-“
“Marge,” he rasps, because Gale knows all too well that’s not true, no matter how much she wants to believe it. He’d left John behind, run when he’d said, trusted him just a little bit too far and look where it got them. He did let something happen to John, he let them take him, he let hardship and their neglect kill him even when he was already freed and on his way home, and no amount of wishful thinking otherwise is going to erase the fact that they’re having this conversation in front of John Egan’s grave, or that it was Gale who put him in it.
“I guess I’m not making much sense,” she sighs. Gale doesn’t know how to even begin to tell her she’s more right about John than she can possibly realize, so he stays silent and lets her talk herself out of it. “It’s just a notion anyway, helps me sleep at night sometimes — guardian angels bein’ real, I mean. I love flying but lord knows I’ve had some close calls, close enough I sure wouldn’t mind knowing there’s someone whose only job in the world is to watch out for me and keep me safe.”
“Could be as true as anything else,” Gale tells her just to say something. And hell, he doesn’t know that it’s not true. It’s not like he’s never wondered why John’s still here, or what Gale’s life would look like if he wasn’t. If he’d even still be here himself. (On his bad days, he doubts it. He’d gotten in the accident that almost killed him for a reason, after all.)
“Yeah,” Marge sighs. She steps forward and Gale doesn’t stop her, just watches her rest a gentle hand on the top edge of John’s headstone. She brushes her thumb softly back and forth a few times, warm skin on cold white granite, and then she pats it twice like a friendly hand on a shoulder, the same sort of gesture John always gave so easily to anyone within reach. “Thanks for everything, Bucky,” she says quietly enough Gale thinks maybe he’s not supposed to hear it. “Miss you.”
Gale swallows, thick and tight, and stares as hard as he can at what he can see of his and John’s trees as Marge ducks down to leave a red lipstick print of a kiss where her hand had been.
“It really is a beautiful spot, Gale. You’re doin’ good work around here.”
“Keeps me busy,” he shrugs, still looking away towards the trees, imagining what it’ll look like tonight at sunset, John smiling at him and footsteps muffled by pine needles. The burnished gold glint of the Atlantic through the trees, far and away down the cliff whose long shadow will darken the water further and further until the sun sinks away on the other side of the world and takes John with it.
“Well I’ll let you get on with it, then. I just wanted to come see if you were okay after last night. I met your Artie Cooper after you left, he told me to tell you Perry’s always been like that and not to pay him any mind.”
Gale nods, swings his gaze back to meet Marge’s curiosity head-on. “Yeah, I know. I’m fine.”
“Alright,” she allows, no argument and no wariness in her eyes. Just warm understanding, and a small hint of a smile. “I’ll head on out, then. I’ll see you around though, won’t I?”
“Bound to. Town’s small.”
Marge smiles a little wider, nods at him with a final glance under her lashes, and then she’s walking off between the rows to the nearest path. He looks past her, towards the gates, and spots the bright candy red of Mack’s favorite towncar waiting in one of the few parking spots on the drive just inside the gate. When Marge reaches it she slides behind the wheel easy as anything and coaxes the engine to purring life, backs up with a faint crunch of gravel, and then she’s gone, disappearing past the gates and down the lane towards town.
Gale goes back to his hedges for the day. He works, and he keeps his mind carefully blank, and he finishes his loop of the perimeter with a good trimming of the planted hedges to the left of the gate just as the sun dips behind the trees to the west. He leaves the trimmers hidden in the hedge when he swings the gates shut rather than wasting time returning them to his shed, and he figures that picking up all the trimmings he’s left scattered on the ground all the way around the perimeter in his wake is a project for tomorrow. There’s no time to clean himself up either – he runs full-tilt across the grounds and he’s sweating and a little out of breath when he leaps over a mossy log into the clearing to throw himself right into John’s waiting arms.
“Whoa, hey. Easy, sweetheart,” John chuckles; Gale closes his eyes and buries himself in the warm welcome curve of neck, entire body arching as close as he can possibly get. “Okay,” John murmurs, amusement gone, “okay Buck, shh. I’m right here.”
Keith: We’re gonna freeze at this point… I’ll need a strong drink to warm myself up later…
Faith: Make that a hot chocolate for me. There’s gotta be a chocolaterie around here somewhere, right?
Keith: I wouldn’t count on it. We’re smack dab in the middle of the mountains.
