#( Hi there ^^ I hope you don’t mind this I had a magic anon happen so Neuvi’s stuck in a lil dragon form :3 )

[monsieur-neuvillette]

”hello~”

-@the-one-and-only-furina

He startled, tilting his head up to look at Furina before hesitating. This was a situation he didn’t particularly want to explain at all, shifting awkwardly and looking away, “Hello Lady Furina…” He murmured, staring at the ground, “Please do not ask questions about my current circumstances, I am not certain how it happened.”

[endless-ineffabilities]

For His Eyes Only (a Chemical Override minishot)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: credit goes to this genius anon! This one is set right before part 7, when they've just started their fwb arrangement. Again, no taglist for minishots. I trust that this will find you when it finds you <3

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Fabien hoped to comfort Ewan over his recent heartbreak with the reader, but soon discovers that things between them have taken an unexpected turn.

Fabien and Ewan slid into a booth at their usual pub, the ambient noise of clinking glasses and laughter surrounding them. The two lads were incidentally in the same part of town for respective meetings, and thought to meet afterward.

Fabien couldn't help but eye his friend with a mix of concern and curiosity. The last time they’d met, Ewan had been putting on a front, dismissive about his past involvement with you. But Fabien saw right through him.

“So, how’s it going, mate?” Fabien asked, trying to sound casual but clearly probing. “How’s it really going? I’ve been meaning to have a proper one-with-one with you, you know?"

Ewan, who had been looking unusually cheerful, took a long swig of his beer. “Yeah, I’m good. Really fucking good, actually.” The statement was loaded, and while it wasn't exactly insincere, Fabien could sense something lingering underneath.

Ewan’s upbeat demeanor felt too polished, too forced. Fabien asked, “Did you find some magical cure for heartbreak?”

Ewan’s lips curled into a mysterious smile. As he leaned forward to grab some peanuts from the table, he tilted his head slightly, revealing a conspicuous hickey on his neck. Fabien’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Well, well,” Fabien said, trying to suppress a grin. “Looks like someone’s been busy.”

Ewan caught on, freezing in place as if a deer in headlights. But he quickly rolled with it, his smirk widening, eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and defiance. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Fabien leaned back, feigning shock. “So, did you find a new lady to help you get over things, or is this just a new accessory? Anyone I know?”

Ewan replied, “It’s not what you think. Things are a bit… complicated.”

“Complicated?” Fabien echoed, his curiosity piqued. “Like, how many people are we talking about?”

Ewan shrugged nonchalantly, but his smile betrayed a hint of pride. Or was that bitterness? “Let’s just say my lips are sealed.”

Fabien laughed, shaking his head. “C’mon, don’t leave me hanging. I’m dying to know what’s really going on.”

Ewan just raised his glass. “Trust me, you’re better off not knowing.”

As they clinked glasses, Fabien couldn’t help but marvel at how Ewan had managed to move on so quickly and intriguingly. Last time they met, in the pub with the other lads, Ewan could not conceal each flicker of emotion on his face when Fabien told him about meeting you. That glimmer of hope when Fabien hinted that you and Jacob didn’t seem like anything more than friends.

Whatever was happening in Ewan’s life, it was clear he wasn’t about to reveal all the juicy details just yet.

Ewan offered to buy another round, gesturing to the bartender while pulling out his wallet.

Fabien glanced down, his eyes catching on a familiar photo peeking out - a sweet, old picture of a younger Ewan with his nan. It made Fabien smile softly, but as Ewan fished around for his card, the photo flap flipped open a bit too far, revealing something else entirely.

Fabien blinked, doing a double-take as the new image came into focus. It was you. And not just any picture of you - oh no, this one was definitely… memorable. You were seated sideways to the lens, twisting provocatively to meet the camera’s gaze, your arms draped alluringly over your bare chest. A duvet, blessedly, thank the gods, covered your lower half, but the whole scene was just shy of being a full-on scandal.

Fabien’s mind raced between wanting to laugh and praying for divine intervention to erase what he’d just seen. “Uh, Ewan...” Fabien swallowed nervously, trying to find the right words to address the situation without making it even more awkward.

Ewan, still busy with his card, finally glanced up, noticing Fabien’s expression. “What?” he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion before following Fabien’s gaze to the open wallet. The moment he realized what was on display, his eyes widened, and he snapped the wallet shut with an embarrassed exhale.

“Fuck's sake,” Ewan cursed, trying to play it off, though the pink tinge in his cheeks betrayed him. “Yeah, that’s, uh… a private moment.”

Fabien stifled a laugh, raising an eyebrow. “Private? No kidding, mate. But aren't you holding on to the past?”

Ewan shot back with a protective edge to his voice. “Look, this is between me and…” He trailed off, giving Fabien a meaningful look. “And it’s not for public viewing.”

Fabien held up his hands in mock surrender, a grin still tugging at his lips. “Hey, your secret’s safe with me. But you might want to keep that flap under control, or you’ll give someone else a heart attack.”

Ewan rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, yeah. Just… forget you saw anything. That view is for my eyes only.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m trying,” Fabien replied with a chuckle. Ewan’s reaction just about gave away the lone culprit for the fresh lovebite on his neck.

As they continued their conversation, Fabien couldn’t help but think that he was right all along - whatever was going on between Ewan and you, it was clearly more cherished than he’d realized.

“You better erase all trace of that picture from your brain,” Ewan smirked at some point later, humorously warning.

Fabien incredulously responded, “Mate, I have a girlfriend! Damn, I worry about the poor sod who will ever try to properly steal her from you.”

“So do I.”

Good ol' blast from the recent past! See you for part 9 💙

What did you think of Ewan's precious little picture? If you have more minishot ideas, let me know below!

[jomamaofficial]

The Chronicles of A Hero's Daughter pt.2 (Father!All Might and Daughter!Reader Angst Oneshot)

A/N: SO, THIS WAS ASKED IN MY ASK BOX. BUT I STUPIDLY REPLIED TO IT SO I DON'T KNOW WHICH ANON ASKED FOR IT SO I'M JUST GOING TO TAG EVERYONE WHO LIEKD THAT POST HERE AND HOPE IT'S THE BRILLIANT ANON WHO WANTED ME TO WRITE A PART 2. @dark-magic-phoenix @crystal-freak24 @observaureium @justtovi3w62. As always, my Ask Box is open for any requests or just a conversation. Please remember to take care of yourselves, and enjoy. As always, I would love to see your thoughts in the comments :). TW: Graphic descriptions of blood (coughing blood), graphic imagery of crushing a heart (doesn't happen, just explained) CW: difficult father-daughter dynamics. Taglist: @thatcatladywrites @smikys-stuff @kimberlyfletcher @dawnwriterimagines Masterlist Word Count: 1951. Summary: One argument led to another– the foundation of your family was built upon suffering and sacrifice. Secrets were unveiled, revealing the true intentions of your father, the lingering wounds of the past stinging harder than any cut has ever. With tension reaching a breaking point, what happens when you confront your father, searching for the harsh truth, even if it leads to a devastating decision– you will never be the same again. He will never be the same again. 

——————————————————————————————————

Toshinori’s chest rose and fell. 

“You don’t mean that…” 

A pang struck through your heart as your father’s laboured breaths increased, tailing off in steady wheezes that only grew louder. 

“Dad…” you whispered, closing your eyes. “Dad, I didn’t m-”

Your voice cracked, succumbing to the hot tears which burned against your cheeks. Emotions flooded your head, as though they had been waiting to escape from the dam of truth that you had to silence to protect the peace in your family. The pressure had built up and that dam had finally broken in the most irreparable way possible. 

Shame hammered your mind, delivering blunt throbs as you watched your dad clutching his frail chest in agony. 

Guilt drilled poison into your veins as your father struggled to stand up– his sickly body unable to bear this pressure. His airways had been restricted, thus his once strong and proud chest had nothing to show but a vacant cavity, struggling to hold itself up. 

This living room had always been small– enough space just for the two of you. Dad and his little hero. It had always been you two, but today, this room was longer and narrower, as though mocking your sanity which had become a battlefield. 

Would you protect your father and carry on living in this dollhouse family, of which the  foundations were built off of your suffering.

Or would you protect yourself and destroy your relationship with the only family that you ever had.

The struggle had refused to forsake– silence had become your greatest enemy. It had left you alone with your screaming thoughts of doubt that deafened your conviction, leaving you straggled, naked, and vulnerable in the vast depths of your fears because what if. 

What if Midoriya truly was better than you? 

What if you truly were not worth it?

What if you had lost your rights to call yourself his daughter. 

Forever. 

You had lost everything to the ravenous beast which ruined everything you touched, and it wanted more. It wanted more, so it began making more noise, howling over the whispers of the wind, it howled over the ticking of the clock. It howled until nothing could be heard. 

Silence. 

Silence. 

Silence.

It had become silent. 

As though you were the only person in the room. 

A sudden thud drew your attention to the floor. 

Toshinori collapsed on the ground, and his eyes had gone blank, jaw slack. His ribs stuck out from under his skin, showing through his thin white t-shirt as his brassy cough filled his mouth with blood.

He urgently covered his mouth with his hands, forcing it shut but to no avail. It had already slipped past his hold, travelling down his neck, staining his shirt. A constant offender.

Your father began developing bloody coughs over three years ago. Yet every time you saw his chest heave and bleed, surges of nausea would creep up your veins, forcing you to leave. 

“Dad!” 

This was too much blood. It wasn’t meant to be like this… The doctor said a few drops or so, maybe a teaspoon, but that was ‘highly unlikely’. You watched as his white shirt became saturated, dizziness threatening to blur your vision.  

But you could not see him like this. You didn’t think twice before rushing to help him– but you were stopped. 

Toshinori raised his shaking hand immediately. You were halted, frozen in disbelief. 

He put his hand back on the floor, taking a few breaths before pushing himself, warranting another step forward from you, another cry, but he just stopped you again. You could only watch as your father relied on his bony wrists to push himself up. 

You could hear his shallow gasps for air, and his repressed coughs– and all you could do was watch your father’s face contort in fatigue and ache. Toshinori had finally gotten up, but that look had not left his face as he pushed past you. You watched the limp in his leg as he hobbled towards the couch, slowly lowering himself onto the cushioned couch. His head slumped onto the head rest, limbs unfurling in exhaustion. 

You were suspended in your head, unable to move past the questions which rung bright sirens. 

You shouldn’t have raised your voice at your own father– the doctor had told you. He’s injured, he’s getting older. He can’t process such shocks like this anymore.

What was wrong with you? 

But it couldn’t have been just your fault… right? But then he pushed you– maybe he didn’t just notice– but what if he did it on pur-

“Y/N”, your father had called for your name, but his eyes did not meet yours. 

Instead, they looked past you. 

Toshinori Yagi adopted Toshinori Y/N when she was five years old. 

A decade after the first quirk was discovered, many adoption agencies in Musutafu began sorting children based off of a ‘ranking system’. 

Official documents stated that this case was first brought up in the Supreme Court due to an incident that had occurred in an orphanage near Musutafu, 26 years ago. It was a heartbreaking case of manslaughter that had taken place when six year old Chihiro Onodera– Quirk: Lava, accidentally murdered eight year old Honoka Sugo– Quirk: Bubbles, during lunch time as they were play-fighting. 

It did not take much convincing as this case had reached international news, thus the court immediately passed a bill on the separation of quirks preliminary based off of their strength and danger levels, which were to be evaluated on a scale of 1 to 5. 

Nevertheless, this bill had struck a controversial match, becoming the largest contemporary topic that was disputed over in the past years. 

Demonstrations, protests and violent public outrage reached its peak when leaked intel revealed that a lot of children began to go missing from Adoption Agencies under the radar– they no longer had papers, as if their identities had been erased off of the face of this Earth. 

Nanami Tomoda, Sae Ojima, Makoto Kanezaki– these were some of the household names that had garnered petrifying national and international headlines: 

Heartbreaking Tragedy Strikes Japan: Devastating Attack Leaves Communities Reeling 

Japan in Shock: Deadly Assault Rocks Nation's Sense of Security 

Aftermath of Brutal Assault Leaves Nation Grieving Chaos and Carnage

Not much was known about these young adults. 

Apart from two things. 

First. 

They were not independent contractors. All of them could be traced back to some of the very few established, powerful, underground organisations. 

And second.

They were all orphans, rated 5, who had been declared missing for ten or more years.

Toshinori Yagi adopted Toshinori Y/N when she was rated 5. 

Toshinori Y/N lost her quirk at age ten. 

You are rated 0. 

Zero.

Toshinori took a deep breath before he spoke. 

“I have raised you since you were five years old.” He still did not meet your eyes. “I raised you in hopes that you would become a strong, and powerful young lady.” 

He drew a breath in– it was laced in disappointment. 

“But why does it feel, as though it has had no influence on you?”

Toshinori shifted both of his arms onto the couch rests, sitting tall. 

“One does not become a hero by winning every fight. Not everything is about a hero’s physical strength. A hero is made when they understand that retaliation only makes them the real villain.” 

Your father’s voice had deepened, and so did the dreadful pit in your stomach that sunk your resolve. 

“A true hero understands that strength lies in the ability to rise above the pain. Because those who focus on what has been lost”, he continued, lips twitching, as a faint, uncontrollable tremor laced his words in indisputable venomous contempt, “are either insane, or desperate for attention they know they will never get.”

Small muscles in your face began to twitch despite the heaviness that had been pulsed through your body, holding it in place, as you just stood there. Your eyes, once red and exposed, had no inhabitant, no focus. 

A ghost town. 

“A true hero is grateful. And recognises every bit of effort someone else put in order to get them to where they are now.” 

His gaunt eyes found yours, casting an unfamiliar chill in your body. They were sunken in, casting his gaze in dark shadows– an abyss impenetrable by light. 

“You got your quirk stolen, Y/N. But you cannot get that back anymore. But it’s been years, I expect at least some gratitude considering I did you a favour by adopting you.” 

He had left a clot that blocked your heart.

“Because no one else would have wanted you.”

It is always the one closest to you that hurts you the most. 

The man you called your father had waited until the last second to take the satisfaction of crushing your heart, flesh against flesh. 

Humans evolved to gain resistance and immunity against everything that threatens their survival.

Therefore, living with this man only meant that you had to gain immunity against pain and humiliation, because that was the only thing that could guarantee your survival. 

So when you shook off the heaviness in your lid and focused onto your father’s face, you could only lift the corners of your lip.  

“If you didn’t want me. Someone else would have adopted me instead. Like you did. No papers, no nothing– I’d slip under the radar, at least I’d still have my quirk, and end up on those headlines.”

“How dare you?” he uttered, face contorted in malice.

“I was five. That’s why you adopted me. Don’t deny it” 

Toshinori stiffened, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. His shoulders, broad and hubris, had become small and meek. You watched him contemplate: his eyes, vindictive and daring, were cast down, hiding amongst the Tatami flooring. 

“My child…” he began, his voice softer. “After your quirk had been stolen, I could not risk making you the target again. That’s the reason I don’t come to your events. It’s because you’ll become the target everyone goes for because they know you’re my daughter”.

“They’ll know?” your lips had pressed into a thin line. “Like how Midoriya knew I was your daughter? Like how the media knows?” 

In the stifling air, your dry laughter bounced off of the discomfort. 

“Don’t act like you aren’t ashamed of me.” 

Your face had settled into a stone. 

“It’s not about me being a target. It’s about protecting your image.”

“My daughter-”

“You have lost the right to call me your daughter. If I was such a disappointment after my quirk was ripped away from me, why did you keep me? You could have sent me back. Why did you keep me, dad, why did you keep me!”

Those closest to you, leave irreparable wounds. 

But there was a reason they were close to you. A reason that subsided in love, care, and hope. 

Your crushed heart was surviving on its last breath, waiting to hear something that could revive it. 

Toshinori lifted his head again, his eyes flickering behind you. 

It locked onto an object that somehow gained more attention than you ever had in your entire life. You risked a look over your shoulder, only to see the picture of your father and Midoriya, smiling–almost mockingly– back at you. 

You knew what the answer was going to be. 

“I’m beginning to question the same thing.”

A flat-line. 

“Well if that’s how you really feel, I have no obligation to stay here anymore.”

You drew your breath in, words suspended at the tip of your tongue. 

“I wish you and your student the best of luck, All Might.”

[morgana-larkin]

Hi!

Can you please do an Agatha x Reader fic where Agatha recruits you to the coven but when all the coven is in the Road all the other coven members are always hitting on reader and Agatha is jealous so she starts to distance herself from reader until Agatha snaps (some jealous with smut if it is possible)🙏🏽

Hi Anon! Thank you so much for the Agatha request. I didn’t know if you wanted them together or not but thought it’d be better if they were already together. Not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

Her Witch

Warnings: Jealous Agatha, smut

Words: 4.7k

“What the hell happened here?!?! AGNES!” You yell as you see the state of the house. You then see Agnes running towards you in a robe.

“Y/N, hey.” She says.

“I go out of town for a couple of weeks and then the house gets destroyed? Like where’s the front door and… and why is there a teenage boy tied up?” You ask her.

“Well first of all, I got my memories back, I’m back to Agatha.” She starts and your eyes widen.

“You got your memories back?” You say in disbelief and she nods. You then lunge at her in a hug. “Oh thank god! How?”

“Well this boy right here.” She says and points to the tied up teenage boy. “He casted a spell and broke me out.” The teenage boy nods his head at you with a smile.

“How did you break through a spell placed by the scarlet witch? I’ve been trying for 3 years.” You say and he shrugs his shoulders.

“I just did.” He says.

“You obviously don’t know the extent of your abilities, since you’re powerful enough to break through the spell.” You tell him.

“Well whatever you were doing was starting to work, I felt like I was losing my mind.” Agatha says and you smile.

“I know, it was entertaining.” You tell her and she smiles at you. “Now why are you in a robe? And what happened to the front door?”

“Well remember Rio?”

“Please tell me you didn’t sleep with her.” You say with a sigh.

“No, she also helped break me out and it shedded all of my clothes and she broke through the door trying to kill me. That’s all.”

“You must be back to yourself if someone is already trying to kill you.”

“Well also I’m walking the Witch’s road so I can get my magic back and defend myself.”

“Woah! No way! You are not walking the witch’s road without magic Agatha! Last time you barely made it and you had magic.” You tell her sternly.

“Well what if you came with me, to defend me?” She suggests and you already know your answer.

“We don’t even have a coven. We need one to open the road.” You tell her and she smiles.

“I know, me and teen here are going to find some witches.” She tells you and you look at him.

“What’s your name?” You ask him and he answers you but all you see is a symbol covering his mouth and it blocks the answer. You turn to look at Agatha and she gives you a quirked brow and a smile. “How interesting.” You say and she nods.

“I know right. So I’ll just get dressed and then we’ll go.” She says and then she goes to find some clothes.

“Do you mind untying me?” He says.

“Want to pass me a knife then.” You say and he looks around. “Top drawer over there.” You tell him and point. He goes over and with a bit of trouble, gets a knife and then passes it to you.

“I didn’t know Agatha Harkness had a wife.” He tells you as you cut the rope.

“She doesn’t, she has a girlfriend. Got together a year ago and we were friends before that” You say and then he turns around to face you.

“Cool, I have a boyfriend.”

“Are you walking the witch’s road as well?” You ask him and he nods. “You might want to say your goodbyes then, just in case.” You tell him and he looks at you confused. “The last time Agatha and I walked that road with a few other witches. We were the only ones that made it to the end.” You tell him and his eyes widen.

“Ok I’m ready to go, let’s go team.” Agatha says and she goes to walk out. “Oh also Rio is telling the Salem Seven that I’m alive and we have until sun down.” Agatha says and walks out of the house.

“Wait! The Salem Seven! Are you kidding me?!?” You say as you run after her.

“That’s why we need to find these other witches and open the road before then.” She tells you with a smile. You all get into teen’s car and he starts driving away.

“So we have me and a green witch.” Agatha says and teen looks at you through the mirror.

“You’re a green witch?” He asks you and you nod. “So you like, control nature?”

“Yep, my lady.” You say and hand Agatha a flower that you made appear.

“You’re such a flirt.” She says with a laugh. “But thank you.” She says and takes the flower from you. “Oh stop here.” She suddenly says and teen pulls over safely.

“Isn’t this Lilia’s place?” You ask her and she nods.

A couple hours later and you’re on your way back home to get ready for the witch’s road. You are sitting on the bed while Agatha gets changed.

“Do you think we’ll survive?” You ask her and she stops getting dressed for a second and looks at you.

“We survived last time didn’t we?”

“Because of luck and you had powers to help protect yourself. You’re a witch without magic, you’re kind of a sitting duck.” You said and she snorts.

“Why do you think I want it back? I know you can’t always be right by my side to protect me.” She tells you and cups your cheek. “We’ll be alright.” She tells you and you nod at her.

“It’s almost time, let’s go.” You tell her and stand up as she puts on a blue coat. “Purple is more your colour but that coat looks so good on you.” You tell her and she wraps her arms around your waist.

“Ya? We can have sex after we get back, when death isn’t looming over my head.” She says and then kisses your forehead before heading downstairs.

You both get downstairs and after a few minutes, the witches show up and you sing the ballad. The door appears just as the Salem Seven show up and you all run down the path to the road. Once you get there, you look at the road, taking it in and it looks exactly the same as the last time you were here. You all take your shoes off and then start walking. You stay a bit behind Agatha but close enough that you can defend her if needed and Jenn catches up with you.

“So you’re Y/n right?” She asks and you nod.

“Yep.”

“How do you know Agatha?” She asks.

“We’re friends.” You tell her. You and Agatha agreed that you wouldn’t tell people you’re dating until after she gets her powers back, to keep you protected.

“Why are you friends with her? She’s a known killer.”

“Because, after you get past that part then she’s pretty cool.”

“You’re weird.” She tells you and you look straight ahead of you with an eye roll and a smile. “You’re also very cute.” She adds and you whip your head at her and she’s smiling at you. You blush slightly at her compliment.

“Thank you.” You say, not knowing what else to say. You briefly see Agatha look behind at you then brings her attention back to Teen.

“Aren’t you two dating?” Teen asks Agatha and Agatha brings a finger to her mouth in a shushing gesture.

“We are but it’s safer for her if no one knows until I get my powers back.”

“Why is it safer for her?” Teen asks her.

“Because a lot of people want me dead and if they find out I don’t have magic then they’ll come after me. And of course some of them will go after Y/n to get to me when they find out that she’s a weakness of mine. And without my magic I can’t protect her. So don’t tell anyone, especially these women because they can use her against me.” She explains to him and he nods.

“Look a house!” Teen suddenly says and you all turn to where he’s pointing. You go and stand right beside Agatha and you both look at each other briefly, knowing the first trial has begun. You all walk up to the house and enter. As you enter the house, your appearance and clothes changes for the trial.

“Ew a light pink blazer,I’m definitely more of a green girl.” You say and you see Jenn and Alice chuckle silently.

“You’re telling me, I’m more into purple and I’m in a beige shirt and sweater.” Agatha tells you and you giggle at her outfit.

“You do look ridiculous.” You say and start laughing harder at her.

“Alright pink blazer, laugh later.” She says and playfully hits your arm as she walks past you with a smile.

“I might not get the chance to laugh at your outfit later.” You tell her as you all start looking around the house.

5 minutes later…

“You’re a little swollen.” Alice tells you and you look at your wine glass then at their panicked faces.

“Oh shit, it’s poison isn’t it?” You ask Jenn and she nods before they all go look in a mirror. You then turn to look at Agatha who is walking up to you. “Is it bad?” You whisper and she smiles at you.

“I think you look fantastic.”

“You’re such a fucking liar, but thank you.” You say and she chuckles slightly. “You know you have to drink it as well, and they will notice that you didn’t.” You tell her.

“You know me so well.” She tells you with a smirk before she goes to look for other clues.

The group comes back to you and starts asking you questions to figure out what type of poison it is. Then they all look shocked at your face as it’s back to normal and they all go to touch theirs and feel it be back to normal.

“Is it the poison that I think it is?” You ask Jenn after they all look to see their faces back to normal.

“Alewife’s revenge.” She says and you sigh.

“Face swelling is just the first sign.” You say and she nods.

“Next is dizziness, delirium, loss of motor function.”

“My heart is racing.” Alice says.

“That’s another one.” Jenn adds. “Also hallucinations and eventually death.” She says and you all look at her with a horrified look.

“We have to get out of here.” Agatha says as she realises that both you and her can die. She goes to a window with a hard object and starts hitting it, it starts to shatter when you’re able to grab the object from her and place it down. While doing that, everyone else realises she didn’t drink the poison and try to convince her. She only drinks it to stop Teen from drinking it and she downs the entire thing. “Ugh, it’s so cheap.” She says and you crack a smile.

Your smile falters as you start seeing Wanda standing over Agatha, about to kill her.

“Wanda please! Please spare her, don’t kill her please!” You say as you start to summon your magic and use it. Just as you were about to use your magic, a hand on your arm stops you and you’re brought face to face with Agatha.

“It wasn’t real, just a hallucination.” She tells you as you start to calm down. “Potions witch.” She turns to Jenn with a swollen face. “Time to make an antidote.” She tells her and Jenn nods. “Are you ok?” She asks you when everyone runs off to the kitchen. You nod at her and she brings you for a quick hug. “I’m starting to regret bringing you. I could lose you on the road.”

“I decided to come with you, you didn’t force me.” You tell her and she strokes your head.

