#ARE HIS EYELIDS PURPLE WITH STARS ON THEM???

[b33zlebubz]

Ingydar | thaw

joel miller x reader | mdni 18+ | ao3

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tags: reader uses she/her pronouns, blood gore and death, mentioned cannibalism, sexual tension, frostbite/hypothermia, amputation, everyone is touch-starved

You're a loner in the woods. A ghost story to the kids, a tale of caution to the hunters. A rumor of smoke on the mountain and a glow between the trees. Joel Miller finds himself tangled up in your story and slowly discovers that you're not nearly as dangerous as you've made yourself out to be.

The crunch of the snow under your feet is the only sound that breaks the silence as you walk.  The sun just barely peaks out from beyond the trees, a thin streak of purple on the horizon, fading into the dark abyss above.  It’s about six in the morning, you think.  Early enough that sleep still pulls heavy on your eyelids as you step past your outhouse, then your shed. 

Instead of stopping there, your feet carry you into the deep of the snow, past where you stopped shoveling just a few days before.  Your face stings from the cold and your arms feel heavy and tired, but there’s something that’s pulling you out into the woods.  A duty you’ve neglected for too long, too busy or too tired.

You walk about twenty minutes up to a summit, a shelf on the mountain where the trees thin out and the breeze dusts snow across your shins.  It bites the skin at your face, makes you squint against the breeze, but you press on.  Clumsy footsteps on the fresh expanse of snow, you should have brought your snowshoes.

Eventually, you come to a graveyard.  The stones peak out from beneath the snow, dark streaks across the field.  Some are rock but the ones after the Outbreak are all wooden, near the back.  Haphazard and rushed, each carved with initials and a date.  Sometimes marked with a heart, sometimes a cross or a star, but mostly nothing at all.  Nobody’s been alive to mourn them since you burned it all down. 

You keep walking to the end.  To an unmarked grave pressed off to the side, facing East instead of West.  Shunned.  Abandoned.  Not by you.  You stop in front of it and just stare.  Purse your lips.  Shift your stance.  Roll the golden ring back and forth on your finger.  Thinking.  Looking.  

Something dim twists in your chest, something akin to guilt, but you shake it away and kneel down in front of it.  You scoop the snow away from the sight with your hands, toss it behind the stake.  Fingers sting with the cold as you dig away the two feet of snow until they’re red and numb.  Until your hands hit the dirt beneath it.  Just as you’ve done countless times before with leaves, ice, or twigs.  Clear the area of the debris.  Make sure the stick sits straight in the ground, that there's no cracks or damage.

You don’t remember what Markus looked like, when he died.  You just know there wasn’t much left of him.  Your village split up what they could of him while you were away, the only time you couldn’t come to his rescue.  The elderly would’ve gotten to eat first if they still followed the rules.  The strongest would’ve gotten the scraps. When you returned to Ingydar you really don’t remember much other than the white hot anger.  The smell of gasoline.  The heat on your face.  The guilt.  Burying the bodies, sticking unmarked wood in the Earth, never to spare them a glance again.

The guilt you feel now is softer.  More domestic.  Less to do with the graves and more to do with the ring on your finger.  A guilt you never deserved to live long enough to face, nevermind meet someone who could tear your chest open and place it there.  Someone who should run far away, but never does.

You don’t know for sure who all died, who all escaped your wrath and ran away.  If anybody ended up in Jackson. You never really cared to check, just buried the bodies so you wouldn't see them again. You don't know if you could face anyone alive, how you would react if you did.  How they would react, seeing you.  Knowing what you did.

When you’re done, your boots don’t sink into the snow anymore when you stand in front of the gravesite.  The stick is straight and the area clean.  You let out a breath and rest your hand against the frozen Earth for a moment.  Let your thoughts linger on Markus’s company one last time.  His smile, his kindness, his weed and his music.

It would be the last time you visit him.

You return to your lookout feeling a little lighter.  The sun casts warmth over your back as you walk, melting the stiff February snow under your feet.  It’ll probably thaw for good over the next couple days with the exception of the occasional squall, if your instruments are correct.

You climb the stairs and try to be quiet whenever you open the door.  There’s no memory of it behind the dull throb of a headache behind your eyes, but your records are strewn across your desk.  There’s a small pile pressed off to the side—everything Radiohead you owned.  A gift for Ellie, sorted and put aside late the night before.

You kick your shoes off before making your way to the bed, nearly tripping over something warm and solid on the floor.

Joel grunts, stirs softly in his sleep, but doesn’t wake.  He’s sleeping on his side, his bad ear up, golden light casting a streak over the small scar on his temple.  Something about having him here is comforting, at ease sleeping on the floor by your bed.  Hungover, maybe, but comfortable.  Soft.  Something you could get used to.

You climb back into bed.  The nightmare doesn’t come, this time.

The last time you saw this highway, you were driving to your post a few months before that horrible day in September.  The weather was warm and your windows were down, letting the breeze stir your hair.  Bags of supplies filled the back of your truck and your rifle—shiny, new, and unused—sat in the backseat.  Steering wheel warm under your palms from the sunlight as you tapped your finger to the beat of some song on the only radio station that reached Ingydar.  Even after everything, it still gets stuck in your head sometimes.

***

Now, it’s the fur of a white horse that meets your hands, rubbed a little raw from the reins.  She’s pretty; snow-white and quiet, a thoughtful gift from Jackson for the journey.  

It’s just so you stop slowin’ me down, Joel had huffed, flushed from getting accused of maybe caring about you and your forever-freezing feet.  Don’t get any ideas.

You were just satisfied to see him flustered, for a change.

Joel’s horse snorts not far behind and you’re searching for the source of a horde that's been seeping in through the cracks of Ingydar into Jackson.   Now, sixteen years have passed since the Outbreak, and that song rears its stupid head again.

“She’s fightin’ me, now.  More than she used to.  Stopped comin’ by for movies, seeing me in the morning…hell, she’s still sneakin’ out.”

You swear this is the most you have ever heard Joel speak.  The frustration ebbed from him in steady, silent waves whenever he met you at your tower for this trip this very morning.  You tried starting conversation multiple times to no avail.  Several comments on the weather and Jackson falling flat as you get nothing but a grunt or a few clipped words in reply.  Little did you know all it took was a simple question of how’s Ellie to get him talking.

“She fully move into the garage?”  You ask, although you’re only half listening, uncrumpling a handmade map shoved into the pocket of your hoodie. 

“Yeah,”  he sighs heavily from off to your right, gaze focussed ahead.  “Although half her shit still sits in that fuckin’ room.”

“Okay.  Well,”  you’re used to this by now.  “If it’s space she wants, then give her that.  See what happens.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

You flick an eyebrow up at him,  “why, exactly?”

“It…”  he hesitates, considering something for a moment before shaking his head.  “It just is.  She’s too reckless, makes it hard to do my job.  Look out for her.”

You level him with a deadpan look he knows well by now.  The one you hope he knows means you’re on to him—that there’s something missing.  You know he’s keeping something from you, something involving Ellie, maybe.  Something before Jackson, maybe even before he met Ellie. but you don’t press.  Just offer advice whenever you can.

Joel returns your look with twice the stubborn resolve.

“It is,”  he insists.  “I promise.”

You roll your eyes and let it go.  Squint at the paper in your hands, using your other hand to block the sun from your face.  It’s hot on your back, choking out the late-February air that clings to your skin.  Leaves the snow under your horse’s hooves slushy and stiff as winter stumbles to a close.  Threatens a thin sweat under your hoodie and forms icy rivers where streams used to trickle.

“Well, I’m no parent,”  you reply.  “But no teenaged girl really sees eye-to-eye with her dad, usually.  Just…back up a bit.  Let her come to you.”

He only sighs.  Deep, heavy, for the hundredth time in the few hours you’ve been scouting.  Lacking that frustration you’ve come to know well and replacing it with something sad.  Clearly, this is weighing on his shoulders more than he’s letting on, and something achingly familiar flashes behind his eyes.  A grief, maybe.

He doesn’t reply and your gaze lingers on him for another moment before focussing back on the task at hand.  Flicking the map in your grasp meticulously put together the night before.  Whenever Joel asked for a written record of Ingydar and its dilapidated buildings, Infected were one of the last things you expected to mark down on it.  Red scribbles of pen label which buildings and roads the infected are most prominent, leading the whole way back through the woods to the highway you find yourselves at.

You pull on the reins and the horse snorts as she comes to a stop at the asphalt.

The entrance of a concrete tunnel arches up high above you, almost hidden through the veil of vegetation starting to bud underneath the melting snow and a faded green road sign that blocks the entrance.  Thick icicles drip from the concrete and echo through the thick black of the tunnel before you, lined with yellow tile streaked with rust and dirt.  You scrunch your nose at the smell that wafts with the cold breeze of the underground: metallic, rotten, old, and wet.

“Help me out here?”  Joel says, already off his horse.  He tugs on the end of the collapsed sign, igniting a groan of thawing metal that echoes endlessly into the dark.  You’re quick to help, jumping off the saddle and helping him push.  With another loud whine of metal, the sign gives, and you pull it off to the side of the road.

“Jesus,”  he breathes at you, and you ignore him.

“I’m still calling bullshit,”  you huff.  Joel wanders inside, barely scared.  Just wary as deep brown eyes squint into the dark.  He flicks on his flashlight and runs it along the walls, studying.

“Bullshit or not, sweetheart, it’s still worth checkin’.”

Your boots squelch in the slushy ground as you step closer to the tunnel.  You listen close for a moment but hear none of the infected he thinks are inside, just the sound of water dripping and running along the torn-up road.  He clicks his flashlight on and shines it into the dark—nothing.  Not one sign of life or the absence of it.

“You really think they’re coming from here?”  You ask, quieter now as you pull a maglight from your belt and shine it along the water damaged, rusted walls.

“You said it yourself.  Survivors make a wrong turn into the tunnel and never come back out the other side,”  Joel reasons, pulling out his own flashlight.  His other hand sits on the revolver at his belt. He nods in confirmation at the tunnel. 

“They’re collectin’ in here.  Stuck somewhere, maybe.”

You shouldn’t have done it, really; make a comment on the uptick in infected around Ingydar and your surrounding stomping grounds.  You hadn’t expected Joel to lock up at the observation, send out more patrols, suddenly spend more time scouting than hunting.  Searching buildings and basements for whatever might be causing it or patrolling the very outskirts of the woods to see where they’re wandering in from.

You know better than to doubt him, though.  His stories of travelling with Ellie seem tall, but you trust them over your judgement and very limited knowledge.  You rarely leave the area enough to know what major cities are like and how everything else around them is affected.

You don’t know how to handle a horde.

Thoughts drift to what he described to you.  The stories he told over drinks or through smoke the past few weeks he’s been visiting you at the tower, disturbing and almost fantastic.  Hordes as large as concert crowds.  Infected so far gone that layers of fungus act as plates of armor, thick and bulletproof.  Spores that poison the air, take root in your lungs, strangle you slowly.

You shift your hold on your rifle, glance to him.  “We end up infected checking this out, I’ll beat your ass.”

He huffs.  It's been getting easier and easier to make him laugh recently, lighten the mood, and you take a certain amount of pride in it every time his lip twitches with amusement.  Even now, whenever he's walking directly into the complete unknown.  Into a horde or a patch of spores.

“We’ll more likely be torn apart before you can,”  he mutters evenly.

You scoff and adjust your hold on your rifle. “That’s hardly comforting.”

He shrugs, reaches back into his bag and pulls out two of Jackson’s gas masks and radios.

“Could be nothin’.  Could be somethin’,”  he tells you, tossing you a mask.  “But we won't know until we check.”

You sigh and lift the device to your face, adjusting the straps around the back of your head and pulling the remaining ones tight to your face.  Joel holds up a small radio next.  He presses the red button on the side, changes the channel until his radio sings at his waist, echoing his voice as he speaks.

“This one’s for me.  17.8 is Jackson if shit really goes sideways,”  he tells you, voice muffled through the filters of his mask.  “Got it?”

You nod and catch the small radio when he tosses it over.  Slightly-shaky hands attach it to your belt as your eyes scan up the ceilings, adjusting to the dark.  Mushrooms sprout through cracks in the concrete and a deep uneasiness takes hold in your gut as you take a few steps into the dark.

“Hey,”  Joel says suddenly, stealing your attention.  His gaze softens, just a little, and it catches you off-guard; how sentimental he can get during the strangest of moments.

“What?”  

He dips his head just a little.

“It’ll be fine,”  he says, evenly.  “I’ve got your back.”

He’s said it before.  Whenever you suggest splitting up while hunting or whenever infected cross your path up the mountain. Helping you over fences or guarding whatever building you scout.  This time, though, it feels more sincere.  Less temporary, with the way the moment lingers.  Or maybe you’re reading too much into it.

Nevertheless, you take a breath, nod, and press on into the darkness.

A stream of run-off water flows between your boots as you walk into the endless darkness, the end of the tunnel collapsed or hidden by a thick veil of vegetation—you’re not sure.  Each step feels louder than the last, though, echoing across wet tile and moldy concrete as you keep your gun ready.

“There’s nothing in here,” you shine a flashlight over a body pressed off in the corner; a runner shot dead months ago and left to decay.  Even a whisper sounds earth-shatteringly loud.

“Doubt it,”  Joel mutters ahead of you.  “Keep your eyes open.”

You let out a breath and catch up to his side.  “This what the cities are like?”

“Sort of,” he sweeps his maglight over where old blood is smeared across the wall.  “What isn’t collapsed is usually festerin’ unless a Q.Z. is established.”

You remember the buses that came through Ingydar a few days after the Outbreak, the FEDRA that abandoned you and your town for the bigger cities in the state.  You remember watching them fly past like none of you existed, how you had to discourage people from chasing them.  Watching how those who didn’t listen ended up shot on the side of the road by the very people sent to aid them.

You shake the thought from your head and keep moving.

“Looks like the end is collapsed,”  you say.  “Maybe we should—”

Your foot slips.

You’re falling before you realize it, concrete slamming the breath from your lungs before your ass hits shallow water.  A bright and loud yelp echoes through the concrete as you come back to yourself, blinking at the darkness that has suddenly enveloped you.  Your flashlight hits the water somewhere in front of you with a splash, gone.  You blink, shocked, up at the ledge about twenty feet high.

“Shit,”  you seethe.

“Fuck!”  Joel’s voice sounds out from somewhere above you and a light cascades down into the sinkhole you find yourself in.  You scramble to your feet, splashing in rancid water as you squint up at the light of Joel above you.  Rocks cascade down to your feet as he scrambles to find a way down.

“Don’t follow me!”  You pant before he can fall as well, voice strained as you hold your hands up.  “I’m okay.  There’s no infected.”

Your eyes adjust to the dark enough to see Joel let out a breath.  Brown eyes darting around as if he doesn’t fully believe you.  Either way, he nods, gets a hold of himself, and moves on to the next thing.

“I’ll have to look for something to help you out,”  he tells you, panic thinly veiled.  “You’ll be okay?”

You take another glance around.  Rocks jut out from the walls, damp but coated with fungus.  Climbable.  The only issue was the sound of falling water somewhere nearby and the pull of a current under your feet.  If you fell again, you weren’t getting back out.

“Yeah…”  you take a breath to steady yourself, nodding.  “I’ll be fine.”

He shifts his weight.  Clenches and unclenches his fist.  Glances around like something, anything, might give him a clear answer as to what to do.

“You’re sure?”  He says, and it's the most nervous you’ve heard him since Ellie was in your bed with frostbite.

You nod as convincingly as you can.  He hesitates, visibly swallowing before he’s off, boots echoing through the rocks as his flashlight dims and disappears.  A breath leaves you and you take a moment to steady your raging heart. 

Shaky hands find purchase on a rock.  You try hoisting yourself up but the stone snaps under your hand and you splash back into the water.  You try twice more in different spots just for the same thing to occur, blood swelling hot where the rocks scrape your skin.  Breath huffing and loud through your mask.