Faith: Aha, you’re not wrong about that.
Faith: Speaking of…
Keith: Hrm?
Faith: Don’t you think those two are having a little too much fun over there?
Dino: Heads up, Junior! Hah!
Junior: Whoa!?
Dino: Haha, nice dodge!
Junior: That was an awesome throw! Playing catch really pays off, huh?
Dino: I could say the same about you. All that time you spent practicing your pitches absolutely shows.
Faith: They’re really getting into that snowball fight, aren’t they?
Keith: Ye—p. Leave it to those two to turn a heap of snow into a deadly weapon—
[Splat]
Keith: Agh! C- cold!?
Dino: Nihihi, that’s strike one Keith ♪
Keith: Hrmph, more like a dead ball.
Junior: Eat shit, you fuck ass DJ!
[Throw]
Faith: Whoa…
Keith: No fair, he dodged it.
[Splat]
Keith: Waugh!?
Junior: Ah…
Keith: …Can you guys quit actin’ like a bunch of kids already?
Dino: Ahaha, sorry ‘bout that. I thought you’d be able to dodge it.
Keith: It’s too cold to be moving around like that.
Dino: Then why don’t you join us? You’re bound to warm up once you get your blood pumping. It’ll be fun ♪
Dino: C’mon, Faith! You too!
Faith: Yeah… I’m gonna pass on that. I’m not really in the mood to run around in this kind of weather.
Keith: Count me out too. I can barely feel my fingers as is…
Dino: Is it really that bad? I’m bundled up so well that it doesn’t feel cold at all~
Junior: I’m pretty warm too, although the shorts do make it a little chilly.
Faith: These outfits are made with a special material developed by the research division after all.
Dino: Really? No wonder they’re so fashionable, flexible, and functional ♪
Junior: Don’t you think they made mine a little too cutesy though?
Faith: What? You don’t like the shorts? I think they’re just your vibe.
Junior: N- No they aren’t!
Keith: Whatever. The sooner we get this winter festival and Christmas League over with, the sooner we can get back to our warm and toasty tower.
Faith: We’ve got double the work cut out for us, don’t we?
Keith: Ugh…
Dino: Don’t worry, it’ll be over before you know it! We have most of the preparations for the Christmas League complete, so it’s just a matter of putting it all together.
Dino: As for the winter festival, we’re just there to hype things up, so it’ll be nice and easy ♪
Keith: You seem pretty excited about this even though it’s just business as usual.
Dino: Wouldn’t anyone? This festival only happens once every four years.
Dino: What could be more love and peace than building snow sculptures and celebrating the Chrstmas season together ☆
Keith: Yeah, yeah, love and peace for all…
Faith: What is our sculpture gonna be though? We talked about it the whole way here and still don’t have a solid plan.
Dino: Hmm, wouldn’t it be more fun to build something everyone can enjoy?
Keith: Like?
Dino: I’m glad you asked! What if we make a pi—
Keith, Faith, & Junior: We’re not doing pizza.
Dino: What!? Why not!?
Keith: How would we make a flat snow sculpture anyways?
Dino: Alright, how about we make a giant replica of Faith inst—
Faith: I think the Valentine version was more than enough, Dino.
Dino: Aw… I thought it’d be a good idea. Everyone loves you.
Keith: It might make the girls happy at least.
Junior: Isn’t this supposed to be a family event though? Maybe we should do something kids would like.
Faith: Why don’t we build a sculpture of Keith then? I hear he’s a hit in the Kids’ Space.
Keith: Yeah and that joke ends with me shooting it down.
Dino: I think that’s a great idea, Junior.
Dino: But what do kids like these days?
Junior: If we’re talking about that age range, Santa Claus is probably a safe choice, but I bet other participants are gonna do that too…
Junior: Oh, I got it! Why don’t we do a character from some cartoon or educational show?
Junior: We could make something like that giant yellow bird or the monster that’s always eating cookies. Wouldn’t that work?
Faith: Oh? You sure know a lot about this, don’t you, Ochibi-chan. Not that I’m surprised.
Junior: Doesn’t everyone!? You’re treating me like a kid again, aren’t you!?
Dino: Well I think you’re onto something.
Dino: Whenever we decide on a character, I can check to make sure we can use them.
[Wind]
Keith: Brr… Is it just me or has the temperature been dropping?