“You came to protect me so in a way I kinda forced you.” She says and you smile at her.

“I wanted to protect you, so come on, let’s go help make sure we don’t die.” You tell her and you both make your way into the kitchen.

Jenn goes over everything needed to make the antidote. Teen and Alice go to find something, while you, Lilia and Agatha go to find an ingredient. You 3 make your way to the garage only to realise there’s no car which means no gas and then make your way to the bathroom and look through the creams.

“Try to save Agatha.” You suddenly hear and both you and Agatha turn to Lilia.

“Ye-yes, I love this plan. I just think that we should find the ingredients first though, right?” Agatha says and you look at Lilia suspiciously. You all go to walk to the kitchen and you see Lilia trail off a bit so you take the chance to speak to Agatha.

“Agatha, why did she say ‘try to save Agatha’?” You ask her and she shrugs. “She’s a divination witch, she might have seen something in the future. Doesn’t that scare you?” You ask her.

“This whole thing scares me ok. The Witches road is no joke and last time everyone else died. I honestly don’t care if everyone else dies, as long as you and I survive alright?” She tells you seriously and you nod. “Ok let’s get these go Jenn so we can make the antidote.” She tells you.

“Wait, where’s Lilia?” You ask and you both turn around to go and find her.

You both bump into her and she mutters something about death in Sicilian.

“What do you mean? Who’s dead?” You ask her and Agatha turns around and looks at you with a sympathetic look before turning back to Lilia.

“Ok.” Agatha tells her and Lilia calms down after that before you all go back to the kitchen.

You all meet up at the front door and you all make sure everyone is ok. Just then the crack that Agatha made in the window earlier makes a strange sound and you all go to it and see there’s water dripping and Jenn confirms that it's salt water.

“Ok let’s go get that antidote ready.” You say and they all nod before going to the kitchen. You all gather around the sink and begin putting in the ingredients. You all finally manage to get it ready and you’re all about to pull a strand of hair when Agatha walks away, clearly in a hallucination. Agatha screams out and falls back on the floor and you run to her.

“Agatha! Agatha hey.” You say and that seems to snap her out of it. “You ok?” You say and she nods after a moment.

“Agatha! Y/N!” Jenn snaps and you both look at her. “Your hair.” She says and you both stand up and go over to the sink. You both yank a strand of hair out and then you all put it in the sink at the same time. A few minutes later after working out what was missing, you all are able to take the antidote, saving you all from death. You then all escape in an oven instead of drowning.

“That was a close one.” You say and everyone takes a moment to catch their breath.

“You know, even with a swollen face, you’re still pretty.” Jenn says to you and force a smile.

“Thanks.” You say awkwardly and you see Agatha glaring at Jenn. “Can we all sit down for a moment before we walk again? That was intense.” You say and everyone agrees.

You, Jenn, Lilia and Alice all find a log to sit on while Agatha starts pacing. Alice and Jenn both sit next to you and start asking you questions about yourself. At some point you look up and you don’t see Agatha there and you furrow your eyebrows.

“Where’s Agatha?” You ask and they all look around. You get up and find her a bit further out, she has a hand leaning on a tree, looking deep in thought. “Agatha.” You say and she turns around to look at you. “Are you ok?” You ask her and she nods and clasps her hands together.

“Yep, we should probably go though just so we can get this over with.” She says and you nod.

“Ok ya, I think we all caught our breath.” You tell her. She then goes to the group to tell them that we’re continuing before dramatically swishing her coat and you smile at her antics, she’s such a drama queen.

Jenn and Alice walk next to you and continue to ask questions and occasionally throw in some compliments. You see Agatha casting glances behind her to you guys, even to you. You then all see the next trial and Alice goes to walk away from it.

“You can’t really escape from this Alice.” You tell her while Agatha walks after her. You all follow them and see the house in front of you all again. You walk up to the house and see a wax moon.

“The fire phase.” You hear Lilia say and you all look at Alice. You then all walk through and look to see 80’s items and what looks to be a recording studio.

“Check me out.” You hear Agatha say who’s looking at herself in the mirror. You all look at yourselves in the mirror and you notice you’re in a similar outfit to Agatha. The others begin to look around and Agatha turns around to face you. “The road could have made you look less desirable.” She says a little flirty and you smile.

“I don’t think that’s possible.” You tell her and she catches Jenn looking over at you two.

“If anything, at least could have made you less desirable for everyone else.” She says before walking away. You look at her walking away with a confused expression.

“Wow, you look beautiful.” Alice tells you and look at your outfit.

“Thanks, nice outfits the road picked for all of us.” You say and they all agree. You then see Agatha sitting in a chair behind a glass wall and she’s staring at you. All of a sudden a terrible noise starts playing and you see Teen frantically trying to turn it off. You all cover your eyes at the noise, begging to turn it off.

“What is that?” You yell.

“I thought it was a clue.” You hear Teen say.

“Why?” Jenn asks and Teen holds up a ‘play me’ sign.

“Turn it off!” You yell and Agatha comes out of nowhere and throws it on the ground and smashes it, effectively stopping it. Right after that, a metronome starts and you all look at it. “Oh look, the trial started.” You say sarcastically.

“We’ve been cursed.” Lilia randomly says.

“Does anyone feel…lighter?” Alice asks and you all look at her strangely. Just then you start to feel like you’re burning and you start screaming in pain and fall to the floor.

Agatha and Alice both run to you and start asking what’s wrong.

“It burns! Make it stop!” You yell out. Alice finds a sharp object and starts making a circle around you while saying an incantation. When she finishes the circle then the burning stops and you stop screaming. “What was that?” You ask and Agatha goes back to your side, with fear in her eyes.

“Are you ok?” She asks and you nod. Just then Jenn starts screaming in pain and Alice goes to save her from the burning. You then all hear the flapping of wings flying across the room.

“What is that?” Lilia says.

“That must be the curse.” You say. Just then Alice goes to find what song was playing and Agatha angrily makes her way over to her.

“It’s you isn’t it? You brought this curse with you.” She questions Alice.

“I didn’t think it was real!” Alice says, scared. Just then Teen gets pushed aside and then thrown across the room, into the glass wall. Agatha, Alice and Lilia all run to him while you and Jenn are still locked in fear, in your circles.

“Is he ok?” You ask while Agatha and Lilia are coming back out.

“Do you both live in your circles now?” She asks you both.

“Maybe.” Jenn says. You get out of your circle as instruments appear in front of you all.

“We have to sing Lorna’s ballad.” Agatha says and Alice immediately disagrees. “All signs point to a jam session.”

“I’m not singing that song. The song is to open the road, we already did that.” Alice argues.

“Lorna’s version is different though.” Teen says.

“What did Lorna want from the road?” Agatha asks out loud. You then think of the song and it hits you.

“To save her daughter.” You say and everyone looks at you. Agatha then convinces Alice to play the song and you all get ready to play, with you at the drums.

You all start the song and then Agatha starts yelling in pain. You go to get up, and Alice stops playing to go to her as well.

“No, keep playing.” Agatha says, you and Alice briefly look at each other before Alice starts playing again. You love hearing Agatha sing, hearing her sing so beautifully honestly warms your heart.

“I’ll see you at the end!” Alice finishes singing and then the curse is killed and you’re all free to go through the piano. All of a sudden Alice's smile vanishes and you look to see what she’s looking at. You see Teen there and he’s bleeding and then he passes out. You all get him out of there and find a big rock to lay him on.

“He’s bleeding a lot.” Jenn says.

“What do we do?” Agatha asks.

“He‘s young…” You tune everyone out as you see Agatha’s reaction to Teen being hurt. Jenn ends up saving Teen and you all lay him down to rest and heal. You see Agatha put her coat on him before you sit by the fire with everyone else.

“So Y/n.” Alice says as she sits beside you. “What do you want at the end of the road?” She asks you.

“Oh I don’t really want anything in particular.” You say.

“Then why are you here?” Jenn asks.

“Agatha asked me to come with her, thought it’d be fun.” You say and they all look at you weirdly. You then see Agatha come to sit down on a log.

“So Agatha, do you have any battle scars?” Jenn asks her and Agatha smirks before showing her elbow.

“Knitting needle to the arm. Ever heard of the sisters of liberty?” She asks you all and you chuckle.

“No.” Jenn says.

“Exactly.” Agatha says proudly.

“Y/n, do you have any battle scars?” Alice asks you and you nod. You lift your shirt up to show your stomach.

“Deep knife cut to the stomach.” You say.

“Who did that to you?” Alice says, examining the scar.

“That witch right there.” You say and point to Agatha.

“I mean you were trying to kill me.” Agatha says, defending herself. “It’s how we met.” She adds on.

“You have a beautiful body by the way.” Jenn says as you put your shirt back down.

“Oh thank you.” You say sheepishly and you then see Agatha get up and leave and you follow after her. “Agatha.” You say and she stops walking but doesn’t turn around. “Hey, what’s wrong?” You ask her and put a hand on her arm.

“Nothing, just go sit back down.” She says and shrugs off your hand.

“I can tell something is wrong so what is it?” You ask and fold your arms.

“Just go and sit back down with your two admirers.” She says with venom in her tone.

“What? What are you talking about?” You ask her.

“Jenn and Alice. Wouldn’t you rather be close to them as they keep complimenting you, and checking you out. That’s gotta be feeding into your need for attention.” She says and walks away from you. You follow after her and turn her around forcefully.

“You’re jealous of them? Seriously?” You say with a scoff.

“Well you keep taking their compliments and not doing anything about it.” She says.

“I can’t tell them I’m with you, even though I wish I could.” You tell her and she laughs.

“Ya right.” She says. “Just go and be with one of them. I don’t know why I thought tha-” She says and you lean forward and kiss her forcefully. She immediately pushes you closer to her and grabs your head. You both pull away for air after a minute.

“Feel better now?” You ask her and she shakes her head.

“No.” She says and then pushes you up against a tree, so the others can’t see you or her. She surges forward and kisses you with force, pouring her jealousy into the kiss. She starts to roam her hands on you and you moan when she cups your boobs. She inserts her tongue in your mouth when you moan and then she pins your arms above your head.

“Agatha, Agatha we can’t do this here.” You tell her and she ignores you. She kisses your neck and uses her free hand to go under your shirt and unclip your bra. She grabs one of your boobs without anything there and you gasp. She lets go of your hands and cups both of your boobs with her hands and starts rubbing the nipples while sucking on your neck. You push her hips closer to you, not even gonna try and stop her as it feels good.

“Mi amor.” Agatha says and you moan. She then slips a hand down your pants and underwear and quickly finds your clit. You buck your hips and she covers your mouth with her hand to prevent you from being loud. She starts circling your clit and you bite your lip to try and keep yourself as quiet as possible. She then goes down more and slips 2 fingers in your entrance and a gasp leaves your mouth. You haven’t gotten the chance to be intimate with Agatha, only Agnes. Although recently little bits of Agatha have been peeking through but now you got all of her.

She begins pumping in and out of you while rubbing your clit with her palm at the same time and you know you won’t last long. She puts her free hand on your throat lightly and looks deep into your eyes.

“You’re mine and only mine.” She says and puts a bit of pressure on your throat. You feel your orgasm building and you moan out. She kisses you to prevent you from making noise and your legs start to shake. She removes her hand from your throat and wraps her hand around your hip to prevent you from falling. You put your arms around her neck to help stabilise yourself as you’re at your peak. “Come for me, prove that you’re mine.” She whispers in your ear and then she kisses you as you come. She slows down inside of you before pulling out of you. She licks her fingers that were inside of you and she moans at your taste.

“Is this what sex with Agatha is like?” You ask her and she smirks.

“You’ll have to find out. But I’ll tell you that there’s sometimes magic involved and Agnes was vanilla in the bedroom compared to me.” She says and winks at you.

“Ooh, how intriguing.” You tell her and she smirks.

You both then sit down against a tree and you lay your head on her shoulder and she wraps an arm around you.

“Get some sleep, who knows when we’ll get to again.” She says and you nod with heavy eyes.

Your eyes snap open as you hear Lilia yelling and you realise you fell asleep as your head was on Agatha’s lap.

“We have to leave! It’s the Salem seven!” You hear and you both look at each other before getting up and running over to them.

Taglist:

@imaginesmultifandoms

Let me know if you want to be added!

[razzle-n-dazzle]

I just read some of your works and god do you write good better than the actual show I would even say.

I really want to request a Yandere headcannon for mainly Ozzie and Fizzarolli they don’t get enough love as they do, but with a little twist

Whichever you choose I would love either one you pick cause im indecisive.

1: a powerful reader maybe even more stronger than Ozzie being lovers with the two

Or 2: a chubby but physically strong reader that could lift Ozzie with ease as example

If you do see this I hope you consider writing this, you have such a lovely writing style and I would love to see what you cook up

Also call me 🥟-anon if you will cause I hope to request and talk more

ᯓ★ Murder is Okay, Shutting Us Out Isn't. Yandere! Asmodeus & Fizzarolli / Overlord! Reader | Oneshot TW! - READ AT YOUR OWN RISK: romanticizing yandere(s), obsessive behavior, def not proof read (because we die like Adam in this household /j), Vox (/j), boner mention (no sexual content), self harm, yelling, possessive

ᯓ I actually loved both ideas you gave me, so I'm going to mash then both together into one! For that, I'm going to give you all a little crash course into the background for the Reader (you) in this story so things make a little more sense: The reader, though an Overlord, is both physically and magically stronger than Ozzie, though doesn't show it off often. Also, this happened due to their mix of blood; The reader is the child of an an old overlord and a Sin (I'm going for Wrath in this story) and had gained the physical strength from their overlord mother and the magical strength from their Sin father. With this they're able to be known as the Wrathful Overlord, or 'The child and will of Wrath', though Satan doesn't claim them to be his own and has no interest to. Also, no the Reader isn't stronger than other Sins, just Ozzie for this case. Since Ozzie is claimed to be the weakest (or one of the Weaker) Sin that we currently know of, the Reader is matched right around his level. Yet they, much like Alastor, cannot beat other Sins or even Adam, as even with their strengths, are set back by the rather large power difference. So with that out of the way, please enjoy!:

ᯓ You had been living with Ozzie and Fizz for a few months, silently having moved away from your district on the Eastern side of the Pride Ring after their proposal. While it was not uncommon for love to bloom in hell, even with the eternal suffering or the large amount of (usually) taboo topics being put on display down here, you were still not big on having your private life being posted for all of hell to see. Especially those in the Pride Ring, where you were sure Vox would take any chance to slander and drag your name in the mud for having a 'blasphemous' relationship. And really, you didn't feel like cleaning up the blood of another Sinner. Oh no, not because you killed them. Dear, Lucifer god no! Why do that when you had two perfect body guards at your beckon and call?

ᯓ "Honestly, I don't even understand how there can be blasphemy down here. It's hell, God is not watching what we do and I pity him if he did." You would mutter, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching News 666 on your cellphone silently with Fizz; Who had became curious open hearing the news topic and bounded over, wrapping his snake-like arms around your waist twice. He squeezed you a little tight, yet you didn't mind, especially when his head was rested upon your shoulder. You could practically see the growing smirk on his lips before he even spoke, "You know everything we do down here is blasphemes right? That's why we're in Hell, not Heaven. I mean the murder, the sex, the gr-" Though Fizz's little list was caught off short as you hushed him, pressing a quick finger up against his lips.

ᯓ Ozzie was cooking in the background, occasionally taking peaks behind him to make sure you nor Fizz were doing anything stupid; Like trying to cook despite knowing neither of you could do so. It was always a nice gesture until Ozzie has to get the kitchen repaired... again. "And this in, News 666 and it's broadcasting will be disturbed quickly for a message from The fucking V's themselves." Katie Killjoy would crack her neck to the side, seeming oh so annoyed at the interruption. You were too, and Fizz didn't miss the way your face scrunched. "You know Tom, their news isn't even repu-" Katie tried to shout before their segment was cut off, their news source becoming engulfed in The V's logo before the man of the hour, Vox himself, overtook the screen. Him and his snicker, you knew this couldn't be good.

ᯓ Vox never hit the air unless he knew something, unless he wanted something to happen, unless this was his calculated and curated response to something.

ᯓ And the last time that happened, Alastor wiped the floor with him.

ᯓ Fizz drew away from your shoulder a little, his eyes narrowing at your growing irritation before he glanced back towards Ozzie, who already had his arms crossed in confusion. Sure, they've heard about this Vox, mostly from you, but they never expected you to have this much of a detest about him. What happened between you and this TV-head that they didn't manage to dig up? And most importantly, recent or not, did he ever hurt you in anyway. . . or was he planning to?

ᯓ "This just in, news is starting to come up from higher-ups, and close friends, in Wrath Town that their leader, supposed their supposed Overlord, the Child of Wrath, themselves, have gone missing!" Vox stated, trying to carefully keep his voice leveled yet failing miserably; From the twitch in his eye and the wide, plastering grin across his flat face, you could just tell this was another Alastor situation. Yet an Alastor situation that was not pointed directly towards Alastor rather You; Which you had saw coming, maybe even expected it, but fucking Lucifer did you hope you could at least get a good year under your belt before Vox came in to spread 'miss information' all over the Pride Ring. All just to keep his viewers attention on him, just to keep his support. What a loser.

ᯓ You would scoff, trying not to laugh at his obsessive allegations, which were true you guessed, as Fizz and Ozzie silently listened from beside and behind you. While you didn't seem alarmed, or even frightened at the least (as they were sure you would be, seeing as this seemed common for Overlords to not get along) they sure were. Well, not alarmed per say, rather on guard; carefully lingering on the words that Vox was so carelessly spewing to all of those who watched his broadcast. And you noticed how Fizz drew back closer, leaning over your shoulder to glare at your phone, to glare at Vox like Vox might feel his stare, like he was daring Vox to say something else; All the while you couldn't help but laugh, chuckle, giggle, and kind of make fun of Vox as he continued on. His senseless chatter played in the background as you tried to wave off your fiancés' concerns, "Please, guys, don't get worked up over him, he's no threat; More like an annoying bug under everyone's shoe." "One who, from what we hear, likes to stick his non-existent nose in other people's business." Ozzie would comment from the stove, his glare still harsh on the screen even as he flipped over the bacon in the pan. His tone was leaking with annoyance, or maybe irritation and ire is are better words; Either way, you shrugged your shoulders as he continued, "Really, doesn't he have like any other news? that's all basically weightless if it's coming from other people's mouths!" "It's gossip, it keeps his viewer's attention and support up. That's the whole point," You would explain, slightly rolling your eyes at the crazed look Vox gave you. Granted, it was through the screen, but, "I would have thought he would know better than to talk about me, especially since I've shattered his screen more than once." Though Fizz was less amused, "You both give than man way too much credit-" Was the only part of his commentary he could get out, hands on the counter now, before a shout from Vox drew all of your attentions back in.

ᯓ "Oh, ho-ho!" And there was a cackle, one that caused your eyebrows to frown downwards and scrunch your face. One that rang out like an annoying fire alarm and drew a growl from Fizz's throat and a flicker of hellish flame from Ozzie's coat. It's like you all could smell that the shit that Vox was going to spew. "THIS JUST IN," And there was a slam of his hands on the table, "I JUST GOT WORD FROM A TRUSTED SOURCE THAT THE WRATHFUL OVERLORD IS NOT ONLY NOT IN THEIR PITIFUL, SHIT-HOLE OF A TOWN, YET THEY'RE NOT EVEN IN THE PRIDE RING!- Where the fuck are they, you might ask? Well, not fucking here and maybe that's for the better, this place was turning into a shit down with them around." His grin would tease you from behind the screen, and you grew slightly worried that he could see you. That, as his eyes widened and he drew closer to the screen, that he could see right through it. . .

ᯓ "You're in the fucking Lust ring, you absolute SLUT! What the fuck are you doing hanging around an, who's that? An Imp and- And is that Asmodeus himself in the background!" Clack! You would drop your phone like it had burnt you and stumbled backwards, not out of fear, you could never be fearful of someone like Vox, yet out of . . . what would be the word? Ire? Exasperation? Irritation? Preservation? Fizz was quick to lock his arms, just to keep you from stumbling back too far and hitting against the countertops near the stove, potentially burning yourself; As Ozzie stepped up, standing protectively between the phone and the two of you, the flickering of his growing detestation and bubbling anger slowly flickering around his coat, which threatened to burst flames. "This just in, your little Wrathful Overlord, has not only abandoned the Pride Ring yet is sleeping with the Sin of Lust and his weak-dick, limp ass Imp!" Vox's cackle echoed around the room, "That's so fucking sad!- Oh, looks like no one will ever have any sort of reason to be scared of you anymore," And his name spilled out from his lips with venom, poisoning the air with his slithering voice. That was, until his broadcast was cut off, cutting his maniacal laughter short, with a crackle then pop. It seemed like Ozzie had enough of listening to Vox, and seemingly had enough of your phone, as he had slammed his fists into the counter. Effectively ending the broadcast and your phone all in one go.

ᯓ And nothing but silence filled the room, just as you were sure nothing but silence (and soon an eruption of hatred and irreverence) filled the Pride Ring, and Wrath Town.

ᯓ "Fuck. ." Was the words that left with an airy breath.

ᯓ "THAT FUCKER IS SO DEAD!" Was Ozzie's first words; his hair combusting into flames, his irritation and outrage boiling over and finally having struck that match.

ᯓ Maybe it was slight shock overwhelming you, never having expected your engagement to be outrighted for everyone in the Pride Ring to hear, or maybe it was Fizz carelessly (accidentally) spinning you around, but you found yourself exasperation against the kitchen counter; Your eyes still locked on where your cellphone was now intended into the counter. "I've got the rope!" Fizz's voice barely registered in your ears, along with the sounds of his mechanical arms and legs moving to easily wrap himself around Ozzie. "Let's go kill that fucker!- or maybe tie him up and leave him exposed and naked on his own stupid broadcast. Like, really, who does he think he is trying to come for us like that?" Fizz's agreement with Ozzie's irrational solution caused a growl, a very lion-like one, to seep through Ozzie's gritting teeth, "A two timing nobody, that's who he is, and I won't stand for it! He comes for what's mine and I'm going to show him who the FUCK he's dealing with!"

ᯓ You know, maybe you've enabled their behavior a little too much; Sure, you loved the way they grew overprotected about you (and as you were sure they loved when you did the same) yet logically, you knew you had to stop them. When news gets out about Ozzie and Fizz going up to the Pride Ring and killing, or humiliating, an overlord not only will Vox's words be taken as facts, which can cause a whole other set of issues, yet Lucifer might also get involved. Of course, though, your knowledge about how Sins worked together and how they could interfere with each other's rings was limited. Yet, you can only guess a Sin killing an Overlord in another person's ring would just cause some sort of uproar.

ᯓ So when Ozzie, with Fizz coiled around his arm as to not get burnt, were about to leave the kitchen-living room, you had to act fast. Even while a little dazed, a little out of your own body, stilling trying to reel in the information of the situation that just happened, you dashed forward towards them. Or maybe your feet did so because they knew you had to catch them, and it sure felt that way rather than your own doing. It all felt like you were watching through a pair of another's person's eyes as you rushed over, your tail trashing out to stag the Ozzie's heel and trip him (you would have to apologize later). It bought you some time to slid in between him and floor, effectively catching him in your arms. "Yeah, as to hell we're going to go do anything boys! We're," You slammed the door closed, effectively walking away from it, "Staying here!" And that was your final verdict and that was what you were going to do as to make sure you can control this situation as much as possible. While frazzled and your finances' not thinking properly, giving into their own natural urges that some would call taboo (even for hell), this was no time to do that. Ergo, this was no time to be out murdering people!

ᯓ At that time you failed to notice the blush and wide eyes that had sprung to Ozzie's face when you dropped them both onto the couch, as well as the slight boner he had to hide by crossing his legs; Which Fizz defiantly noticed and teased him for with a snicker. Often times, not on purpose, did Fizz and Ozzie forget that out of all three of you, you were the strongest. Physically and magically, as you tended not to flash it off like some demons like to do, instead you flashed where you shined mentally. Though, damn, does it get Ozzie every time you swiftly come in and pick him up like he was weightless, with the same ease he picked up Fizz and you (even after you had told the first few times he didn't have to, later learning that you were conscience about your weight due to your chubbier figure). So it managed to calm Ozzie down, at least a little for the time being. Fizz would follow after, not really looking to murder people by himself - or at least not wanting to or not believing that he could.

ᯓ Calling your name from the couch, yet to no effect, the two would watch as you walked away from them to only circle right back round and leave again; pacing around the room with a constipated look on your face, leaving them confused, and slightly concerned, on the couch. Fizz slinked down to sit on Ozzie's lap, seeing as Ozzie had sat up to make sure you were alright while walking circles around them. Them both noticed quickly the way your tail trashed dangerously, the slight glare you gave to your phone anytime you passed through the kitchen, and the way your left hand clutched and curled in on itself. Fizz was sure your claws were digging into the skin of your palm, where marks from previous punctures of your claws laid fresh. "Hey," Ozzie started, calling out your nickname yet watching it effectively fall onto death ears. Even so, he continued, what's going on?" An invitation to talk to them, an invitation that received the acknowledgement of you hitting the tip of your tail against the floor to ceiling glass. Your own way of letting them know you heard him, yet needed a moment to gather your thoughts. To find something that can fix this situation without it blowing over and becoming bigger than you needed or wanted it to. To find a way to sweep and brush it under the rug. To just- make it like it never, ever fucking happened!