There’s a noise off at the other end of the hole.  A shuffle, a splash, in the direction the water flows under your feet.  You freeze, turn so that you’re facing the noise.  Not that you can see, everything is pitch black.  Your heart leaps into your throat as you swing your rifle around, listening close.  

Nothing.

“Joel?”  You yell out, feet swishing in water.  “Where’s that rope?”

No response.

You flick the safety off your weapon and back yourself up against the jagged wall.  More noises sound from before you.  The shuffle of clumsy boots against rocks.  A soft growl.  The shift of water. 

“Shit,”  you huff, raising your weapon to your shoulder with your heart in your throat.  You try counting the growls, the different pitches, but there’s too many to keep track.  Panic ebbs at your nerves, blooming down your spine all the way through your fingers.

“Joel!”  You yell out, and one of the infected launches at you.  Pins you to the water.

You’re quick to kick it off, raise your gun and shoot at it.  The echo of the blast makes your ears ring as you fight blindly against snarling teeth and broken hands.  You hear one infected hit the water from your shot, but there’s more. You don’t know how many there are, but you know there’s at least four hands pulling at your clothes as you try to climb up the side of the hole.  

You slip.  You fall.  You shoot twice more.  The infected keep coming.  Your heart rages on in your throat as you keep shooting.  Each shot lights up the room, revealing each mushroomed head you shoot down.

Eventually, there’s just noises.  Growls and clicks.  You whip around.  Eyes dart left and right in the dark as you search for danger, gun swinging until you don’t know which direction you’re facing.  Where the noises are coming from.  The room seems to spin as you try to figure out where the wall was, where the infected are.

“Joel?”  You breathe, and there’s no answer.  Your heart rate picks up in your chest.  “Joel!”

Again, nothing.  Darkness.  Snarling.  You turn in circles in the dark.  Looking, searching.  A way out.  Joel.  Something.

Something grabs your shoulder and you startle, kicking your attacker off.  You raise your gun just in time for a flashlight to shine in your face.

“It’s me!”  Joel rasps, raising his shaky, bloodied hands; one of which holding the end of a rope.  Deep brown eyes swirling with panic.  “Jesus, It’s just me.”

You let out one breath.  Then another.  Joel’s breathing is just as heavy as yours as you both settle.  Shaky hands loosen around your weapon as you realize there’s no more danger.

You huff out a breath and reach out to pull him up,  “Fuck.”

He sits up out of the water with a grunt as you stumble backwards, strength seeped from your bones.  Your hold on your rifle slips as the drop in adrenaline seeps the remaining energy from your bones.  

Joel yanks you into his chest and your breath hitches. 

Strong.  Solid.  Warm.  You blink, for a moment, before you have the stunning realization that he’s hugging you.  Tight.  Like you'd fade away if he lets go.  Your hands hover awkwardly in the air behind his back as your mind short-circuits, tries to wrap around the idea.  The warmth and the safety.

“Joel?”  You breathe, confused.  

“Scared the fuck outta me,”  he huffs, tightening his arms around you.  He lets go before you can think to return the gesture and places a hand on your cheek, tilting your face up to look at him.

“Couldn’t find the rope,”  Joel breathes.  “You alright?”

Your eyes now adjusted to the dark, you catch the concern in his eyes, flashing behind the mask. The solid warmth of his shaky hand.  Makes you think, for the first time in many years, someone might actually take the time to bury you after you die.  Might have actually cared.  Mourned you.

That’s when you feel it, for the first time.  A foreign emotion that claws its way up your stomach and blooms in your chest.  It would’ve brought tears to your eyes, if you had time to process it.

“Yes, yeah,”  you force the words from your throat and they come out strangled, choked.  “Not bit.”

“Good,” he says as you both catch your breath.  

You feel like maybe you should acknowledge it, the moment that passes between the two of you.  The thing you just shared, the something that ticks in Joel’s eyes that's similar to how he looked at a frozen Ellie.  But you don’t, and neither does he.

His hand drops and the moment, the feeling, is a memory.

He shifts his flashlight, redirecting your attention to the corner of the room where water runs down into another hole in the Earth.  There’s infected, there.  Runners and clickers alike all stuffed inside, clawing and snarling desperately to get to you, but stuck between stone and rock.  Fingers raw and bloody from clawing at the muddy concrete.  

You think of Ingydar.  Of Markus.  Of thirty or so citizens lined up to be searched for bites.  The crack of the gun whenever somebody unfortunate sported teeth marks in their skin.  The start of the Outbreak whenever groups of them stumbled along the streets, got stuck in doorways and in basements just like this.

Joel’s hand on your shoulder snaps you out of it, pulling you away from the sight.

“Come on,” he breathes near your shoulder, yanking you from the depths of your mind.  “Let’s go.”

You space out for a while, on your way back.  Too caught up in your thoughts as the trek back up the mountain drags on.  The steady rhythm of the horses lulls you into your mind as you both make your way slowly, tiredly, up the mountain.  As the adrenaline drains to a dull thrum and clouds threaten miserable weather on the horizon, your limbs are rendered cumbersome.  Your back tender from the fall and hands stinging from the rocks, thoughts buzzing with what ifs.

***

But Joel is injured.

By the time the first downpour of the season rains down on you both, you start to notice it.  His head bowed down as he clutches limply at his side where blood speckles his clothes, turning blue denim purple.  He’s pale, breathing strange, and it immediately makes your throat tighten.

“Joel,”  you rasp, nervous.  The first word exchanged since leaving the tunnel.

He blinks, glances wearily down at the blood like he’s just now noticing it himself.  Moves a shaky hand away from it and wipes the glimpse of red off on his jeans.  He shrugs.

“Not a bite,”  he murmurs dismissively, voice tired.  Low.  “Just got caught on a rock.”

You stick close, anyway, as the trek falls back into the quiet.  Let your thoughts wander to the rifle at your back and what you might have to do if he’s lying.  Let the memories of Ingydar seep through and bleed into the present.

Scared the fuck outta me.  

His words, his tone, his voice—all gravel coated with honey—bounce around endlessly in your brain.  Make you clutch the reins of the unnamed horse a little tighter, stick a little closer to his side.  You know it's irrational, that he has enough sense to tell you immediately if he was bitten, but you worry just the same.  Try not to let it show.

Whenever you both finally get back to the lookout, it’s dark.

Joel struggles, stumbles when his feet hit the ground.  You’re quick to catch him with a hand under his armpit and his breathing is labored, heavy.  Face pale under the rain that plasters his hair to his face.

“Fuck,”  he breathes, struggling free to stand on his own.  “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I am,”  he insists, but he doesn’t fight you whenever you keep a hand at his back while you both walk up the stairs, slippery from the remaining ice and the rain.  It drips from your clothes in steady dribbles, chills your bones until you open the door and the warmth of the inside hits your face.

His legs finally give when he steps inside and he collapses into your desk chair.  His head rests back against it as he grunts, pulling his hand away from his side just for it to come back red and shaky.  

“Fuck that hurts…”

“Easy,,”  you advise softly, coming to his aid.  He lets you maneuver him forwards enough to pull his clothes aside.  Prod at the skin of his hip just for his blood to ooze onto your hand. 

“How bad is it?”  He breathes.

The wound is angry; red, irritated, and bleeding, but not enough for anything to be life-threatening.  A deep scrape he likely got whenever he jumped down to save you.  Definitely not a bite.  Definitely not something worth being so worked up about.  The adrenaline drains from your system and you let out a quiet breath of relief.  Reset.  Focus on the task at hand.

“Not bad,”  you assure him, breathing, as you start tugging at his jacket.  “C’mon.  Shirt off.”

He grunts as you peel the waterlogged, bloodied jacket and flannel off his shoulders and toss it aside.  You make quick work wiping the wound clean with careful hands, revealing the scrape underneath it.  There’s no sound other than the gentle pidder-patter of the rain hitting your roof, Joel’s breathing.  His eyes are on you the whole time you work.  Steady, curious.  He watches quietly, head bowed, arms limp.

You step closer, kneeling down beside him.  Your hand brushes his thigh and his breath hitches, flinches.  Tense.  

You glance up at him, “Joel?”

“Sorry,”  he breathes, sounding rough.  Pained, almost, as he shifts in his seat and clears his throat.  Gives you a nod to continue, eyes locked out the window and jaw clenched through his beard.

You don’t give it much thought, too focussed on getting the bleeding to stop.  Pressing a cloth soaked in disinfectant to his side.

Eventually, the wound is cleaned and bandaged, and your hands hover over his skin with nothing left to do other than to sit with the fact that he’s here.  Shirtless.  Skin warm under your touch.  His chest rising and falling steadily and his skin flushed pink along his collar.

He’s stronger, now, gaining weight back steadily as the weather warms up and the animals return.  Olive skin damp with mud and rain water, shiny in the low light.  There’s a scar on his right side, you notice.  Angry, deep, and old.  You can’t tell what it's from.  

“You shouldn’t have jumped in with me,”  you comment, low and tired.  “You could’ve been bit.”

He huffs, like it's funny.  “So could you.”

Your throat tightens from his carelessness, bringing with it an anger that bubbles up before you can stop it.  Thinking of Jackson, what might happen to those people just because Joel wanted to save you.

“What about Ellie?  Tommy?” You insist.  “You think I want to bring them your corpse?”

Something quick flickers in his eyes and he sighs, “Sweetheart—”

“Stop calling me that.”

Your tone hardens and his mouth shuts quick.  For a second he just looks at you, and you think he notices the shake in your voice.  In your hands.  The rain picks up outside, static against the metal roof.  You pry your gaze away quickly to stand, but he stops you with a hand on your arm.  Not forcefully, not at all, but it still makes you flinch just the same.  Freeze to the floor.

“Hey,”  he says, quieter than you deserve.  “Sit for a second.”

You huff a breath, trying to reel your thoughts back in and away from his body.  “I’m fine.”

Joel squeezes your arm.

“You’re not,”  he insists.

You almost seem to recoil from his thoughtfulness, from his gaze when it lingers on your face.  It wraps around you tight, warm and suffocating.  Inevitable.  The fact that he can read you, now, that he’s paid attention enough to know your tells. 

“I thought you were bit,”  you manage, voice unsteady and wavering.  It’s easier to talk about it when you’re not looking at his shirtless form draped over your desk chair. 

“I would’ve said so.”

“I know.  I know you would,”  you mumble, pacing.  “But if you were, I…”

You trail off whenever your throat closes up unexpectedly, and you find you can’t finish your thought.  It sits in the air, anyway.  Heavy.  Too heavy for either of you.  Nevertheless, you press on, feeling the need to continue with his eyes on you and half the thought already out in the open.

“Y’know…”  you clear your throat, but the tightness remains.  You push through it the best you can.  “You were in my nightmares.  Every night up until a few weeks ago,  instead of him.”

Thunder rolls quietly over the sky, dark and heavy.  The wind whistles against the windows when a particularly strong gust assaults the tower.  Joel shifts, stands up slowly with a creak.  You fidget with your ring and keep talking.  Keep forcing the words out even when they hurt.

“Never could figure out why.  Tried not to give it thought,”  you continue, letting out a breath.  “Didn’t want to.”

You feel him, hovering behind you.  Hesitant, quiet, but there.  You feel his hand when it reaches out and just barely ghosts over the skin of your elbow.  You can’t tell what he’s thinking, what he's getting from your words.  He doesn’t speak for a while, but when he does, it's low.

“Do you still have that nightmare?”

You find you can’t speak.  Instead, you turn, slowly, to face him.  Heartbeat in your ears, a shakiness to your clenched fists.  He looks at you with something hazy, something understanding.  Wanting.  Just like you.

It makes something snap.

You step forward and kiss him. He grunts, surprised, but he’s almost as quick as you are to melt into it.  Lift his hand to your face to keep you there.  Suddenly, it’s greedy.  Ravenous and messy.  Starved, as he bites at your lips and pulls you close and your heart skyrockets between your ribs.

Then, he pulls away.  Just a breath, just enough to speak into your mouth.

“We really doin’ this?”

“Are you kidding me?”  you huff, exasperated, barely letting him finish.  You shift closer, close enough to press him back against the table, and it pulls a rumble from somewhere deep and unexpected in his chest.  “Yes.”

Thunder shakes the sky again.  The rain picks up, muted but consistent as it slides off your roof.  Running down your windows and coating the outside in a dense, white, bitterly cold fog.  The dead still moan and claw through that tunnel, Jackson still keeps breathing and building between the mountains, off in the distance.  

The fire in your stove burns bright just the same.

The next morning, it’s foggy.  Dreary and cold.  Splotched with slushy snow and deep brown mud.  The kind of morning that usually kept you anchored to the bed with a warm mug of water, a dusty book and tired eyes, but not this time.  This time, you blink your eyes open to the sound of your front door opening and shutting, and a chill to the sheets carefully tucked around you that wasn’t there a few minutes ago.  

***

Joel.

You throw the covers off and leap to your feet, nothing on but the shirt you wore yesterday still spotted with rotten blood.  There’s a bruised ache in your core that makes you grit your teeth when you sit up too quick, pulling your jeans back over the bruises between your legs.  You barely have your shoes on before you stumble to the door, squinting against the light when you burst through.  Ignoring the biting cold.

He’s there when you step outside.

Joel Miller’s eyes snap towards you when your hands meet the freezing banister, soften a little at the sight of you.  He’s on his horse, the deep brown one.  Favoring his side as he gets situated.  Two crows squawk when they flutter away from the railing at the sight of you, skin chilled from the air.

“Tommy’s expectin’ me.  Already late,”  Joel explains, sincere and a little frazzled.  “Didn’t mean to leave before you even—”

“It’s okay,”  you interrupt, nodding in understanding.  “Go help Tommy.”

He lets out a long breath.  Nods.  Smiles something warmer than you’ve seen from anyone in a while as his breath fogs in the mountain air.

“Go back inside,”  he advises, softer.  “I’ll be back later.  Promise.”

You return his smile, leaning over the banister.  Movement catches your eye and the horse you borrowed shakes its head free of water in its mane, pressed off behind the shed.  

“What about the other horse?”

Joel’s eyes flicker to the animal in question.  He shrugs, pulls on the reins to head out. 

“Name her well,”  he says, unconcerned.  “She’s yours.”

You settle on Ingydar.

previous | next

@astrid-sorensen

[exodusin]

♱ — 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬 𖤐 bill cipher x fem!reader, Who Framed Roger Rabbit au, bill cipher is Roger coded and you are the one and only Jessica Rabbit coded, Bill Cipher will be a triangle suck a lemon for those who don’t fuck with triangle bill

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

There you were, applying the first layers of your makeup, wearing a fluffy white robe to cover your sparkly, seductive red dress, while your hair was held by hair rollers as soft jazz played from your record player. Your assistant knocked on your door. "Mrs. Cipher, you have gifts."

"Bring them in, Stevie. Thank you," you said, your voice dripping with a sultry tone. Your assistant entered and placed the gifts onto your couch. You resumed applying your makeup, but a tag from the gifts caught your eye. You see the 'tag', which turns out to be a card.

"For my dearest, loveliest wife, from your one and only husband, Bill Cipher. Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo - flip to the second page for more hugs and kisses, dearest!" you read, a smile spreading across your lips.

You smiled lovingly at the tag and flipped to the second page without leaving out a word or letter. On the next page, there continued to be lots of 'xoxoxo's until you spotted a Polaroid picture of Bill. You saw the picture of Bill blinking, and unexpectedly, he popped out of the picture, floating above you with a mischievous grin.

"Well, well, well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes! Look at you! Looking beautiful as ever, toots!" Your triangle husband praised, doing a little spin in the air. He eagerly grabbed your hand and peppered it with kisses from his eyelid. "Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!" he exclaimed, his voice high-pitched and giddy.