Faith: The wind’s not exactly helping either although it does feel pretty cold on the skin.
Dino: Huh, that’s strange. The forecast said it’d be sunny all day, so the temperature should stay consistent.
Junior: Hey, look at all those clouds rolling in. Doesn’t it seem like it’s gonna snow?
Keith: Since we’ve already scoped out the festival area, let’s head back to the cottage.
- success! i think. guess we’ll see if something breaks or not.
- i was kinda wondering how/where i was supposed to find the dlc content, but three new quests just popped up in my questlog, so that makes things easy. i’ve decided to finally go after the INSTITUTE, so i won’t tackle these immediately probably, but i know where they are when i want them.
- installing AUTOMATRON reminded me of something i forgot to do a while ago, which is upgrade the SILVER SHROUD COSTUME! idk if i remembered to post it but back when i took CURIE to see AMARI i popped in on my buddy KENT, who had some ideas to improve the costume but needed me to bring it to him. gonna cross that off the list real quick so i don’t forget again.
- whoa! this thing’s better than my MINUTEMEN GENERAL’S UNIFORM! i’d kinda assumed that there’d be maybe one endgame-level outfit per major faction (BROTHERHOOD, MINUTEMEN, RAILROAD, maybe the GUNNERS/TRIGGERMEN/RAIDERS/ATOM CATS(?)/etc if i’m intended to get in good with them at some point), so i wasn’t expecting this thing to be one of them. i guess it might be intended as a “none of the above” option? idk.
- alright, time to choose my party for the GLOWING SEA! somewhere i’ve picked up three HAZMAT SUITS which protect from an absolutely insane amount of radiation damage, so i’m limiting myself to two compantions. above table, i know that it probably won’t make all that much of a difference who i take with me, but in-character i’ve been kinda going through a process of elimination as to who would be good or bad to take with me.
- DANSE, DEACON, and PRESTON are associated with factions i know to be major players. as a renegade, it’s possible that VIRGIL would be comforted by the assistance of one of the INSTITUTE’s enemies, but he also elected to go and pitch his tent in the least hospitible environment he could find instead of contacting any of them, so it’s equally possible that he doesn’t want to ally with them for fear of calling attention to himself. until i know where he stands, these three are out.
- CAIT, STRONG, and MACCREADY are similarly associated with factions of the COMMONWEALTH (RAIDERS, SUPER MUTANTS, and GUNNERS respectively), and although they’re all on the outs with their former comrades they’re the three who strike me as the most likely to misbehave/give a bad impression, so they’re also on the bench.
- CURIE and NICK are both people whom it would potentially be very good to have with me, but the fact that they’re synths might make VIRGIL suspicious that this is an INSTITUTE trap, so unfortunately they might have to come on a second or third trip depending on my read of VIRGIL’s general attitude.
- i don’t think robots are really damaged by radiation, so CODSWORTH could be an addition to the two companions, but it’s occurred to me that VIRGIL might name the price of his help as blowing up the INSTITUTE and everyone inside, including SHAUN, and i’m not sure i can trust CODSWORTH to go along with that bluff. sorry buddy, you’re staying home.
- DOGMEAT is the bestest boy but unfortunately he can’t wear a HAZMAT SUIT :(
- funnily enough, that leaves my fast-talking shitkicker pals PIPER and HANCOCK. we’re gonna be the best dressed adventuring party in the COMMONWEALTH lol.
It felt like you were floating. You were so sleepy, and you felt like you were floating. The white noise in your ears, was it the sound of waves lapping at the ocean shore? Because that would explain why you felt like you were floating. It was so peaceful and calm, being weightless and relaxed in your own personal sea of tranquility. You drew in a deep breath and sighed, allowing your worries and anxieties to wash away with the constant lapping of the tide.
Somewhere, on the shore maybe? You could hear a voice. Deep and clipped, a rumbling staccato buzz in the back of your head. Whoever he was was calling your name. The sound of the waves, the lull of the ocean - the pull was too great, and you couldn’t hear what he was saying. Just that his voice was strong and masculine.
The gentle tug of the waves was washing you out deeper into the ocean, but you didn’t fight it. You allowed yourself to float, buoyed by the water, eyes closed and relaxed.