ᯓ Crack!

ᯓ You barely felt it, the smoke of Wrath infesting your very mind and blurring every other sense. Yet, Fizz and Ozzie caught it with ease. They heard the crack of your bone, the saw the way your nails not only had dug into your skin with the increase pressure yet suddenly broke through your palm and to the other side of your hand. Fizz covered his mouth, trying to hold in the gag that threatened to escape from the shock that filled him. Ozzie, wrapping an arm around Fizz to support him up to his chest to comfort him, would stand. . . and he didn't know how else to get your attention but exploding; Calling your name with a tone he rather not use with you. "WHAT?" Yet you would snap back, a green lining the inside of your eyes, right by your pupils. "WHAT CAN BE SO IMPORTANT THAT YOU CANNOT WAIT, OZZIE. I'M TRYING TO-" A tug at your wrist, Fizz, despite not being able to stand the sight if your claws puncturing through your hand, dragged you over to them. He rose your hand up to eye level once you were in front of the two, and he didn't want to make you watch the black blood that flowed down from it, that coated your claws thickly, he knew it was the only way to get you to pay attention. To realize that you hurt yourself in the panic of trying to fix a problem that could best be fixed together. To realize the scowl that was placed upon Ozzie's face at your actions, yet the underlining concern he had. To notice how Fizz was a bit sickened at the fact that you could so easily hurt yourself, and hurt that you wouldn't talk to them and effectively just shut them out again. Even though they have both told you countless times that you could talk them through your thoughts, that they can help you, that they want to help you! Even if you felt like you needed to handle everything that happened by yourself, even if you felt like the world was crushing in they were here! They were always here for you, and they were ready to help as long as you just talked to them.

ᯓ Fizz and Ozzie, out of everyone and anything, care about you (and granted each other) the most. And to see you physically hurt yourself over someone you told them not to worry about . . . well it stabbed them in the heart and made them ever so more concerned.

ᯓ "I just, I need time. I can figure this out if I'm given enough time." You would try to explain to Ozzie and Fizz as you sat on Ozzie's desk, where Fizz usually sat to replace any problem limbs. Fizz sat beside you, securely holding your right hand in his own and nuzzling up to you; His head resting against yours. Ozzie was in front of you, carefully trying to bring your claws out of the palm of your hand without hurting you, so he could then disinfect the wounds and wrap them up. He would have gotten a doctor, but felt a bit too fired up to let any medical professional touch you when you were so vulnerable. "Honey, get us, we know," Ozzie started, then let out a heavy sigh. "You say that every time something shitty happens in Pride. It's like- your go to thing!" Fizz added on, his tone a bit chirpier than Ozzie's; trying to lighten the mood, bring at least a small tug of a smile onto your face. Ozzie would soon apologize as you let out a hiss, feeling your claw carefully yet strikingly painfully being pulled out from your palm. You squeezed Fizz's hand, he nuzzled his head further against yours. And yet, you still spoke through gritted teeth and hissing, "I just! There never seems to be- FUCK, Ozzie that shit hurts!" "Love, I'm sorry, but I'm trying my best to make it as painless as possible. Yet, it's kind of hard when you managed to stab yourself right between your own bones." Ozzie mumbled, quickly working on the exposed wound, trying to wrap it with a towel just for the time being so he could work on the other three fingers (your thumb didn't puncture through skin, but did leave a good wound on your middle finger). Fizz would let out a nervous bit of laughter, trying to turn the situation away from your pain, just so you wouldn't have to think about it. "Hey, why don't you tell us why. . . you were so against us going to go kill the guy! I mean, I'm sure it would be easier than thinking of a whole counter plan and stabbing yourself through the hand, wounding yourself for someone you-" "Froggie," Ozzie warned, though his tone was still soft, noticing quickly how he began to ramble out of nerves. "I don't think that's helping."

ᯓ Yet you didn't mind much, it kind of did set your brain a little more straight and screwed in properly. So in a way you kind of did need Fizz's nervous rambling right now, "No, no it's fine. I. . . needed that. I just," A frown stretched upon your face, letting out a heavy sigh that was quickly replaced with a painful hiss and quickly followed by another apology from Ozzie. Your face scrunched at the pain, yet softened as you felt Fizz trying to comfort you once more. His hand squeezed your undamaged one, and when you turned your head towards his, he connected your foreheads. The distress that came from your fiancés were slowly becoming more apparent to you; Especially by the way Fizz looked into you, his own eyebrows frowned and scrunched, worry laced around his eyes. You felt the pressure of Ozzie wrapping your newly oxygen exposed wound with the towel, trying to cover it gently yet firmly enough. "I just. . . didn't want them to hurt you." The words left your mouth before you could think about their weight; Even if they were nothing but the truth, all the worry that struck your brain the moment Vox had called you out was all due to your worry that Fizz and Ozzie might get hurt. That they might be caught in some sort of cross fire between Vox and you and you would have to deal with their blood on your hands. That was a thought your couldn't bear to stand.

ᯓ The silence was thick for a good few minutes as you kept your eyes squeezed shut, afraid to open them and face Ozzie and Fizz. You could feel as Fizz leaned in, nuzzling your nose against his in an attempt to comfort you, coax you to open your eyes. But he just saw they way they twitched and you squeezed harder. You could feel as Ozzie paused, his fingers gently grabbing around yours yet not giving it's usual tug. And without looking at them, you felt the nerves build in your stomach at the thought that you might have offended them in some way, or they were disappointed in you for some reason. Yet they weren't. Logically, you knew that they weren't any of those things, yet they worrying thoughts still crept in your mind. "Baby, no. . ." Ozzie's sweet voice would ring through the unwanted chatter in your mind, almost like he could hear or feel what was happening in your tornado of a mind. "No, you don't have to worry about us, we were more worried about you. Trust me." You felt Ozzie's engulfing hand rest against your cheek and Fizz nod against your head, "Oh yeah! Our names have been racked through the mud since the whole Mammon incident. Trust us, we can take a little shit, but-" And Fizz paused, always a little hesitant to speak about these topics, "This is new to you, and we know how important your work is to you." "And Just like Sins, I'm sure an Overlord's power also comes from your reputation among people. And that guy, well, directly went for your reputation," Ozzie mumbled, his thumb rubbing sweetly against your cheek. He couldn't dent it, but he loved how they were a little chubbier than most, making your skin a little more plump and soft. "And for that I would have killed him! But you don't want that, for some reason I still don't understand!- But, we respect that. Just know we're here to help anyway we can." "Yeah just say the word!" Fizz playfully moved his head to nuzzle his nose against your other cheek, effectively earning a smile from you and a few bits of suppressed laughter that dared to bubble out your throat. You weren't sure why it was always ticklish when Fizz nuzzled his nose against your cheek, yet it was. "Okay, Okay!-" A giggle slipped through your lips, "I'm sorry. . . I should have, talked to you guys instead of-" You paused, chewing over your words. Yet, you didn't have to think for long as Fizz cut in, "Pushing us away?" "Hurting yourself?" Ozzie swiftly added after, both with their own sassy yet caring tones as they stared down at you. "Yeah. . . that." You would mumble, with an heat rushing up to your cheeks out of embarrassment. You didn't realize you were actually being that big of a dick to the two most important people in your life. Wow, you really did need that reality check from Fizz earlier.

ᯓ "Well, thank god we love you." Fizz's sarcastic voice trailed out with a cheeky grin spread across his face, showing off his pointed teeth and his ever so adorable cheeky attitude. "Or else this would be such a different story! You might have ended out on the streets, or worse, dead." And even if his words would be less than comforting for anyone else, you couldn't help but smile at them; Shooting your own cheeky glare back, finally gaining the courage to open your eyes again. To bask in your lovers' faces instead of cowering in the darkness, fearing a rejection that was never there to begin with. Something that would have never came. Ozzie took the chance to, while you were laughing and smiling and paying attention to Fizz rather than your own pain, to gently yet swiftly take out your third claw. Instantly, your tail trashed and a hiss escaped your mouth. And while he felt bad, Ozzie couldn't help but shake his head and rather seriously state, "Yeah, but don't ever do this again." "Yeah no, I don't think I can take looking at you stab through your own hand either." Fizz agreed, shaking his head. Either way, he went back to nuzzling you to comfort, trying to distract you from the pain of your hands as Ozzie moved the towel over your third wound. One more to go. You tried to keep in the giggles that threatened to escape due to their words, yet you couldn't help it. With a roll of your eyes and a sarcastic, yet playful, tone, you muttered back to them, "Well, fuck, if I ever get stabbed I'm never coming to either of you!"

Home | Masterlist Tag list: @lily-ann-b

ᯓ★ All posts/fanfictions posted under this blog is owned by @razzle-n-dazzle. Please do not steal, copy, or plagiarize the works! Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated.

[ A/N: Also, thank you so much for this request, it was a joy to write! I can't wait to hear from you again the future! And thank you to everyone for supporting my work, I've gotten so many nice comments in my inbox and I promise I'm trying to get through everyone's requests, or as much of them as possible. There's a good handful of them that request the same thing, so they will be clumped together, just because I don't think I can make enough content to make four separate posts about Adam with a Goth girlfriend or Yandere Lucifer lol! But, thank you all for the support, really, I wouldn't be able to do this all without you :) ]

[waldau-archived]

hii! I've noticed that you haven't written anything for minghao yet (according to your master list) so I wanted to request something cozy and homey with him. like maybe cooking together or waking up together or something along those lines.. :)

hello anon! i was feeling extra sappy with minghao and this also happens to be my first work for him. thank you so much for requesting it, i hope you see this!

gender neutral reader. warnings: none.

muse — xu minghao | 1,382 words | fluff

minghao blinks his eyes open to the sound of silence. there’s not much he can hear right out, except for the distant sound of cars going past. he lazes around for a few more moments before giving in and checking the time on his phone.

it’s just shy of six in the morning. he needs to be up and at the studio by nine, but he doesn’t feel like moving just yet. he puts his phone away and turns around to you, to watch you sleep.

the first time he’d ever done it was unfortunately a time you weren’t actually asleep, and he’d ended up staring at you for ten minutes before you woke up and apologized to him, saying that you couldn’t pretend to stay asleep without wanting to burst into laughter.

he still remembers how embarrassed he’d been by that, and how you made it up to him with kisses and multiples reassurances that it had been okay, that he could do it again, that it wasn’t a problem at all, you’d just been caught off-guard the very first time.

the thing is — minghao adores you. he’s in awe of you. to him, no one else on this planet even compares to how exquisite you are. he loves how like-minded the two of you are, how affectionate you’re with him, and how much you support him without even saying any words. of course, he loves going out on dates with you, seeing new places with you, seeing you match the outfits he wears, but this might just be his favourite sight in the world.

this being seeing you asleep on your side, facing him, a hand tucked under your head and the other holding his own. as an artist, he’s used to noticing the finer details about everything he sees, so when it comes to you, he could lose himself for hours noticing every single thing about you that makes him love you more.

minghao gently untangles his hand from your grasp, drawing his own blanket over you properly so that you don’t feel cold. he immediately feels the cold winter air hit his bare arms, and he winces as he gets used to it. he’s going to need to workout before he leaves, because there’s no time for it in the evening. not if he wants to finish work fast enough to come back to have dinner with you.

his fingers itch for a brush. it’s been a while since he’s painted something. the last thing he’d put on his canvas had been a rendition of a sunrise he’d been able to see with you a few weeks ago. it had been magical; the beautiful hues of orange and yellow blending with the shimmering brightness of the sea, contrasting the pale hue of the sky.

but nothing looked more beautiful than you sitting next to him, watching the sun rise and letting the water wash over your legs. he’d been tempted to paint you instead, right there, but you’d dragged him out on a monday morning for inspiration, despite the fact that both of you had work soon, and he wasn’t going to let it go to waste.

but he doesn’t really need inspiration. not when you’re his muse.

he runs his fingers across your face as gently as he can, glad that you’re still asleep. you’ve been having trouble sleeping recently, and he’s glad he’s part of why you’ve been sleeping better. he smiles when he notices two faint pillow creases stamped into your cheek, angry red lines that he hopes don’t hurt you at all. you somehow manage to look even more perfect with them.

he doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at you before your eyes blink open slowly, and somehow his eyes are the first thing that yours find. he holds his breath, waiting for you to speak.

“hao?” you ask, voice croaky. “what time is it?”

minghao checks his phone again. “six thirty-seven. you still have twenty three more minutes to sleep, if you want.”

“mm,” you say, before you roll in closer and pull his arm to yourself. “wake me up at seven, then.” before he can say anything, you look up at him. “aren’t you supposed to leave early today?”

he nods. “do you want me to leave?”

you huff and tug at his arm to pull him closer to yourself, and he goes down willingly. “you know that’s not what i meant.”

“what did you mean, then?” he asks, pinching your nose softly.

you’re used to his teasing by now, so you just roll your eyes throw an arm around his waist. “did you sleep well, hao?”

“really well. you?”

“me too. but…how long were you staring at me this time?”

he feigns shock. “you could tell?”

“i can just…feel it, somehow,” you giggle. “won’t you tell me?”

“do you really want me to?”

“of course,” you say, eyes shining despite the layer of sleep clinging to them. minghao wishes he could spend more time with you like this. it’s almost like you’re forcing yourself to stay awake despite having some more time to sleep, just to talk to him. the thought warms his chest.

“maybe forty minutes? maybe more.”

there’s a grin on your face. “correct me if i’m wrong, but…i think you love me?”

he could just refute it, tease you a little, joke that you’re in too deep, but he can’t. there’s something about the early hours of the morning combined with the fact that he has the honour to wake up with you that makes his heart heavy. he’s lucky to even have this, especially with you.

“you’re right,” he says, voice rough, feeling his waterline sting suddenly. “i love you.”

the grin on your face disappears slowly. “hao? is everything okay?”

“of course it is, darling,” he says, bending down to kiss your forehead, brushing off some rogue strands of hair to kiss it properly, tucking it behind your ear so he can see your beautiful face better. “i love you. is that wrong?”

“no, silly,” you say, leaning up to cup his cheek in your palm. your hand is cold. maybe he should’ve warmed you up better. “you sound…sad. like there’s something eating at you.”

he closes his eyes and indulges himself in your touch, trying to work out his words, marvelling at how easily you can read him. “i…love you. you know that, right?”

“yeah. i love you, too. but…?”

“but,” he sighs, “i just…don’t have the right words to tell you how much i love you. i could say i love you a thousand times, but it wouldn’t be enough. i could kiss you a thousand times and it wouldn’t be enough. i could…i could ask you to marry me but nothing would be enough to tell you how thankful i am that you’re here with me. that you’re mine.”

silence, just the two of you in your bedroom, the sounds of life filtering in from outside the window.

your breath is shaky when you speak. “hao.” you drop your hand down to his arm. “i love you, too. you don’t…i don’t need any grand gestures from you. just…be with me. every single day. be mine forever. that’s it.”

“there’s nowhere else i want to be.”

“then that’s all i need.”

minghao presses a kiss to your head. he hopes it conveys everything he’s feeling right now. he’s about to say something more when your alarm goes off, and he really should get going if he doesn’t want to reach work late.

“see you in the evening?” you ask, hand catching his as he attempts to get to his feet. “maybe we can talk about…getting married? for real?”

minghao hasn’t even opened the curtains yet, and he feels like he’s standing in front of the sun again. he’s going to go to work, do well, come back home to you and hold you and hear about your day and eat with you. he’s going to surprise you with a painting of yourself, and he’s going to marry you. that’s the life he’s built for himself with you, and he loves it.

it’s all he needs to keep going, every single day.

“i can’t wait. i’ll be back before you know it, darling.”

taglist: @bookyeom @wootify @strnsvt @cloudycaramel @thepoopdokyeomtouched @minnieminshi @nonononranghaee @hrts4hanniehae @viewvuu @bewoyewo

[rivendell-poet]

hi! i hope you’re doing well. i saw that you were taking requests and i was wondering if you would be willing to write for legolas? tenth walker reader who’s kind of like a witch (you don’t have to mention this at all if it doesn’t come up) and she and legolas have kind of been dancing around their feelings for a while (but they both Know), and when they’re in lothlorian she finally decides to confess after everything that’s happened. if you’re willing to write a little bit of spice, not full smut or anything but generally making out, that’s cool but if you’re not comfortable then that’s all good too!

have a great day

- anon (:

Hi! First of all thanks so much anon, hope you've been doing well too! Secondly sorry for the wait, but hopefully you enjoyed it! (also sorry if there isn't much spice, I tried)

❝𝐅𝐢���𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞❞ « one-shot »

Pairing : Legolas X witch!Reader

Wordcount : 1.7k

Gender-neutral reader | TWs : None, but there's a bit of spice at the end

Summary : The two of you are dancing around your feelings for a while, even if it's obvious to everyone - even you two. But nothing happens, until Lothlórien.

When you had been invited to Elrond’s council it hadn’t been entirely surprising, after all you often assisted the Lord of Rivendell and Gandalf. What had been surprising was the nature of the meeting - the One Ring sitting right in front of you. You had volunteered to join the Fellowship, travelling with nine other companions. You had met the wizard of course, people of your ‘skill set’ tended to gravitate towards each other, but all except Aragorn escaped your knowing. And even your knowledge on Aragorn was limited.

Still, it hadn’t stopped you from starting to get to know everyone else - Merry and Pippin were particularly admiring of your gifts. The hobbits didn’t exactly understand how you could summon a small flame from the tip of your finger, or coax a flower into following you like the sun, but they still always enjoyed it. And you noticed that you’d gotten additional audience members as the journey went on. You weren’t a stranger to people staring at your magic, even with intense gazes, but they weren’t normally so fixated upon you.

The first time you had ignored it, only looking up as the fire’s flames changed completely from orange to blood red. Most of the Fellowship’s gaze was on the fire, so who’s gaze was on you? And then you see him through the darkness. Legolas.

For someone who had been staring so unashamedly before, he quickly lowers his gaze to the flames now. Internally you curse yourself for making the flames red, because it’s impossible to tell if his cheeks are blushing or simply reflecting the light of the fire. On Legolas’s part he’s very grateful for the fire, because it hides just how red his cheeks have become. Or how red he thinks they’ve become. Because you’re the first person to ever make him feel like this. He feels slightly bad for taking advantage of how much you focus on your magic, knowing he’ll look away quicker than you can look at him, but he doesn’t know how else to admire you.

And then the two of you catch each other across the fire. This time, you can see the dusting of his face is definitely blush - and he sees how beautiful you look in the firelight. Only somewhat illuminated - but in his eyes still glowing, almost ethereal. The darkness doesn’t claim your other features, but it does highlight your eyes. The eyes that are still staring into his.

Around the campfire there’s still chatter going on, but your mind manages to put it into background noise until you hear your name being called. Then called again. Coming back to the real world, sound resumes - the fire crackling and full conversations happening, and you quickly turn to Merry before asking him to repeat the question.

When you wake up the sun is in the sky, although it’s still early enough for there to be a covering of dew on the ground. There’s some movement, and you shake yourself awake to see both Aragorn and Legolas already moving. Because of course it’s those two. The two of them are already in their travelling gear, and your eyes search for where they’ve gotten changed. Which, based on the lack of anywhere else, you can only assume are the trees a little way out. Deciding not to bother yet you yawn before getting out of your bedroll, beginning the same motions of packing it.

“Would you like to eat?” Legolas’ question isn’t unusual, but something about it makes you stop for a second. And your heart to add an extra beat.

“As long as the rations aren’t stale.” You call back, hoping the pause wasn’t too obvious, before continuing to pack.

“Here.” The motion by which he passes to you is simple, but your brain decides to focus on the second in which his skin touches yours. The small gesture should be just that, small, but something about it is different. Because this is the first time you’ve interacted with him after you’ve noticed him staring.

You realise you’ve paused too much again, and so quickly pull it back. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He nods at you before going back packing up his own supplies, and you try to focus on eating. It still feels awkward, but the two of you are mature adults. You can check each other out  make eye contact and still walk together. Like always, you go to get your travel clothes and get changed, this time looking at your other clothing options. Which is weird, because it’s not something you always focus on. This is a quest, not a fashion show.

But it doesn’t stop you from picking out something slightly nicer. And then second guessing yourself for most of the morning. It’s still practical, but nicer than what you’ve been wearing, and you hope the effort doesn’t go unnoticed - by a certain elf, that is. And Legolas certainly notices it. He tries to be subtle, but your eyes catch a few times and he isn’t quite as responsive to some of Gimli’s quips.

So the dance begins.

It’s never too obvious, just an extra smile - thinking too much about what you’re going to say to the other person, and then immediately forgetting half of it when they laugh. Thinking the others laugh is the most beautiful thing they’ve heard - the image of the other smiling is one of the most beautiful sights they’ve ever seen. Both of you sitting next to each other, and then not acknowledging it. Because when you’re on a journey to save the world when do you have time to confess?

The two of you keep being restrained, just talking enough and being together enough to keep interest and to keep your heart beating. Eventually, the moment that forces you to confront everything is when you’re in Lothlórien and you can feel safe. When you know you have the time to finally think about things. To maybe… do something about it.

You know that, reasonably, the two of you almost certainly like each other. The butterflies each of you give each other, the smiles and the way your faces heat up, cannot simply be platonic. Cannot always be excused as something else. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t nervous. You also know that, if Legolas does love you, it’s because of you and not the way you’ve dressed. That still doesn’t stop you from trying to dress up slightly more, thankful for the elven garments that you’ve been gifted. Trying to decide which one he’d like best.

Trying to decide one more time, you realise that it won’t matter at all if you don’t ask him to meet you. So you set both garments down, hoping one will look better when you return, before trying to catch the elven prince. He’s surprisingly easy to find, sitting alone, and almost doesn’t notice you. So, using a little magic to mask your footsteps, you begin to come up behind him - smiling when you’re only a foot or so away. The magic that masks your footsteps fade as you bridge the distance between the two of you. Lowering your head, you whisper, “Meet me here tonight?”

There’s so little distance between you that you can practically feel him tense, and you know his eyes have flickered to you. And then he breathes back, “Yes.”

The confirmation happens quickly, and you begin to whisk yourself away when he stops you - hand hovering over your arm. “I.. I look forward to it.”

Now your face is definitely heated up, although his is as well - so perhaps it’s not too bad. Still, you can’t make your escape fast enough. At least, when you head back to the chambers you’ve been given, the clothing choice is now clearer. And so, you find yourself waiting in the glen as it is finally covered in moonlight. When you’d chosen the garment you’d liked how it was fitted, the slight dips and tightness, but now you’re cold. And somewhat insecure. In an effort to hide the worst of it you begin to mutter a spell, a small orbs of light forming at your fingertips - drawing from the stars all around you. They’ve only just begun to circle you when you hear an intake of breath.

At the entrance of the glen Legolas is standing there, simply staring at you - as though you are the most wondrous thing he’s ever laid eyes on. As if it is a privilege to be staring at you, to simply be here with you (and for him it is). You meet his eyes, and he looks away for a second before going back to you, slightly more tentatively. “My apologies, you simply…”

His eyes trail up and down you again, and he takes a deep breath. “You look beautiful, ethereal-”

He cuts himself off, and you realise that - despite how obvious it is - the two of you have never truly confessed to each other. Like earlier you begin to close the gap, and he stays still - not moving until there is less than a foot between you. And then he moves to completely close the gap, eyes searching for something as the two of you are close together. So close you can see every detail, hear his breathing, feel his breath hitch on yours and then.

Gently, his lips close the gaps as they sink onto yours. Immediately you begin to deepen it, and he stills for a second before continuing as well, hands closing in slightly around your waist. Hands wondering as well, they find themselves in his hair - gently tangled, and only enough for painless tugging. As the kiss finishes you pull your hand slightly down, and you can see his eyes spark. He pulls away for breath, and then kisses you again - slightly needier this time. The two of you are very close together now, and when you break for the second time he keeps you close to him. As close as he can.

“I love you, meleth nîn.”

A/N : Sorry there's not too much spice - I can just never write it. Hopefully it was still enjoyable! Side note, really building up the Legolas content on this page, huh? Next requested one-shot is Aragorn however <3

« masterlist » thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @starwars2222 / @xiaoseminence / @withasideofmeg / @wordbunch / @bespectacledhuman /  @ferns-fics / @chewgazellechew / @recordofragnarokfan2 / @stormchaser819 / @raikan624 ✧ wish to be tagged?

[descendantsramblings]

I’m sorry if this doesn’t make any sense or sounds weird😭 but can u write morgie x glinda the good witch’s daughter and there’s like a “pink goes good with green” moment? I’m sorry if that doesn’t make sense😖😖

No you made perfect sense, sweetheart! Even if it didn’t I’d find something to do with your prompt and let you tell me you hated it and want me to try again if I didn’t get your vision. This is a cute prompt, I’m excited to use it.

Also as per her wiki page, Glinda is a sorceress and not actually a witch so I had such silly idea for this, I love it. Thank you so much for the request anon.

Also, something about them is giving me season 3 Jancy vibes and I adore it, anyway.