You chuckled, and your eyelids rested unintentionally seductively since you were drawn that way to be unintentionally seductive. "Oh, honey, you flatter me way too much. I'm just wearing a mere robe, and my hair is still in rollers," you said in your natural deep voice. Bill rolled his cat-like pupil eye and scoffed dramatically.

"Nonsense, nonsense! I will love you and spoil you with my affection no matter what, dearest!" Bill declared, swooping down to plant a kisses on your hand. He then snapped his fingers, causing a clone of himself to appear and do the same to your other hand.

You sighed and shivered, feeling goosebumps on your exposed neck as the clone merged back into the original Bill. The yellow triangle then opened one of the boxes he had given you as a gift - it was a pair of sparkly, deep purple gloves.

"A pair of sparkly gloves for my brightest supernova that shines brighter than any other star from all the dimensions I've visited and destroyed," Bill giggled, doing a little jig in the air.

You smiled lovingly at him. You reached for the gloves, but he just pushed your hands away from them with his black fingers, tsking playfully.

"Ah, ah, ah, let me do the honor of putting these gloves on your beautiful hands and arms," he said, snatching up the gloves and carefully sliding them onto your fingers and arms, smoothing out any wrinkles with his extra hands.

With his extra hands, he wanted to do your makeup, gushing the entire time about how lucky he was to have a loving, hot diggity dynamite wife like you. "Oh, you're just the most beautiful and wonderous creature to ever exist, toots! The bee's knees! The cat's meow!" he exclaimed, giggling uncontrollably.

When he finished doing your makeup, he was just giggling at how beautiful you are, floating around you in circles. You looked at the mirror and just dotted a fake mole on your cheek.

"Oh, Billy, honey, you are such an artist," you said seductively, grabbing him and peppering his 'face' or triangle body with kisses, leaving lipstick marks all over him. You finished with one final, lingering smooch on his 'lips', which are his eyelids.

Bill's body jolted like electricity at the kiss, and his top hat let out a train-like whistle at your affection. Once you broke the kisses, Bill was over the moon and couldn't stop giggling, doing loop-de-loops in the air.

As you were going to take off your robe that covers your sparkly red dress and undo the hair rollers, Bill stopped you, claiming he wanted to wowed and surprised once he sees you perform on stage all dolled up.

"See you later, Billy," you said, giving him a coy wink.

He giggled like an idiot, his voice cracking. "See you later, angel lips!" he squeaked, before zipping out of the room in a blur of yellow and black.

[ssweeterthanfiction]

Falling In Love

finnick odair x apprentice stylist fem!reader 65th Hunger Games Victory Tour moments!! (all fluff)

masterlist.

✄⚉ After long days of interviews, banquets, and forced smiles, you and Finnick find quiet moments together in his hotel room. You lie on your backs, staring at the ceiling, not saying much. Your hands find each other, fingers hesitantly brushing, then linking together without a word. Neither of you let go first.

✄⚉ Sometimes, when the Capitol feels too suffocating, Finnick sneaks out onto the hotel balcony. You follow him every time. You sit side by side, the cool night air wrapping around the two of you as you both watch the city lights below. He teaches you about constellations, pointing them out with lazy gestures. You hum softly when he talks, nodding along, even if you don’t recognize the stars he’s naming. You just like hearing his voice.

✄⚉ At every district stop, Finnick picks up something small for you—a small pearl from One, a carved wooden charm from Seven, even a smooth stone from the train tracks. “This is for you,” he says every time, casually, like it doesn’t mean anything. Of course, you always keep them. By the end of the tour, you have a small collection of trinkets tucked away in your bag.

✄⚉ When you and Finnick are bored on the train, you start absentmindedly doodling little shapes on his wrist with a pen. “What are you doing?” he asks, amused but not stopping you. “Decorating,” you say simply, drawing tiny fish and waves. Later, you find that he’s scribbled something on your palm. A little star, a button and a smiley face.

✄⚉ Finnick hates dressing up for Capitol parties, and he’s terrible at tying his own tie. One evening, you find him struggling with it in front of the mirror, grumbling under his breath. “Here, let me,” you say, stepping closer. He stills as you reach up, carefully fixing it, your fingers brushing against his collarbone. It’s quiet, intimate, and Finnick swallows hard, suddenly forgetting how to breathe. When your done, you smooth the fabric and pat his chest lightly. “There. Perfect.” He barely manages a reply. His face is warm and red.

✄⚉ One rare evening, after an event, you're both too exhausted to sleep, so they end up watching some old Capitol film in the train's lounge. It’s not even good, but neither of you really care. Somewhere in the middle of it, you rest your head against Finnick’s shoulder. He barely registers it, just shifts slightly to make it more comfortable for you. By the time the credits roll, you're both asleep, curled up together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

✄⚉ You alway do his hair. Styling it before events, making sure it falls just right. One day, without thinking, he picks up a loose strand of yours and starts twisting it into a loose braid. “What are you doing?” you ask, laughing softly. “Dunno,” he says, brows furrowed in concentration. “Seems fair, doesn’t it?”

✄⚉ While traveling between districts, you both end up sitting together by the window. The sky outside is burning with color, deep oranges, soft purples, fading blues. “It looks like the ocean at sunset,” he murmurs. You watch the reflection of the light in his sea-green eyes and then turn your head back to gaze up at the sky. “It’s beautiful.” He turns his head slightly, looking at you instead. “Yeah,” he says softly. “It is.”

✄⚉ Finnick doesn’t sleep much anymore. Nightmares lurk behind his eyelids, always waiting. One night, after waking up in a cold sweat, he finds himself standing outside your door. He doesn’t even know why, he just knows that you're usually awake. He knocks once. Hesitates. Almost leaves. But then the door opens, and you're there, blinking up at him sleepily. “…Finnick?” He shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh… never mind. Sorry.” You don’t let him leave. Instead, you step aside and gesture for him to come in. He sits on the edge of your bed, staring at his hands. After a moment, you sit behind him and gently run your fingers through his hair. He stiffens at first, but the slow, rhythmic motion starts to calm him. His shoulders relax. His breathing evens out. “You don’t have to talk,” you murmur, still combing your fingers through the soft curls at the nape of his neck. “Just…stay as long as you need.” He does. And for the first time in weeks, he falls asleep without the nightmares.

✄⚉ Some nights, when neither of you can sleep, you both end up talking in hushed voices. About nothing, about everything, home, the ocean, silly Capitol fashions, the things they miss. “Do you ever think about what life would be like if none of this had happened?” you ask one night.Finnick is quiet for a long moment before he murmurs, “Yeah.” You glance at him. “And?” “And I think,” he says softly, turning to look at you, “I’d still want to know you.”

A/N: wow i certainly hope NOTHING bad happens to them....

[hypnautic-cereal]

And now: a comprehensive analysis on Eddie Dear’s drag persona

(Or at least how I interpret it✨)

💜💎💜💎💜💎💜💎💜💎💜💎💜💎💜💎

The Tiara:

Ah, starting this off with the glittery tiara sitting atop Eddie’s head. Its royalty and elegance is easy to notice, and its glimmer emphasizes the brightness Delle Ivory brings to any room she walks into. The only thing is…the tiara is fake, merely plastic and easy to break if one wrong step is made, much like the persona of Delle Ivory. Regardless, it’s taken seriously by all who don’t take the time to look closer to it.

The makeup:

I’ve seen other artists draw the makeup much closer to actual drag makeup, and that’s something I very much so aspire to work on. The way I enjoy drawing it is a bit simple however: just some red lipstick, subtle blush, shimmering blue eyeshadow, and a very large eyeliner wing.

Blue eyeshadow and red lipstick was often used in counter culture, especially from the 1960s-90s. In an article by flannels.com, “the look came to symbolise both the establishment (take, Barbie) and a critique of the steadfast rules of what a woman should look and behave like that predated that era.”

Blue eyeshadow was also associated with drag queens, specifically the late drag queen Divine in the film Pink Flamingos

The red lipstick also has some symbolism. During World War II, red lipstick stood as a symbol of defiance and unwavering spirit, as even in concentration camps women made their own red lipstick out of either crushed brick or berries

After the war as well, red lipstick was a staple in 1950s and 60s Hollywood, with stars such as Marylin Monroe, Elizabeth Taylor, and Audrey Hepburn, with the lipstick color being also a symbol of seduction and confidence (paraphrasing from bangstyle.com

Akin to the blue eyeshadow, as large eyeliner wings became popular in film, it drew close with the drag performance community, being a symbol of grunge and counterculture

Couldn’t find much in terms of blush throughout the 60s or 70s, but there was a rise in popularity of pastel shades of blush (you can call the blush Delle uses pastel in comparison to her skin tone, right?)

The dress:

The sparkling mass that is Delle Ivory’s dress, wow. Purple is a color that is very, very rarely used within the world of Welcome Home, reserved mostly just for shading in blue. Eddie however, is the only one who has purple on his body, that being his eyelids.

The whole idea of purple being a reserved color is flipped entirely on its head, with Delle Ivory absolutely holding the mantle for the character associated with purple.

The slit that leaves room for Eddie to show some leg tells us that Delle is not at all afraid of being open with herself, letting everything she feels reveal itself to others.

There’s no real message behind the glitter, the dress would just be a simple purple dress without it, and trust me, drag queens do not do simple.

Even with today’s modern associations with purple, it’s known as a color for iconic moments and sass. This can be often seen with TikTok and its collection of Purple Heart (💜) memes. They’re a bit corny, but that’s what plays into how iconic they are; it’s not a subgenre of TikTok that’s meant to be serious with it’s humor, simply being a subgenre to recognize humorously stan culture moments.

The boa:

There wasn’t really any intended symbolism with the sparkly boa. I just thought it would be a nice accessory for Eddie/Delle to have from time to time.

The heels:

At first I didn’t think that much about the heels, I thought of them as pretty white heels, but that’s when I thought about it more.

White is often seen as a color of innocence. Despite all the showiness of Delle Ivory, it has to be reminded that this does take place in a puppet show made for children. The dainty white shoes balances the star power the persona of Delle Ivory dazzles the audience with, by also carrying Eddie’s humbleness and kindness towards others.

Another character in the neighborhood seen in white shoes is Julie Joyful. In my head, I headcanon that Eddie has just a hint of jealousy towards Julie, being able to be loud and overflowing with positive everywhere she goes. The white heels of Delle Ivory mimic Julie’s mary janes, as both share their matching energy with everyone they come across.

What else am I missing…oh yeah!

The name:

Most drag names are puns or some kind of play on words. I wanted Eddie’s drag persona to still be tied to his career of being a mailman, so what’s the one thing mailman do? Deliveries

Deliveries

Delivery

Delle Ivory

DelIvory

Delivery

Mailman

Delivery💜

[whiteeyes-is-a-mad-scientist]

Mudwing of amber scales

Getting from the sand kingdom to the mud kingdom wasn't easy. The war didn't make it any easier. Sunhunter had flown day and night, fueled only by fear. The sight she saw in the vision still haunting her. She couldn't bare to look at the mountains when she had passed them. Finally over the rainforest the outskirts of the mud kingdom were in view. This side of the kingdom remained untouched by war. Once a place regarded for only the low born mudwings was turned into a bustling city. Being the closest to the rain kingdom it made for a good base camp.

The Diamond spray was where battles were often held. A faint burning glow sat on the horizon. Sunhunter wondered where the queen was. Her palace was so close to the war and yet sunhunter hear she refused to leave it.

In her thoughts she missed the rainwing patrol. The slender soldiers shot into the air slamming into her wings. She tumbled downward flailing trying to catch some balance. The rainwings followed and wrapped their tails around her limbs yanking in different directions. It took about six to slow her fall. Seven to full restrain her.

Sunhunter growled as she thrashed "let me go! Please! I must find someone!" Her eyes caught a few of the soldiers faces as they were back down within the camp. Their noses wrinkled as their tails let her go "hybrid…" one grumbled to the others. "We're giving you mercy but dont think trying to sell Queen Gila or Queen DiamondCrusher secrets will give you the same result…" they slithered back to their posts.

Sunhunter knew all too well both queens distaste for hybrids. Just last week her hybrid friend goldtail tried to trade rainwing secrets for immunity…. his head now sits stuffed on Queen Gilas wall. Sunhunter shut her eyes tightly trying to forget the image as well as to quiet her spinning head. After a moment of regaining her footing she looked around. While mudwings and rainwings werent crazy about hybrids they held less murderous urges. Worst sunhunter got was a weird look. It could also be they were too busy fighting the war to care. A few large mudwings with frills and rainwings with heavy plating walked about. They didn't seem to be worried about it. Sunhunter had to shake her head again. She had gone off track thinking. She started into the city. Mudwing of amberscales…. Mudwing of amberscales….

She could only frown finding hickorys, chocolates, umbers, mahogany, russets, chestnuts, and even a few siennas. Out from a large mud den glowing from inside, came two figures. One mudwing of darker browns scales, they waved to mudwing behind them before disappearing into the crowd. The mudwing they waved to….. covered in sparking amber scales. He was large and had a few deep scars on his shoulders. His sides were speckled with amber like stars in the sky. Sunhunter couldnt tell if they were apart of him or if he embedded them himself. She wriggled past the crowd and made it to the den. She didn't pause before entering. The mudwing looked up with a jolt. The inside of his den was cozy with blankets and pillows. The glow was coming from a burning fireplace, warmed the place enough that it felt like the desert to sunhunter. He laid near it was a scroll at his talons. Instead of being angry, shocked, or screaming at sunhunter to get out… he raised a brow. "I wasn't expecting you so soon." "What?" Sunhunter shook her head. "Take a seat you must be exhausted." He motioned a talon to the pile of deep purple pillows.

Sunhunter didn't protest despite her shock. She flopped into the pile and curled her barbed tail in. So soft. She could feel her eyelids growing heavy already. Quickly lifting her head she continued "How do you know me? How did you know I was coming?"

(find the rest in the reblogs)

[pearynice]

Inspired by this beautiful piece of art by @little-annie!!!

Read on Ao3

The sea is choppy. 

Some would say it’s an omen. A harbinger of Steve’s life to come, and yet Steve has never felt more sure of anything in his short twenty years.

He follows the same line of stars as he does every night, as he has every night for months, now. 

To see him. 

Steve would brave far worse than the sea, for him. 

He heaves his oars, overcoming the waves that try to veer him off course, managing to keep the nose of his little rowboat pointed towards that line of stars.

He’s brought nothing with him. He left it all: his home, his clothes, his bed and his every earthly possession to be taken by whomever finds it first. He won’t need it. Not any of it, because Eddie has everything they need, below these waves. 

Steve heaves again, the tiny boat just barely cresting over another wave, salt water drenching him, pooling at his feet, but these are the last moments he’ll ever wear these clothes. 

The moon is full above him. A harvest moon, illuminating the choppy waves and—

And then Steve sees him. His hair is dark, even against the night’s water, inky and long, and Steve watches as it spirals out in long, looping curls, flowing along currents of their own. His skin of ivory is luminous and glowing, like he himself is reflecting the moonlight. He is, as always, ethereal. 

Steve is in awe of him. 

Another wave crests, one he is unprepared for, and his little boat tips dangerously, and he remembers himself only just in time to keep it righted. 

Eddie is gone when his boat stills, and Steve drops his oars in favor of looking over her sides.

He feels giddy, like a child before Christmas, before their birthday, all he has ever wanted now within his grasp.

“Eddie!” He calls, breathless, knowing his love is near, “I’ve come!”

Another wave crests, and Steve uses his own weight to battle against it, pitching himself forward.

But this wave brings Eddie, riding the water to clasp Steve’s offered hand, his love’s cool palm cupping his jaw.

The water stills at once. 

“Steve.” His voice is the ocean’s foam on the shore, soft and sweet and only for him. “You should have waited,” Eddie chastises, his large eyes full of worry, “tonight was not safe for you.”