“Come back to me!” The words cut clear through the static of the water, and you felt yourself jolt from floating to just laying. Had this man grabbed you? Was he trying to pull you back to shore? Were you in danger? From him? From the sea? The waves wrenched you from his hands, and again, you were floating. You considered listening for his words again, but the gentle rocking motion of the water lulled you back into relaxation and you could feel yourself drifting away from shore again.
“We’re losing her!” The man’s voice was starting to sound panicked, and again, you jolted into awareness, just for a moment. A shot of pain ripped through you as you felt him drawing you back to the shore. The waves dragged you back and you felt yourself flail and start to sink, just for a moment.
XxX
“We’re losing her!” Steve tore your tac suit open, baring your chest, and started chest compressions. “Get the medkit for me! I need the shears!”
Tony shoved the back toward him, and Natasha pulled it open, grabbing the shears from the top and handing them over quickly. While Steve sliced through your sports bra, Nat readied the defibrillator. Steve held a hand up to stop her from placing the pads, and continued the chest compressions and rescue breathing.
XxX
The floating sensation left you, and you felt yourself being dragged down by the undertow. You tried to paddle against the straining waves, but couldn’t so much as move your arms. You vaguely remembered your surf instructor telling you to swim with the current toward the edge of the riptide, and tried to manoeuvre yourself to where you thought the waves might be gentler, but you couldn’t. You broke through the waves, gasping, and finally fought against the drag until you were out of the rip and floating again. You rolled back onto your back, closed your eyes against the sun and floated.
XxX
You’d drawn in a deep ragged breath, and then fallen back unresponsive.
“Tony?” Steve asked. Tony dropped his visor and starred at you.
“She’s got a heart rate. It’s slow. BP is low. Oxygen sats are crap. We need to get out of here and get her back to the compound. Nat, get us up in the air,” he ordered. Steve pulled the oxygen tank off the wall of the quinjet and attached a mask before attaching it to your face.
“I can’t find anything wrong with her, Tony,” Steve sighed, throwing a blanket across your naked form. “I don’t suppose that suit has a CT in it?”
“No such luck, Cap,” Tony shook his head. “We’ll get her in the cradle, she’ll be fixed up just fine.”
Steve entwined his fingers in yours and leaned against the bulkhead of the quinjet. “I hope so.”
XxX
You washed up on shore with the changing of the tides, and felt your skin prickle against the sun. Fighting the exhaustion you felt from your swim against the riptide, you sighed and stretched out on the sand. You yawned and opened your eyes as you rolled onto your side, and saw a beautiful woman sitting on a rock observing you. She was stark naked, but had drawn her legs up against her chest. The sun refracted off her skin, which was gleaming ultramarine, complementing the regal blue of her ultramarine hair.
“I didn’t think mermaids had legs?” You asked. The pitch of her laugh felt unnatural.
“You tell me, I’m only here because you summoned me,” she replied. You propped yourself up on an elbow and looked at her, and then around the beach.
“Am I dead?” You asked.
“No.”
“What’s wrong with me then? Why am I here?” You asked.
“Your brain is protecting you.”
“From what?” You demanded.
“From feeling the pain.” She was nearly expressionless as you spoke, and refused to offer more information.
“What pain?” You were getting frustrated.
“Intercranial hemorrhage.” Her voice was soothing at least. “Now rest. Or you’ll never wake. Stop fighting and rest.”
“If this is a dream, I won’t get a sunburn?”
She laughed again. “No. You’re quite safe from that.” She rose and stepped back to the water’s edge. “Rest.” She dove into the shallows and when she resurfaced, you saw her tail breach and slap the water in acknowledgement.
You took her advice and laid back down, closing your eyes against the sun, and allowing your body to rest.
XxX
Steve sat beside the cradle, partially stripped out of his suit, just watching you. Nat came over with a glass of water and nudged him.
“Go have a shower, get some food,” she recommended. Steve shook his head.
“What if she wakes up?”
“I’ll be here. She’ll know I love her more,” Natasha teased. Steve scowled. “Steve, you won’t do her any good stinky and hangry. Go get washed up. There’s a chicken rice bowl in the kitchen with your name on it. I’ve got this.”
Steve sighed and pushed himself to his feet, leaving the quiet of the infirmary. Natasha looked down on you and flopped in the seat Steve had vacated.
“As much as I want you to wake up, you should probably save it for when he gets back,” she said to you. “But don’t even think about dying on us.”