Flash Photography

Morgie le Fay x Reader

Pronouns used: she/her/hers

Summary: the most unlikely of students somehow ended up on the yearbook committee and tasked with their own page in it

Warnings: I swear like once, this one is honestly really sweet and fluffy and honestly a little bit (lot bit) cheesy

Word Count: 2.4K

    As luck would have it, Merlin Academy’s walls only held two students who happened to be the children of sorcerers. Ironically though, as the school’s requirements for every junior to have at least one extra curricular would have it, both young sorcerers were on the yearbook committee. Morgie le Fay made one hell of a photographer, no one in the school could argue on that and (Y/n) was possibly the best journalist the school had seen. No one should have been shocked that the two would be paired together on the magic section of the yearbook. I mean, in a school made for magic, you’d only want the best for the pages about it. And don’t get him wrong, Morgie loves magic. He loves being a sorcerer and he’s excited to have a whole two pages dedicated to sorcery. But to work with (Y/n)? He’s not as sure he’s excited about that, actually there’s this odd feeling floating around in his gut as he thinks about it. Not one he seems to be able to recognize and that drives him crazy.  

    The bubble of pink joy that was the school’s only sorceress seems to float around the place, the movements being nearly mesmerizing. It’s oddly similar to her mother and Morgie can’t help but find some sort of jealousy in it. How was it seemingly so easy for her to connect into her mother’s energy and magic when he never felt like he deserved his own mother’s legacy? It was this mind boggling thing that seemed to leave him staring and unsure as to what caused it. Like she was something to be studied in his mind. 

   Not that that matters though, how could it when she’s perched in the seat next to him, bubbling off ideas as she talks with her hands. The scent of her sweet perfume taking an overwhelming amount of his attention as she nearly beams at him. Bright features filling up the space at their two person table top as they workshop different layouts for the opening pages. They have a base idea for the layout, and a good grasp on when he needs to pop into classes such as “Caring for Magic Creatures” and “Honors Alchemy” to get good shots. But moving on to do their page seems to put both teens at pause, eyes flickering over each other as if begging the other person to make the first decision.

   Morgie finds himself speaking first, words coming out on a groan that he hopes sounds playful, “Well, with the way we dress our spread is going to be a visual nightmare to put together.” It causes the sorceress across from him to scrunch her brows, “What do you mean?” With a vague gesture that seems somewhere close to a wave he references to both of their outfits, “Well you know the green and gold with the pink and silver. Totally clashes, it’ll be a nightmare to take pictures of.” It earns him a giggle, her head shaking as she smiles at him, “No it’ll look great, pink goes great with green, they’re complimentary colors. Trust me, we’ve got this.” Something in him begs to argue with her, but he can’t. Not when she’s looking at him like that. 

   So he nods, pulling the notebook in front of him closer with a smile, “Well then, Madam Good Witch, what are you thinking of writing on this page?” She smiles, looking at him as she absent-mindedly doodles little flowers in the margins of her notebook, “Well, obviously we need to explain what makes being a sorcerer different from other magic users, then I was thinking we could talk about our mothers’ legacies. You know, a good magic versus black magic sort of thing.” Morgie hates the idea, the last think he wants to do is praise his mother and her legacy, but surely that’s what Madam Jinx is looking for. And when the bright bubble beside you looks so excited she seems like she might burst, how do you tell her no? So he smiles, teeth on shy display and nods, giving into exactly what she wants from him. What else was there for him to do? ・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・     Morgie le Fay was no idiot, his camera obviously had a timer, there was no need for anyone else to take his picture. But when she asked to do it, bouncing on her toes with that bright smile, how could he say no? How could Morgie do anything but slide the strap of the camera over her head and gently position her hands over his most prized possession? He’s got his hands on top of hers, holding his camera as he points it towards the school, coaching her through how to use it. She’s smiling, soft giggles escaping her lips as she follows his instructions. Bodies seeming to find a comfortable temperature in the January air against one another.  “Okay, now you feel that little wheel at the top of the left side? Slide it until the words on the sign are legible.” She nods, following his instructions, her thumb brushing over his in a ghostly fashion with each movement. “Okay, now what?” “Now, press the button that I put your right index finger on.” He hears the shutter click, her finger dipping down under his as he puts the lightest pressure on it. “There you go! Now, when you do it for pictures of me, you won't need to focus it in as far, just make sure I’m not blurry and you can handle the rest. I believe in you.”

   (Y/n) feels slightly cold as Morgie pulls away from her, letting one hand drop from the camera as she pulls it lower on its strap. Her eyes set on watching the boy walk to stand in front of the cobblestones beside them, setting up a blank backdrop for their photos. She’s studying him, taking in his green button up and gold scarf, leather clinging to his arms in a way that should clash with the rest of his outfit but instead makes it oddly dashing. With a smile pressed over his lips as he eyes her up and down. “You know, you need to hold the camera up to take my picture, right?” “Right, yeah,” and she lifts it back up, focusing the camera in on him, just to drop it again, “Hold on.” The girl's mary janes make a sweet little tapping sound on the concrete as she approaches him, slow and gentle as if she’s sure he’ll startle off like a hurt animal, “Just let me-" A hand comes up to Morgie’s face, softly sweeping a few stray hairs back into the shellacked style he tends to keep it in. “There, that’s better,” she hums, smile laying sweetly on her lips as she backs away, returning to  her former spot as she holds the camera back up. Angling it back to his face and twisting the focus ever so slightly. A lip slipping between her teeth to mask her prideful smirk as she realizes the boy is suddenly a twinge more pink than he was when she first went to take his photo, but what was it she said? Pink goes good with green, doesn’t it? She smiles to herself, letting the shutter of the camera click as she captures that boyish smile and his freshly fixed hair eternally. 

    “Okay, I want to take one more, do you want to do a different pose?” He hums, propping a leg up against the wall and bringing a hand to rest on the back of his neck, the other settling on his stomach. “How’s this?” It earns him another one of those bubbly giggles, the girl softly shaking her head, “If you’re going to pose like that, your face better give me attitude, le Fay.” “Oh, I have attitude, don’t you worry about that.” With dramatics he’s tossing his scarf over his shoulder, giving her a once over with a cheeky smirk on his lips, as if he knows he's being outrageously flamboyant. Then the boy lets his face fall to a smolder but from the glint in his eyes, you can feel the way he’s trying not to laugh, something about the mix is nearly intoxicating and (Y/n) finds herself taking two pictures of it, one of him smoldering and one when the dam finally breaks and he can’t stop himself from laughing. His posture falling to be so relaxed as he leans, hand on his stomach coming to clutch it as if that will help him recollect himself, and he just looks beautiful. She can’t help but question if it would be weird of her to ask if she could keep this one for herself. Just a little memory for the road, right? 

   “Alright,” he’s catching his breath as he reaches an arm out to her, “It’s my turn, give me my camera.” She slides the strap off of her neck as she approaches him, handing it back as she turns to take his former place against the wall. “And if I had to give attitude, you better be able to bring it, (Y/n).” Both teens share this cheesy smile for a moment, then Morgie winks, and backs away from her, “I’m serious, you better pose for me.” 

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

    When they first got this assignment, any time that Morgie didn’t spend with his friends or in required yearbook committee meetings, he was with (Y/n). Answering questions about his mom and her legacy for (Y/n)’s half of the work for their magic spread or eventually, just letting himself exist in her presence. Watching movies or reading trashy tabloids together while they did a face mask. Whatever kept him in her presence worked for him. They made an unlikely duo, Morgie was well aware of that, but something about her made him feel at peace. As if he was safe with her. But that was January and February, when deadlines didn’t hang over them as if threatening to fall and crush them. Now as flowers begin to take up every bush on campus and the snow is finally gone, meetings have doubled and Morgie can’t seem to find enough time outside of the dark room. Or if he does manage to get out of the dark room -and not have plans with the other villains- (Y/n) is too busy hunched over a type writer or a notepad for him. Considering he didn’t know how he felt about her two months ago, he seemed oddly lonely without her presence. 

    To say that Morgie got too attached would be the understatement of the year. Through every bubbling giggle and gentle brush of her fingers the sorcerer went from being unsure about her to absolutely infatuated with her. She felt safe, of course he craved that, but there was something else. Something intoxicating about her that he couldn’t help but to crave. Morgie should be embarrassed, he shouldn’t feel this way about her at all, and yet, all he can think about is asking her to the end of the year formal. About a pink tie with his dark suit and a sparkling gown accompanying her glowing complexion. There was nothing to take his mind off of it when he was alone in the dark room like he was now, and he knew better than thinking about his friends like that. At least, he thinks that she’s his friend. The boy shakes his head, as if the motion can clear his thoughts, hanging up the last of the photos that needs to develop so it can dry. He needed to get out of the dark room, maybe go find Hook or someone else who could occupy the quiet spot in his mind.

    He doesn’t expect anyone to be in Madam Jinx’s room when he slips through the door, but to say the sorceress standing over that table was a disappointment would be a lie. He smiles, idling up behind her to peer over her shoulder, eyes flickering over her late night work. Pictures of the two of them are laid out around her, as well as her paragraphs on both of their mothers and what a sorcerer is. She’s moving the slips of paper seemingly aimlessly around the scrap book paper in front of her, the pages a muted yellow tone that matched the rest of that year’s "Excalibur" to a t. “What are you doing in here this late?” He keeps his voice soft, careful not to scare her as he lets his hands come to rest on either side of his friend. Effectively trapping her between himself and the surface before her. (Y/n) slightly jumps at the sound of his voice, taking in a sharp inhale as she does. “Don’t scare me like that.” He whispers a sorry in her ear, leaning over her shoulder to look at the pages. 

    “Try alternating the pictures and the bodies of text, and put the explanation of what a sorcerer is over the top of both pages.” She hums, tilting her head as she picks up the pieces just to drop them back down again, “Show me?” Morgie picks up the picture of him smiling, just to move it aside and grab the picture of him smoldering. “First of all, I look better in this one,” there’s a teasing tone hanging off of his words as he places the photo a centimeter away from the outer edge of the left piece of scrapbook paper. Next, shifting the writing about Morgana over until it’s about two centimeters from the inner edge, the words lower down as to avoid any overlap. He does the opposites with her pictures and the information about Glinda, leaving an open space between their two photos with either body of text next to one another. Finally, he takes the paragraph on what a sorcerer was, letting it fall between their pictures, “There, how’s that?”

   He leans a little further off of her as he speaks, watching as she tilts her head from side to side, taking it in. Then, with that picture perfect smile but no warning she turns on her toes to face him, making Morgie suddenly deeply aware of how close the two of them happen to be. She doesn’t pay it any mind though, smiling up at him with a hand slipping onto his cheek, “Morgie le Fay, you might just be a genius, do you know that?” He's not sure if it's the praise or the physical contact, but suddenly he can’t seem to control himself. Not with the way she’s smiling at him and the feeling of her soft palm against his face. Morgie finds himself leaning into her lips, eyes fluttering shut as he kisses her. The motion is soft and gentle and just as he realizes what he’s doing, he goes to pull away. (Y/n) starts kissing back though, her other hand coming up to his neck and pulling him ever so slightly closer, effectively keeping the boy against her lips. He’s still the first to pull away though, eyes fluttering open as he looks down at her flustered little smile and half lidded eyes. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me, I-” But she laughs, cutting him off as she softly rubs his cheek with a smile, “It’s just like I told you Morgie, pink goes good with green.”

[devildom-moss]

This is sort of a joke so only do this if you want to but: brothers with an mc who eats moss like kris from deltarune. It's..... weirdly attractive? There's a sheep joke to be made here

Sometimes we need a silly little joke, and that's okay. I hope you like it anon. Is the moss thing related to this blog name or is it just random? Also, I don't know who that is - and I had to look up what deltarune is. Maybe it's an age thing or maybe it's just one of those topics I know nothing about. Either way~

Also, I'll be honest, I set up an excel sheet with all of my requests organized by post type before I did this request. Now I feel more organized. Yay.

The demon brothers react to MC eating moss

(SFW) (silliness)

Word Count: +1,600

Lucifer

No. No. No. No. “Spit that out right now, MC.”

They’re going to give this poor single parent of 6 an aneurysm. Moss could be dangerous for MC. Where did they even get that? Did they at least wash it before shoveling it into their mouth?

What is he going to tell Diavolo if moss gets them sick? “Yeah, sorry about needing you to call a human doctor for MC. I looked away from them for one minute, and they started eating moss.” He has a responsibility to keep MC safe.  

Lucifer is the type to order MC to get a psych eval when he sees them eating moss. He knows it’s weird and potentially dangerous. This kind of unusual behavior should be closely monitored by a professional.

He’ll nearly lose his mind believing that MC had definitely lost theirs.

“What in the Devildom has gotten into you? Have you utterly lost it? MC, I can’t handle these kids on my own anymore. I need you to be sane and relatively normal, please.”

Please don’t do this to him. Lucifer needs stability in his life, and eating moss is not the picture of stability.

He will make MC’s potential problem about him for a bit in true bad single parent fashion.

Mammon

“The hell ya doin’?!”

Mammon will not hesitate to point out how weird he thinks they are. He doesn’t want to hurt MC’s feelings, but he can’t stop himself from giving them a look of confusion and light disgust.

“That can’t possibly taste good, can it? Ya can’t just go ‘round eatin’ any plant ya see.”

Once the initial surprise works through him, he’s just worried about MC eating something weird. What would he do if they got sick? What would he tell Lucifer? He’s their guardian, and he takes that role more seriously than he likes to let on.

Mammon’s the most likely to try to physically remove the moss from MC’s mouth (but Lucifer is a close second). It could be dangerous. He’ll confiscate MC’s moss if they have any left and keep a close eye on them.

His search history from that day will be telling. “is moss dangerous for humans” “is moss dangerous for humans to eat” “types of moss that are safe for humans to eat” “how to tell if my human is sick” “human ate something bad what happens” “why did my human eat moss” “is my human mentally ill” “Devildom human doctors near me” “human-friendly moss” “good dates for humans” “how to charm weird humans” “how to romance weird humans no magic” (He got distracted.)

Leviathan

Levi finds it funny (and he probably actually knows which character you’re referencing, anon). It’s weird, sure, but he figures whatever MC is doing, it’s pretty harmless.

He wonders if that applies to algae. It might make cleaning out his fish tanks a bit easier if MC can and wants to eat it. The thought pops into his head, but Levi decides against it.

It’s strangely comforting that MC has something weird and arguably off-putting about them. Usually, he’s the weird, gross one. (This is where creepy Levi kicks in and he wants to know more about MC’s weird habits. Maybe if it turns out that they’re super weird, he can keep them all to himself. However, Levi lets his creepy thoughts go as quickly as they came.) Levi unlocked new information. Friend points +50. MC’s charm points +30.

“If I kiss you right now, that’s close enough to touching grass, right?” That’s a thing he’s supposed to do, isn’t he? Shit. He didn’t mean to say that out loud, but it’s too late.

Levi’s one of the brothers who will just let MC be and do their thing. He might double check and make sure MC isn’t going to get sick, but after that, he’ll leave them be. It’s not really his business. If it makes MC happy, he won’t judge.

Satan

Oddly supportive boyfriend.

The man’s a little feral and weird. I think he would find it kind of precious and adorable; it’s kind of like how cats like to eat grass.

He’d spend a while figuring out which mosses are safe to consume, asking MC if they have any preferences for which moss types they enjoy. Do they prefer certain textures and mouth feels? Are certain colors preferable? Which moss tastes the best?

Then, he would set up a moss terrarium for MC filled with their favorite mosses. Satan may ask them to help him build it as a cute little craft date. This way, MC will have a way to safely snack on moss whenever they wish. A terrarium has the added benefit of MC being able to control where the moss comes from so that they can avoid any harmful bacteria, viruses, pesticides, etc.

Of course, Satan understands that eating moss is unusual, and he may question what it is that compels MC to eat moss, but he doesn’t see the need to stop it.

He may taste the moss himself (in the same way that someone with a pet may be tempted to try pet food). It would, in all likelihood, disappoint him, but MC’s enjoyment is all that matters.

Satan has a real “MC can have a bit of moss – as a treat” kind of mindset. He’ll probably try to see if he can hand-feed MC like they’re a stray cat. He’s weird, too, but we love him.

Asmodeus

“Honey, no. This isn’t how we transition into our feral era.”

Asmo thinks it’s kind of gross, but he asks if maybe eating moss is good for the skin or something (because he can’t think of any other reason MC would even consider eating moss).

When they tell him that’s not why, he gives them a troubled stare with his arms crossed over his stomach. “Uhm, hun. Why are you eating it then?”

Even if MC tells him that it tastes good, there’s no way he’s trying it unless it has incredible health and beauty effects. He can’t stomach the thought of it.

After the disgust washes over him, the concern floods his system instead. He asks if MC is sure that they can and should be eating moss. Regardless of what MC tells him, Asmo will go to Satan or Lucifer (probably both) to make sure that MC isn’t putting themselves in any danger. He couldn’t handle it if MC got sick. All that stress would destroy his skin (and break his heart beyond repair).

Once he ensures MC’s health, he tries to just let MC do their thing. “Just please don’t eat that stuff around me, ‘kay? And if you eat it, please brush your teeth before you kiss me.”

Beelzebub

“Aw, MC, are you hungry? I’m sure we have something more delicious than moss in the fridge. I was just on my way to get a snack. I’ll pick one up for you too, okay?”

He’s probably eaten some moss in his time. He’s no stranger to eating weird things, so his reaction is the least judgmental.

Sometimes moss looks delicious, right? It just makes sense to him that they would want to try eating it.

Beel will definitely ask them to spare some of their moss so he can try it, too. If the moss tastes relatively bad, he might be weary of their tastes in the future, but as long as eating it won’t hurt them, Beel doesn’t care.

Beel is probably the only one who would try to suggest tastier methods of eating the moss. “What about putting it on top of ice cream? Or maybe in a cheeseburger. Mmm. . . cheeseburger. A moss salad might be more appetizing, too. I could blend it into a smoothie or some soup for you. How does that sound?”

It makes him feel a bit comforted that they both have eating habits that others think are weird – like it brings them closer and is a special connection only they can share.

Belphegor

He’s seen Beel bite into a pillar at the castle when he’s hungry. He’s not too troubled by a bit of moss-eating.

Belphie trusts MC not to be stupid enough to ingest moss that would be toxic to them, and not worrying saves him a bit of energy and time. Additionally, I think Belphie would be relatively knowledgeable about plants, so he would probably be able to tell if what MC is eating is likely to kill them.

For the most part, he just doesn’t care. MC could even kiss him with fresh moss breath, and he won’t give a shit. It’s probably better than morning or fish breath, and he’s still getting a kiss, so he doesn’t see a reason to complain.

He won’t be ultra supportive like Satan, but he will be a bit more enthusiastic about it than others – mostly because it gives him an idea for a prank. He could make soup with moss in it, have MC bring a bowl to Lucifer, and eat one themselves so he isn’t suspicious. Then Lucifer would end up eating moss soup. He could probably do that with multiple types of food, too.

One (stupid) point of contention will be that Belphie thinks moss is better as a pillow than as a snack, but he acknowledges that’s a ridiculous difference of opinion. However, that could be a nice date idea: find a mossy forest where he can take a nap while MC gets to snack on moss.

He will probably get scolded by Lucifer and Mammon for enabling MC’s behavior (and not at all because he goes on weird moss dates with MC).

[cupidjyu]

how would tbz react (especially maknae line) to a s/o that's shy and doesn't give affection easily? not because they're not affectionate, they're just too shy to initiate it

a bit too shy

(maknae line) when you're shy and don't give affection easily !!

genre: hugging, teasing, shy sunwoo, blushing, back hugs, kissing notes: i think i might've accidentally wrote maknae line 3x times in a row WSDKJFH they're really fun anyways so i don't mind!! i hope you like this knew series and tysm anon for the amazing idea 🫶 word count: 0.8k

haknyeon

haknyeon really doesn’t mind at all that you’re too shy to show your affection to him. in fact, he enjoys the contrast between the two of you. he especially finds it fun when he shows affection to you and you would try to reciprocate it later on.

“y/n!”

you widened your eyes at the sight of him running to you. he had his bag slung over his shoulder with a wide smile.

“haknyeon,” you greeted, smiling back. but then, he threw his arms around your waist, pulling you into a tight hug as he nuzzled into your shoulder. you immediately flushed and pushed him away weakly. “wh-what are you doing…”

“i’m greeting you of course,” he giggled, smiling at you foolishly. he teased you, holding your hand and swinging it, “c’mon, hug me back~”

you shook your head, looking away, “you know i’m not good at those types of things…”

“hmph, alright” he simply said, patting your head. deep down, he could easily predict what was about to happen. “come on, i’m starving. i want to try that new restaurant!” and then he hastily turned around, about to walk away.

you stopped him.

“wait, hak.”

“hm?” he turned around with a knowing grin. ignoring his teasing expression, you slowly wrapped your arms around him. your breath was fast as you moved to quickly hide your face in his chest. he hugged you back even tighter.

“i knew you would eventually,” he laughed.

you hit his chest, “shut up or i won’t do it ever again.”

“oh no, please do it everyday,” he pouted. you blushed again as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

sunwoo

he obviously wouldn’t care. he’s shy too and he finds comfort in having someone else beside him who’s similar.

… okay, maybe he does care a little bit. that’s especially when he works up the courage to do something and you don’t even do it back! he gets all embarrassed...

he was lying next to you on the bed, relaxing.

“hey, y/n,” he whispered, turning to you. his eyes were big for someone who’s usually always sleepy.

“hm?” you hummed.

“can i… try something?”

you paused and nodded slowly, “sure.”

he hesitated, his eyes darting nervously. he looked cute, but you were also skeptical of what he was trying to do.

what you didn’t expect, was for him to lunge forward and press a quick kiss to your lips. you squeaked at the feeling of his soft, plush lips against yours. your lips parted in response as your body went rigid. your eyes could only stare at him with bewilderment.

“agh,” he choked out, his cheeks turning red. “i was trying to do that for a while…”

“oh,” was what you could only respond. 

“what,” he muttered, noticing your silence. “aren’t you going to do it back? you know, it took a lot of courage, and i mean a lot.”

“okay, you’re being just a little bit dramatic,” you remarked.

“a little, but still,” he puckered his lips. you giggled, staring at his duck face. hesitantly and nervously, you leaned in and pressed a short kiss to his lips. you pulled away almost immediately, feeling your face burst into flames.

“you’re blushing,” he laughed, poking your cheek.

“i know that,” you bit back.

“it’s cute.”

eric

eric is definitely different from the others. he’s a very energetic and extroverted person, so it’s only natural that he would want to push you out of your shell. though he never forces you to, of course, he’s just a very encouraging boyfriend.

“hey, i have an idea,” he appeared behind you, almost magically as you were organizing the bouquet of flowers that he had gifted you.

you eyed him suspiciously. you could tell it was another one of his operation: show more affection! ideas.

“is it what i think it is?”

he laughed, sheepishly, “... maybe.”

you sighed, deciding to indulge him, “what is it?”

“kiss me.”

you practically choked on air, whipping around to face him. he was smiling smugly and honestly attractively, making your heart beat faster and faster. 

“e-eric,” you stuttered. 

“what? we’ve been dating for a while,” he pouted.

“but i can’t just-”

“you can, you can!” he turned you around and pulled you into a back hug, holding you comfortably and warmly. “i believe in you.”

you thought for a moment.

“okay, fine,” you whispered. “i’ll try.”

you turned to face him. he looked down at you expectedly, a small gentle smile on his lips. with a deep breath, you leaned in. but almost immediately, you backed away, already feeling yourself blush.

“i don’t think i ca-”

he quickly caught you by the waist, pulling you back in. he caressed your hair softly, “remember there’s no one around, hm? it’s just you and me.”

you paused and slowly nodded. with another shaky breath, you leaned in and this time you were kissing him. you lingered there for a while, moving your lips slightly. then, you pulled away, looking away shyly.

after a while, you heard a cough from behind you.

“th-that was amazing,” he muttered. his ears were red now.

“why are you shy now?” you giggled.

“you’re a great kisser," he muttered. "kiss me again so i can confirm my observation.”

"eric..."

[princessasmosprincess]

I saw your asks were open and I ran right here! Could you write something about Asmodeus finding out that adult!mc is inexperienced in love and still hasn’t had their first kiss yet?

I’m not very experienced in the romance department myself, so this is something I’ve thought about quite a bit since Asmo is my fav. It would be so intimidating to be with Asmo, just because he is so experienced and he’s probably done EVERYTHING. At the same time it might be nice to let him take the lead? I think he'd be very gentle and reassuring as your “first,” whether that means kisses or something more intimate. I also don’t think he’d be judgmental, he’s been with all different types of people so nothing would surprise him.

I don't know what spirit possessed me, Anon, but I saw your ask and the words just kept coming. I do hope you like it ^ ♡ ^

***

Taboo

Genre: A little fluff, a little angst.

Warnings: Nonsexual nudity, not really suggestive but it does dance around the topic of sex, MC is a virgin and has never been kissed and feels embarrassed about it.

***

“...And can you believe, no one had ever told Marchosias that he was a bad kisser! Now, I don't mind if it’s a little rough but I’d prefer any hickies to be lower than jaw level, do you know how hard it is to cover them up even with magic? I swear, it was like making out with a suckerfish.”

Asmo slipped off his robe before folding it and setting it at the edge of the tub, smiling when you laughed at his description of the kiss. He did love an audience, and you hadn't heard most of his stories yet.

You were already in the tub, basking in the warmth and the light floral scent that wafted up with the steam.

Every once in a while Asmo would invite you for an evening bath to relax and gossip. Before you knew him well, you’d been wary of his intentions, but eventually you figured out his motives were relatively pure. He never once crossed your boundaries or made you feel uncomfortable. By now, you barely even acknowledged each other's nudity.