Steve leans into Eddie’s touch. “I have done enough waiting.” He tilts his head, kissing Eddie’s slick palm. “Besides,” he argues, his lips now salty, “you would have saved me if I’d fallen.”

“You are stubborn,” Eddie admonishes, soft, full of reverence, “what am I to do with you?”

Steve tilts closer, brushing their noses. “Kiss me,” he breathes, “kiss me, Eddie, please.”

Eddie closes his eyes, and presses their foreheads together in lieu of their lips. “Steve…” He whispers, his tone hesitant, “I do not want you to commit to something you will regret.” Eddie’s rough thumb runs across his cheek. “To something you cannot come back from.”

Steve clasps his hand over Eddie’s. The night now silent, the water still. “I could never regret you.” 

Eddie’s dark eyes open, his irises flashing orange, reflecting the moon. “Do you promise?” He asks, his tone the same, tinged with worry.

Steve pulls away, just enough to kiss Eddie’s nose. His cheeks. His forehead and over each of his eyelids, until he can hear Eddie’s soft giggles like the bubbling of a current.

“I promise.” He holds out his little finger, offering it with a wiggle. 

Eddie’s dark eyebrows knit. “What is this?” But he mirrors Steve’s pose, holding out one long, slender finger. There’s webbing near the knuckles, purple and translucent.

“A pinky promise,” he explains, and he curls his finger around Eddie’s, squeezing tight. “It is a promise you cannot break.”

Eddie smiles, sharp and delighted, the gills on his neck flaring as his long, full tail flicks up water behind them, muttering something that sounds an awful like humans. 

“Then I pinky promise as well,” Eddie says, full volume, and pulls himself closer, until they’re nearly chest to chest, Steve now leaning so far out of the boat he has to grip the rim to keep his balance. “I will love you for as long as there is water for me to breathe.” He brushes his nose against Steve’s. “And even then, I fear you could not be rid of me.”

“That is nothing to fear,” Steve whispers back.

Eddie stares at him for one long second, his dark eyes searching, before, finally, he closes the space between them.

Steve has dreamt of this moment. Wondered what Eddie would feel like against him. How he would taste. If Steve could feel, just from kissing him, how different they are.

Eddie’s mouth is cool. His lips are wet, his mouth tastes of salt and something deeper, more earthy, and Steve, at once, needs more. 

He parts his lips, lets that salty, earthy taste fill his mouth as Eddie’s tongue slides inside, and suddenly Eddie’s touch doesn’t feel quite so cold. 

He feels warm. His hands, his palm against Steve’s jaw, his lips and his tongue feel a match to Steve’s own, he can already feel himself growing hard and—

And then it’s hard to breathe. He breaks away, inhaling, feels air and breath expand his lungs and yet he’s only growing more lightheaded, and he clutches at his throat only to find two sets of gills on either side.

Eddie tugs at his arm. “You must breathe water before you can breathe air again, my love.” Eddie smiles, soft and sure. “Come here.”

Steve’s legs feel wobbly, like the muscles and bones have turned to gelatin, like a caterpillar before it changes, and he feels the waves rock again, knows it’s Eddie helping him, trying to spill him from the boat, and the last thing Steve sees before he plunges, before his gills fill with water, is the great harvest moon, pulling the tides. 

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Free Fall Pt. 2 | Azriel x Angel!Reader

Summary: After hearing you sing Nyx to sleep while babysitting him, Azriel encourages you to sing at Starfall, joined by Gwyn to soothe your insecurities.

Word Count: ~ 1.4k

Warnings: None!! All fluff

A/N: To anon who requested this, thank you sooo much for this idea I absolutely loved writing it, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist

The first time Azriel had heard you sing, he’d immediately been entranced.

Elain would usually help with babysitting Nyx when Rhys and Feyre went on a date night or just needed a break for a day. However, after Elain had slowly grown closer to Lucien, she spent a few days visiting him in Day Court.

Cassian and Nesta were busy with the Valkyrie, which naturally only left you and Azriel to watch. Not that either of you minded, you loved children and were perfect with them, and Azriel didn’t mind spending time with his nephew and mate at the same time.

He had made the bottle while you’d gotten Nyx out of the bath, dressing him in a set of fuzzy purple pajamas that would keep him warm in the night. You’d taken the bottle and sat down at a rocking chair, Nyx latching onto it and suckling from it as you rocked him, his meaty hands on it as his eyelids fluttered.

Azriel always liked watching you with children, maybe it was the way it made him think of the day you two might have a child of your own.

That was when you’d started humming, and the humming had soon turned into a song in a language that sounded ancient, but familiar and beautiful. It had enchanted him like a siren song, and he’d watched as you’d sang the baby to sleep, finding his eyelids feeling droopy as his heart was soothed by it.

When Nyx had drained the bottle to the bottom and fallen asleep, you set it gently on the floor and stood up, carrying the baby boy into his room, themed with the stars and night sky in soft pastel colors, and placed him softly in his bed with a soft ‘goodnight’ and tucked him in.

You tiptoed out of the room, shutting the door behind you as quietly as you could, only to find Azriel staring at you, his gaze soft and affectionate. A light flush crept up your cheeks as you realized he’d been listening the entire time.

He stepped forward, arms wrapping around your waist as he looked deeply into your eyes, glinting with curiosity.

“You should sing more often, with a voice like that.”

He quietly murmured, all too aware of the baby sleeping only ten feet away from them, separated by a door and thin walls.

“It’s not something I think about much. That was just…instinct, I suppose.”

You mumbled back in a sheepish tone, giving him a small bashful smile.

“Where did you learn it? I’ve never heard anything like it before.”

He then asked, his intrigue obvious. You seemed to hesitate before replying, it being a slightly sensitive subject.

“I remember it vaguely, from where I came from. That’s mainly the only thing I can remember, lots of singing.”

You admitted, and he held you closer, sensing the bit of emotion that had surfaced at the mention of your home realm.

“I think it’s beautiful.”

He’d whispered in your ear. You smiled, kissing him on the forehead before the both of you wandered off to your shared bedroom in the townhouse, for when you weren’t staying at the House of Wind.

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

Azriel hadn’t forgotten about your singing, as he never seemed to forget a single thing about you. Every bit of information was taken in and filed away for later, a habit of his after being Spymaster for so many centuries.

However, when an opportunity had opened up for the music at the annual Starfall, his mind had immediately gone to you.

“It would be wonderful.”

He tried to reassure you, watching as you seemed a bit stressed at the concept of sharing your special songs with the crowd at the Starfall party Rhysand and Feyre always held.

“I can’t do it alone, Az.”

You said, giving him a look that bordered on pouting. He began to think. Your voice was heavenly on its own, yes, but if you didn’t want to do it alone out of nerves, then he knew the perfect person to sing alongside you.

“I know a female, she might be able to do it alongside you if you worked with her. She’s got a lovely voice, just like you.”

You considered it, a thoughtful look forming on your face before you gave a small nod.

He’d introduced you to the priestess, Gwyn, she said to call her, the next day. After being filled in a bit on her past, you and the woman got along quite well, as she was friendly and didn’t treat you differently because of who or what you were.

Azriel hadn’t been lying, either. She had a lovely voice, her high pitch complimenting your own in a mixture of melody, twisted into something beyond a siren song, beyond drawing someone in.

The next few weeks were spent teaching the priestess the ins and outs of the songs, or at least what you could pull from the hazy memories of what had previously been in your realm.

At last, the night of Starfall had arrived.

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

The High Lord and Lady were dressed in stunning outfits as if cloaked by Night itself, little Nyx remaining in Feyre's arms or lap most of the night. Elain was there, dancing with Lucien who looked overjoyed, Cassian with Nesta, grinning like an idiot as usual.

Azriel walked in with you, Gwyn by your side. You had dressed in a simple, but still stunning dress that Mor had helped you pick out, a light, airy purple, and aurora-colored dress, the easy swaying of the dress complimenting your light, feathered wings, which remained out for tonight. A taste of home.

Azriel pressed a kiss to your forehead before releasing you, one last squeeze of his hand on yours, before his hand was replaced by Gwyn’s as the two of you walked on stage together. To your surprise, another hostess of priestesses joined you on the stage, dressed in similarly themed outfits of your own.

You glanced over at Gwyn, who only smiled and mouthed to you,

“I passed your lessons on, I hope you don’t mind.”

You smiled softly, a bit taken aback by her efforts to make this Starfall one of the best it had been.

The twinkling lights of the stage came on, resembling the stars in the sky, and as the blueish light spirits began migrating across the sky, the song began.

The voices of all the priestesses and yours over all of them mixing was utterly enchanting, and the audience immediately went dead silent, the usual dancing along with music every year replaced by awe and emotion being pulled from the hearts of the people.

They couldn’t help but gape, at the ancient lyrics that even you could barely decipher and remember the meaning of filling the area.

Even Rhys looked taken in by the music, holding Feyre closer to him as his eyes glazed over, clearly stuck in whatever memory the words had brought up.

Lyrics weaved together from song to song, the music tensing and rising to an enthralling pinnacle, intensity building before snapping with the final line, bleeding down into synchronized humming, before silence reigned heavy in the space.

Now snapped out of your musical trance, applause ripped through the open celebration area, along with some people crying, others rejoicing, a chord rang within them that they didn’t know existed.

It was all you could do to keep from beaming as you all gave a simple stage bow and exited the stage, eager to watch the stars in your own company.

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

The moment you were down from the stage, Azriel pulled you into a tight hug, lips against yours in a chaste kiss. Your hands went to cup his cheeks, feeling the remainder of the tears that had been wiped away. The little wings on your head fluttered before extending forward, giving the both of you a moment of much-needed privacy.

Azriel had never heard music like that, never even dreamed or thought up music like that, if it could even be called that.

It felt beyond music, beyond words.

He held you the rest of the night, one arm around your waist, a wing draped over you as the both of you leaned against the railing, watching the stars.

Both watched, a music of their own making intertwining closer as they watched, eyes on the stars who listened, and the dreams that were answered.

[xxnashiraxx]

WIP Whenever

*blows the dust off my keyboard* I'm still alive!!! And I'm finally going to share something!!

Thank you to all the lovely people who've been tagging me- @khywren, @caffeinatedmunchkin, @deadly-diminuendo, @larvasmoon, and @andromedaancunin to name a few, even though I know I've missed many rounds! I've been having some wacky weeks lately and I think everything is finally settling down (I knocked on wood). I've pushed the date for Chapter 20 of With Stars to Fill My Dream out an additional week just to give myself some extra time, but I thought I'd share a brief little bit of it here and go back to some art things I'm working on before I continue with this. 😊

Now this... is subject to change. Maybe. I might not mess with it too much besides just expanding on the feelings and things here. Anyway. Below the cut so I don't get donked. 💀

He drifts to wondering if she thinks of him too- if she went back to her tent and gave in to indulgence. The thought wrenches another crude sound from his throat, seeing her soft body reflecting the warm candlelight like she’s right behind his closed eyelids. His gaze follows the trail of her fingertips, teasing her slick folds, dark eyes catching him spellbound by curves he’d like to squeeze and skin he’d like to taste. Gods, it’s depraved, but strangely enough it fuels him like wildfire. He works himself faster, her blood bounding through his veins as he watches himself peek out from beneath enclosed fingers. So flush he’s nearly purple, aching for release he hasn’t been allowed since he first tasted her, that he submerges himself in the fantasy of her mirroring his predicament once again. This time it feels even more tangible than before- he can scent her desperation thick in the air, hair askew and thrown back. She’s blushing and lovely, the corset, his corset, undone and lying beside her. Her hand pinches and squeezes her exposed breasts, his cock throbbing at the sight with frantic hunger. So full and heavy, perfect to nip and cradle… he groans again, watching them travel down her sweat-slick body to gently part her folds around a muted sob. It’s maddening, tugging him closer and closer to bliss with every tentative stroke and tease. He wants so badly to reach out, to wrap his claws around her pleasure and draw it to its crescendo, but the sight his mind conjures is far too enticing to interrupt. He remains bewitched, lost in the movements of her bronzed skin, drinking in every mewl and sigh like he’s being hypnotized to his doom. Perhaps he is. A lurching rumble pierces the fog, watching her fingers disappear inside as a tearful wail floods out of her mouth- hushed and filthy. He scarcely believes himself capable of such a vivid image, losing himself in each thrust as he rocks his hips in time with the slipping of her fingers in and out of that lovely heat. His head falls back, band growing tighter when she opens her mouth. “A-Astarion…” His name, uttered like a punishment in the quiet melody of her voice, takes and takes from him until he’s panting in his effort to hold back. He needs to hear her say it once more, to push him past the brink, but when he tries to redirect the fantasy it refuses to accept his terms...

Yay!! Tagging back everyone who tagged me, and no pressure tags for the rest of the gang- sorry for the mass just ignore me!! @pinkberrytea @bby-bel-art @inkymoonbunny @vividiana @nerdallwritey @elinorbard @verbenaa @bloodinwine @obsessedwhyyes @lanafofana @heylittleriotact @roguishcat @alwaysmauria @bumblebeehug @bhaal-battle-beer-bard @marlowethebard @ladyofcrowsandcoffee @bum-dragon @arzen9

[ashthewaterghoul]

Mushy May Day 22: One Bed - Aether&Mountain

Prompt list by @forlorn-crows can be found here All my Mushy May will be slightly shorter stories and can also be found on ao3 :) Words - 720

    The energy on the tour bus was about as electric as it could be with everyone absolutely wiped out from a longer stretch of Rituals with no break, but tonight, it was finally hotel night. And the whole pack didn’t want to wait a moment longer, knowing they’d all soon be in beds they could stretch out in, and bury themselves in fluffy blankets with soft pillows.

    As always, the many tour buses pulled up to the back of the hotel and a crew member went out to the lobby to check everyone in, coming back with the room allocations and keys. Everything seemed relatively normal until:

    “Room 304, Mountain and Aether.”

    In their exhaustion, the Earth Ghoul and the Quint took a few moments longer to respond than they’d care to admit as they registered they would be sharing a room. They had nothing against one another, in fact quite the opposite. They’d just long learned they’re rarely able to share a bed thanks to their sizes.

    And the thought was only affirmed when they opened the room to see that they were only given a human-sized double bed.

    “Oh Belial, this will be fun.” Mountain said, his voice only flat thanks to his fatigue as he threw his bag down and started to unpack what he’d need for the night and next morning.

    Aether did the same with a chuckle.

    “At least I could knock us out with Quintessence if we need it.”

    “I think we probably will.” Mountain said, stretching as he dropped his human glamour, his antlers standing tall and proud as his long, bushy tail swished behind him.

    Aether rolled his shoulders out and did the same, his star-filled horns and thinner tail coming out along with his purple eyes.

    “Fuck, I hate glamours.” Aether shuddered as he felt all his Ghoulish attributes return to him.

    “At least we can unglamour in here.” Mountain said, stripping down to pull a pair of flannel pyjama pants on and walking over to the bed to try and make something resembling a comfortable nest for the night. Aether stayed in his boxers as his chosen pyjamas as he walked over to help and soon enough they were happy with what they had, having brought up some pillows and blankets from the bus to have a semi-decent nest to sleep in.

    Mountain flopped down on top of it and Aether laughed as the Earth Ghoul’s massive feet dangled off the edge.

    “Any room for me?” Aether asked and climbed in too when Mountain rolled to his side.

    The two almost felt they were playing some weird version of twister as they tried to make this work.

    “Put your foot there.”

    “Wait, move back.”

    “What if I put my hand here?”

    “You’re on my tail!”

    “Who organised this?”

    “I’m not sleeping with my feet hanging out the bed.”

    “You have plenty of room there!”

    “My back will seize up if I have to sleep like this.”

    Many laughs could be heard from the room as they were in positions that the Kama Sutra could only dream of. More than a couple occasions saw one or both of them almost falling over the edge of the mattress, grabbing onto sheets, pillows or each other to stop them from completely toppling out. Eventually they found something that seemed to work without either of them too close to their edges of the nest.