XxX
“I want you to wake up.” The feminine voice broke through the wash of the waves, and seabird song. You groaned and opened one eye, thinking the mermaid had returned. There was no one around. You sat up, and took in your surroundings again. The island was beautiful, from what you could see. And your subconscious was ensuring all your needs were met. A small, but sheer rock face a short way down the beach was home to a waterfall that you could only assume was fresh water. There were coconut trees at the edge of the beach, and a few short bushes that looked to be pineapples. You could be quite happy here, you thought.
“Baby, you’ve got to come back to me.” The same male voice from before echoed in your head. It was so loud this time that it made you dizzy, and you stumbled toward the shade. You might not get sunburn, but your brain felt scrambled from the heat.
XxX
“Baby, you’ve got to come back to me,” Steve kissed your knuckles. “It’s been three days. Doctor Cho says all your scans have returned to normal. You’re okay. Wake up. Please.”
XxX
“Please.” It was a single word, but it held more passion and pain than you could ever remember hearing. You looked around the beach. The voices came in waves every so often, but usually quiet, just breaking through the gentle but persistent noise of the ocean waves lapping against the shore. If only you knew where the voices were coming from.
Since you’d washed up on the island, you’d searched the entire thing, looking for the ghost voices. They all seemed familiar, but you couldn’t place them. You flopped down against the soft branches you’d turned into a makeshift mattress and allowed your mind to wander, trying to place the male voice you kept hearing as you watched the clouds drift across the sky.
XxX
“Any change?” Tony leaned into the infirmary, holding a bag of dried fruit. Steve looked haggard. Tony couldn’t guess when the man had last slept, but he looked like he might not have shaved in at least a week. Natasha had stopped nagging Steve about hygiene when he’d told her to fuck off earlier in the week.
“Nothing.” Steve’s voice was devoid of emotion.
According to Dr. Cho, there was nothing wrong with you, but the vegetative state was persistent. Steve was grieving you, despite your textbook vital signs. He hung his head in his hands and his shoulders started to shake.
“Whoa there, Steve, Dr. Cho says she’s going to be fine. Let her brain rest. There must be more to it than the cradle can see. Tony rushed forward, not even thinking, and rubbed his hand on Steve’s back. Steve leaned into his friend and wept.
“What if this is it? What if this is all I get? Just a few months with her and now she’s gone?” Steve asked, his voice overwrought with sorrow. Tony patted Steve’s back awkwardly.
“This isn’t it,” Tony promised. “You need some rest, and a shower. And maybe a shave, although I have to say the beard is fetching. I’ll sit with her. If you come back in less than six hours, I’ll smother her myself.”
Steve glared at Tony, but pushed to his feet. “You wouldn’t dare. I’m only going because I owe Nat an apology.”
XxX
The male voice was different, and his chatter was non-stop. You wanted to find him and tell him to stick a cork in it, but as usual, there was no one on the island but you. Yet another fruitless search for the voices that haunted your island made you realize how lonely you were.
Had you always been here? How had you gotten here? You remembered floating in the ocean, but where had you been before that? You sat down and struggled to remember. As you stared out at the water, you idly doodled in the sand with a small twig. The nattering man finally stopped speaking and you sighed in relief. You pushed yourself back on your feet and rose, looking down at the series of circles with the star in the centre. It had to mean something, it was the only thing you ever seemed to draw when you were thinking about things.
XxX
“Tony says the beard looks good. I never would have worn a beard before, but I kind of like it. It’s not fancy like his either. It’s just a beard.” Steve smoothed down the hair on his face and took a sip from his coffee. He picked up your hand and placed it against the hairs on his cheek, smoothing your hand down the scruff. Your fingers reflexively curled into the hair and you let out a soft sigh.
Steve leaned forward, “Come back to me. Please.”
XxX
“Please.” The anguish in the voice tore through your heart and you sat up. Had it never been nighttime since you got here?
“Please.” Your ears started to ring and your vision blurred. The ocean was placid, calm. It had never been so calm.
“Please, baby.” Memories rushed through you and you looked around at the island, no longer beautiful and friendly, but instead looking depleted and dangerous.
author’s note: so! this is based on a theory from @bbygirljuvi !!! it’s essentially predicting what would happen in chap 58 of 100 yq! so if u dont read 100 yq and have no idea what im talking ab, give chap 57 a read lmaooo. remember when i JUST said i didnt like writing fics of me predicting what would happen in canon in the future? well, fuck it ig!!!