Asmo stepped into the tub, sinking into the cloud-like froth of bubbles, “I know he’s got that whole innocent 'I only give true answers to all questions’ thing going, so you don't want to hurt his feelings, but someone had to tell him.”

“Poor guy.” You laughed.

Asmo was usually the one who did most of the talking, but you didn't mind as long as you were able to get in a word from time to time. He always had a lot to say, so unless something particularly interesting happened to you at RAD, you’d let him go on for as long as he wanted.

“Oh, don't worry, I was gentle with him. I even gave him a private lesson, if you know what I mean.” He smirked, “But we never really talked again after that.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah… I'm pretty sure he was just trying to use me to get to the Celestial Realm anyway, as if I wasn't disgraced and cast down. Like, Solomon probably has more sway with my Father than I do at this point.” Asmo sighed and stretched, leaning back against the tub. “But that's enough about me and all of that… What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah,” Asmo's amber eyes brightened, “I wanna hear about your romantic escapades, so spill.”

You hadn’t quite gotten to revealing many of the intimate details of your past to him or any of the brothers.

Your cheeks warmed, “I don't think any of my stories will be as interesting as yours.”

Asmo laughed, “Well of course not, dear, but that doesn't mean I don't want to hear about them.”

“I don't know, Asmo, I don’t really-”

“I won’t ask you to share anything too personal, if that's what you’re worried about,” He lifted a handful of bubbles to his face and blew them in your direction, “Ooh, what about your first kiss, you could at least tell me about that!”

You broke eye contact with him, chewing your bottom lip as you tried to come up with the right words to say, and when they did, they caught in your throat, “I- I can’t.”

A sly grin stole across his lips, “Darling, don’t be silly. Is it that embarrassing of a story? You can tell me, I promise I won’t share it with a soul.”

“That’s not it, Asmo.”

“Hmm?” He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t understand.”

Your voice came out barely above a whisper, “I haven't had my first kiss yet.”

Asmo blinked a few times, the air felt heavy around you, though he didn't seem to notice. He was more surprised than anything.

You’d never had your first kiss?

“Does that mean you're also a-”

You turned your head, willing away the tears pricking at your eyes. It was stupid, you knew. There were lots of people like you. But you felt so ashamed. So unloved.

You knew the question was bound to come up sooner or later, but you still felt unprepared.

“Oh.” Asmo’s gaze softened, not that you could see it. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed-”

This was you, after all, adored by the future Demon King and the Avatars of Sin alike. He didn't think it was possible you could have lived for this long without so much as a kiss.

“It’s ok, Asmo, you didn't know.” You sighed, tilting your head back against the edge of the tub and closing your eyes. You needed a moment.

Asmo sank lower in the water, so his head sat just above the bubbles, his eyes never leaving you.

Asmo’s whole world for the longest time had revolved around himself and sex and carnal desire. That was just what it meant to be the Avatar of Lust. But in the grand scheme of things, experience in those areas didn't matter much at all. Passion was more important, whether it lasted a moment or centuries.

His heart ached for you. From your reaction, this was clearly beyond you simply not having an interest in intimacy. Asmo didn't understand how the opportunity hadn't come about for you. It infuriated him that other humans hadn't seen what he saw in you. How could anyone not love you?

Asmo hardly remembered his first, a face faded from millennia past, a kiss that hadn't made much of an impression after millions more, new and exciting feelings that had overwhelmed his senses at one point but would feel so tame to him now. But he did know that doing something new was always scary at first.

He could offer to help you take that step. To be your first. Of anyone in the entire universe, wouldn't the Avatar of Lust be the best possible first kiss? Wouldn't your first time with an expert make future opportunities feel less intimidating?

And if he was your first kiss, maybe he could be your first in other ways…

His gaze flickered to your lips.

But it didn't seem like the right time. Asmo had made a mess of things as it was. He knew he shouldn't have pressed you, but he had been too curious. Your feelings were already hurt.

He would talk to you about it some other time. Asmo didn't want you to think he pitied you and he didn't want to pressure you either. There was nothing shameful about your situation, whether you felt that way or not. It would do you no good to rush things when you were feeling so vulnerable.

No, he would wait for the right moment, and if you chose someone else as your first he would gracefully accept your decision.

Until then, he would show you how precious you truly were.

***

Cross-posted on AO3

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hey how are you hope you ok

I got a request for Tommy Shelby if that ok

So basically you and Tommy are dating and one day in a meeting you was having theses really bad stomach pains and you thought nothing of at than when u got home and I got worse and than u went to Tommy crying in pain still and he said you might be in labour ( u don’t know u pregnant) than he calls polly and then u gived birth to you boy or girl up to you and then next day every one was  Shock and yh hope that make sense u don’t have to do it x

Dear Anon,

Thank you for waiting! I changed things up a bit and I apologize for any mistakes as I'm editing on mobile at work. Hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: childbirth, mentions of Hugh stress and poor eating habits. Peaky related themes and magic.

Dating Thomas was a life changing decision in more ways than you had originally realsied. Your whole life plan had been derailed by the constant ups and downs. 

Every new accomplishment and high was met with an even more dangerous low. You were along for the ride while managing your position at the book shop you owned. Long days and fun nights occupied these past few months so much that you realised that your period was late. 

Very late. 

You thought about it for a while and realised it was probably what used to happen when you were a teenager. High times of stress would stop it altogether. You had no other symptoms that women had told you about. No weird cravings, or morning sickness. Just lots of drama and stres.

You pushed the thought from your mind as you went about your usual routines. 

________6 months later____

You had come to the realisation that you must be barren. A fact that was difficult to come to terms with, however Tommy had said he wasnt interested in children any way. 

Looking at your self in the mirror you noticed a bit of weight on you and made a mental note to try and correct it by skiping meals for a while. Nothing big to worry about in comparison to another rival family causing chaos. You’d only just gotten sorted from being held captive a week ago. 

You already had so much on your shoulders at the book shop, orders were piling up and you were spending more and more late nights and early mornings. Tommy’s men escorting you and staying by the door while you worked. 

The multiple attempts on your life did nothing but add to the list of reasons you couldnt sleep at night. You were slowly falling apart. 

Cramps set in about mid day and you finally gave up. You called Tom letting him know you couldnt make it to lunch and went right to bed. Taking a much needed nap you woke up to even worse sets of pain. 

You grabbed your hot water bottle and tried to curl up on the couch with a book. Struggling through the sets of pain you began to wonder if something else was wrong. Wasn’t there an organ that could explode in your stomach? 

Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. 

____________________________________________________

Sitting across the table from the old woman, Polly thought back through time. Her eyes were dark and she had told her lots of things about her life that night. Gave her the curse of knowledge, knowing all too well that the girl was too weak to fight fate. And Polly had tried, every step of the way to fight it. 

It didnt surprise her that she was once again stuck at that wooden table. That the woman reflected on something said ages ago. 

A child. 

Polly’s heart sunk when she thought about the two children that were permanently out of her reach. A child? At this age. Not likely. 

The dream took a turn and woman shouted at her. 

“Go to her now before its too late.” And image of your face came into her mind and suddenly she was awake. The womans cold scream still echoing in her mind. 

Getting her clothes pulled on she quickly called Thomas. 

“Need to get to her place now” She said trying to pull on her boot at the same time. 

“Pol - why? What’s wrong?” The sound of panic in his voice made her reconsider your place within the family. 

“Just go, I’m on my way now.” She hung up the phone not wanting to waist anytime. On the drive over she thought about you and what this ment. 

There was no way of making sense of the situation. All the things she was told never made sense as a girl and wouldnt likely start to make sense now. She sighed defeated. She liked you well enough. Smart, kept Thomas in line, a bit soft hearted but she could see that changing the more you saw of the world. 

She parked and ran up the steps of your building. Opening the door she ould hear your soft cries as he tried to comfort you. 

“Pol what’s wrong with her.” 

“It’s a child.” Polly said moving into the kitchen seeing what supplies they were working with. 

“Fuck off.” You said a tone of disbelif. Coming back into the room she watched your face cycle through the many stages of panic. 

“Accept it so we can get on with it.” Polly said to the both of them. 

“How?” 

“Part of the prophecy. Flashbacks got me up in the middle of the night.” She watched as Tommy fell under the weight of her words. 

“Alright, love.” He kissed the top of your head. “It’s not going to make sense. So just let it happen.” You looked at up him your fear fading in the warmth of his gaze. 

“I dont think I can do it.” You groaned, tears welling up in your eyes. 

“It’s already happened. Pol saw it. That means you certainly can. Just have to make it from here to there.” 

After that you followed instructions, Polly was professional but couldnt help but feel a fondness growing for you. This was also a side of Tom she hadn’t seen since he was a small boy. He did everything without thought, never letting you out of his grip. 

“Tough girl.” He kissed your temple. “You can do it, gotta push again” 

Like many times before. Polly pulled a small little babe from their mother on the living room floor of a dingy flat in Birmingham. 

You collapsed against Tom and Polly went to work ensuring the child was alright. Smallest little girl she’d ever seen. Born too soon, quiet as a mouse as she looked up at her great aunt. Her heart was strong, and Polly knew just by holding her that this child, was significant in something bigger than all of them put together. 

She handed the girl off to her parents. Leaning back against the sofa sitting next to Thomas. He handed her a cigarette from his breast pocket. 

Taking a long drag, she realized she should give them space to enjoy the moment. Her bones had no interest in moving as the night, and previous months took a toll on her. 

“She predicted this? Why didn't you say something?”  Tom whispered stoking the cheek of his first child. 

Polly almost snapped at him, before registering his tone of voice. She’d never seen him this vulnerable. 

“She told me a lot of things, I was small at the time. None of you were born yet. It’s not specific stuff-” 

“Thank you.” You said with tears in your eyes. “I -I Don't know what to say.” 

“You shouldn't say, anything love. You're family now” 

_________________________________________________

You were the most exhausted you’d ever been, but a family meeting was unavoidable. That night was the last night you spent in your apartment. He’d carried you to the car the next morning to take you to his place. 

You watched him move around the massive kitchen. He got you a cushion before letting you sit at the head of the table. A cup of strange tea was placed in front of you as the family started to pile in. 

Ruby slept in your arm and you tried to relax as the family came close. You were friendly and warm with everyone but this was the first time they were seeing you as a permanent fixture in the family. 

“That must have been so scary love. Your body hid it so well” Emse came up to you putting her arm around you in a makeshift hug. “Look at her. So small. Pretty like her mum.” She sat close to you and you knew that it was because of her natural distaste for family meetings. Her posture told you if anyone got smart she’d chew them out. 

Arthur and John started to congratulate Tommy loudly and your stomach turned when they set on you. She was so small you didn't feel comfortable passing her around yet. What if that offended people? 

“Look at that! Next Shelby made a grand entrance like her da” Arthur kissed your cheek, his mustache tickling. “Good job, love.”

“Thanks,” You said softly. 

“God I hope she’s just like you Tom. Finally some payback.” John came over and lowered his voice once seeing her. “Fuck she’s so small. You can call us any time if you need anything. Got a truckload of baby clothes for ya.” 

“Really though, love. Call any time.” Esme said and you hoped more than anything you would get closer to her. 

The meeting started and Tommy made a grand speech. It didn't take long before Polly was rushing you back up to lie down in bed. When you woke up there was a ring on your wedding finger and a note on the bedside table. 

Gone to London for business. Be back tomorrow. 

You went back to the massive set of diamonds on your finger. It was talked about but you hadn't had the chance to think about it yet. 

There was a soft knock at the door and Esme poked her head in. 

“Staying while he’s away, do you need anything, love.” Without knowing what to do you just stuck your hand out at her. 

She looked at the ring. 

“When!” She whispered.

“Just woke up and it was there.” You whispered back in disbelief. 

“Such a Thomas thing to do.” She laughed and sat on the bed next to you. You both talked for hours and you were grateful she let you doze off and nap. 

You and Ruby fit right in.

[odditycircus-2002]

This is the same anon who sent you the reaction requests to several music videos as well as the Outworlders stumbling upon an Adult store and I had another reaction request for you. Could you please do a reaction of Medusa Reader and Syzoth accidentally stumbling upon an adult website like Pornhub and watching several videos with the volume set on high so when Johnny and several of the Outworlders as well as a few Earthrealm fighters drop in on them everyone's just having a massive freakout trying to understand what's going on. You wrote how both of them like to watch random videos online whenever they're with Johnny and they just happened to see a link to a video so they check it out not thinking much and after watching several videos they badger Johnny with questions as well and they even get inspired by some videos to try out on their partners later on and both Ashrah and Baraka quietly thank Johnny without telling him why they're thanking him.

A/N: 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 You always come up with the FUNNIEST scenarios!!! Hope you don’t mind headcanons and your request slightly altered in minor ways😂

To set the scene, you and Syzoth were in your dressing room in between shoots for Johnny’s latest movie project. One that’s somewhat more physically demanding than either you or your Zaterran friend anticipated. Primarily because of how Johnny keeps demanding dozens of multiple takes for a lot of fighting scenes until he deems it just right. Honestly, it can be tedious.

So now that you and Syzoth had some downtime, you decided to pull out one of the magical devices (this one an iPad), Johnny Cage, which was confiscated initially from you. Immediately you start looking up the sequel to the Predator movie Cage showed you and Syzoth.

"Why would you look up more of that Predator film?"

"Because I found it rather fun to watch despite how frightening it was. You don't have to watch if you don't want to."

Syzoth eventually joins you in watching since, at first, it seemed more like one of Johnny's movies. However, you and Syzoth didn't know how many sketchy ads pop up when using one of these pirating sites. One of these ads includes a woman with her butt front and center looking over her shoulder. You and Syzoth weren't surprised by this as much as you were irritated since it blocked you from seeing the movie. Of course, you go to push the x button to delete the advertisement; however, it was tiny, and so the ad took you both away from your movie to an adult film site.

You're immediately greeted by a plethora of naked women being pleasured by muscular men in every way imaginable. Syzoth shouts at you for clicking the site as he attempts to exit, but the device doesn't quite pick up his heat signature needed to interact with it. So Syzoth just ended up selecting a video about a student wanting their swimming instructor's big dick.

You don't know why you and Syzoth sat through the 40-minute video, nor why you both continued to watch the next one and then the next one, then another. You hypothesized it was because you and Syzoth wanted to absorb how to please your partners, or it was akin to a train wreck. This is true for everyone else, although to varying degrees. See, you and Syzoth were watching the video at full volume, so anyone who passes by your dressing room would be able to hear every moan, whimper, and cry of ecstasy.

When Mileena and Tanya passed by while the video was playing, Mileena immediately stopped dead in her tracks as her entire face turned red when hearing a woman's voice begging for more. Tanya didn't have any of it and immediately turned her Empress around in the opposite direction before walking away.

Kitana lingers for a bit at the sounds, but walks away mortified when hearing you and Syzoth with said noises and thinking that you must be cheating your partners.

Li Mei shouts over the noise that Cage wants you and Syzoth on set soon and to cut that racket out. Also, it is a reminder that public indecency is a crime. You open the door to apologize to Li Mei and promise to turn it down. Li Mei doesn't assume the worst with you, seeing as you and Syzoth have no wrinkle of fabric out of place, and the room smells the same as the other dressing rooms. Syzoth does turn invisible out of embarrassment, though.

However, unlike Li Mei, Johnny Cage does assume the worst especially when you both speak

"I'm not sure we should be doing this, Y/N. I mean, what if we get caught?"

"The door is locked, which should give us some privacy."

Johnny being a bro to Baraka and Ashrah, immediately breaks down the door after hearing all of that.

"WHAT IN THE FUCK YOU TWO!? I-"

Johnny's accusations die in his throat when he gets a good look at the porn video playing on the IPad he lent you, with every noise of flesh slapping flesh echoing in the now silent room. You're the first to break the silence.

"So Cage, I have a few questions about-"

"NOPE!"

Johnny then turns around and walks the fuck away from the room. But then turns around to swipe the iPad from you again. He states that the next time you have it back, there's gonna be full parental controls on it. Then, the action star runs out when Syzoth tries to inquire about the videos he saw.

A few months after you and Syzoth stumble upon those porn videos, Johnny Cage is once more in Outworld for some research for his next project and to shoot some of the locations. When he ran into Ashrah, she seemed to be on cloud nine, more or less. Cage thought it was because the former demon was closer to absolution. The action star, now director, finds himself dumbfounded when Ashrah shakes his hand with a grateful smile on her face, stating that Cage has her deepest gratitude. Johnny is left even MORE befuddled when he later runs into Baraka, who just gives him a curt nod with a slow blink of his eyes.

What Johnny didn't know was that you and Syzoth took what you learned from those porn videos and applied them to your respective partners. You don't know about Syzoth, but you can confidently say you have no regrets about stumbling upon those sites if it meant bringing Baraka to Nirvana in ways you could never have initially thought of.

[bonniebird]

Isabelle Lightwood x Fem!Reader

Requested by Anon

Make a request

Request: Anonymous asked: Could I please have an imagine where the reader is the younger half-sister (warlock) of Magnus Bane and when she meets Isabelle Lightwood she is obviously smitten (as is Isabelle). Alec and Magnus then try to play matchmaker for their sisters?

Read on Wattpad

Read on AO3

“Hurry!” Izzy yelled and turned around. Grabbing your hand she pulled you up a ledge and away from the demon that was chasing you. Jace emerged from the shadows and cornered it while Magnus came from another direction. Once it was dealt with, Izzy led the way out of the building and up onto the rooftops.

You stumbled out of the building and took a deep breath as you followed her. The tops of the buildings caught the wind and it allowed you to slowly take in cold air and calm yourself. “Not used to this kind of fun?” “Fun!” You snapped and looked at Izzy who winked at you. Clearing your throat you recovered yourself and gave a flirty smile. “I have more fun to attend to elsewhere.” Snapping your fingers you vanished. Izzy smiled to herself until she spotted Magnus watching her. Turning away she started to walk off not liking the knowing look that your brother was giving her. “I think it’s time for a push.” Magnus said. Alec groaned and glanced at Magnus who was watching Jace hurry after Izzy. “No. Don’t push them. It’ll just make Izzy difficult.” Alec pleaded. Magnus smiled as he vanished the same way you had and was gone from view. Alec groaned knowing that the next few weeks were going to be rather dramatic. At least on his sister's part.

************

“What are we going to do?” Magnus said. You had been walking through Pandemonium looking for something to do as you sipped a colourful drink in your hand. “Do about what?” You asked and he smiled. “Your infatuation with the shadowhunter." He started to walk away and you quickly followed him. "What are you talking about?" You asked sharply and frowned at him. "I see it all you know. The sly glances, the way you smile to yourself and the lack of lovers all of a sudden. It's pretty obvious. Just because they miss the signs doesn't mean that I do." He was satisfied with what he said until you shrugged dismissively. Deciding that it wouldn't do to just push you towards Izzy, Magnus left you alone for the rest of the evening. He called Alex early the next day and welcomed him into his living room. "What're you planning, Magnus?" He asked when he saw the look on the warlock's face. "Why must everyone insist I am always up to something?" Magnus grumbled. "Well. Are you?" Alec asked. He smiled when Magnus' face fell. "Yes. But that's beside the point. What are we going to do about our respective sisters?" Magnus asked. Alec stared at him for a moment and huffed. “Nothing. I’m not going to get in between the two of them.” Alec said quickly. Magnus chuckled and gestured for Alec to sit with him. “They won't like us meddling.” “Who says they have to know?” Magnus asked and produced a small bottle of silvery blue liquid from thin air. “I’m not using any kind of potion or magic.” Alec said reluctantly. “All it is is a truth potion. One drop each and for the next few seconds, they will be helpless to say anything other than what they truly want to say. We could even make sure that it’s just the two of them together.” Magnus offered. Alec stared at the bottle. All his sister talked about was you. Which was fine at first but frankly he had begun to wonder if he had ever been so infuriating when he used to talk about Jace, before meeting Magnus. “Fine. But only if it’s just the two of them alone. I won't let them be humiliated.” Alec said. He pointed a finger at Magnus and found, deep down, he assumed Magnus wouldn’t mind embarrassing you a little. They put the plan into motion at the weekend. Inviting you over for dinner and hoping that the two of you might happen to confess your feelings before they got the potion part of the plan. “They’re just awkwardly looking at each other over the table.” Alec whispered loudly to Magnus who tutted and joined him at the kitchen door, peeking through and watching the pair of you. “Oh. they are.” He muttered. Alec frowned and glanced at Magnus. “Did you think I was joking?” Alec asked and Magnus pulled him away when Izzy spotted the pair of them watching. “No. I was just hoping there was something telepathic going on but nothing. We have no choice but the potion.” Magnus said as he headed over to the drinks he’d been making. Alec helped him measure out the drops into the drinks. “Thirty seconds. That’s all and it wears off. Any longer than that and I feel rude.” “Rude doesn’t quite describe it.” Alec said mostly to himself and followed Magnus out with their drinks. The two of you happily took them and drank while talking. You started to feel strangely warm and relaxed. When you realised what Magnus had done it was too late to do anything about it. “I was wondering how you felt about Izzy.” Magnus said before you could argue with him and waste the time you had under the effects of the drink. “I-I like her.” You said before you could think of a way to stop your body from betraying you. You glared at your brother while Izzy’s eyes widened. “Oh good because I like you too.” Izzy said quickly. The potion wore off before anyone else could say anything. “I. Don’t know what just happened.” Izzy said. Then she started to look upset and stormed off. Alec hurried after her. “That was a cruel thing to do!” You snapped at Magnus. He gestured as if he agreed and then shrugged. “Perhaps. But these mortals don’t live long and you might as well have a great love instead of pining and moping around here. You bring the mood down.” Magnus said quickly. He knew it would make you angry and that you’d go after Izzy.

“Why would you do that to me Alec?” Izzy asked. He sighed and scratched at his chin nervously as she hurried to the door. “I just wanted to help.” He said lamely. She turned back, planning on yelling but saw you behind him. “Help.” You said coldly. Alec jumped and turned, looking guilty and then retreated back into the apartment. You stayed with Izzy who was rooted to the spot. “Perhaps we should start over. Without a spell.” You offered. Izzy nodded and smiled. “I do like you.” she said with a flirty smile. “I like you too.” You answered. “We gathered that!” Magnus yelled from inside. “Why don’t we go somewhere without these two?” You offered and Izzy agreed, happily following you out into the street. “I hope them being mad at us was worth it.” Alec said once you’d both left. Magnus tutted and sipped his drink. “(Y/N) only holds grudges for a few hundred years, we’ll be fine.” He said casually. Alec gave him a withering look before nursing his own drink.

Izzy tags:

@gillybear17 @ravennoore14 @the-caravello-post @killing-gremlin @aegonandaemondtargaryenslut18 @lchufflepuffcorn @geekyandgay98 @savagemickey03 @evattude @kaitieskidmore1 @darklyndivinely @sashawalker2

[liketwoswansinbalance]

I had this thought for a while. What do you think would happen if Fall Rhian and Rise Rhian meet after time travel shenanigans? Their dynamic would be hilarious, with Rise Rhian being tense around his amused Fall self.

And for angst, Rise Rafal meeting Fall Rafal, who is mysteriously a ghost.

Hopefully this isn’t too far from what you’d wanted, Anon. I somehow ended up giving Rhian angst and only a little hilarity and Rafal hope along with his angst. During both fairly consecutive scenes, the brothers' future selves visit their past selves. This all would occur right after Rafal remodels his School in Rise but before he discovers Gavaldon in the timeline. Neither of the brothers know about Gavaldon yet, and they don't learn about it in this scenario.

And, in this timeline, Hook doesn't even get in with Rhian or manage to get hired as a probationary Dean of Good. He just directly poaches the students, and leaves right after the Vulcan incident. Essentially, what Hook did is claim that he's about to leave and bid Rafal goodbye after the battle, yet he doesn't leave, and instead, sneaks off with the students sooner than in canon. So, now, Rafal and Rhian are in the Schools, during the aftermath of the Vulcan incident, while Rafal does his remodeling and torture-marathoning. That is when their future selves decide to visit.

As for Ghost Rafal, he arrives from approximately thirty years into the future, after the ending of Fall, so he's been a ghost for some time, and has had the opportunity to reflect.

Also, some things here might later become part of a fic (although my fic's outline doesn't involve time travel like this.) Very interesting prompt, by the way. So thanks!

Lastly, before you read on, here's how I will differentiate between the characters:

"Rhian" = Rise Rhian

“Fall Rhian” = post-Fall Rhian, by about thirty years

"Rafal" = Rise Rafal

"Ghost" = post-Fall Rafal, by about thirty years

⸻

[In Good, Rhian is prepping for a lesson in his sunlit, glass-walled office.]

Fall Rhian: Hello, "Good" School Master, [a voice breezes behind Rhian as he is seated at his desk.]

Rhian: [stiffens and quickly spins in his chair, paling at a version of himself floating by the window sill.] You... are me. And you can fly?

Fall Rhian: You catch on quickly. [He pats Rhian's wild golden curls from above, condescendingly, like an angel to a stray worshipper.]

Rhian: [blushes] I—thanks, I, well, usually it's Rafal who does. I'm... the gullible one, as it turns out. [He hangs his head in shame.]

Fall Rhian: Are you?