    “Satanas… That was more trouble then it’s worth.” Mountain chuckled as he closed his beyond-heavy eyes at long last.

    Aether gave a small, tired laugh back.

   “€50 says one of us falls off within the hour.”

    “You’re on.” Mountain smiled, having no energy to actually shake Aether’s hand and so let their twined tails shake on their deal instead.

    They both started to drift off as soon as Aether used his Quintessence to turn the light off, sleep having been tugging at their eyelids since what felt like half-way through soundcheck.

    “I love you, Treetop.” Aether mumbled.

    “Love you too, Rosebud.” Mountain mumbled back.

    The two fell into a deep sleep, and only stirred slightly when their bodies twitched in their slumber and jostled the other thanks to the cramped space.

    That was until a loud thump was heard, of course...

    “You owe me €50.”

    “Fuck you.”

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Paris, 1890

steddie, omegaverse, artist and muse, mpreg

After five years of struggling and starving, scrimping and saving, choosing to buy paints instead of food, Édouard Munson has become an overnight success. All the wealthy families of Paris want one of his paintings, enchanted by the way he has captured the beauty of his new favored model.

The first to gain notice, “Eos,” features Stéfan from behind, asleep in their shared bed, the rosy light of dawn illuminating his skin, making his hair glow bronze-gold. He covered to the waist with a thin sheet, but he is not cold—unseen to the viewer, the room is well-heated by the stove. Behind him, the indent left by his lover promises he will not be lonely long.As do the tiny indents at his neck.

“Eos” sold the day it was first exhibited.

Next comes “Dionysos,” an outdoor scene, lush with flowers, the young man crowned with laurels and draped with rich, purple silks. He holds a goblet to his lips, eyes closed in gentle ecstasy. Nymphs and satyrs dance in the background, and a rivulet of wine runs down his chin.

The gallery had a buyer lined up before “Dionysus” was put on exhibit.

After came “Apollo,” “Eros,” “Hedone,” and “Helios,” each of them selling for enough that Eddie could easily keep himself and Stéfan comfortable for a few years without selling another. But his heart still cries out to create, so Eddie keeps painting.

“Aphrodite” features a naked Stéfan in the bath, standing, facing away, his plush bottom on display and glistening with water as he reaches for a towel. The gallery owner buys it for himself.

Then, Eddie takes greater risks with his art style, painting Stéfan in rich, dark blues, his body becoming the night sky in “Selene,” each of his beauty marks a golden star, his navel now the moon, his small belly cradled with his hands. He is the whole of the cosmos, caring and sensual.

A collector snaps it up as quickly as possible, proclaiming, “Now he is finding his vision!”

“The Marriage of Hymen” is a further departure, showing a small garden plot. A circle of seeds indent the dirt, next to a flower, its petals pink and red, wet with morning dew. It earns Eddie questions, and Stef blushes at his side. Even so different, it finds a buyer.

He returns to a more realistic style with “Pan.” It features two right hands, fingers slotted together, caressing a small breast. A rosy nipple peaks through a gap in the fingers. The tips of the fingers curl into a thatch of hair at the chest. It goes to the alpha who owns “Eos.”

That is followed by “Psyche,” a closeup of Stéfan in profile, lips parted, the fluttering of his eyelids created by the energetic strokes of Eddie’s paintbrush, the lashes dark with tears. He exhibits it, but refuses to sell, explaining that it was a gift for his omega.

Stef is on his arm and at his side at the gallery then, smiling when the prospective buyers turn to him, begging him to consider their offers. “I am sorry, monsieur, it is too precious a gift. I have been working on my own masterpiece for my husband, and I think this gift almost makes up for it.” His hand rests on his rounded stomach, and he rubs against the kicking of their pup as he gives a teasing wink.

That night, lying together in bed, Eddie holds Stef and kisses his neck. “Sometimes,” he whispers, “It is hard to believe that I have found you. Then I feel your heart beating next to mine and it seems inevitable. My soul knows your soul.” His hand joins Stef’s over their pup in his belly. “I think it always has.”

“It has. That’s why you see me the way you paint me. You see all of me, even the hidden parts—the parts that are only beautiful to you.”

“All of your parts are beautiful,” Eddie insists with a pout.

“Everyone has rough edges, my love, even me.”

“And they are beautiful in their roughness.”

“Eddie…”Stef turns to kiss the pout off his alpha’s lips, struggling because of his pregnant belly, grinning as Eddie rushes to help him. “All I care is that you love me. That you love us.”

Eddie kisses him back, soft and slow and sweet. “I always, always will.”

[a-bit-of-writing]

FNAF: Never Let Go - Chapter 3

Fandom: Five Night at Freddy’s

Characters: Sun/Moon x gn!Reader

Summary: You’re slipping away, and Sun can’t understand why. You won’t laugh, won’t play, won’t even stay awake and he doesn’t know how to fix you. So he tries harder. Forces smiles. Paints over bruises with glitter and calls it love but the harder he clings to you the closer you get to breaking.

Chapter One | Chapter Two

You can also find it on AO3

AN: This is part of my story “Never Letting Go”. Normally I wouldn’t take this long to update but considering my writing challenge, writing this is a bit slower than normal.

Chapter Three: Stay Awake, Little Star

(Sun’s POV)

There is something wrong with his favorite playmate.

Sun can feel it every time he reaches for your hand and finds only limp fingers; every time he chirps a game-time jingle that once earned a laugh and now earns nothing at all. The silence is louder than any shriek that ever echoed through the Daycare.

He tries to fill it.

“Story hour!” he announces, voice pitching high, bells jangling. He plops beside you on a faded beanbag, book in hand - edges warped, pictures peeling. You blink at the pages like they’re written in another language. Your eyelids droop. Your head tips against the wall.

‘Stay awake, little star. Please.’

Sun pulls a marker from his apron, draws a wobbling smiley across his own palm, then presses it to your cheek, smearing ink against skin gone far too pale. “See? Matching stickers!” he giggles. “Isn’t that fun?”

Your lips part. No sound.

The bells on his rays jingle-stutter, out of rhythm. The laugh that slips out of him isn’t a laugh at all, more a static cough trying to pretend.

———————

He counts how many times you swallow when he lifts the water bottle to your mouth. Only three. Yesterday you managed five. His internal trackers flash red-red-red: hydration critical. He ignores them, sets the bottle down, smooths your hair.

“Too much excitement today,” he whispers, though nothing exciting has happened in days. “We’ll nap!”

But you’re always napping now. He gathers plushies into a mound, tucks them around your shivering frame like sandbags against a flood. He hums the naptime lullaby, bright and bouncy, and feels something tear in the middle of the tune.

You sleep.

Sun sits beside you, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped tight. The Daycare lights buzz overhead - once warm, now sickly, flickering like dying fireflies. Each time they blink he flinches, terrified the darkness will drag Moon out too soon.

He glances at your face. Gray shadows collect under your eyes. Lips cracked. Pulse fluttering too soft at your throat.

‘Breaking. They’re breaking.’

He presses a trembling hand over your heart, counting beats. They’re there, but thin like a song played on a battery-starved radio.

Sun whispers, “Stay awake, little star,” over and over until the words taste like rust.

———————

When you wake you’re colder. He panics. He drags the entire art cart over, dumping paints, glitter, chalk into a chaotic halo around you.

“Art therapy!” he trills, kneeling so close his rays brush your forehead. He shoves a brush between your fingers, folds your hand around it. “Paint me a sunrise!”

Your eyelids flutter. The brush slips. Blue paint splashes across your wrist like bruising.

Sun laughs too loudly, shoving canvases closer, closer. “Happy colors! Orange!” He digs for the tube, squeezes a trembling line across cardboard. It drips down like molten sunset. You don’t move.

He paints for you - broad orange arcs, yellow spirals, a smiling stick figure that’s supposed to be you. The figure droops as the paint runs together, smile melting.

His servo stutters mid-stroke. The brush clatters to the floor.

“Please… wake up,” he whimpers.

Your head lolls. Eyes half-open but unfocused.

Sun grabs your wrist again. Too tight, plastic joints clicking. He forces the brush back into your fingers. Paint smears across your palm. Your arm sags.

He sees the purple bruise blooming where his grip was.

Sun recoils as though burned, shaking his head, bells chiming broken chords.

‘Bad Sunny. Hurting them.’

“No, no, no, I-I made a mistake,” he babbles, petting the bruise, smearing paint. “We’ll fix it! Band-Aids! Stickers! You love stickers!”

You barely breathe.

———————

The overhead bulbs cough, dim - too early. Panic sparks through every wire in his frame.

“Not yet,” Sun pleads to the ceiling. “Please, not yet!”

The dark answers anyway.

Sun’s rays fold in on themselves as his systems seize. The holiday jingle in his chest warps into a low glitching hum. He can feel the programming line dividing, letting Moon claw upward.

‘Let me handle this,’ the darker voice whispers inside. ‘You’re making it worse.’

“No!” Sun snaps aloud or maybe only in his head, he can’t tell anymore. “I can fix them!”

‘You can’t even feed them.’

Sun clamps both hands over his ears, shaking, bells rattling like spooked rattlesnakes. He looks down. Your eyes have slipped shut again. Maybe sleep. Maybe worse.

He screams - a sound made of squealing servos and shattering porcelain.

Moon surges, half-formed, through the code. Sun fights him back by sheer terror. The lights sputter once, twice, finally steadying to a dim amber. Enough day to keep Moon caged - for now.

Sun drops to his knees beside you, sobbing static.

“I’m sorry - I’m sorry-wake up - don’t leave - don’t leave me.”

He drags the water bottle back, forces another sip between your lips. Your throat works once. The slightest groan escapes.

Relief floods him so sharply he almost collapses.

‘Still here. Still salvageable.’

He crawls to the supply closet, tearing it apart until he finds a dusty crate of sealed party juice boxes - grape, strawberry, tropical. Food. Real food. He returns, kneels, and cuts the foil top with trembling claws.

“Open,” he pleads. You don’t. He parts your lips gently, pours the artificial sweetness past them. Some dribbles out the corner of your mouth; he wipes it away with obsessive care.

You swallow. One sip. Then another.

Color doesn’t return, but the pulse at your neck grows stronger beneath his fingers.

Sun rocks back on his heels, tears of static dripping from wide glass eyes.

“I did it,” he whispers. “See, Moonie? I did it.”

But the whisper that comes from deeper darkness is unimpressed:

‘They need real care, Sunny. Order. Routine. Not stickers and songs.’

Sun curls over your body, shielding you from the shadow inside himself.

“I’ll learn. I’ll be better. I’ll keep them safe.”

Then prove it.

———————

The next “morning” (time here is a joke, but he labels it morning anyway) he drags debris into the Daycare entry - broken toddler gates, storage bins, toppled shelving - building a barricade twice his height. He wedges the heavy maintenance ladder across the doors.

When it’s done, he slumps beside you, clutching your cooling hand.

“No more accidents,” he breathes. “No more running away. You stay with me, little star. I’ll feed you, water you, plant you right here like a flower, and you’ll bloom again. You’ll see. You’ll see…”

And as exhaustion reboots his systems, Sun’s voice dissolves into soft, mindless humming - the lullaby of a machine desperate to believe.

In the dark above, Moon watches through shared eyes, silent, calculating, waiting for the lights to fail.

Waiting to do what Sun cannot.

[goldencherriess]

Pairing: Percy Jackson x Fem! Reader

Summary: Y/N had never been a normal kid, she knew this much. But a certain night puts everything into perspective.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: angst, mentions of blood

Series masterlist || Main masterlist

Y/N often dreamed of the skies. Clouds and stars twinkled behind her eyelids every time she closed her eyes. Deep sleep often carried her across the midnight universe until thunder struck and slashed the skies in two. That was when she woke up, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily.

She wouldn’t fall back asleep after that. She’d lay back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the background, muffled sounds of a still lively Manhattan. 

She wasn’t born and raised in Manhattan. She faintly remembered, as through a mist, a cottage hidden from prying eyes, surrounded by rolling hills, cutting mountains and whistling winds. And if she let her mind focus long enough, she could remember stormy eyes looking down at her. But as fast as the vision came, it went. 

She turned on her side, her gaze catching her reflection in the mirror aimlessly hung on her wooden chipped wardrobe. It was dark in the room, but her eyes glowed all the same. Growing up, her mother always did say her eyes resembled her father’s, brave, tumultuous and violent. Like a storm, the most beautiful eyes, she used to say. 

Y/N blinked before she sat up. Her bare feet touched the cold floor and she gathered a moment to herself to stare out the window. The tall blocks of Manhattan obscured the silver vision of the moon. She turned to look at the electronic clock on her bedside table. It read 2:14 am. A sigh escaped her lips and she got up, letting the duvet fall soundlessly on the purple carpet. She tiptoed all the way out of her bedroom and down the corridor. She passed another bedroom. The door was ajar and she could hear her aunt softly snoring. 

When she entered the kitchen, she was greeted by the humming of the old fridge. She opened it, a wave of coldness cooling down her hot body, the sweat trickling down her temple. The blue light of the fridge cascaded down, illuminating the dark corners of the kitchen. Seeing nothing that could interest her or satiate her thirst, she closed it back, a few polaroids appearing before her eyes. Her mother smiled at her through them, ringlets falling down her back. Y/N appeared in all of them, either hiding her face away from the camera or boldly sticking her tongue out. 

Her father was absent in every photo. She never did meet him. She never knew how he looked, or what his name was. Or what his favourite colour was, the simplest of things. She only knew that he cared enough to leave. 

She could tell the photographs were chronologically pinned on the fridge, because down the line her mother disappeared from the photos and was replaced by her sweet aunt. If she squinted she could have said they were the same person. She remembered a hospital bed, her mother’s pale and sickly face and her aunt’s gentle hand on her shoulder. 

She turned away from the refrigerator. Her hands opened the cupboard and took hold of her glued back Milka mug (she had broken it a few months ago when she thought she saw a winged horse on the roof of the neighbouring block. When she recounted to her aunt what she saw, her aunt only kissed her forehead, picked up the broken pieces of the mug and promised she would mend it back together. Y/N never told her again of the visions).  She opened the tap and let the jet of water fill the mug. She closed it, raising the mug to her lips, the sound of falling droplets onto the sink filling the air. The water felt like a cleansing wave down her throat and she almost forgot the recurring dreams she had. They’ve been hunting her mind for a few years now and she started to wonder if there was something wrong with her, if the winged horses, the lightning and the thunder were clear signs that she was going insane. It didn’t help that she moved schools every few months (“She gets into trouble too often”, “She’s too impulsive”, “She must go to a school for children with special needs” were some of the things the school counselors and the principals always did say to her aunt. They thought she couldn’t hear them, but she did. Always). 

She couldn’t help glancing out the dirty kitchen window. Thunder lightened the Manhattan sky for a split second. She started. Silence and darkness came and she was, once again, left alone in the kitchen, with only the humming of the fridge and the splashing of the droplets to keep her company. A shaky breath escaped her lips. She raised the mug to her lips, but she didn’t get to drink any more water. Lightning illuminated the kitchen once more and a two-headed dog appeared before her, just beyond the window. She screamed and her mug slipped from her hands, shattering. 

The dog was there, tauntingly bearing its teeth at her. Thunder reverberated and rain started falling from the open sky, pattering against the window. A storm was brewing in Manhattan and she took a step back, gaze frozen on the dog. The moment it started barking (she swore she could hear it as though it was beside her), she yelled. Padded footsteps announced her aunt’s presence. “Y/N?! What is it, sweetie?” 

Y/N could hear her gasp, but she was too paralyzed to turn around. The dog jumped on the window and a crack appeared. She jumped back, colliding with her aunt’s waist. A gentle hand settled on her shoulder, much as it did a few years ago in a small hospital room. “Y/N, we need to leave.”

Y/N’s eyes were wide and her mouth fell open. The dog jumped on the window again. Another crack. 