ALSO i wanna point out that i LOVEEEE ur guys’ feedback and love sooossososo much!!! the only reason i dont reply to comments is bc this isnt my main blog so if i reply it will only reply from my main that i dont even use anymore:/ so i dont want u guys to think im ignoring u!!!:) just know that i do read ur comments and i love ur support! if u message me or leave me an ask i will 100% respond!:) thank u ALL ilysm!!! enjoy!:)
*
“She’s my power to live.”
White.
Everything after that was just white. All she could see, all she could hear. The world around her completely stopped at that point in time.
Words like these were the exact words Juvia had dreamt of hearing for what felt like an eternity at that point. She knew her face was beaming red, and her mouth was agape.
After the short period of nothingness, the words repeated in her head over and over again. Did she hear him right? Did she mix up the words in her head? No. No, she was sure that she didn’t. “She’s my power to live.” played on loop. The more the words swirled in her head, the more she felt her heart burn. It was all too much for her, but in the best possible way. She completely forgot where she even was for a moment— that she was in the middle of a battle, having the life drained from by the second.
Juvia’s body shook as her head bobbed up and down, trying to catch her breath in that moment. Her skin was so hot she thought she might melt. She was his power to live. She knew that meant a lot, because that was exactly how she felt about Gray. All the emotions in her were rising to a boil, and it wasn’t until she heard her darling call her name that she was finally being pulled back to reality.
“Calm down, Juvia!” She heard his voice call to her. She then remembered just where she was and what she was doing.
“Gah!” Metro called out in sheer pain. “So hot!”
As Juvia reached her arms out to run and embrace her beloved, her arms didn’t listen. They were stuck to the tree. However, the grip did waiver. Juvia’s hot water was causing him to slip. Then, in that moment, her annoyance took priority above all her other emotions, and she let it out where she knew it would be useful.
“Let Juvia go!” Her voice was brash, and her body began to boil even more, doubling the steam that was already coming off of her and Metro.
“Stop it! Ah!” Metro’s body thrashed with discomfort, but Juvia wasn’t letting up— not until she was in Gray’s arms.
“Ergh!” Juvia practically growled. She mustered up all that emotion and got ready for one final blow of hot water.
Metro let out a scream of pain before losing consciousness and collapsing to the ground into a pile of steaming wood. Gray stood in awe as he watched it all happen, and once he realized Metro was about to go down, he took started to lunge forward to catch Juvia who would fall. Before he could get there, Juvia fell to the ground and stuck the landing. Gray didn’t even have a chance to ask if Juvia was ok before she herself lunged at him.
“Gray-sama!~” She sang as she threw herself onto Gray, wrapping around his torso.
“Whoa!” Gray grunted on impact. His eyes were still wide as he was still attempting to process everything that just happened.
“Oh, Gray-sama! Did you really mean what you said?!” She nuzzled her giddy face into his chest.
Gray was still dumbfounded at the pile of defeated wood that laid in front of him. He couldn’t process what Juvia was even saying. Just a second ago she was struggling to stay conscious, stuck on the enemy, and now she was completely fine and safe with Gray.
“Uh— What exactly— just happened?” Gray stammered. He finally began to reciprocate the hug by resting a hand on the top of Juvia’s back as his other hand ruffled through his hair.
“Hm?” Juvia pulled herself out of Gray’s chest and rose a curious eyebrow. She noticed he still had his eyes locked onto what used to be the great and powerful Metro and turned her head to match his gaze, and then quickly turned back to Gray. “Oh! That! Juvia can get pretty—erm—- crazy when her emotions get a little out of control.” She chuckled nervously, realizing that what she did was a bit much.
“Yeah... you don’t say.” Gray huffed.
“But Juvia couldn’t help it!” She threw herself right back onto him. “Gray-sama just said the best and most romantic words ever! Juvia had to give you a great big hug as soon as possible!” She giggled and snuggled back up all over again.
Gray snorted. “Wow.” He wiped his hair out of his eyes. It all happened so fast. Gray’s mind was running a mile of minute just a second ago thinking how he would rescue Juvia, but she went and rescued herself.