Rhian: Well, yes, considering all the trouble I’ve caused. I suppose I’m fortunate Rafal’s forgiven me at all.

Fall Rhian: And what then? You’re content to be second all your life? You’re willing to let him claim he was the twin created better? [he provokes, prodding, goading his past self on as if with a hot poker, to stoke a certain dragon fire within.]

Rhian: Er… well, no. That wasn’t the first thing on my mind. I’m just… grateful to have been saved, even if… well, Rafal’s driven away my every chance of finding a companion or True Love outside of him. And, I can’t believe I’m admitting to this, but I don’t want to rely on him forever. I just wish that… that I could break away and be more—I don’t know—devil-may-care, like he is, free and unfettered. But I have to live by my values or I'll have nothing. I've already fallen, seeing as I've stepped out of line, endangered my young charges, and unleashed a tyrant on my poor Evers. I'm me. Useless and "whiny" and witless, guileless and impotent. Or that's what everyone thinks.

Fall Rhian: Good. Be careful what you wish for. You’re on your way.

Rhian: [puzzled] On my way to what?

Fall Rhian: To becoming me. [He grins, a slow, snake-like smile stretching across his face.] And you'll finally be cured of your pathetic crushes on men.

Rhian: [He decides to change the subject quickly, feeling thoroughly disturbed. This Rhian is practically a stranger!] How can you fly? That requires blood magic.

Fall Rhian: Guess whose blood it is. [His grin widens and he settles on the edge of the windowsill.]

Rhian: [blanches, staring at the dark, rusted stains on his future self’s armor] W-whose?

Fall Rhian: Your brother's.

Rhian: [frantically] Wh-what h-h-happened? [His teeth start to chatter as this odd version of himself radiates a dead coldness much like Rafal does, except it's a thousand times worse.] Who are you?

Fall Rhian: I'm you, and you're me. And I regret to inform you that—[He laughs.]—actually, I don't regret a thing!—that our brother is dead.

Rhian: D-d-dead? How? What happened to him?!

Fall Rhian: Us.

Rhian: I don't follow. Are you saying—

Fall Rhian: [nods, biting back another psychotic smile]

[A silence falls over them, as Rhian sobers, his face falling.]

Rhian: But why? How could I— [Then, he stabs out a finger accusingly, stirring from his chair, fingers twitching and spasming, as if he were to strangle this other Rhian, like he was about to lunge.] How could you! How could you do such a thing?

Fall Rhian: Ah, where to begin? Where to begin? Well, simple: a need for power, a restless soul, a desire for more. More than your miserable, lonely existence. Anything beyond being lesser than. Doesn't matter why. [he spat.] Don't you sense that restlessness within? Regardless, I'm here to tell you, you're on the wrong path. No matter how upset you are, avoid killing Rafal. Keep him alive.

Rhian: [heaves a sigh of relief. Perhaps, this version of himself would talk some sense into him and benefit from it himself as well.]

Fall Rhian: Just ensure that you're the One in power, and while he's alive, do whatever with him that you will. I really don't care what, as long as he doesn't interfere.

Rhian: [His stomach twists in on itself.] What do you mean?

Fall Rhian: Fratricide is Evil, isn't it? And you want to remain Good in the eyes of the Storian, don't you? If you don't kill him, well then, that's the mercy of your Goodness come to light, sparing a villain, sparing your own blood. So long as you don't directly kill him, you're golden. Just, keep him alive, in any condition, even if he has a broken leg, so you don't earn your true side a pitiful losing streak. There've been hundreds of tales so far, in my time, since I murdered our brother, and the wrong side now wins every time. You've already cursed the Woods for Storian knows how long, so don't make the mistake of killing him this time. Just... keep him. Lock him up. Paralyze him. Turn him to gold and use him as decor. I don't care. Whatever you do, don't kill him, and preserve the balance as well as you can. You'll find other means to an end that suits me—ahem, us.

Rhian: [doubtfully] I think I understand, but... you don't sound Good.

Fall Rhian: That's up to you to decide for yourself, according to your superior moral judgement, but we both know the Storian has the final say.

Rhian: [musing] True...

Fall Rhian: Good lad. You know what to do. Just think it all over. I wanted to let you know. You deserve to, as a favor from one Rhian, to another. Trust me. Trust yourself. [He bows smoothly. Too smoothly, like a sleaze. Like a Vulcan. Or the way Rafal did when he put on a manipulative, deceptively charming performance. He didn’t act like Rhian at all.]

[Then, the stranger disappears, vanishes into the smoke, dissipating, called back to his own time, tethered to a dismal future.]

[Rhian begins to spiral in the harsh light, stumbling around blindly like he's seen a ghost, trying to get a grip on something real, to ground himself after that encounter. He closes all the curtains in his office, whisking them shut with his sorcery, and wishes he were dead, curling up into a fetal position on the floor, utterly haunted.

That couldn't have been his future, could it?

But, soon enough, he hears the clock chime, and picks himself up, heading down to teach a class of Evers. He suspected Rafal was lounging in his office, watching his students’ torture, but he couldn’t deal with that now. He couldn’t stomach anything more, any lurid news.]

⸻

[Rhian was probably teaching a class, Rafal figured. He could leave his brother be. For now. To dwell on the consequences of his actions. Inviting a stranger into their School! What a farce. And Rafal always had to resign himself to the drudgery of cleaning up Rhian's messes. All that Rhian subjected him to—after a while, it became exhausting. Of course, some things never truly changed.]

[Just then, a pale figure sweeps across Rafal's field of vision and comes into focus.]

Rafal: A ghost? In my School? You... look like me. Not Vulcan.

Ghost: Sharp powers of observation, if only you weren't so slow.

Rafal: I'm slow? [smirks] Well, if you knew my brother, you'd really know who's the slow one.

Ghost: [taunting] You'll say that now, but wait 'til you become me.

Rafal: Wait, I can't die. How do you even exist? Is this a prank? If it's my Nevers, they're getting stretched on the rack.

Ghost: [drolly] You have more pressing concerns than mutinous students, actually.

Rafal: [His eyes flicker with a realization.] The Storian! I knew it! The little devil killed me, didn't it? [He stands up and starts to pace.] Well, I can prevent it. Just, tell me what happened. Now.

Ghost: You're even denser than I remember. The cause of our death wasn't the Pen. And, actually, it was your own fault.

Rafal: My fault? You already know what I've gone through to preserve my life and Rhian's! How dare you!

Ghost: [perching on his desk, amused, spoken bitterly] Now you're making progress.

Rafal: What? What is it? No—Rhian?

Ghost: Correct.

Rafal: That blundering fool! I'll bet his lunacy got us both killed!

Ghost: No, just you.

Rafal: What! How! Rhian can't even clean up his own messes, much less run the Schools on his own—

Ghost: He does when you're gone. For at least thirty years straight, and counting, as long as I’ve been dead.

Rafal: Impossible. With his reputation, he couldn't command a morsel of the respect I can, not unless he transformed into me!

Ghost: So close and yet so far. I can't believe I was this much of a numbskull when I was younger. Do I have to spell it out for you?

Rafal: [icily] Do tell, ghost o'mine.

Ghost: [rolls his eyes] HE KILLS YOU AND TAKES YOUR PLACE.

Rafal: Don't make me laugh.

Ghost: I'm not laughing.

Rafal: [He stills, halts in his tracks.] What? Rhian wouldn't even kill moths. [scoffs] I don't think he's capable of killing people or his own brother. [derisively] He's too Good.

Ghost: And that brings me to the second piece of news I have for you.

Rafal: [mockingly] Don't tell me—Rhian's Evil, right? [shaking his head] If you're not going to tell me the actual cause of my death, just leave. I'll figure it out. And take precautions all on my own. [Then, he catches sight of a pirate ship sailing away in the distance on the Savage Sea.]

Ghost: Hook took your students. Now do you believe me? You know I'm right. I'm always right.

Rafal: [chokes on his own spittle] Rhian? H-he betrayed me? Oh, you don't know what you've gotten yourself into, brother. I won't die. Not if I murder you first!

Ghost: [blocks the door, so Rafal doesn't storm out in fury] You've forgotten something. You can't play by those Rules anymore.

Rafal: What rules?

Ghost: The Rules.

Rafal: Clear out of my way. I'm not burning daylight on a conversation for first-years! I'm Evil and that's final.

Ghost: [doesn't move, crosses his arms serenely.] No. You're not.

Rafal: [through gritted teeth] I'm telling you. I'm. Not. Good.

Ghost: You will be, if you don't listen to me!

Rafal: Empty threats. What can you do to me now that you're "dead?" [He strides right through his ghost.] If I catch a student behind this phantom projection, I'll flay them alive. I mean, you're not even convincing, as far as illusions go.

Ghost: I know you've been mulling over the idea of swans for a unified School crest these last couple of days. How could I know that, if I'm not you?

Rafal: [He blinks, processing for a moment, breaks into a sprint, and roars,] RHIAN!

Ghost: See, I wasn't a liar! Don't do anything rash though. I'd hate to watch myself turn into a victim again and sooner at that.

[As soon as he arrives at Good, Rafal thrusts open the doors to a classroom, yanks Rhian aside and out the door, and frog-marches him up the silver tower's stairs with a lit fingerglow to the back.]

[Some of the Ever students snicker at their mortified School Master, being scolded like a child, presumably being escorted to a punishment.]

Rhian: Rafal! What's this about!? I thought you forgave me!

Rafal: You haven't done anything wrong. Yet. I'm ensuring that the worst won't happen. Thus, I will quarantine you for a couple of days. [He flicks his fingers and casts a spell to make Rhian sneeze.] Look, you have a cold. Too many strangers, too much excitement for you and your weak immune system. I'll sort out everything else myself, then we'll talk. [muttering under his breath] Right after one James Hook pays for his deeds...

Rhian: [about to object, but then sees the ghost] Wait. Who is that?

Rafal: Ignore it. I'll explain once you've recovered.

Rhian: But Rafal! You can't leave me here! The students need proper supervision!

Rafal: So? I'll get... Humburg to watch over them.

Rhian: [pulls a face]

Rafal: Well, it's a better option than y—[He pauses to think for a moment.]—either of us at the moment. We're... volatile and... murderous, apparently.

Rhian: We?

Rafal: Later. Not now. We'll discuss this later. Just let yourself be saved one last time.

Rhian: [looks indignant]

Rafal: Don't tell me that isn't true.

Rhian: Is this about the future me that visited me? I didn’t think you knew.

Rafal: All right, sure, I’ll believe you. Just tell me about your nonsense after I deal with mine and save your vacuous soul from eternal damnation.

Rhian: So, is that—y-your ghost? [Rhian peers up at ghost Rafal and tells the ghost:] I’m sorry, about ev-everything. [his voice catching in his throat.]

Ghost: [somberly] It’s not your apology to give, but I miss this side of you.

Rafal: [glances at the ghost, then fixes his gaze on Rhian] You. Stay put. [Then, addressing the ghost,] And you. Come with me. We're solving this now.

Ghost: [to Rhian] I don't miss myself though. I was cruel.

Rafal: Now, ghost. I’m not squandering a minute on ludicrous phantom reunions.

Rhian: [sighs] You’re strange. And oddly calm.

Ghost: The result of death and decades of reflection. I was high-strung before, wasn’t I?

Rhian: Will my Rafal ever change to become like you?

Ghost: Not if he can prevent it.

Rhian: Good. No offense, but I don’t want any traces of your timeline in ours. Even if you have the remotest chance of being nicer to me.

Ghost: None taken. I’d rather be alive. But look at where I am now.

Rafal: [calling from the stairwell] Make haste, ghost!

Ghost: [voice echoing, to Rafal] That's your responsibility. I've suffered enough for several lifetimes already.

Rhian: More than my br—

Ghost: Yes, much more than yours.

Rhian: [shaking his head incredulously, musing,] Same, old, Evil brother...

Ghost: About that—

Rafal: [interjecting, shouting back up] I may be Good, but I’ll never be an Ever!

[The ghost and Rhian eye each other and try not to laugh.]

Rhian [to the ghost, pleadingly]: Keep me company while he's gone, why don't you?

Ghost: [shrugs, declaring,] I have nothing better to do. And, it's... nice, to have you around again. I should've stayed... all those years ago when I had my chance... [his voice trails off] I apologize, for abandoning you, Rhian.

Rhian: Not your apology to give, but thank you.

Ghost: [looks down at Rafal from the tower window] He may still apologize to you, someday...

[paperstarwriters]

Hello hope your day is amazing

I was wondering if you could write a Muriel x florist reader where when Muriel is making his once in awhile trip into vesuvia he goes past the readers shop and she gives him tulips because he looks sad and he takes them but after he's gone they forget him obv but the next time he comes into town it happens again and again until he finally gives the reader myrrh and then they remember all those times and get really embarrassed

My first request!!! Wow!!! Now technically I haven’t had any explicit availability on requests because of classes but, well I may just open them up now! (Of course though not all requests will end up this long 😅)

Also, I just wanna mention, that when I first got this request my day had been a little bit of a mess but this certainly brightened it thanks so much!! 💕💕💕💕

By the way, Anon, I am SO sorry I took so long to write this. It ended up getting really long and then I ended up deleting everything and rewriting everything because I thought it could’ve been better lol—Not an excuse, but I kinda wanna be transparent about these things because it helps me acknowledge that no, I did not magically make a perfect fanfic on my first go, and other authors do not make perfect fanfics in one go.

Also I understand that this has since been requested to someone else now too because I was taking so long, and I really don’t mind, though I feel kinda bad to have been so slow. Unfortunately life just tends to interfere and all that.

Anyways,

A Flower a Day Keeps The Lonely At Bay

Pairing: Muriel x Flowershop!Reader

Warnings: Lack of communication (ie. Muriel being shy), awful & rich customers, who pay the cops to chase you down, Reader also Swears.   Summary: A flower a day keeps the lonely at bay, but two to three more, and I’m here at your door, ever waiting, ever waiting, never sure never sure.

Muriel finds himself making visits outside of his hut a little more frequently than usual, accumulating a small bouquet of flowers made larger by a few flowers at a time with every trip he makes to the market.

The only issue is, he hasn’t exactly paid for these.

Masterlists | The Arcana Masterlist

Word Count: 14, 181

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Muriel watched as red washed down from the coliseum stands.

He should be grateful. The sight should uplift him—should release that tension tied deep in his chest. It should fill his chest with something other than dread.

After all, for once, it wasn’t blood.

Red roses drip down from above, their petals peeling away from the bright blooming flowers, cut in the peak of their beauty fluttering in the wind, catching in the sunlight, and falling onto the hot arena sands, still yellow, still free from blood, now stained with a new shade of red. The audience cheers instead of screams, clapping instead of booing. They throw flowers instead of stones.

All for his opponent.

A foreign fighter from a kingdom not too far away, his opponent bathed with open arms in the rain of flowers and roses, smiling and waving at the people above who cheered and wailed their name in rapt awe and delight.

If he were sitting in the stands, watching the battle from afar, he’s certain he would see how clunky and awkward he had been fighting. Lucio had told him that unlike his usual “criminal” opponents he was not to kill the foreign fighter lest he piss off the other kingdom, and wile he wasn’t sure exactly when Lucio had grown so conscious of other people’s feelings, Muriel had been grateful for the chance not to kill his opponent.

It was naïve of him to assume it was something he could simply stop doing.

With every swing of his massive axe, made to cleave heads from their shoulders, Muriel found himself faltering. With every attack, he wondered if this was the swing that would kill his opponent, if this was the swing that would start a war between kingdoms. His opponent, who had no such qualms, was able to slowly whittle away at his defenses until they knocked him to the sand and pressed a dagger to his throat.

When Muriel was shuffled out of the coliseum to be slotted away into the cold cell they called his room, he watched as the other fighter received a glory he never saw for himself. Armfuls of gifts, boxes of food or sweets, letters sealed with hearts and given with bright grins on their faces, and armfuls upon armfuls of flowers. Sitting in his cell, Muriel watched as his opponent passed by with many servants in tow, all needing to be led by Lucio, as they couldn’t see past the heaps of flowers that crowded their arms.

A flower slipped past someone’s grasp, drifting it’s way into his room. It was rose-like in it’s colour. A deep crimson hue, although the shape of it was a far cry from a rose. He could hope that it was something precious and expensive, from some bouquet of foreign flowers, but Muriel couldn’t help but doubt. Perhaps it was something cheaper, something carelessly held and carelessly dropped into the cell of this careless fighter. Its a thing to be admired regardless, something pretty and colourful to enter his drab cell. He plucks it off of the floor, to cradle it’s delicate petals appreciate the soft, sweet smell of it.

Something sweet something soft, and colourful and kind.

It’s not something that would last very long with him.

Lucio returns past him a few moments later, having led the servants to whatever lavish room he had prepared for the foreigner and their followers. The red flower dropped against the hallway floors catches his eye, and with two golden talons he plucks it from the floor, smiling as he appreciates it’s delicate, feeble beauty. He continues down the hall, not even sparing Muriel a glance, as his footsteps crack against the stone floors.

He’ll throw it away the moment he gets outside perhaps, or maybe even sooner than that. Or maybe, just maybe he’ll get some small little cup and let the flower live just a little longer. It’s doubtful though, considering how easy it would be for someone like him to get more flowers. People gift him things all the time, and whatever he doesn’t receive as a gift, it would be simple for him to purchase himself.

Muriel never received gifts in his life as a gladiator.

After all he’s done, he didn’t deserve them.

He did not deserve flowers.

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Muriel pulled his basket closer towards himself, shifting the strap that attached it to his back to rest more comfortably on his shoulder. Although he initially refused the offer, he’s grateful for Asra’s insistence, and even more grateful for the gift. It’s practical. With it, he can carry so much more materials than he ever had before. Flour, rice, fruits, he can place it all in his basket and leave his hands free to purchase smaller things, like bread or berries or herbs, or whatever else he might need. Most importantly, being able to carry so much at once, Muriel can limit his trips into the market as a once in a month or two journey.

Sure, the basket made him look bigger, only drawing more attention to his broad looming frame, and sure, perhaps it was a bit heavy to carry so much groceries all in one go, but if it meant he’d only have to endure the bustle and crowds of the market less, it was certainly a sacrifice he was willing and ready to make. Even the longer journey the basket imposed on him—since it would not fit into the smaller alleyways—was made more tolerable knowing that he would not have to return for a while.

It’s his saving grace amidst the crush of people yelling and hawking their wares, the inconsiderately placed shops of medicine right beside shops of food where delicious scents make the dizzying medicine smell stronger. The push and shove of impatient customers—all of it is made just a little more tolerable knowing it’d be over soon.

Soon. He assures himself. Just a little further, then I’m out of the market. Just past these next few shops, just a little more…

A blur of bright colours catch his eye. Though it was hardly enough to stop him from walking, he slowed at the sight, unable to help but stare at the little shop squished between and behind a few other stalls. For some other shops perhaps the size would be moderate enough, if only a little squishy to sit inside, but for that shop in particular, it seemed downright tiny, dwarfed by the flowers that seemed to burst from any and every opening it could get, starved for space and sunlight, and with the vivid colours and unruly growth—starved for attention.

He didn’t mean to stop in place, but he couldn’t help but stare at all the pretty flowers before him. Butterflies twitched from where they sat atop flowers, and bees bumbled lazily from flower to flower, all delighted at the sheer variety they had before them to enjoy. Like the many insects around him, Muriel found himself drawn into the little alcove the shop provided, drowned in the flowers and their soft and tender scents.

Setting his basket aside, Muriel let himself breathe. The crush and bustle of the crowds were still there, but a panel from another shop blocked him from their view. An alcove large enough for him to hide him—he never thought he’d find a place like that.

“Hello?”

The voice was by no means loud. It was a far, far cry from anything accusatory or cruel, and yet still, Muriel can’t help the urge to leap up in place and run, the thin branch of flowers reaching over his head, serving as the only thing to stop him from doing so. Careless movement could damage the pretty little things, and even if it would sting, damaging the beauty of something seemingly so abandoned, he’d hate to have to deal with the ire of the shopkeep should he damage their precious merchandise.

—Should he damage your precious merchandise.

Wearing mud-smeared clothing and a pair of gloves, it was clear you were the caregiver of these flowers and therefore, the owner of the shop.

Maybe he should have noticed it sooner—seen the vibrant colours and assumed nothing that bright and big could grow naturally, or maybe he should have looked closer to those openings and noted how clean the curtains of the window—the very one you now leaned out from—were.

“I’m sorry.” he mutters, scrambling to get his things while still taking care not to damage the flowers of your shop.

“No, no. It’s okay,” you tell him, smiling a little as you watch him pick up his basket once more. “You don’t have to go, I’m not gonna kick you out.”

“I’m out of money,” he blurts out in reply.

While technically a lie, there is some semblance of truth in it too. He’s already spent his limit of what he set out to buy today, and he really didn’t want to buy any more, just in case he needed the money for something else more important.

“That’s fine you don’t have to buy anything. It’s a nice place to relax here.”

Muriel nodded, but knowing he’s long since outstayed his welcome, he turns instead, fully ready to leave and let you forget. Hopefully he wouldn’t need to come by this side of the market place again any time soon.

“Hey! Wait!”

Oh no.

What did you want now? Did he break something? He might’ve hit or damaged some of those flowers with the basket, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to accept Asra’s gift. It made it so much harder to not bump into things. Automatically, he reaches for his pockets prepared to out himself for his earlier lie rather than have to deal with the accusations and demands for damaging merchandise.

Instead, he finds the flowers still intact, and a new one, bright yellow, and mere inches from his face.

“Here,” you say with a smile as you lean out—nearly tipping yourself out—form your shop’s little window. “Take it. Just a little something to brighten your day.”

It’s a simple little flower, with yellow petals like the sunshine that dappled through your flowers and their leaves.

He hesitates, unsure of whether or not to receive your little gift, what your ulterior motives might be, or what he needed to do for this gift, but you had been insistent, slipping the flower into his half open hand before he has a chance to back out. Satisfied with your gift, you smile with a brightness that matches the flower you’ve given him, warm like spring sunshine.

Despite the abruptness of the gift, he manages a small smile, nodding a little in thanks before he promptly turns to leave and finally be out of the market.

The simple yellow flower, with little else it could go, remained in his hand held to his chest as he weaved in between other market-goers. Listening for the sounds of shouting and screaming that never made it’s way to his ears. It’s not like you would remember. It’s not like you would even know.

Technically speaking, he didn’t have to keep it. Honestly, it’s probably nothing more than a ploy to get him to return and actually buy something from your shop, and it’s not like you’d remember him to ask what he’s done with the flower. Not like he could do anything with it anyways. Unlike Asra’s gift, it’s impractical, and Muriel finds himself wondering what you even expected him to do with it.

His fingers trail along the velveteen petals as he walks, appreciating the faint but pleasant smell that sits at the flower’s center. Whatever beauty he finds in it now is fleeting. It won’t last very long, especially since he has no vase to put it in.

It’s just a flower. He has no obligation to keep it.

It’s not like you would remember anyways.

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Shrugging the basket off his shoulders, Muriel makes quick work of putting away the items he’s bought. The bread flour gets tucked into the bottom shelf of the alcove of food he keeps in the house, and the fruits go in a bowl a little higher than that. Finally the bread is placed and covered in it’s own little box. Inanna runs around him welcoming home as he trundles around setting everything into it’s place, tail wagging like a dog. Even as she jumps up on her hind legs to greet him, she's just as careful as he is not to bump into his table, lest the cup at it’s center fall over and spill the yellow tulip it cradles onto the floor.

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Muriel returned to the market a bitter few days later. The basket had made him eager on his last trip, urging him to get everything done and over with so he wouldn't have to be there long, but he had forgotten that the chicken feed needed some extra restocking with the rain season lurking just around the corner. Muriel wasn't technically responsible for Bok-Bok and her friends. They could easily care for themselves as they, and all other chickens scattered in the forest, have been doing long before he had arrived. As a neighbor who occasionally borrowed eggs, however, Muriel had an obligation to lend a helping hand, and he knew full well how difficult the rainy season made it to find berries and seeds. There were of course plenty of worms, but robins and crows were quick to snatch those things up and some days there was just too much water for even the worms to enjoy. In those moments Bok-Bok and company would really need his help, and he was not about to let them down.

He hauls two bags of chicken feed in his basket, the bite of the straps onto his shoulders almost as bad as the bite of the cost into his limited pouch of coins. Technically he’d only really need one bag, but seeing as chicken feed was edible, Muriel was hoping to use at least some of it for his own meal within the coming days. There’d still be plenty for Bok-Bok and the others, but this would make things easier on him for a while as well.

The feed shifts side to side with every step he takes, the shift in weight feels almost hypnotizing, as he walks. It’s an imperfect distraction from the typical sounds and smells and feeling of the marketplace, but it’s a distraction nonetheless. People continue to press against him, and he feels the grains shift to his left. People continue to chatter and talk, the sound of it layered thickly over the sound of crashes and movement and moving creaky objects, and he feels the grains of the bag shift to his right. That awful smell of medicine entwined with fresh bread and he feels—

“Hey!! You!!”

Muriel freezes in place. When his head snaps to the sound of the scream, the rest of his body is already preparing to run away. And yet, when he sees that familiar face—your familiar face—he finds himself unable to move

For the second time within the few weeks he’s been here, he meets your eyes, and your own grow wide.

As if you recognized him.

Just as quickly it appears, it vanishes and you continue to yell.