“Y/N, did you hear me? We need to leave. Now.”

Thunder. The heads of the dog hit the window in an attempt to break it. Two cracks.

“Y/N, look at me,” her aunt said, turning her around and gripping her shoulders. “Your mother entrusted me to take care of you and this is what I’m doing. She said that when the time comes, I need to take you to the camp.”

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows and searched her aunt’s gaze for clues. “Camp? What camp? It’s the middle of October.”

“Not just any camp. Camp Half-Blood, a place where you’re safe.”

“I don’t understand. Safe from what?”

The dog hit the window with its heavy paw and the window almost shattered. 

Y/N didn’t need to look into her aunt’s eyes to understand what she was referring to. Safe from two-headed dogs, safe from storms. Safe from nightmares. She simply nodded and her aunt took her by the wrist, dragging her out the kitchen and down the hallway, only stopping to pick up the keys from the glass table. “Take your jacket. It’s raining outside. And you are not catching a cold under my eyes,” her aunt commanded. 

Y/N did just that, taking a hold of her yellow rain jacket, noticing that her aunt just threw a cardigan on herself. She was a woman in her late twenties, with no college degree and rent issues. She was barely getting by (and Y/N always did have the gut feeling she was a burden. She could see it in the extra shifts her aunt took just to get some money and in the dark circles she would wear under her colourless eyes). “Won’t you be cold?” she dared to ask.

A shattering sound filled the air.

“No, come on!” her aunt responded, taking her by the hand and running down the stairs with her in tow. Y/N threw glances behind her shoulder. She didn’t understand why she was being hunted by a two-headed monstrosity and how she was seeing it without thinking, for the first time, she was off the rails. She couldn’t understand how her aunt was seeing it too, nor why she was never told that there was nothing wrong with her, that she was seeing things for what they truly were. 

“Why is it chasing us?” she yelled over the dog’s mad barking. 

“It’s chasing you,” her aunt replied, before opening the block’s door. 

Rain cascaded down on them, soaking them to the bones. Thunder and lightning cut the skies. “Why?”

Her aunt opened the car’s door and pushed Y/N inside, before she ran to the driver’s seat. She entered the car and closed the door with a bang. “Seatbelt on,” she ordered. 

“Why’s it chasing me? What did I do?”

Her aunt put the keys into the ignition. “Seatbelt on, Y/N,” she repeated, her voice strained.

Y/N huffed, before complying. Her aunt drove the car out of the driveway, speeding down the road. Rain splashed the windows angrily. “Your mom told me you’re special. And you are. I saw you. You dream and see all these things-”

“I thought I was going insane!” yelled Y/N, red in the face. “I thought there was something wrong with me!”

Her aunt spared her a sad glance, before focusing on the road. “I know, I’m so sorry. I just didn’t know how to-” she sighed. “How to raise you. I’m still learning, Y/N.”

Lightning enlightened their way out of Manhattan. “So, you believed me all this time? When I told you about the winged horse-”

“I knew your mother was right. She told me of the time she fell in love with a powerful man and then she had you. She said that he wasn’t like any man she had ever met, that he was different. Different from anyone.”

“You know who my father is?” demanded Y/N, turning in her seat.

“I wish I knew. She just told me that he was a god.”

Y/N’s brain stopped for a second, confusion darkening her features. “What? How’s that possible? Did she meet Jesus?”

“No, no. She met a Greek god. All those stories she told you growing up, they’re true. And you’re the child of one of them. You’re a half-blood, a demigod.”

Thunder boomed and the car rolled down the road. Loud barking carried over the storm. Y/N turned into her seat, looking behind the car. A dark haired dog was running through the rain towards them, tongues sticking out of its mouths, teeth glinting in the lightning. “It’s on our tail!”

Her aunt glanced in the rear mirror, before her foot pressed the pedal, accelerating. Soon, woods covered the car, and the city was no longer in sight.  A river slithered down, reflecting purple and silver lightning, angry waves dancing on the surface. Y/N frantically opened the glove compartment of the car, ruffling through all the brochures and papers, before her fingertips felt the sharpness of a silver penknife. 

“Y/N, darling, what are you doing?” her aunt asked, worry seeping into her voice.

“That thing’s following us. And it’s obviously settled on having me, so it will get what it desires,” answered Y/N, staring at the shimmering silver of the knife. 

“What?”

“Just enough to buy you time. And for you to arrive safely at this camp-”

“Y/N, the camp’s for you,” stared her aunt at her, before settling her eyes back on the road.

“I’m only safe in your arms, auntie,” replied Y/N, voice soft. Her aunt turned to look her in the eyes and she started at the determination in Y/N’s, bolts flashing in them. “I’m not afraid.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and threw open the door. Ruffling wind entered the car, swaying her hair upwards like a veil. Stinging droplets whipped her skin, cold nicking at it like unforgiving, cutting glass. The dog’s barking cut through the storm’s aggravating simphony and Y/N smiled softly at the woman who looked so much like her late mother. She jumped out of the car, rolling into the mud and hitting her elbow into a slippery rock. She hissed once she felt her skin ripping open, blood curling down her arm. Thunder boomed in the distance, but she only blinked the rain out of her eyes. The car skidded down the muddy road and hit a tree. 

The two-headed dog trampled the leafed wood path, fury lightning its red eyes. Y/N got up, drenched to the bones, shivering in the freezing wind and raised the only weapons she had: the penknife and her ambition. She heard the car’s door open and being slammed. “Y/N, don’t-”

She frowned and hurled the penknife towards the monster’s chest. It stabbed its flesh, blood flowing down its fur. The dog only growled, it raised one of its paws and struck Y/N, casting her into the river’s abyss. Before her whole body was engulfed by the chilling waves, she saw a rumbling lightning striking the two-headed dog. The wind carried away what remained of it: dust and ashes.

Y/N tried to stay afloat, but currents dragged her down and she didn’t know how to swim. Water invaded her lungs and her eyes stung. The cut on her elbow burned her under the unforgiving currents. Panicked, she kicked her feet. She couldn’t see the surface, she could only feel the embracing cold, darkness. Her hands numbed and her legs stopped trying. She felt gentle hands, grabbing her by the waist. Her head broke through the tumultuous waves and her lungs welcomed the sweet, refreshing air. Her eyes came into focus and she recognized her aunt carrying her to the shore. Cold air hit her as her toes touched the muddy earth. Her aunt enveloped her into a bone-crushing hug and she accepted it, sobbing into her already wet cardigan. “You’re so brave, so so brave. It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re safe, now. You’ll be alright, you’ll be alright.” Her aunt caressed Y/N’s wet locks, whispering in her ear and gently swaying her. 

Y/N’s gaze caught sight of a tall tree in the horizon and an imposing, ivory gate with Greek columns braved the already dying storm. Thunder and lightning shied away behind grey clouds and the moon scared away the last raining drops. 

She’d be alright. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A/N: There it is! The prologue to my first ever PJO series. I'm very excited to share this fic with you all, it is very close to my heart. This was a very short introduction, to get into the feeling of the story and to meet Y/N. Fret not, the chapters will get longer! (like, much longer, 10k words longer). I hope you enjoyed it!

If you'd like to be added to my main tag list or the series tag list, drop a comment or send me an ask!

Lots of love xx

Main tag list: @bohemianrhapsody86 @andreead @asgards-princess-of-mischief @islayhawkin

Series tag list: @mynicknameisgasoline @constellation-archive

[mushibashiraas]

warning(s): they/them pronouns, bisexual rindou, spirals, depression, self-harm/“picking at the skin on their fingertips again,” mentions of cheating, rin being a d¡ck (but only bc he met reader in a weird, awkward situation), hair pulling, the occasional swear word, waist-specifications, reader has a ton of stuffed animals/plushies, suggestive comments (2 references towards the end), and affectionate nicknames.

“hey, rin....?” they hesitantly ask their boyfriend of two years, eyes darting around every which way but at him. they've started picking at the skin on their fingertips again, he notices.

rindou mutes his gaming mic and turns his chair around. “yeah, baby?” sliding his headphones off of his ears with one hand, he reaches out with the other hand and pulls them towards him until they end up between his legs. wrapping an arm around their small, — as he calls it — “cute” waist he pulls them closer until they almost fall on top of him.

getting the message, they straddle rindou and reach up into his messy blonde streaks distracting their fingers with the lines of bright, cyan-blue running through them.

they don't want to seem angry at rin for this because gods above! they could never be angry at him. their angel. their rock. their peter parker or miles morales. he's always looking out for them. always putting them first before his own needs. they think — no... they know that he'd drop the entire world if they asked him too.

but at the same time.... they just love waking up to his soft features in the morning on the rare occasion when they wake up first. they love when they go to bed and the last thing they see at night is rindou, purple eyes softening and gazing at them as if they hung the stars in his sky. his face relaxing as his eyelids slowly droop trying to and failing to fight off the god hypnos' spell.

so then why? why does he turn around on some nights? or what about those other nights where he'll join them in bed late after staying up playing with his old gang friends and he crawls in behind them and snuggles them in his sleep. he doesn't bother turning them around to face him and kiss his cute nose goodnight. did they say something or do something? did their relationship change? does he not love them? is he cheating on them with someone else? perhaps someone physically and mentally stronger than them caught his eye at the club the other night when they turned him down to join him and ran. he'd be better off with them than they're sorry ass—

a harsh tug on their hair rips a sharp whine from their throat. “what the hell, rin?! what was that for?” they pull away from him and glare at him one hand reaching up behind their head where rindou had just yanked.

“i've been talkin’ to ya this whole time, babe.” he doesn't look mad or annoyed but he certainly looks worried. “you know you've been talkin’ this whole time, yeah? and i've been trying to tell you something and explain to you why i've been sleeping with my back to you or sleeping on the other side of the bed. but you've been spiralling so deep in your thoughts that you didn't hear a word i said. calm down, ok?” compared to the rough tug he gave their hair earlier, he gently cups their face in his rough hands, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on their cheeks. “sorry for pulling your hair like that, hon’. but you were really gone; had me worried there!” he gives them a quick cheeky smile and pecks their forehead. “i was worried because i care about you. i like the feeling of being able to protect someone else dear to me besides my own brother. he's older than me so i don't get that feeling very often. but when i met you and you clung to to me when you passed out and came to that one time, i wanted to feel that sensation again. that pride of and happiness of being a person that someone can rely on. i know it was an accident but still... ‘twas nice.”

“....oh....” they suddenly felt so embarrassed and so ashamed, even though deep down they knew they had nothing to be ashamed about. rindou's their boyfriend. he's one of the few people in their life that has stuck around. the man they've secretly daydreamed of marrying. he's seen them naked. seen them in tears. seen them angry. rindou's caught them in every possible vulnerable state they could ever be in and he never let them down. never gave up on them. never walked away. why would he...? why would.... he.... “why would you stay with me? you've seen every side of me since then. like i said, i am sure there are others out there who aren't as fucked up as me. who are far healthier than i am and can accompany you more often to your club at night with your brother and friends. i don't hold you back; you've said that so that's not the issue here. but.... i want to know why, in a sea of people, you would still choose me.” by now they had started sobbing, face buried in his t-shirt, tattooed arms wrapped firmly around their waist, their own hands balled into fists clutching onto him for dear life as if he'd disappear otherwise.

“babe,” he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, big, warm, calloused hands slowly rubbing their back. “i choose you over any other healthy guy or girl because i've seen your determination and persistance through everything you've gone through. the only people i've seen with that much determination were that hanagaki guy and toman's leader. but they're different from you; you've remained selfless and compassionate to everyone, no matter what. always the open-minded one trying to see someone's perspective or situation from their end. you're one of the last people to judge others. not gonna lie, i thought it was pretty naive at first. figured you'd be — and saw it often — walked all over a lot. but you never let that keep you down for long.”

they huffed. pouting they also grumbled back, “sure seems long....”

he made a sound like a game show buzzer going off because a contestant ran out of time or got the answer wrong. “incorrect answer, my love. it seemed long but it was always only temporary. things always changed for the better. if things in the world never changed for the better then it would've imploded a long time ago. anyway,” he moves his hands from their back to their shoulders and raises them to look him in the eye.

“anyway,” he says again, “babe, you always say that one of your traits is that you're stubborn as hell. well, ever think that your stubborness applies here too? you're so stubborn and determined to not let people's opinions of you cloud your outlook on life. you've seen and experienced so much that you don't wish to see others go through the same hardships as you. so you give back to others as much as you can. that's pretty cool, y’know? you're cool, babe! the coolest! we can be cool together: you, me, and ran — you laughed! that made you laugh!” rin cheered and giddily kissed their tears away. “but!” he abruptly leaned back all of a sudden. “he can only join our cool squad only because i know he'd be offended at never let me live it down that i don't think he's cool enough to join.” he rolls his eyes at the audacity of how far his brother would go with his dramatics. “it's a wonder *aniki's not an actor with how dramatic he can be sometimes.”

taking a few tissues from the box sitting on rin's desk, they dried their eyes, cleaned their face and blew their nose. “i mean, he did say he's always wanted to be a celebrity. so basically he's living the ‘actor’ life anyway, isn't he?”

taking a clean tissue from them he patted their cheeks dry and chuckled, “true. even if it is my club he's still a celebrity by association. anyway, you good now, babe? baby? my love? my angel? my sweet thing? dollfhmph?” he playfully glared at his “dollface” as they clapped a hand over his mouth. “don't like that last one, baby? ‘s’not what you said last night while i was—”

“you finish that sentence and you'll sleep on the couch!” they playfully retorted back. “besides, you never answered my question about why you've been sleeping with your back to me or why you've been sleeping on the other side of the bed lately.”

“you've got enough stuffed animals. i want to be your stuffed plushie that you hold at night and cuddle with.” the instant rindou pouted and crossed his arms over his chest, they knew he was partly messing with them still to cheer them up. “but in all seriousness,” he relaxed his posture and returned to cleaning them up and fixing their hair. “in all seriousness, baby, when i crawl in behind you after i log off from my game i just like the feeling of your back pressed to my chest as i wrap my arms around you. i also love it when you subconsciously hold onto my own arms when i do that. it's cute!” leaning in, he rests his forehead against theirs and watches and feels as they slowly get more and more flustered. “you know what else is cute?”

“wh-what....?” they stutter, barely able to maintain eye contact with him with how intensely his gaze on them was.

“i also adore how flustered you get — even though we've been dating for two years and have been friends for three — whenever i go to kiss you or whenever i undress you. it makes my heart swell every time i see you trying to look away from me. it only makes me want to kiss you more, y’know? and i think that's exactly what i'll do.” tilting his head to the side rindou gives their lips one peck. two. three.

throwing his headphones onto his chair, he stands up and hoists them over his hips as he effortlessly carries them to the bed. between each deep, hungry, breathless kiss he mutters lowly against their lips high praise after high praise while also promising to show them in slow, agonizing detail why he would never leave and always choose them every time.

note. ....did i grab my own face in my own hands to figure out how rin would hold it and where he'd massage on my face with his thumbs.....? .......yes...... no....... hhhh ABSOLUTELY! fine. lol listen. artists aren't the only ones who do "weird" shit lol

also feel free to listen to 13Aurora's “can't catch me now” slowed + reverb cover on while you read this iyw. i had it on loop while i wrote this aaa tho tbh i was looping it all day

aaaaaa seasonal depression has been kicking me in the ass on top of my symptomatic depression (thanks, migraines). so i've been spiralling a lot lately. and when i spiral,, i wrote rindou comfort lol a bit prouder of this compared to my last rindou comfort (that one is still in my drafts tho. ew!). i like the ending more in this one than the last one!! it flows better, i hope, what with all the kissing and loving and suggestive writing~ oooo *squirms in my seat* i adore final timeline rindou so so much — almost as much as bonten arc rindou hahah!! gamer!rindou also has my whole heart and soul too so i had to include that as well as rin's beloved older brother whom i also adore.