“You are... You’re incredible, you know that?” His breath was still stolen, but gave a chuckle at the end.
“Me?!” Juvia pulled away with wide eyes.
“Yes, you!” He finally looked down at her.
“Here I was so worried about protecting you and keeping you safe, but... you don’t really need me to do that, do you?”
“Well, of course Juvia wants Gray-sama to protect her! That is music to Juvia’s ears!” She swooned for a moment. “But don’t forget, Juvia is a Fairy Tail wizard. I know how to hold my own.” She smiled surely.
There he had it. Gray just got that closure he’d been searching for all this time, but Juvia took his closure and flipped it upside down. She gave him closure, but even better, she proved to him that he didn’t need to keep waiting to be “strong enough” or “confident enough”. He was confident enough and felt so strongly, that he didn’t need any of the validation that he thought he needed. All he needed was her, and he didn’t have to keep pushing off his feelings anymore.
Tears rushed to his eyes as he swfitly brought Juvia back into his embrace. “Thank you.” He said softly, tightening his arms.
“Thank you, Gray-sama.” Juvia wrapped her arms further.
They stood there for a while, just in each other’s hold.
After some time, Juvia’s legs began to wobble a bit as she felt light headed, and her stance struggled, causing her to take a step to the side and lose her grip.
“Juvia!” Gray exclaimed, concerned. “Are you alright?” He pulled her away.
“Well,” She chuckled. “Juvia did just exert a lot of magic energy back there, and while I can take care if myself, Juvia’s not invincible either.”
Gray matched Juvia’s grin. “Alright, let’s get you somewhere to rest. Can you walk?”
“Yes.” Juvia nodded. She took a few steps forward perfectly fine, and then she paused. A light bulb went off in her head.
“Well-“ Her voice pitch rose. “Actually, Juvia is feeling sooo weak! Juvia doesn’t think she can walk! Gray-sama will have to carry her!” She dramatically wailed, but as usual, Gray saw right through her antics.
“Yeah, nice try.” He scoffed.
“Aww...” Juvia’s shoulders sunk. It was worth a shot.
Gray smirked and rolled his eyes. “Here, just in case, wrap your arm around me.”
Juvia lit up all over again. “Ok! That’ll work.” Gray squatted a bit so Juvia could wrap her arm around his shoulders. Gray’s one hand held onto Juvia’s while the other wrapped around her waist for stability.
“Oh, and by the way,” Gray blushed. “I did mean what I said.”
Juvia was a bit confused, and she raised a brow.
Gray grumbled. “Ya’ know, about you being my power to live, or whatever.” He looked down, embarrassed. “I really did mean it.” He looked back at Juvia who had the same expression she had on her face the first time he said it. He quickly averted his gaze again.
“And, actually, you’re not just my power to live. You’re a whole bunch of other stuff too. You’re—well— my world, honestly.” He finally finished, and he felt a huge weight lifted from his shoulders when he finally said it.
Juvia gasped with delight, and she tilted her head into Gray. She giggled as they continued walking, and she tightened her grip on Gray’s hand.
“Well, that makes Juvia very happy. Juvia feels the exact same.”
prompt #22: “I’ll wait for you.” from list of things that say I love you without saying it ---> please send me requests from this list!
thanks @anakinswhore for requesting! This kind of got away from me in the beginning but I hope you like it. (this is also my first time doing anakin actually so I hope I did him justice)
The door to your room opens loudly and you awake with a start. It’s pitch black, but you grab your lightsaber off the table next to you and ignite it right at the throat of the intruder. Anakin Skywalker raises his arms above his head in surrender and says, “Whoa, it’s just me.”
It takes you a minute still to let your guard down, and you look over his face illuminated in the green glow of your lightsaber. When you sheath it again, you turn on the lights and push him backwards playfully, “Dude,” You say, “You scared the crap out of me.”
He smiles and crosses his arms over his chest, “And you almost cut my head clean off, so I think we’re even.”
“What are you doing here?” You ask, “And more importantly how did you escape the watchful eye of Master Kenobi?” He wrinkles his nose a little at that, and you feel bad because you know it’s a bit of a sore subject for him. Anakin and his master are close, which sometimes makes him the target of rumors by the other padawan’s. You’ve told him that it’s just because they're all jealous because they’re not as advanced as him, and they don’t have masters of their own but it still stings, you can see it in his face.