“Watch your step!” you yell and point to a little spool of ribbon, sitting just where he would have stepped.

Muriel allows himself to relax, following your gaze downwards, taking a step backwards rather than forwards to find a spool of golden ribbon, lined with green that sat just beneath his feet. He’s about to apologize for almost crushing it when you promptly continue.

“I’m sorry, but yeah could you get that? I don’t want someone to step on it and trip like you almost did”

He nods as he bends over, freezing momentarily to shuck off the basket on his back when he feels the grains of feed slip forward. Taking the little spool in hand, he ducks back into the little alcove where your shop resides and hands it back to you, promptly rewarded with a smile flashed his way.

His face warms at the attention, but he doesn’t find it all too bad.

“Thank you. Oh, and here! As thanks.” You pull from behind you another flower—another tulip. It’s orange this time, tinted yellow around the edges. It’s the colour of a sunset, or his warm fireplace at night—the colour of even warmer smiles.

Although he hesitates, he takes this flower as well, bringing it to his nose to drown out the smell of medicine and food swirling together unpleasantly just a few stalls down.

It works better than the rice of his basket had managed at least.

Muriel manages a nod and soft grunt as thanks, trying to avoid the bright smile on your face as he slings his basket back onto his shoulders and trundles off once more. Another flower held carefully between his fingers.

He knows he doesn’t have to take it or keep it.

He knows he still will anyways.

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Asra visits a day or two later, and grins when Muriel is unable to give them their own cup for tea, especially since it was the one cup they had purchased themself. Still, they grin, and even snicker, as if unaware of the turmoil that brews at his inability to be a good friend and give them what’s theirs. Instead, they only fuel the fire of his anxiety and coyly remark that he should get another cup for whoever had given him his tiny bouquet of flowers.

It’s only then that Muriel realizes he could have, and should have argued back.

He still tries, though he knows it’s too late for that.

“How do you know I didn’t pick them myself?”

“Because you don’t tend to pick flowers for yourself,” Asra replies easily, grinning happy and easy, with that familiar glow of mischief in their eyes. “You should make a vase for them. It’d look nice, I think.”

Muriel can feel his face grow hot as he hesitates to refute Asra’s offer, which only makes their grin grow wider and wider in reply. Eventually he sighs, and though he doesn’t make any direct confirmation or denial, Asra laughs, knowing full well what that sigh entailed.

Despite it all, Muriel found himself smiling too.

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Muriel wanders through the marketplace a mere two days since his last visit. He’s without his basket, as he has been for the last handful of times he’s been there, but the journey is still overbearing. Visiting so often within such a short amount of time was quickly giving him a painful headache, and the temptation to just buy some spiced bread or some other delicious smelling food, to drown out the worst of the busy, busy, world around him, was only trumped by the fact that he did not bring any money with him.

Lately, on his last few trips to the marketplace, he neglected to bring any coins, knowing it’d be better for him to focus on saving up for when he really needed the money. Technically he didn’t need the money that much, being fully capable of living off of the forest, but difficult times such as the upcoming rainy season was made much easier when he could just buy the things he needed. For now, however, he’s simply content to wander through the marketplace and shop for inspiration; his only payment being his time, and the need to be there in the first place.

Carving a vase is easy. It should be easy, compared to the other things he’s carved. it’s a pretty simple wooden thing practically a deeper, wider cup with a little flare at the top like a plate. That was something he could carve, but he recalled seeing other vases around the marketplace, and despite himself, curiosity got the better of him and he stopped by to look at the vases other people had made. He’s been returning pretty often much to his dismay, as he kept on realizing or remembering the design of a vase he had only glimpsed at when he returned to the hut. Not to mention how his initial design might not even work anymore.

With every visit he’s made to the marketplace, he passed by or took shelter by your little flower shop on the way back home, and every time without fail, you called out to him. Even on days where he forgot to try and stop by, where he, fully engrossed in some other thing, or the dizzying feeling of the crowd around him, passed by the shop without a second glance. Even then, you still called out to him, with some excuse or other for you to offer him a flower. Some days he got a single tulip. Other times he’s received up to three different blooms. He gets a different flower each time, and each time he has to add the flower to his rapidly filling makeshift vase. It’s no longer a cup, but a rather sorry chunk of wood with a hole down the middle and water at the bottom. So busy with his visits to the market, he hadn’t had the time to really work on it.

If he was being truthful, he had been trying to avoid the task. What could he carve that could adequately hold such pretty flowers that you’ve given him? It’s the first bouquet he’s ever received, he wants to make something fitting for your gifts.

With how consistently you give him flowers, Muriel can’t help but forget that you don’t even remember him. He can’t help but forget you don’t really even know him. Not in the way that he knows you. Even if he knows you in sporadic fragments, he still knows you more than you know him.

Perhaps it’s made him cocky. Overconfident in his understanding of you.

Perhaps that’s why he didn’t expect to see you like this.

You are the sun, radiant and bright for your flowers, providing them warmth, providing them light before you give them away to others to illuminate their day or the day of whoever is lucky enough to receive that gift.

Somehow, he never anticipated the fact that maybe the sun couldn’t always be shining.

“I AM NOT PAYING THIS MUCH FOR THIS STUPID SHIT!!!”

Eyes shift away from Muriel towards the loud argument of some overzealous self-entitled noble who failed to recognize that the world doesn’t revolve around them. Selfishly, Muriel finds relief at the distraction bathing in how for once, in the crowd he was not the spectacle to be stared at instead it was—

Oh.

You stand under the barrage of cruelty raised against you and smile. It falters, it twists, but you do your best to maintain your smile, to appease your audience, someone who clearly did not deserve your grace.

“With the amount of money you had outlined—”

“YOU ARE LITERALLY JUST PICKING FLOWERS—CHILDREN COULD DO THAT!! WHY SHOULD I PAY SO MUCH FOR SOME DAISES YOU PICKED?!”

The stranger’s hand slammed on the small windowsill that you usually leaned on rattling the worn material below it. Bees and butterflies fled from their refuge in your flowers and even some weaker flowers toppled over under the stress. Even if he could not see it for himself, Muriel could tell you were trembling, every flower that so much as brushed against you vibrated in place, your fear bleeding into them, as you tried your best to smile despite it all.

If not for the flowers, he’d believe it too.

“WERE YOU NOT LISTENING WHEN I TOLD YOU THAT THESE WERE FOR AN IMPORTANT EVENT?!? YOU SHOULD BE GRATEFUL THAT I’M EVEN BUYING FROM YOUR PATHETIC LITTLE SHOP!!! IF YOU DON’T GIVE ME SOME BETTER FLOWERS I WILL—”

It’s hard to tell what compels him more, the barely restrained discomfort that you radiate, or the bitter anger that only rises with every wretched word that comes out from the noble’s poor excuse for a mouth. If he were a better person, perhaps he’d go to you first, but just like with any fight, it was foolish of him to assume violence was something he could simply stop doing.

It always came back to him one way or another.

He strode, unthinkingly with every intention to just get rid of the unpleasant nobleman. Whether he was going to punch them, shove them aside and away from you, or simply pick them up and throw them into the nearest canal, Muriel would never know, because thankfully the noble was more cowardly than they had seemed.

All it took was for him to stand behind them, his shadow swallowing them whole as he glared them down before they were scrambling backwards and sputtering threats about money and guards. A hard threat to follow through on considering the stranger won’t even remember him the next day.

He’s tempted to follow the noble as they run. Tempted to chase them down and force them to never do it again. To show them how strong they really were in the face of a cruel world. Greedy wretches like them wouldn’t survive a day in the coliseum.

But would he really be able to stomach dragging them there?

Red flickers in the corner of his eyes, and Muriel instinctively turns, bracing for the sight of blood. Instead he finds flowers, and you flinching with wide terrified eyes, and a smile barely there on your twisted lips.

“Hello,” you say, flatly, only loosely coloured with a false cheer, just barely covering your trembling voice.

“…Hi.” He manages to mutter back. “Are you…okay?”

You relax a little, no longer afraid, but a look of hurt still lingers in your expression, and Muriel doesn’t know if or how he should try to help. Still, you manage to nod, and smile, however sad it may be.

“I’m fine,” you sigh in a way that always preludes a “but”. “It’s just that, he still didn’t pay for the bouquet.”

You gesture to the bundle of flowers a beautiful splash of red all clustered beautifully together. There are a litany of different shades of red and even a few other colours amidst the bunch, each complimenting the other, looking much less like the chaotic spatter that he still had at home. He could see roses amidst the bunch, de-thorned and coloured in hues he’s never seen before. Taller more spindly flowers sit amidst the bunch as well, though he’s unable to tell them by their names unsure if they are true in colour or made to look similar to the rest through whatever magic you were using.

Despite it’s beauty, you glare at it, as if you hoped it could shrivel up and die.

“I used so many flowers for that thing, what am I supposed to do with it now?” another grumble escapes you, sounding almost like a bitter growl. He flinches when you grab a flower and it’s pot, something set out as a display, and snatch it into the confines of your shop. He almost expects to hear the pot shatter, but your hands snap back out to grab another without so much of a whisper of the first pot being set down.

“Don’t you give some of your flowers out for free?” Muriel blurts out, regretting the question as soon as he asked it. Did it sound suspicious? Insulting?

“Those are special situations,” you snap back. “Besides, I do NOT give full bouquets out for free. That shit is expensive you know?! I put a lot of time and effort into them!”

Muriel nods, but he doesn’t think you see, as you carefully yank another bundle of flowers back into your shop, angry footsteps making the remaining blooms tremble from the force of it.

“I put all my hard time and effort growing these flowers! Contrary to popular belief I am NOT just running around in a meadow, picking out little flowers to take back home and sell for cheap! I grow these things myself! I colour them! I mix them together! I’m not some nobleman with access to flower farms and flower farmers!!”

Muriel busies himself by picking up the flowers you have further out for display, and bringing them back towards your shop. He doesn’t know where the door is, burred under flowers and greenery somewhere, but he tucks the display into the nook where he had hid many times before, keeping the flowers from prying eyes and greedy hands.

It’s the only thing keeping him in place really. As you continue to stomp back and forth in your shop, ranting about rich customers trying to cheat their way out of paying for your flowers. Even if he knows it’s not directed his way, Muriel can’t help but feel a growing sense of guilt.

He did that too. He’s doing that right now.

You don’t remember it, and to you it probably seems like you’ve been giving various different strangers tulips, but he has a bouquet of them now—one even bigger than that noble failed to pay for.

He carefully tucks the last of the flower displays away, carefully arranging the flowers so that none stick out and reveal their location to onlookers, and prepares to run away, internally promising to never return and never steal flowers from you again.

What he intends as a final glance your way, hoping to leave while your back is turned, roots him in place instead.

You stand, hands over your eyes, furiously scrubbing as you try to both hide and stop your tears. Torn between running to help you and running away, Muriel stands and stares, as useless to help as the flowers that still surround you.

“I just… fuck,” you hiss, or at least you try to around the hiccups of your sobbing. “It’s just so hard. They demand money from me and then refuse to pay me for my hard fuckng work! What do they even get out of hoarding that much money?”

Why can’t he decide? The choice to help you is as obvious as it was when you were being threatened by the nobleman earlier. And yet, when faced with a problem that he can’t solve with violence he’s stuck.

It really is all he’s good for isn’t it?

You duck behind your window to hide your tears, but he can hear your back hit the wall and the hiss of fabric against stone as you slide down to your knees and succumb to sniffles and sobs.

With little else to say or do, Muriel turns and runs away.

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A moment of terror pulls you from your sorrow as you remember the flower stands you left outside the shop. You’ve already lost a lot of time and effort on the bouquet for the noble who never paid, you can’t afford to loose your display flowers as well.

About to bolt out from the shop to look for them, you glance to the shops beside you wondering if your neighbors decided to be cruel, or if you could see the escaping thief. Instead, you find your flower stands tucked away in a little alcove between your shop and one of the neighboring booths beside it. The flowers are carefully tucked beneath each other, to keep from springing up over the other shop’s crates, and remain hidden from any potential thieves.

It’s not anything grand enough to make you reconsider opening the shop back up for the day, nor does it quell the roll of anxiety in your chest, but it’s enough to make you smile again. Even if only a little.

It takes you a moment to recall that a stranger had been here only moments ago after the departure of the nobleman, but beyond their presence you can’t recall anything about them. You know they helped a little, but the how or why evades you.

Instead you return to work tucking your flowers away inside, before you finally close shop and head back to your garden.

You can’t recall what the stranger’s face looks like, but the fleeting memory of them still lingers in your mind. They remind you, strangely, of tulips.

Perhaps you could give them one next time you saw them. Hopefully you’d recognize them in the crowd.

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Muriel’s fingers sift through the flowers that sit in his little wooden makeshift vase. In a better world he’d be able to give back all the flowers he had taken from you—stolen from you—and you would be able to sell your flowers to people who could pay for and better deserved the beautiful blooms. Instead, Muriel finds many of the flowers already starting to wilt in the vase, petals growing crumpled and stems growing weak. The first flower you had given him was a husk of it’s former beauty.

He shouldn’t have gotten it in the first place. That fleeting beauty would have been better spent on someone better than him. Someone who could appreciate it better with a crystal vase—or even a simple painted clay vase to carry the flowers and show off how pretty they were.

Or just…someone with more money than him. Someone who could actually pay you for your flowers.

Someone…. Someone who would deserve them.

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Once more, Muriel makes his journey into the market, the dizzying smells and feelings and noises made all the more worse by the burden of his objective. Two pouches sat in his pockets both burning through fabric and skin to scorch him to his bones. Every passing jostle against his body had him scrambling to check if both bags were still there, panic flooding him when he forgot that he had moved one of the bags from one pocket to another.

Over and over again scenarios flashed through his mind. He tried to keep himself reasonable, tried to expect the worst so he wouldn’t be disappointed, but hope—ever stubborn, and ever cruel—slipped in regardless of his wishes. He hoped that you’d still like him afterwards, that you wouldn’t ask him to pay for all the flowers he had taken from you, that you’d be happy to be able to remember him, but the truth of the matter was, that he was just another customer. All he had been receiving was a placating smile in hopes that he’d buy from you.

If only he could hate you for that. It’d be so much easier if he could let himself feel like he had been cheated, or wronged, but you were just trying to make money for yourself, just like everyone else. Could he condemn you for that?

The sickening smell of some strong smelling meal with pungent medicine fills his chest once more, and the once familiar need to vomit at the smell grows stronger knowing your shop is only a little further away. His hands gravitate towards the two pouches in his pockets and he squeezes them, hoping that for once the universe would be kind to him and he wouldn’t make some awful mistake like mix them up and give you the wrong bag too soon.

With every step closer he gets to your shop, Muriel recites in his mind what he wants to tell you, his apology for what he’s done and his willingness to not bother you again.

Someone else is already shopping at your booth. Muriel watches from nearby, trying to remember what he needs to tell you while he waits his turn.

“If you don’t mind, I need a few flowers, not too many…”

He just needed to tell you that he was willing to leave you be.

“How many flowers will that be? Oh, and what kind?”

No, no, he needed to apologize first for taking all of your flowers.

“Any kind will do. I just need them for a… friend of mine. They’re ill, and I... I made a promise to them.”

He’d need to explain what had happened as well. Explain how he kept receiving flowers from you, and explain how he’d need to pay for it.

“Oh, I hope they’ll be okay soon, how about this?”

“Oh that looks gorgeous!”

He’d need to tell you about that magic, that kept others from remembering him, and he’d need to….

“…oh, I can’t… I’m sorry, I can’t pay that much.”

“…how much can you pay?”

Muriel watches the old man place a few coins onto the table. It really isn’t much, but telling by the clothes he wears and the stains that litter them, it’s clear that he’s been trying to save up for this. Your own eyes, grow dim at the sight of the meager amount he brings. Would it even pay for a few flowers? Would it even pay for a single flower?

Your eyes flutter closed and your hands grip the flowers as if you were going to yell at the old man, but you’re trembling as well, fighting against something before you look back up and smile.

No. No, no. You can’t be thinking—gossip travels fast in the marketplace, even faster when it’s something of concern or interest to a noble. If that person gets word that you’re giving out free flowers after that stunt you pulled yesterday…

“Alright. Take it.”

…What will happen to you?

“No—wait.” Muriel steps in, his own coin pouch in his trembling hands. “that…how much does that cost?”

It’s a smaller bouquet than what you’ve given him over his many many visits, but he still winces as you take the money. He’s now the one without enough funds to pay you back for your flowers. He’s now the one marring your reputation—making it seem like your prices are something fickle, that someone could just get a bouquet of tulips for free if they looked sad or sorry enough.

Was that why he had gotten all those flowers? You did say some were to brighten his day. Did he truly look so miserable?

The old man smiles up at him, and thanks him profusely as he leaves with his flowers. Muriel manages a smile, but a nagging feeling at the back of his head tells him it looks more like a grimace. When he turns back to look at you, you meet his half-smile half grimace with one of your own.

“Thank you so, so much for that—but you didn’t have to.”

“But yesterday—I saw—heard—” Muriel coughs, fighting the rising warmth in his face. “I heard about that… customer…yesterday. I just.... Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You smile, eyes falling closed as you recall something before you look up to him. “Yesterday, a kind stranger stepped in to protect me. It was…really sweet.”

Muriel forces himself to turn away from your fond expression. For all the preparation that he put in anticipating what he should do when you hate him, he never prepared for what he should do if you liked him.

While your attention is diverted, Muriel begins his attempt to scurry away from the situation before it grows too awkward, but not for the first time, you call out to him, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Before you go!” Once more he stops and turns. He knows his face is flushed, he know he looks ridiculous, but he turns out of habit to the sound of your voice, like a sunflower to the sun. “—here. Just as thanks.”

Muriel stares at the flower you give him his mind flying back to a small cell beneath a roaring crowd. A rose coloured tulip, the likes of which he’s never seen before, sits in his palm as another gift from you. He’s never seen a tulip this red before. Brighter than the colour of blood.

He tries to hand it back, but your hands sit atop of his and push back, insistent on giving your gift.

You smile when you tell him, “Please, it’s a gift.” But he feels nothing but dread.

Another flower stolen, another bloom he can no longer afford to pay for.

He does not deserve flowers.

He certainly did not deserve yours.

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Muriel doesn’t return to the market. He doesn’t—won’t—need to for a while. The basket Asra had given him really lived up to it’s practical uses. He savors the fresh cool air of the forest, untainted by headache-inducing smoke billowing from medicine shops or blacksmiths or bakeries of sleepy bakers. The hiss and hush of the trees, sounds soothing to his ears rather than the cacophony of chatter, of yelling and demanding from sellers and buyers.

He feels alive and safe in the forest.

At least, more than he had felt when he was in the city—when he was just a child.

A lifetime of struggling for money and food and running from guards called by over zealous nobles was not something that he expected would every leave him. In the same way the blood may never wash from his hands, the dirt and disgust he carried for being one of many strays in the South End would never leave him either. It’s something he could live with though. Something he could endure within the safety of the forest.

…He just never thought he’d be the one causing someone to struggle the way he did.

It’s not the same. He knows that it’s not the same. You have a shop that you are able to maintain—a viable way to make money. With all your flowers, you probably had a garden, you probably had the ability to grow fruits and vegetables that you could eat and rely on when times got tough. And most of all, you are an adult. You can fend for yourself, act for yourself. You don’t need help the way a child does. You can survive.

…but sometimes just surviving just made things worse.

He just made things worse.

What if you were struggling for food? What if you wouldn’t be able to maintain that shop for much longer? What if all those flowers you gave him were what lead that noble to think it was okay to get flowers from you for cheap?

Even if he couldn’t be remembered perhaps people remembered seeing you give flowers away for free to someone over and over again. A free flower every now and then would hardly be anything bad but Muriel had enough to consider it a bouquet.

He had to pay you back.

It might take some time, but hopefully his carvings were appraised better than they were when he was a child. Hopefully more people liked them. Hopefully he could make enough money to pay you back soon.

Wooden animals sit between Muriel’s legs as he carved away at another figurine from a block of wood. It was a little sloppy, as was the other figures, but seeing as he needed to make back the funds at least somewhat quickly, he needed a lot of figures in a short amount of time.

The knife slipped against the wood, and cut into his hand. Deep enough to draw blood, but not deep enough to garner worrry. Not for his hand at least. Blood stained the wood he carved, tainting the wooden flower with a bloody patch of red, soaking into the wood.

Muriel sighed, as the blood seeped deeper and deeper into the pale wood. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to carve the stain away to salvage the flower, he set it aside, and wiped the blood from his hand, and started again against a new block of wood.

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For all Muriel had planned and worried the location and use of a stall was not one of the things he had considered. The market was filled with vendors all squished against each other in an attempt to sell wares. Any of his old places for selling things as a child were either filled by new children, hawking trinkets and other odds and ends, or far too small for him to fit in and comfortably sell from now.

He tried to wander through the busier parts of the market, even amidst the crash and chatter of people around him, but earlier vendors had beat him to the stalls, and no one was willing to spare any space.

Eventually, though he tried to avoid it, he came down to your side of the market, where there were just a little less shops than before. Even here however there was no space that he could take that wasn’t a crushing squish against two other shops.

The familiarly grating smell of medicine and baked goods wafted past him and instinctually he glanced your way, even if he hoped not to see you and gain another flower he needed to pay back.

Only, you weren’t there at all.

Where there was once a little window surrounded on all sides by flowers that seemed to burst out from the room within, there was instead, a green door. Upon closer inspection a thin line divided the door in half so the top could be opened or the bottom could be opened, and he realized that this had been the window you once leaned out from to sell your flowers.

And now, flowerless it had been closed.

What happened to you? Did the noble come around and confiscate all your flowers for some crime you didn’t commit? Had he been too late to help you? Too late to fix his mistakes?

He didn’t know how long he had spent staring at the blank walls, taking in all the imperfections he had never seen and never wanted to see before, but it was long enough, that someone inevitably noticed him.

“Hello?”

Muriel nearly leapt up from his place and ran, if not for the person he turned to see.

Still smudged with dirt, with flower petals and leaves caught in your clothes, you stood before him, smiling but confused.

“I’m sorry, did you want something from the shop?”

The bag of coins burns in his pockets, both too heavy and too light for him to hold. He scrambles for an explanation, something feasible to explain away the situation, and allow him to go on his way once more, but his mouth dries with every attempt, and the urge to confess his crimes and get it over with builds high in his chest.

In the end, he abandons his words and shakes his head instead.

With an even more confused look on your face, you shake your head almost dismissively, but a smile still lingers on your lips. It reaches your eyes too, drawing lines across your face from the force of it all. He tries to convince himself that it’s genuine, but the doubt is hard to remove once planted.

After all, you always smile to your customers, even if they don’t deserve it.

“What are you doing here then?”

“I… Just…I’m passing by,” he manages, watching as your smile shifts for a moment. It softens, but it never leaves your face.

“Oh. Where are you off to?”

He glanced away, tempted to just give some non commital answer and just leave before you could ask something else, but he catches sight of your empty shop once more and finds his feet rooted in place.

“I…. I was looking for a space to set up a temporary shop.”

“Oh! What are you selling?”

Since it’d be easier than trying to explain, Muriel reaches into his basket, pushing aside the blanket covers to protect against the sun and the wooden support beams he was planning to use to hold the blanket up, to reveal the wooden carvings that sat beneath it all. He grabs the first one he feels pulling it free and offering it for your inspection.

“Oh! That’s so pretty!” He looks at it in your hands now, one of the flowers he had carved from wood. It’s no tulip, but he’s glad you seem to like it at the very least.

“You can keep it if you want.”

“Really?” you ask, your voice wrung with awe sounding almost almost breathless to his ears.

Despite knowing he wouldn’t be able to tell if you were actually pleased or just smiling, Muriel glances your way, finding that soft smile once more on your lips, as your fingers carefully trace around the center of the flower. He turns away from the sight of it.

“Sure.”

“Oh, hey, in exchange, how about…” Muriel braces himself for the flower you’d always give him. No matter how pretty or soft it’s petals looked he would not accept. He couldn’t, knowing that he’d have to add another flower considering how much he’d need to pay for it.

Instead, you gesture to the shop, and smile.

“Here! You said you wanted to look for a stall to sell your things at, you can use my shop.”

And though Muriel knows full well what your shop looks like, for the first time today he turns and actually looks.

Between two stalls sits the little window, where you once leaned out and smiled at him as he passed. Except, with it’s top “shutter” closed, he could now see it was a door, sitting listlessly against the off-white walls. Around it, where flowers once bloomed, cracks in the stone are so abundantly clear. Exposed for all to see without flowers covering the cracks. Sitting lifeless, colourless, and empty, he little shop seemed even smaller, crowded out by other people’s boxes. A hollow husk of what it had been before.

Or, perhaps it was hollow because you weren’t there anymore.

For all the questions he wanted to ask, all the distress and apologies he wanted to offer, all Muriel can stomach to ask, is a pathetic, strangled, “why?”

Why weren’t you using your shop anymore? Why did you remove all your flowers as if you were just moving out? Why were you letting him use that shop?

Why, even when you couldn’t remember him, did you still trust him?

Why were you kind to him?

Why—

Muriel turns to the sound before you do, the heavy footsteps of armored soldiers marching with that distinct rattle of their shiny armor that only ever meant they were here on purpose, rather than just on patrol.

You catch sight of them a moment later, the same time that they catch sight of you.

And all Muriel can do is stare.