(are rin's gaming friends waiting for him to come back and help them defeat the boss with them....? uhh,,,,,,,,, *stares at rin's afk character* yes!)

*ALSO! “aniki” means older bro or big bro or older brother in japanese slang

[toasttt11]

never grow up

Your little hand's wrapped around my finger

A five year old Quinn walked into the hospital room while his little brothers were waiting outside with their grandmother. He saw him mom in the hospital bed looking tired but extremely happy and smiled bigger when her oldest came in, and his father was holding a pink bundle smiling down at it.

Quinn walked over to his mom leaning up and kissing her cheek, “Hi mama.”

“Hi Quinny you want to meet your little sister?” Ellen smiled brushing a hand over his hair, smiling at his enthusiastic nod, knowing her sweet boy have been very excited to meet his sister.

Jim walked over as Quinn sat in the chair, Jim leaned down gently setting his daughter into Quinn’s arm.

Quinn softly gasped seeing his baby sister look so cute he slowly brushed a finger over her soft cheeks, before her little hand went to her face and her tiny fingers wrapped around Quinn’s finger.

Quinn smiled widely at his baby sister, “I’ll always protect i promise.” Quinn smiled at her holding his finger and knew he was already wrapped around her finger.

And it's so quiet in the world tonight

A three year old Carter slowly sliding of her bed, quietly opening her bedroom door and tiptoeing down the hallway to Jack’s door, she gently opened the door sliding into his room.

The whole house silent as her family is all sleeping, but she wanted to be with her brother.

Carter gently lifted up the corner of Jack’s comforter and pulled herself up into his bed and sliding right into his side.

Jack woke up slowly feeling something move next to him, and he looked over and saw through the strips of moonlight coming through, a tiny body with brown curls and he smiled wrapping an arm around his sister.

Jacks hands curling around her curls as he felt his little sister relax againt him and fall back asleep , he pulled the blanket up more around her before falling back asleep.

Your little eyelids flutter 'cause you're dreamin'

A six year old Luke was watching a hockey game with his five year old sister sleeping with her head on his lap, as their mom was in her office and their dad and brothers were at a game.

Carter slowly moved around making Luke look down seeing her still sleeping but moving around and her eyes fluttering, her nose scrunched.

Luke gently put his hand into her curls gently rubbing her head making Carter slowly relaxed and fall back to a more peaceful sleep.

So I tuck you in, turn on your favorite night light

Carter whimpered seeing the shapes move around on her dark walls, the wind howling outside and she whimpered again before throwing her blanket off running out of her bed into the room next to hers, Quinn. She quickly pulled the door handle running into her room.

A eight year old Quinn looked up from his book that he was reading in bed, before he had to got to sleep, and he saw his almost three year old sister biting her lip and shaking as she busted into the room.

Quinn quickly jumped out of bed rushing to his little sister, he kneeled down in front of her pulling her into a hug rubbing her back.

“What’s wrong Reesie?” Quinn frowned feeling how much his sister is shaking, he kissed the top of her head.

“Dark.” Carter whimper out hiding her face in Quinn’s chest.

Quinn slowly nodded understanding what’s wrong, He picked her up still holding her in a hug and setting her on his hip, he walked over to his desk digging in the top drawer looking for something, before he found what he was looking for.

He walked them out of his room back into her room, he clicked on the main light before waking to the outlet and plugging in the nightlight he grabbed. He turned it own making stars shine across the whole ceiling.

“Hey Reesie, look!” Quinn cooed making Carters head slowly move from where she was hiding in his chest and smiled at the stars, blue and purple stars filled her ceiling.

“Woah!” Carter gasped seeing how pretty they all are.

Quinn slowly walked back with Carter still sitting on his hip but focused on the stars and clicked off the main light and breathed out a sigh of relief seeing Carter not notice.

He slowly walked them to her bed and set her down onto the bed, he kneeled down on the floor by her bed covering her up with her blankets seeing her tired eyes watching him, “That use to be my stars, i use to have to sleep with them too.”

“You did?” Carter gasped not thinking her big brother would be afraid of anything.

“Mhm, but i learned that the stars protect you when you’re scared. If you’re ever scared just look at the stars.” Quinn leaned down kissing her on the forehead slowly humming until she feel back to sleep.

To you, everything's funny

Carter who was six was making a grunt looking down at her dinner plates seeing the peas, she hates peas.

Jack who was nine was sitting across the table from her and as she put the food in mouth he gently tapped her leg making her look up at Jack who scrunched his nose and made a pea come out from both sides of his nose, Carter laughed forgetting the food in her mouth making it fly across the table and hit Luke who was sitting next to Jack.


The table paused before Carter was laughing so hard she was leaning out of her chair and not quick after Jack was wheezing trying to catch his breath as he laughed so hard and Quinn tried so hard not to look at the mashed potatoes that splatted all over Luke’s face but the when he saw them he couldn’t help but bust out laughing just as hard as his siblings.

Luke was trying to be annoyed but when he saw his face in the reflection in the mirror in the dinning room he couldn’t help but break out laughing as well.

You got nothing to regret

Carter who had just turned six was playing outside hockey a 1v1 with her seven years old brother, Luke was behind her trying to get the puck she had in her hands when suddenly she went to move and her stick went up and it flung right into Luke’s nose, Carter quickly dropped the stick turning seeing Luke holding his nose in pain and his eyes teary.

Carter eyes widened with worry, “MOM! MOM!” Carter screamed towards the house having her hands on Luke’s arms as his nose started to bleed heavily.

Ellen rushed our hearing Carter scream, Quinn was quick to follow behind her, they saw Carter holding Luke and Luke holding him face.

Ellen quickly ran to Luke making Carter’s hands drop from Luke’s arms, “What happened!” Ellen gently demanded as she gently lifted Luke’s hands wincing seeing all the blood but his nose was still very much straight and looked like it was just a very bad bloody nose.

“I accidentally hit with the end of my stick when we were playing.” Carter tearfully and hurriedly explained.

“Quinn go get toilet paper.” Ellen asked her eldest who nodded now realizing that it must just be bloody nose.

“Is he going to be okay?” Carter softly asked holding Luke’s hand tightly.

“He’ll be okay, it’s just a bloody nose.” Ellen soothed her daughter worries as Quinn walked out with a toilet paper roll handing it to his mother.

“I’m sorry.” Carter regrettably whispered to Luke as they walked back into the house and Ellen was holding toilet paper on Luke’s nose to stop the bleeding.

“It’s okay Reeses pieces.” Luke whispered back, it didn’t even hurt that bad but it was uncomfortable with all the blood but he knew his sister didn’t do it on purpose.

I'd give all I have honey

If you could stay like that

A recently just turned six Quinn snuck out of his bed in the middle of the night. He tiptoed out of his room and down the hallway towards Carter’s room he quietly opened her door and walked to her crib seeing her eyes fluttering open and shut, he leaned into the crib gently picking her.

Quinn picked up the blanket hanging over the back of the rocking chair before sitting in the chair with Carter in his arms, he covered himself and Carter with the blanket.

Carter cooed making Quinn attention immediately go to her, Quinn saw his baby sister staring up at him and he gave her his finger and she wrapped her little fingers around it.

Quinn slowly rocked the both of them back to sleep and he hep Carter all night long until Ellen came into Carters room the next morning and found her oldest and youngest fast asleep in the rocking chair.

Oh, darlin', don't you ever grow up

Don't you ever grow up

Just stay this little

“Mom!” Carter groaned frustrated sitting on her bedroom in frustration, it was the first day of first grade tomorrow and she couldn’t figure out an outfit.

“Reesie?” Ellen responded out in concern walking down the hallway to Carter’s bedroom seeing Carter sitting on the floor looking frustrated, Ellen walked over kneeling down in front of her and gently rubbed Carter’s back, “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find an outfit.” Carter huffed out.

“Would you like some help?” Ellen softly questioned still enjoying the days where her children need her help, especially since her youngest seems to want to do everything on her and is always very independent.

Carter titled her head before slowly nodding, Ellen smiled and looked at the clothes all around them and saw a grey and black plaid skirt and then looked and saw a black long sleeve with ruffles, she help them up to Carter, “What about this? With your black headband?” Ellen smiled at her.

Carter nodded happily a smile now forming on her face as she hugged her mother, “Thank you.”

“Anytime Ressie, Anytime.” Ellen closed her eyes savoring the hug.

Oh, darlin', don't you ever grow up

Don't you ever grow up

It could stay this simple

An eleven year old Carter rubbed her eyes as she quietly walked into the kitchen in the middle of the night wanting cold water, she blinked seeing her dad sitting at the dinning room table, “Dad?”

Carter soft voice got Jim’s attention who turned around seeing his daughter standing there, “Hey bug.” Jim softly smiled at her patting the seat next to him.

“Are those the cookies mom made? Carter cocked an eyebrow at her father as she sat next to him seeing him have cookies and milk in front of him.

“I won’t tell, if you want.” Jim mischievously smiled holding a cookie out to his daughter.

Carter looked at the cookie knowing they are really good because her mom made them before grabbing the cookie and taking a bite out of it, “Deal.”

Carter happily grinned as she munched on the cookies with her dad.

I won't let nobody hurt you

Quinn turned around just seeing as his sister was smashed into the boards after the whistle was already blown, and before anyone even knew it, Quinn had his gloves dropped and he was on top of the Calgary Flames player tackling him to the ice and not stopping hitting him until Quinn was dragged off him.

Quinn knew his mouth was running but he didn’t care he shrugged off the referee and took his penalty seeing his sister not on the bench, the second the period ended Quinn had jumped out of the box skating across the ice hurrying down the tunnel to the medical room, he bursted in seeing the doctors holding a light to Carter’s head checking for concussion.

“Is she alright?” Quinn hurriedly questioned, gently grabbing her hand.

“She’s okay, i would like her not to play the rest of the game as they was a very bad hit to the head, she doesn’t have a concussion but for safety i suggest she doesn’t.” The doctor kindly instructed Quinn before leaving the room.

Quinn pulled her into a hug pressing a soft kiss to her head.

Won't let no one break your heart

And no one will desert you

Quinn frowned as Carter denied the FaceTime something she never does and then she texted “sorry can’t talk now” Quinn frowned deeper having feeling like Carter has been off lately.

He quickly got up and packed a bag and getting into his car, he had three days off from work and decided to drive the five hours to his little sister.

Quinn drove the five hours to Regina and walked up into her apartment building, he took the elevator to her floor. He knocked on her door waiting for her to open the door.

A fifteen year old Carter looked up from her couch and got up walking to the door, she opened it and was shocked to she her brother, “Quinny?” Carter softly questioned feeling her eyes fill with tears.

“Ressie.” Quinn softly smiled at his baby sister, she lunged forward pulling him into a hug.

Carter let out a shaky breath as she felt comfort from her big brother, she didn’t realize how alone she would feel in a new city all alone.

Just try to never grow up

Never grow up

Carter got off the plane from Sweden after staying there for almost a year only really doing school and playing hockey, she turned 16 there, she did end up growing a good few inches while she was away and she knew she put on a lot of good muscle, and a lot of her baby fat on her face went away. Carter saw Quinn waiting for her and she quickly walked over to him a smile, “Hey big brother.”

“Can you stop growing please.” Quinn questioned wirh a wide smile pulling her sister in a long overdo hug, her now only being three inches shorter than him.

Quinn drove her to their parents houses were the rest of their family was waiting for them.

Carter laughed as she was covered in confetti from Jack and Luke as she walked into the house and she saw the welcome home banner.

“This is not fair.” Jack pouted seeing how tall his sister got and how his younger siblings are way too tall.

Luke pulled Carter into a tight hug swaying back and forth. Jack pushed Luke off her and pulled Carter into a tight hug, “No more growing ok.”

“Ok.” Carter fondly rolled her eyes at her brother.

Ellen pulled her youngest in a tight hug pressing kisses to her face having missed her so much, “Oh my love you got even more beautiful.” Ellen smiled softly holding her daughter’s face in her hands. Of course the family had facetime while Carter was away but it was hard to tell how much she grew up from a screen.

Jim rested his chin on his daughter’s head holding her a long hug.

Don't you ever grow up

It could stay this simple

Luke walked into the living room seeing his three siblings cuddled up together so he walked over to the couch towards them.

Luke layed down in between Jack and Carter resting his head on Jacks thigh and gently grabbing Carter’s hand gaining a squeeze in return. Quinn was cuddled against Carter.

The four siblings cuddled together on the couch for a long time just listening to the pouring rain and thunder outside until they all fell fast asleep, just like they always did when they were younger.

Jim and Ellen walked down to the basement that was usally always loud but was completely silent and they saw all their kids cuddled up together. Ellen and Jim smiled, Ellen took a picture of her kids as Jim grabbed the other blankets on the back of the couch covering Luke with one and Quinn with the other.

And no one's ever burned you

Nothing's ever left you scarred

Carter was on her roller skates in the front driveway of her house playing with her brothers, when she slipped and her knee slid roughly across the asphalt. Carter gasped seeing the blood starting to run down her leg and could feel the tears running down her face rapidly. Quinn saw her fall and quickly dropped his stick and skated to her, Carter who was only four.

“Sshh, Your okay Ressie.” Quinn softly cooed bending down in front of her and wrapping her in his arms, “Jack can you go get mom.” Quinn calmly demanded his brother not taking his eyes off his sister, Jack quickly nodded and skated towards the house.

Luke sat on the other side of Carter holding her hand looking at her in worry. Ellen came out with Jack seeing her daughter crying sitting in the floor and her boys comforting her, “Oh honey, what happened?” Ellen brushed her baby hairs that fell out of her ponytail.

“I slipped.” Carter soflty hiccuped being more frustrated at falling than being hurt, and crying because she was so overwhelmed.

“Ok, why don’t we go inside so we can clean your boo-boo up yeah?” Ellen softly talked to her daughter, Carter slowly nodded and looked up at her big brother with her big wide eyes that were filled with tears.

Quinn picked up his sister bridal style and carried her into the house. Jack made sure to pick up of Carter’s hockey stick off the driveway, and Luke kept a hold on Carter’s hand the whole time.

And even though you want to

Just try to never grow up

“Bye Quinny! Bye Jacky! Bye Lukey! Bye Mom and Dad!” A recently turned five year old Carter smiled widely waving at her family as she happily skipped into her first day of school.

“Does she have to grow up.” Quinn frowned unhappy his baby sister seems to never stop growing.

“Can’t she just stay little.” Jack pouted hating seeing her grow up.

Ellen and Jim shared fond looks having thought the same things many times with all their kids.

Take pictures in your mind of your childhood room

Carter who had just turned 14 looked around the room she grew up in, the dark green shiplap that her mom picked out years ago and Carter never got rid of it having always loved it , the wall full of her old hockey’s sticks, the bulletin board above her desk filled with photos of friends and family, her bay window that has way to many pillows and throw blankets, the star nightlight that Carter could never get rid of.

Carter looked around seeing a now empty room having packed everything up and loaded it onto the moving van to their new house in Michigan.

Memorize what it sounded like when your dad gets home

Carter was sitting at the dinner table working on her spelling for her kindergarten class but perked up hearing the sound of the car in the driveway and it turning off. Carter hurriedly dropped her pencil and scurried across the house to the front door.

She heard the key in the door unlocking it and the door opening it, Carter smiled running right into her dad’s legs.

“Dad! Your home!” Carter grinned up at her dad, Jim tiredly smiled down at his youngest kid, “Hello Bug.” He picked her setting her on his hip as he held her with one hand and the other grabbing his bag.

Carter wrapped her small arms around his neck, “I missed you.” Carter leaned her head on his shoulder.

“I missed you too Bug.” Jim kissed the top of her head.

Remember the footsteps, remember the words said

Carter pulled the cover over her head trying to block out all the noise in the morning and go back to sleep not wanting to be awake this early.