“We’re not connected at the hip you know,” He says.
“That’s news to me,” You smile, teasing him a little bit more.
“I came here to show you something, but since you want to make fun of me I guess I’ll just go see it myself-” He starts for the door and you stop him.
You seriously think he’s going to leave so you reach out to grab his hand and stop him. The moment you grab onto his hand, the world stops. It’s almost like an electrical pulse flows through you, and you don’t want to let go under any circumstances. He stops going to the door and just looks back at you with an expression you’ve never seen before and can't understand. You don’t let yourself think that he might be feeling some of that electricity too, because he couldn’t possibly.
When you meet his eyes you feel self conscious and let go. You shake yourself back into the present, “I want you to show me whatever it is.”
His smile returns and it seems like the moment is forgotten. You follow behind him as you make your way through the halls of the temple, careful not to make yourselves known to anyone, especially the guards who would definitely let the council know about your little adventure. You don’t really know where he’s taking you but you're excited to see whatever it is he has to show you, which is something considering things at the temple have been pretty boring lately. It’s just turned into the same thing everyday, and you're looking for something to space things up. You consider yourself lucky that you have Anakin, or you’d really go insane from boredom. If it wasn’t for him getting himself into trouble, or bringing you back stories from some mission with his master there would be nothing to entertain you.
He finally brings you to a set of stairs hidden away from most eyes. Of course he would be the one to find them, most likely during one of his escape attempts from his masters gaze. Anakin loves Master Kenobi, you both know that, but he can sometimes find his masters presence a bit suffocating. Up the stairs, there's a small window that he climbs out of and you follow.
The second you make it outside, your face lights up. You’re up high on one of the towers of the temple, where there's a small balcony where you can sit. You head right over to the edge and look out over the city of coruscant below you, the hum of beings and the buildings filling the air to the brim with noise and light. You turn back to Anakin, your smile wide, “You found this for me?”
He leans against the wall, looking proud of himself, “You like to be up high.”
You nod softly, and then turn your attention back to the ledge partially because heat is beginning to rise into your cheeks. Suddenly, you're overcome with your feelings for Anakin, which you can usually tamper down. Anakin who’s been your friend for as long as you can remember, who’s been your only friend most of the time, who helped you when your lightsaber design just wouldn’t work, who made your day with whatever trouble he decided to get into. Maybe you’ve been in love with him for longer than you think, since he started with the little things, since he remembered things about you that no one else seemed to even notice.
He comes over next to you and looks out. “If only we could see the stars,” He says, his eyes fixed on the sky above you.
You nod slowly, “I know, everything goes too fast here.” The temple is nothing like the city it’s in. Inside the walls, things are calm and slow, while outside the city is moving at hundreds of miles per hour with people crashing into one another and running over each other. There are no stars over coruscant, because of the lights which is something neither of you have ever liked. You’ve always longed for nature, for a planet filled with green, which you don’t understand because you’ve always lived on coruscant. The theory that you think of home, even unconsciously has crossed your mind, but you don’t want to think about it that much.
Anakin turns to you with another unreadable expression. It’s something about that that makes you want to break every rule, high above the city, ouch of reach of the temple you want to break every rule for him, break down every wall that you’ve put up between the two of you. You love him, in a way that makes you so dizzy you almost need to lie down, you love him in a way that's as fluorescent as coruscant, so you decide to finally do something about it.
You kiss him and everything stops. The world stops but everything is bright and explodes in color. When you kiss him it feels like you are somewhere green, where everything is calm but fluorescent.
But when it’s over, your jolted back into reality and your instinct is to run as fast as you can from what you just did.
You don’t see him for two days after that, and though you would never say out loud it's because you're scared. You’re scared of what loving him means, what loving him could do to you. The fear overrides your want to tell him how you feel, and something stops you from having the chance. Two days after the kiss on the roof, the council assigns you a Master, who’s skills require them to travel the galaxy on missions most of the time. You’re going to have to leave the only place you’ve ever really known to go off into the wide galaxy, and it’s kind of exhilarating. Or it would be if it weren’t for what you would be leaving behind.
When you finally tell him that you're leaving, you break down into tears. He doesn’t say anything, just folds you into his arms and holds on as you bury your face into her chest. “I’ll wait for you,” He says softly, “I’ll wait until you come back.”