It’s funny really, how, in the past it had almost been second nature for him to run and hide at the sound of clanking armor, grabbing any other children he’d see who had yet to notice lest they get taken by the soldiers seeking to “clean up” the marketplace. But maybe it was all that time he had to spend trying not to flinch and run from the soldiers in the coliseum lest the taunt and tease him while he was helpless to do anything else, or maybe it was the safety net that his gift provided, knowing they could never come for him.

It doesn’t matter anyways. He’s rooted to the ground, helpless to do anything to help you.

A familiar face grins behind their armored friends, looking as pleased as they looked punchable, as if tattling to the soldiers about whatever offense you didn’t commit was something they could be proud of doing. As if they weren’t just some massive coward hiding behind armor and gold.

As if they were really in the right.

He’d scowl if he could manage, but he feels far away from his body, bracing for cold impact of armored hands against mere flesh. Ready to drag him away somewhere cold and dark and alone. Ready to drag him back to the arena.

Instead, the hand that finds him is warm.

Warm fingers thread themselves between his, and suddenly he’s being pulled through the marketplace, just barely able to grab his bag before he’s running between stalls and down alleyways, as the soldiers clamor and shout clumsily crashing through booths and debris in their pursuit.

The both of you are fast, but the soldiers, trained as they are, are faster, and grow closer and closer as you stumble on each other’s feet trying to stick together. You seem to have a destination in mind, but running home with these soldiers on your tail is never, ever a good idea. You seem to know this, but you don’t seem to know how to loose them.

Muriel on the other hand does.

All it takes is a few strides and a squeeze of your hand before Muriel is leading you through the streets, diving down alleyways, and between shops and their carts, before he shoves you into a small dip between two buildings, crowded with boxes and goods from the stalls that sat on either side, and his basket set in front of him for good measure. The two shopkeepers glared his way, frustrated at his strange intrusion, but they fail to notice that he had someone with him, as they often do if that other person is hidden quickly enough. Though their eyes on him makes his skin prickle, they slide off as easily as water on oil, and soon they return to their own business, forgetting that Muriel had ever even existed as their attention drifts away, and they return to attending to their wares.

The crash of soldiers is audible in the distance, and behind him, hands pressed to his back, Muriel can feel you grow tense. Your hands ball up into fists on his cloak, and you press your face into his back as if it may be able to better help you hide from them. It lets him feel you breathe, trying to keep it slow, and deep, trying to relax yourself, but the tremors remain. It makes him want to hold you, take your hand in his to reassure you, tell you that everything will be okay, but when he still trembles at the growing sound of iron on stone and wood, all he can do is stand still and quiet, hoping to all hope that the shopkeepers beside him would not note his presence and, that what little magic he has won’t fail him,

Above all, if everything else fails, he hopes you remain safe.

Their armor glistens in the sunlight, blindingly bright, a distraction and protection he’s fallen victim to many times before. One turns his way, meeting his eyes, and for a moment, Muriel loses his breath. Behind him you tense as well, as if his tension passed onto you. As if you could somehow see through him, and met the guard’s eyes.

He wonders if you had poked your head out from behind him, wonders if the guard had somehow seen you—a scrap of your clothes perhaps, or some sliver of your skin. He hopes to all hope that you had not done so, but he tries to puff up his chest despite it all, use the width of his shoulders to truly make sure you were covered.

And no matter how much he wants to do otherwise, Muriel keeps his eyes open, and stares down not only the guard before him, but also the group behind him, watching and waiting for that moment of recognition, the moment when the guards eyes stopped slipping away, the moment when he’d have to shove the soldier away to let you escape.

To make sure no one was dragged to the coliseum again.

Someone yells behind the guard, loud and abrasive, and Muriel has to keep himself from flinching at the sound. For another moment the guard lingers, eyes still scanning the area, where Muriel stood, as if he wasn’t there at all, for a mere second perhaps, before they turn away eyes still slipping off of Muriel like water against oil. The soldiers continue on hollering and barking as they chase shadows down the street. It’s only when they fade out from earshot that Muriel finally relaxes, and behind him, he can feel you do the same.

It’s an awkward little shuffle around when he steps away to let you escape your confines. Your hand doesn’t quite leave his back so readily, trailing down before falling away, leaving phantom trails of pressure and warmth still lingering on his skin, even if you never actually touched him directly. He tries to distract himself amidst it, focus on getting his basket back on his back. Focus on the possibility of another patrol of soldiers passing by. He doesn’t notice that you had been waving for his attention until you fingers slip beneath the belts across his chest and you yank.

“Thank you,” you whisper-hiss, freeing his belt to capture his hand instead. “C’mon, follow me. I know a safe place we could lay low for awhile.

Your hand is warm in his. Sweaty from running, but warm, with callouses marking the inside of your knuckles. Your rough hands against his own, and yet cradling his carefully with your touch. In his earlier haste he didn’t get the chance to notice that.

You tug, he follows.

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For all that he’s known you, for all the times he’s visited, all he���s ever seen from you were smiles that bent your eyes with it’s fondness, soft as the flowers that surrounded you and vibrant as the sun that fed them.

But that hardly counted as knowing a person.

For all you had forgotten of him, he never really got to know you.

The city grows more glittery and sharp as you tug him towards the decrepit opulence of the flooded district, right along the edge of the temple district where old temples sat in ruin, flooded with water that bent their floorboards and made space frigid during the night. Yet those flaws hardly stopped children from scurrying into the upper levels through windows, standing in the frigid dust laden rooms, and pretending they had a better life.

He remembers doing the same himself, with vivid fondness, trying and failing to climb up the side of the building after soldiers broke all the available climbing structures, that could support his weight. Asra managed on the tiny ledges, and weak remains, but Muriel and many other children struggled to do the same.

Thick walls of ivy, and even a small tree grows there now, the ground having been cleared of tiles to make space for dirt and mud to allow for the growth.

He turns his attention back to you, as you continue to pull him past buildings, littered with new blooms that climbed the walls.

For all that you had forgotten of him, Muriel barely knew you.

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You stop before a fence that looms even above him, coated in greenery, with sharp, rusted metal spikes that jut out from the top of the bushes.

He can see thorns entwined with the green shrubbery, thin and clustered together to make it hard to avoid getting scratched or hurt by any attempt to climb up it, which perhaps, is why it was an area that seemed so abandoned. Unlike the well-maintained gardens of many nobles, what could a trespasser hope to find behind a fence so clearly bursting with nothing but plain shrubs and wayward thorns?

You, clearly, believed otherwise.

Muriel can’t help but wince when you jam your hand into the mess of thorns and bushes, rummaging around the plants in search for something within. He’s tempted to pull your arm out and try to get you to wear something to protect yourself, but you beat him to it, pulling back for a moment to reveal an untouched arm before you reach back in with more intent and care than you did before.

Something creaks, and the wall of ivy and bushes, reveals itself to be thinner than the foliage initially let on.

He doesn’t even need to slip through the greenery as you do to already glimpse the world within, but he does anyways, treating himself to the true magnificence of your domain. Hidden by plants and trees and bushes and thorns sits a world of flowers blooming en masse until they cover nearly every inch of the ground around it, some even spilling out from their designated places to uproot the stone tiles that made up the slim walkways between the spill of flowers.

Most strikingly, Muriel can see the tulips that line the far end of the garden, a splash of sporadic colours all clumped together in a mad swirl, spilling out from their allotted section to infiltrate pathways and the beds of their neighbors.

And amidst them, finally looking at ease, you stand, turning back to him with a smile.

“I’m sorry about that, but… we’ll be safer here for now.”

You close the door, with a gentle thud, and brush the roses around it back into place, slipping a rust-browned lock back into place, and locking the world outside far, far away.

Perhaps he should be worried that you had essentially locked the both of you inside here together, but despite being overcrowded with flowers, the garden seems so expansive he can hardly see it as being locked inside anything.

“Feel free to look around” you tell him. “Just… don’t pick anything, please.”

You flash him a smile, and as quickly as you had astounded him with the beauty of your garden, you turn away snapping your attention back to your flowers, and give him space to marvel in awe at your beautiful garden—to marvel in awe at your beautiful practice. Setting his basket aside, he watches as you crouch down, and procure a pair of shears from beneath a bush, and begin to snip away at the overgrown and wilted plants. The sun shines a halo around you as you hunch over plots of dirt, shuffling your way into the plants, and trying to pry flowers away from each other, to generate distance so one doesn’t starve the other.

It’s hard work, quick to smear you with dirt and mud, but he can see the tension fade from your back as you toil away, a means of relaxing yourself from the tension.

Though questions swirl around his stomach and chest, Muriel decides to give you your space. It’s the least he can do after all.

He wanders, carefully, between the patches of flowers, many intermingled with each other into beautiful messy arrays, some even curling around each other, to enough of an extent, that Muriel supposed you couldn’t separate them anymore. Of course, slow growing as flowers often were, Muriel wondered if you failed to notice how close they had gotten, or you simply allowed them to grow so close to each other.

He approaches your tulip patch. You have so many. Found in nearly every colour, with different patterns on the petals, and different shapes of petals themselves, all crowded into one large plot—and when that plot could not fit any more flowers, you intermingled the tulips amidst other plants, amidst other flowers that seemed to get along well with the shoots of colour.

Although he has never seen the foreign shaped and patterned flowers before, Muriel can’t help but note the abundance of red, orange, pink, and yellow tulips in your garden. A favourite, perhaps? Or perhaps they were in high demand, or perhaps they were just—

“They used to be my parents' favourite.” He turns to look at you, dirt smeared with leaves sticking to the fabric of your clothes. You turn to him and smile. “They liked to give them to each other, as a way to show how much they cared about each other.”

Something in Muriel’s chest flutters. Something else constricts. He really shouldn’t be hearing this—you don’t remember him, you don’t remember what you’ve done.

“I tend to give them out to my favourite customers as well.” Muriel scrambles for his bag. He shouldn’t be hearing this should he? No matter how much he wants to… he shouldn’t. It’s not fair to you. You don’t remember him, you might not even be harboring those kinds of feelings.

After all didn’t you say the flowers were supposed to just... cheer him up?

“Hey, do you want—” Muriel just barely manages to shove the bag into your hands, pressing further to get the bag closer to your face.

The sooner you remember the sooner you can kick him from your garden and be on your merry way, even though his stomach grows tight at the very idea of it. Your garden is beautiful. If he could stay here, or even just visit every so often he would be glad.

As it is, just seeing you smile was enough for him.

Just seeing you smile had been enough for him, but he’s taken too much from you, and he refused to take any more.

It takes you a moment, flustered as you try to protest the strange gift he’s given you, but the memories come soon enough, and rather than push, he finds you grabbing—not only the bag, but his hand as well—and pulling it closer to your face, to take a deep breath, and savor the memories.

It only lasts so long.

You stare at him now, eyes wide and mortified before your hands snap to your face trying and failing to hide you as you still cling to the bag of myrrh he had given you. Muriel closes his eyes and looks away, not wanting to see your enraged or sorrow filled face when you claimed you had been cheated or swindled of your precious, precious flowers.

Instead he hears you giggle.

It’s a nervous sort of giggle, the kind made when someone’s not actually happy, echoing in the hollow cup of your hand as you sink to the floor.

“Oh my gods. Oh gods.” The words slip between your fingers as you adjust and readjust your hands to hide your face. “Oh my gods I am so sorry.”

“What?”

“I gave you, so many flowers…”

The comment sounds like regret—that you regretted wasting so many flowers on him, but your voice doesn’t sound sad, you just sound… embarrassed.

“I am so sorry…”

“W-what?? What for?”

“Isn’t it embarrassing? I keep giving you flowers!” Your volume picks up, and though he doesn’t intend it, his own voice gets a little higher and a little louder in reply.

“Is that bad??” He really can’t focus on his volume when he’s trying to sort out all the questions you are not answering.

“ITS EMBARRASSING!”

“HOW?!”

You groan, half stifled and half agonized before you bury your face back into your knees, leaving Muriel’s mouth to snap shut with a soft clack, gritting his teeth as he silently vows to never open his mouth again—or at least refrain from doing so for a long while. He was too loud. Too close to yelling. He doesn’t blame you for being afraid.

He’s about to apologize, whisper something placating to fix his wrongdoings, but once again, you speak before he can even get a word in.

Or well, you don’t speak. You laugh.

It’s almost a mad cackle. Almost. If you didn’t peer up for a moment, looking so genuinely happy and pleased, he would have thought you had gone insane.

You’re breathless when your laughter bubbles down into hicuups and giggles, leaning your head on your arms as you peer up at him. Of course, he’s too tall for you to look without craning your neck, and that’s so much worse when you’re sitting down. He sits beside you in an attempt to keep your neck from aching, but that only seems to make you giggle more.

“So, how much to I have to explain?” You ask your question teasingly, but Muriel can’t help but notice the strain of sincerity or the way you shake ever so slightly as if scared. You’re still grinning, but he can’t help but take you seriously.

“It…. You spend so much time on your flowers…. Don’t you need the money?”

His question sobers you considerably, that smile falling away from your face. Again, he’s the one who has to tear that from you, who makes you frown instead of smile.

“I can afford to lose a few tulips.”

“It’s not a few.”

You huff, turning away from him, and again, he worries that he’s made you upset. “It’s fine. I have a lot of those ones anyways. Besides, it’s not like I give them out to everyone.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope.”

“What about that old man? You wanted to give those flowers to him for free…”

You roll your eyes, and shake your head a picture of exhaustion, if not for your smile. “Yeah, well, he’s a pretty common customer, and he’s a fellow merchant. I stop by his stall sometimes and I know he doesn’t always have much, but he still wants to give flowers to his friend and all that.” You turn away from him then, tucking your face back into your knees. “Besides, I wasn’t giving him tulips.”

His brows dip again, “Tulips…?”

You sigh, loud and drawn out, tucking your face deeper into your lap. “I… remember how I mentioned my parents?”

“I… I didn’t think I was supposed to hear it…”

“If not you then who?” you gawk, waving an arm to the garden that wraps itself around you. In the beat of silence that follows, the wind rustles through the flowers, and the sound of trickling water meets the melody of a birdsong. It’s so peaceful. It’s so… lonely. Another gust of wind, and though the walls sit thoroughly coated by shrubbery and plants outside, it’s far clearer to see the iron bars from within, a mere gust of wind doing enough to show the cage these flowers have been locked inside of. To show the cage that you...

“You’re the only other person here.”

“I didn’t… I thought you’d change your mind in letting me in here if you realized….”

Once more you tuck your face into your lap, and Muriel has to wonder what makes you so miserable every time he mentions it. “Why would I change my mind after remembering how many flowers I’ve given you?”

“I thought… I thought you’d think I’d stolen them.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “I gave them to you. As a gift.”

“Would you give me them if you knew it was me returning?”

You straighten yourself, turning to him with wide eyes as if he’s said something absurd or unthinkable. He’s about to retract his statement, make an apology for whatever he’s done to offend, but you look away before he does, and though muffled, in the quiet peace of your garden, you’re loud enough for him to hear you.

“Yes.” A pause. You fiddle with a worn patch over the knees of your pants, coated in dirt, and evidence of being repaired repeatedly, it’s a well loved set of gardening clothes. Well worn. Well cared for. “If I knew it was you, I’d give you even more flowers too.”

You huff the words out as if frustrated, and Muriel can’t help but look away.

“Why?” he blurts out the question, immediately regretting it when he hears you tuck your face back into your legs. You had said it was embarrassing. He still fails to understand… how.

“You heard the story about my parents.” This time it’s not a question. With your face now tucked behind your knees and safely guarded by an arm, you wave a free hand in the air, as if expecting him to connect whatever dots remains.

As if it was as easy as that.

“You said that they did so to show how much they cared about each other.” You bury your face deeper into your lap. “But you don’t… You don’t know me.”

At this point you’ve thrown your arm over top of your head now too. Trying to fold yourself up into a little human ball. Was this what was embarrassing? That you had been showing affection to someone you’ve never met before? To someone you didn’t know? But you haven’t known each other this entire time. What made it different now?

The glows over your garden, dappling you in it’s golden warmth. There are structures in place, some tall trees intermixed with the bushes outside, but sunbeams still sneak their way to reach you, as if eager to light you up, to amend the gloom that he’s cast over you. One beam streaks across your arms, and as you peek up at him, your eye glows in the golden light, and like magic, you slowly unfold yourself, to sit normally by his side.

“I… You’re right. I’m sorry.”

That was… “You’re apologizing again.” He means to ask it as a question but it doesn’t come out like it should. Hearing it fill the silence, he wonders if that would have been worse.

“I…” again, your hands come up to cover your face, dragging over your eyes, until they’re cupped around your mouth. You’re hiding again. Embarrassed you had said, but he still can’t figure out—“Look, I’m sorry for flirting with you okay?”

Muriel chokes. You don’t seem to notice.

“You don’t have to take it as flirting at all okay? It’s just… You just looked really pretty and I just wanted to give you flowers because I thought you were nice and you helped me out so many times with all those things, you were really brave and tough and yet so kind, and, augh no, look I’m not… I know I don’t know you okay, I’m not expecting you to fall in love with me over some…silly flowers, it’s fine. I… I’m really sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable, I’m really sorry if this is just…weird. I… look my garden is pretty much all I have! People like flowers but I understand if those were maybe just not your thing, and I know maybe roses would’ve been more fitting, but those are just so hard to take care of sometimes and they’re such an overused gift, I mean I kinda thought someone like you would end up tired of receiving those gifts all the time but that’s because I was assuming that you were interested in relationships like that and—”

You keep talking. And talking, and talking and talking. Circling back to the same statements over and over and over again in new contexts as you somehow say so much and very little at the exact same time. It’s nice though. He likes listening to you speak, even if this seems to make you more stressed out than ever, but most importantly, it gives him a moment to try to collect his own thoughts, to try to get his breathing in check. And when both attempts fail, to try and find a way to fold himself up into something tiny and unseeable.

He waits for a while, hoping that you’d trail off somewhere eventually, that he would eventually be able to interject and direct the conversation away, or just…. Ask if you were… serious…. but every glance his way seems to make you more stressed, and you burst out in another round of apologies and reassurances, and on top of it all another round of compliments, many of which keenly focused on…prettiness.

Particularly him… and… being… pretty.

He doesn’t mean to grab your wrist. Poke you maybe, but he doesn’t mean to grab.

It’s just… hard to tell when he’s trying to hide his warming face behind a hand.

There’s a long stretch of silence.

And of course, you try to amend whatever mistake you think that you’ve made. “I’m so sorry I didn’t—” he has to interrupt you this time.

“No… no… It’s…”

You’re really smart. Very, incredibly clever. Burying his face in his lap sounds more and more appealing by the minute, but as much as he wants to he can’t exactly make himself look as small as you managed beside him. Besides, he just… really wants to know.

“I… you think…. I’m….” He can’t. He just can’t. His mouth opens to try, but his throat falls dry each time. It’s a struggle to get the idea of it into his mind without growing furnace-hot at the thought alone. He is a rival to the sun, by mere heat alone.

Somehow, miraculously, you understand… or at least somewhat. “You’re kind, you’re brave… you’re pretty….” You have to look away as well, lips falling victim to the press of your teeth. “You’re pretty as flowers, really.”

Muriel could explode.

You take his embarrassment as distress, faltering and wincing as you try to amend what had never been damaged. If he could, he’d press a hand to your face to shut you up. But that would mean having to remove a hand from hiding his own face away.

“Sorry! Is that….? Is that insulting? I didn’t mean for it to be insulting like that or anything It’s just you know as a gardener and all constantly working with flowers and everything and—”

“No!” he wants to berate himself for yelling. To feel ashamed for raising his voice but the sound of it is so strangled and sounds more like a helpless yelp than anything, only really serving to make him feel more embarrassed.

It’s Embarrassing…

Have you been feeling this way the whole time?

“It’s just that…” many words want to spring their way out of his mouth all at once, and considering his tongue has yet to master the skill of saying two separate words at the same time, Muriel is just left to struggle. “I’ve never…. No one’s ever… It’s not bad it’s just….” He can’t speak. He’s as effective as if he were mute, eyes practically spinning in his skull, as he tries to look anywhere but you.

Still he manages a glance your way, and it gives him pause to find you staring intently at the ground, a little smile stuck upon your lips.

“Oh.”

You try to hide it behind your hand. And Muriel’s terrified to find his first instinct is to grab your wrist and keep you from hiding away, like some sort of greedy hypocrite. To deprive you of the chance to hide when all he would ever do—all he was ever going to do, would be the exact same thing. It’s greed isn’t it? First for your flowers, and your mild kindness towards him and now—! Now!!

What was he going to do now?!

“Do you want a flower?”

You blurt the words out, slamming your hand over your lips to hide away promptly after. You’re standing now, unable to tuck yourself back into your knees, but your hands are still a serviceable shield. It’s nothing to block the words that begin to pour from your lips, but maybe you aren’t trying to stop that. Maybe it’s just your expression. He wonders at what you look like so flustered….

How greedy.

“I mean It’s just—I don’t know if you want something other than a tulip—I’ve given you so many tulips—I haven’t even asked you about your favourite flower! You know! So I just thought! Just— Any flower you want!! Just one!!”

You scurry off somewhere, possibly off to tend to your flowers for something, trying to busy your hands, or just to get away from him. He understands both sentiments very well as his hands tangle themselves together twisting and pulling as he wearily gets up and looks around your pocket of paradise once more.

He doesn’t really want to take any of your flowers. At least… not pluck them straight off of the ground.

The tulip beds overflow with flowers, and like a moth about to be burnt by the flame he wanders towards it, unable to bite back his urges when he plucks a flower from it’s place.

It’s not something he wants it’s just…

It’s stupid….. But……

You return with an armful of various flowers, small simple little things, that fill your arms and get tangled in your clothes, some even worming your way to sit around your shoulders like little faeries peering over at him.

And you offer all that hasn’t attached itself to you, to him.

You don’t even speak, you just shove it all into his arms, like some last ditch effort for… something. As if this was a last ditch effort at all.

The flowers just barely all fit into the crook of his arm, and he’s grateful for once, for being so large. That he can hold so much in one arm alone, as it leaves his other arm free to offer your tulip back to you.

It’s a sign of affection you said. He hopes you understand, because he really can’t stomach speaking right now.

Surely, surely you do… right?

Your eyes go wide as if it was not your own flower he had been offering to you, gingerly taking the little bloom by it’s stem into your own hands.

And when you glance up at him, looking so happy, so giddy and yet trying and failing to hold it all back, he finds that same warm sunshine you’ve offered him when you leaned out your window the first time you met.

It’s so bright, it almost burns. At least, it certainly makes his face burn. He can’t stare at you for long, turning away sharply as he fights the urge to take more than he’s due, to sweep the dirt from your face, pluck the flower from your hand and tuck it behind your ear…. Or…. Something…..

He has to go. He has to leave. His face can’t take much more of this overwhelming warmth.

“I have to—” he begins his retreat muttering as he goes, but you grab him, your hand clinging to the slim portion of his wrist, fingers slipping beneath the cuff, to sensitive skin beneath, as if scared that he might try to tear your hand from his skin.

“Wait you….” Your smile faltered, growing into something sad as you stared at him. “Will…. Will I remember you?”

And for all he wanted to escape, he turns back to you to slip your fingers free from the uncomfortable hold they have on his wrist, to instead take your hand in his own and give what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze. “Yes. You…. Yes. You’ll remember me. So long as you have that pouch I gave you…”

He can see it in your eyes, in the furrow of your brow and how you lean closer to him. You want to know why. What had happened to him, how it happened. You want to ask about the spell that he asked for himself.

But you don’t.

That soft smile glows his way instead, and you squeeze your own hand against his once more.

“Okay,” you say hand already falling slack. “I’ll see you in the market then.” You’re just barely holding on to his fingers now, still squeezing, still trying to let go. “You’ll visit, right?”

He wants to say yes, but you’ll remember him now, and he’d hate to leave you waiting for him.

“The market isn’t really….”

“Ah right." You laugh, though a little awkwardly. "How about here then? Do… do you think you can come back here sometime?”

He nods, not trusting his voice to speak for him. Your fingers are nearly gone from his hand, but you curl them up against his anyways, giving one final squeeze before your hand falls away.

He turns, and with the loud creak of the metal gate marking his departure, he sends one final glance to you, finding you grinning from ear to ear, waving at him as he goes. “Come back soon! I really want to get to know you!”

Tongue tied, and the need to escape burning furiously through his body, Muriel smiles and nods, before he slips through the gate and through the foliage that hides it, already planning the fastest way to get back home, and the fastest way to return to your garden the next day.

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When Muriel gets home his hands are a trembling mess. He misses many times, trying to slip the many flowers he’s received back into the little cup along with the others. Perhaps it’s a bad decision to take up a knife when his hands are trembling this much, but just as much as he shakes with the overwhelming wave of anxiety from talking with you, he trembles just as much with an itch to create.

It’s hard work, and long work, and it’s very far from done when the sun finally sinks down into the sky, but the shape is at least there, and tomorrow he’ll work on scooping out the insides of it to make a vase.

His thumb sweeps over the patterns clumsily carved into the wood but he smiles as he follows the grooves of his work.

A little heart sitting amidst a garden of clumsily carved flowers.

It’s fitting, in a way.

It seems to be where he’s left his own after all.

……

…It…also seems to be where he’s left his basket.

Ah, well, looks like he’ll have to go there tomorrow then, right?