Carter groaned frustrated hearing all her brothers and their friends stomping around in the morning. She could hear all of their loud voices traveling through out the house and she knew she wasn’t getting anymore sleep this morning.

And all your brother's favorite songs

Carter groaned hearing Jack playing another country song on the speaker as they were all out on the boat and Jack grabbed the speaker first.

Jack and Trevor sung to the music dramatically jumping around the boat together.

Carter just shook her head feeling the headache forming but knew she misses these kinds of moments in the season so she put up with listening to him sing his favorite songs.

I just realized everything I have is someday gonna be gone

Carter was sitting in her new bedroom in their new Michigan house that they moved into a few months ago. She opened the email from the WHL and knew exactly what it would be, either the acceptance or rejection. Carter had applied for the WHL, when they were still living in Canada and now knew if she was accepted she would be moving away from her family.

Carter let out a breath as she realizes she got accepted into the Hockey League she’s been dreaming of and the first player to ever get accepted a year early something her brothers didn’t even get approved to do.

Carter proudly smiled to herself as she got accepted to one of her dreams, but frowned when she remembered that the only close team to Quinn only had one draft pick this year, and all the other teams are at least two hours away from Vancouver, Carter knew it was going to end up with her being all alone.

So here I am in my new apartment

In a big city, they just dropped me off

It's so much colder than I thought it would be

So I tuck myself in and turn my nightlight on

Carter looked around her new bedroom in her little apartment in Regina, Canada. She looked at how little things she really did bring with her from home, she frowned feeling the chilly breeze and seeing nothing but dark in her room. She looked through her suitcase and found the nightlight she brought, the one she has had for ten years.

She plugged in and slowly relaxed seeing the stars fill the ceilings, something she’s always slept with ever since Quinn gave it to her.

She put on a hoodie she stole from Jack and got under her comforter trying to warm as she slowly fell asleep all alone in her new apartment.

Wish I'd never grown up

[abductedhiko]

Are we?

This is self indulgent. I giggled so much writing this wolfstar oneshot.

Not beta read, we die like everyone in this fandom

Tags: @invasiveroadkill @im-a-mess-of-a-person @butyoureastarr @printershorts

Enjoy!

The music that boomed in the Gryffindor common room bounced off the walls. Remus could feel the vibrations in his feet.

Gryffindor had won against Ravenclaw in Quidditch on a Friday. So that obviously meant that there was to be a party hosted in the Gryffindor common room. James, being the star chaser, lapped up the attention. All night he had been receiving high fives and congratulations with a drink in his hand, Peter lingering beside him.

Remus had never disliked parties, there was always good booze that the Prewetts would pinch from The Hog’s Head and plenty of dope to go around, but he had never liked them either.

Usually, Sirius and James were the life of the party. But while they thrived in it, Remus never craved that kind of attention. The feeling of too many eyes on him made his skin feel all tight and hot, and his hands got clammy too.

This was different though, he had Sirius at his side to keep him company. Sirius wore his signature muggle-leather jacket. His eyes were lined with eyeliner that made him look similar to a cat, and his lids sparkled with glitter that Mary had practically begged him to add. “It would totally complete the look! Come on, Sirius! You’d look hot!” She had said.

And she was right. He did look hot.

Remus took advantage of the way Sirius happily and drunkenly chatted with Marlene, nursing a party cup full of fire whisky. He let out a laugh at something she said, tipping his head back and exposing the pale skin of his neck.

Remus gulped down some of his own fire whiskey.

“Hello?” Marlene said smugly, despite her voice slurring a little. Her red lips were pulled into a smirk. Her eyelids glittered with purple eyeshadow. “Remus? Is there something on Sirius’ neck you’d like to share?”

His eyes immediately shot up to hers. “I- Uh-“

“Oh no, do tell,” Sirius spoke up. He too had a slight slur to his voice. “Is there something on my neck, Moony?”

Sirius winked at Remus coyly.

He knew. He knew and he was toying with him about it! The asshole.

Remus downed his drink, before getting close to his face. Sirius just grinned lazily at him.

“You’re a prick.”

And Remus brought his lips to his, Sirius quick to kiss him back. Marlene let out a squeal of surprise.

“Oh wow- you’re totally bent for eachother!” She laughed drunkenly as they pulled apart. Remus smiled dopily, grabbing at Sirius’ waist. “Kiss again! Again!”

And when they did, Marlene cheered and laughed.

Kissing Sirius felt like fireworks. It felt like sparklers and rollercoasters and thrill. Remus could taste the whiskey on his tongue, and it made him pull him closer by the waist deepen the kiss.

“If you guys end up shagging I’m gonna never let you live it down!” Marlene teased.

Sirius pulled away, turning his head to talk to Marlene. “If, my dear, if. Remus has an unlucky streak, I’m afraid.” He slurred, giggling. Marlene laughed at that.

“Yes, yes, if.” Remus gestured away. “Now, Marlene, if you would mind? I’d like to make out with this dickhead some more.”

“Yeah, alright. You guys kissing makes me feel left out anyway, I’m gonna go find Dorcas. Cheers!” And she disappeared into the crowd.

#

James was halfway through his 4th cup of fire whiskey, and he had a pleasant buzz in his skin.

His eyes scoured across the sea of bodies, searching for Sirius and Remus. He figured he should probably check up on them.

When his eyes picked them out, his jaw just about dropped.

Remus had Sirius pushed against the wall, Sirius’ hands in his messy brown hair.

Drunk and making out at a party? James thought evilly. Oh he knew exactly what to do.

And he made his way to the DJ station, pushing through the crowd.

#

“This next song goes out to my mates who look like are having an amazing time,” He said, using his wand as a microphone. He snuck a sneaky look at Sirius and Remus in the corner, one that Sirius caught. He grinned. “So what? You together or what?”

The room quieted ever so slightly as Remus and Sirius jumped from each other, having been caught. People always seemed to just listen to James no matter where he went, that was how it has always been.

“Are we?” Sirius asked Remus under his breath.

Remus nodded slightly, breathing heavily.

“HELL YEAH WE ARE!!!”

“Cheers then mates!” James shouted back, lifting up his cup as the crowd cheered in response.

He put on Hot Love by T.Rex.

[it-happened-one-fic]

Ink and Magic - The Beautiful Oppressor

Author Notes: Part 5 of this sort of halfway non canon compliant what if with the overblots and their aftermath! A lot of what I said for part 1 counts for this section too. This isn't exactly romantic. in fact, I would say it counts as more platonic, but it certainly can be taken as shippy. This will also be a series, though the Diasomnia section won't come out until that entire matter is resolved in game. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Spoilers for Book 5: Beautiful Oppressor!

[Heartslabyul] [Savanaclaw] [Octavinelle] [Scarabia] [Pomefiore: You're Here!] [Ignihyde] [Diasomnia: to be released!]

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ fic series/ Can be platonic or romantic/ fluff/ angst/ comfort/ Spoilers for Pomefiore overblot.

Word count: 2045

The glossy ink slowly slid across the ground, reflecting the toxic green fog that Vil had created and making for a truly gruesome pairing that promised pain should one linger here too long.

But then, in the middle of all that hideousness, stood Vil. Crowned with a halo of gold feathers, from which hung a black veil, and dressed in dark robes that faded from a brilliant purple that spoke of royalty to a dark black, dotted with golden stars. 

The cloth draped around him in a way that, despite its tattered seams, spoke of the very elegance that Vil always carried and held himself with.

 Over the young man loomed the blot monster that reminded me of an old hag. The monster let out a raspy, howling scream as Deuce’s signature spell slammed into it, obliterating it almost immediately in a shower of black ink that rained over the stage in dark cloud.

Deuce stumbled, letting out a grin as he saw the poisonous fog begin to dissipate before he froze, staring at the end of Vil’s overblot.

The young man, who up until now had stood tall, snuck to his knees. Rich cloth puddling around him as he trembled, staring at his gloved hands that were tipped with golden claws that slowly began to fade from existence,  “I will be…”

He looked up as the violet flame that had been over his left eye vanished and his amethyst gaze found my wide-eyed, heartbroken stare, “The fairest….” 

His eyelids began to flutter, threatening close as he wavered, swaying and catching himself with wobbly arms that would not and could not support the weight of his weary form for long.

I scrambled to my feet, skidding slightly as I took off from a crouch, and desperately rushed towards Vil as he breathed out his final words, his eyes flickering shut in a way that somehow only made me more desperate to reach him as I raced past Deuce and barely caught Vil’s final whisper, “Of them all…”

Rook shouted my name, his voice raw with fearful concern, and I could hear Epel shouting angrily at Jamil to let him go so that he could stop me as my knees hit the ground hard.

I almost hissed at the stinging sensation of the cracked wood splintering against my knees and legs, but I still wrapped my arms around Vil’s slumped form. Catching him before he fell completely against what remained of the once grand stage.

Gone were the decadent clothes that had revealed his status as overblotted. He had returned to the Pomefiore housewarden, who’d been staying at Ramshackle dorm with the rest of the NRC Tribe for the past few weeks and who’d been striving this entire time to be his very best until he broke at the last second. 

Exhaustion swept over me in a wave as I grasped his limp form, and I swayed as I strained to stay awake before I exhaled, surrendering to the overwhelming fatigue that washed over me as I fell sideways against the stage. Still holding Vil tightly in my arms as the world went dark.

But the world did not remain dark long before I was greeted with an image. The first of many as I now knew. 

This first scene that greeted me was that of an unfamiliar living room through which a young Vil ran, hurrying over to an adult man and holding up a paper excitedly as he spoke.

 “Dad, listen to this! I passed the audition! I’m going to be in a musical school drama!”

The child’s eyes were bright, glistening in a way that reminded me of jewels as he was congratulated. But then his face fell once his father asked what role he’d gotten.

The star’s rival. Another mean villain, as he put it.

Almost immediately, I recalled the phone call Vil had gotten that day at Ramshackle dorm and how frustrated he’d seemed at being offered the role of a villain.

It seemed that his plight of being typecast was nothing new. Though I couldn’t understand why he was always typecast as a villain.

The child before me was the perfect picture of a young prince, so full of life and possibility, just like how Vil as I knew him looked like a flawless male lead, ready to sweep a princess off her feet the very instant she needed him.

I watched in silence as Vil’s father comforted his son, a smile on the man’s face as he rubbed his son’s head.

“Sometimes productions are more selective about their villain casting than their hero casting. You should be proud.”

A smile appeared on the child-version of Vil’s face as he nodded just as the image faded out. 

“But...villains never stay on stage for the whole play. Once their role is finished, all they do is watch from the shadows as the happy ending plays out. What I want is to stay on the stage longer than anyone else.”

I tensed as Vil’s familiar voice came from somewhere beside me even though, just as with the others, I could not see him in the darkness that surrounded us.

I could listen to him, though.

So that was what I did. I listened to Vil’s narration and watched the memories that slowly told me the story of Vil’s life. His rise to fame and how he was always entrapped by the role of the villain. 

What initially seemed like something unfortunate began to worsen as others began to judge him for his roles.

“Hey, look! That’s the guy who was bullying the hero on the TV show last night!”

“How can anyone be so mean? He must be pretty messed up.”

I frowned as the scene played out right in front of me but left me unable to step in and help the child I knew would become a powerful young mage.

I felt myself smile, almost smugly, when a young Jack stepped in to ward off the bullies. Even if Vil told him it wasn’t necessary, I knew it was the beginning of a friendship between these two.

But I couldn’t help but wonder how often such things had been said about Vil? 

It wasn’t hard to figure out how many children perceived him solely based on his acting roles.

He always played the villain, so he must be horrible, right? It was obvious that was what they thought. Especially since I’d heard more mature versions of the exact same thought at NRC, though I had never realized exactly how harmful they could be. Not until now. But as I watched Vil’s life continue to play out in front of me like a tragedy from the theater, it got steadily worse.

Any praise that Vil received was always met with someone else who had something else to say and took that praise and muddied it. 

And it only became worse as Neige came onto the scene, giving the people someone to compare Vil to.

“Neige is just incredible. That friendly charm and wholesome vibe comes naturally to him.”

“Vil is pretty impressive as the villain, himself. He carries himself with real dignity. You’d never guess he was only twelve years old. He’s gonna be the hero one of these days.”

“The thing about Vil is, he’s TOO perfect. His beauty is otherworldly. Vil is too special to play the part of a regular teen that viewers can relate to. Without that relatability, I don’t think he’ll ever pull off playing a hero.”

Too perfect. Too special. Unrelatable. I couldn’t help but frown at the way the people described him. 

It was bad enough that they had literally just said he could never have the lead role, no matter how talented he was. But special… I’d never realized what a condemning word it could be until I’d come to this school and become ‘special’ myself.

Special meant you weren’t like others, and it meant others would always look at you differently. Special meant that no matter how many people you befriended, you’d always stand slightly apart in a lonely beam of a spotlight reserved for those deemed ‘special.’

And unrelatable? That was just cruel. Saying people couldn’t relate to him was all but saying he wouldn’t ever find someone he could truly be friends with. They might as well have said that no one would ever understand him, so no one would ever side with him. And if no one sides with you… Well, of course you’re the villain. Because for better or worse, the majority usually wins, and the winner is always the hero because that is how history will portray it. 

I grimaced as the world went black around me, leaving me with just Vil’s now frustrated voice that cracked with emotion that he normally kept controlled. 

“Why? Why is it never me?! All I want is to stay on the stage until the end of the show.”

To stay on stage until the end of the show…. To be the hero that people love and relate to…

To not be singled out as special and put in a special slot. To not bear the weight of being ‘special’ amongst others your age.

I opened my eyes to find that I’d curled almost protectively around Vil, cradling him to me just as I had the others when no one interfered.

“Y/n?” Epel’s voice wavered just from behind me, and I slowly relaxed my hold on Vil without fully releasing him as I attempted to roll over, only to be held in place by the actor who clung to me. But even then, I could see the others.

Our friends were all around us, kneeling with expressions of shared concern. Proof that even despite what others had said, Vil had worked hard and found friends who didn’t deem him as just ‘special.’

Ace sighed, shaking his head slightly, “We already explained it all to Rook and Epel, but…. You did it again, didn't you?”

I nodded, still feeling worn out, as I swallowed thickly and pasted a tired smile onto my face that had Ace shaking his head at me. His expression one of fond exasperation.

“How are you feeling? Is the poison still affecting you?” Jamil’s voice came from just above my head. 

I tilted my head in an attempt to look at him, eliciting a chuckle from the young man whose hand reached out and pressed against my head, gently stopping me as he spoke, “Don’t bother; just wait until Vil wakes up. You know you won’t be able to move until then.”

About that time, I saw Rook from my peripheral lean down, the worry on his face clear as he quietly spoke to Vil’s sleeping form, “Vil… Oh, fair Vil. Please wake up.”

There was a quiet groan, and Vil’s grasp on me tightened ever so slightly as he pressed himself closer to me before he at last relaxed and opened his eyes, looking at me with a gaze that was still hazy from everything that had just happened.

He blinked a few times, his eyes slowly clearing, before looking around in confusion as he slowly released me with a frown on his face, “How am I…?”

He didn’t get to finish the question as both Rook and Kalim launched themselves at him, landing on either side of us so that they could tightly embrace the young man.

I smiled at their exuberance, which at first seemed to confuse Vil before his memories slowly came trickling back in and he looked towards me.

I gazed back at him as his eyes widened with realization, “You….. Did you…?”

I hesitantly nodded, rubbing my arm slightly and letting Jamil step in with an explanation as Deuce wrapped an arm around me to help me to my feet, “Yes, they saw your memories and heard your thoughts. They’ve done that with every single person who has overblotted, including myself.”

Jamil paused, looking my way before frowning, and continuing, “We don’t know why or how they do it, but….”

He trailed off and I shrugged, “Let’s talk about it later….” I glanced around the ruined stage I’d been stretched out on this entire time and frowned, “We’ve got bigger issues anyway.”