#I found a prompt I really liked and my first thought was Kaleidoscope

[hugs4gem]

Guys I think I finally know how to write the kaleidoscope fic I was writing—

[tar-thelien]

Just finished it - anywayyy here is my Melkor x Nienna & Angbang fic I wrote on yesterday and today, I made it into a series as I want to explore it more in the future :)

Summary:

Mairon encounters Mbelekōre at a party, celebrating Mbelekōre return to Ilmarin following yet another of his exploits. They engage in a conversation about the concept of perfection, delving into its intricacies and philosophies while the Vala patiently anticipates the arrival of someone who holds a special place in his heart.

Words: 2799

Notes:

I tried to write Melkor as really selfish but still a simp around Neinna and I think I did it pretty well Also, Melkor is such a loser and I love it for him 😌 Translations at the end

Mairon strolled through the vibrant marble corridors of Ilmarin, his eyes scanning for a secluded chamber or even a balcony where he could retreat to gather his thoughts and distance himself from the bustling gathering. The exquisite hues of the marble walls reflected a kaleidoscope of colors, creating a mesmerizing environment around him as he sought solace from the festivities.

Mbelekore's return marked a significant event, prompting the celebration with a grand party. While he appreciated the joyous atmosphere of such gatherings and the opportunity to dress in finery, an opportunity he would never turn down, there were always other activities that captivated his interest to a higher degree. However, the return of Mbelekore, the mightiest among them all, it was only fitting to pay tribute to his stature and esteemed position within their community, he just wished Aȝūlēz could have taken another with him.

Mairon, while unfamiliar with the Vala, as he had never had the opportunity to be near him, had gathered knowledge about him through hearsay. Ilmarë once suggested that if there were a Vala known for joyous spirits and celebration, it would undoubtedly be Mbelekōre. Despite the chaos often trailing in his wake, Mbelekōre possessed a talent for injecting mirth into any gathering, eliciting smiles and laughter from those around him. His gatherings were said to outshine even the renowned Arǭmēz, though Mairon had never experienced them firsthand and thus refrained from offering personal judgment on the matter. But his Midu was the best, and now that Mairon had tasted it for the first time at this feast, he found himself inclined to believe the others - truly if a Vala could make better Midu than Arǭmēz, then he could make better feasts than Arǭmēz too.

It was at this feast, however, that Mairon saw Mbelekōre for the first time, although from a distance, hidden behind other Maiar.

As noted by Eönwë, who was known to never turn down the opportunity to criticize Mbelekōre, why would anyone seek the company of one who had strayed from Eru's ways? The question lingered in Mairon's mind: Why did Mbelekōre attract the attention of numerous Maiar? Why was the always someone constantly engaged with him? While Mairon suspected merely curiosity, his own curiosity was piqued, and during the early stages of the feast, he witnessed the spectacle himself. Mbelekōre stood out like a radiant white flame in his resplendent golden attire, evoking a desire in Mairon to approach and observe the robe closely to see how it was made and all the details he knew to be there. Seated in a relaxed manner, Mbelekōre conversed effortlessly with the assembled Maiar, as if he owned Taniquetil itself.

To make it short, Mairon had seen a glimpse of the Vala, and already decided he didn´t like him.

Why did all those Maiar find such an arrogant character intriguing? It's worth noting that Mbelekōre wasn't the sole arrogant Vala; in fact, the majority of them possessed that trait. However, unlike most Valar who primarily interacted amongst themselves, and themselves only, Mbelekōre appeared to exhibit a greater interest in the Maiar, more than that he showed to his own siblings.

Observing a smile on his lips as he suddenly noticed an ajar doorway that beckoned him into a dimly lit chamber he without hesitation hastened his pace and entered the dark empty room.

Upon entering he came across a couch placed directly across from a wide open window, and sitting on that couch was an enigmatic figure. The being didn´t sound off anything so Mairon had to use his mortal form to see them, as he could not hear who they were in their music, as non sounded from them. As he approached the mysterious person, a sense of curiosity mingled with a hint of apprehension, intensifying the anticipation of the impending revelation. 

The being was attired in a snug black top that extended up to cover their necks and down towards their hands, paired with form fitting leggings as well as intricate white and gold embroidery shoes, reminiscent of tiny serpents almost appearing to devour the leather they were on. Their long white hair was styled into five thick, loosely woven braids fastened with golden clasps at the ends, making it look like the hair fastened into flowing gold at the end, framing a pallid, elongated face, painted with gold, accentuated by striking crimson eyes hurt looking into.

It was strange for any Ainur to be silent, as the power of silence was typically associated with Eru and certain beings from the Void such as Ungoliant, as per popular belief. He was unaware that one of these enigmatic entities had been extended an invitation - perhaps Mbelekōre had established a connection with one during his searching for the sacred flame.

He apologetically muttered, averting his gaze towards the floor while subtly ensuring he maintained a visual on the silhouette before him, "I apologize for my oversight, I had no knowledge of your presence," he softly spoke, as he made to leave the room.

The creature asked, "it seems quite noisy outside, don't you think?" turning to glance out the window once more, "you are welcome to remain here, as long as you do not disturb me. I have grown weary of all the fuss."

“All what?” Mairon asked the being as he walked close, not yet sitting.

"Them. They behave as though everything is fine as if all has changed for the better, and they persistently surround me, refusing to give me any peace. It is overwhelmingly noisy.”

"I eagerly await the presence of Melā Kherī," the being said without specifying who they were waiting on, "she assured me that she would join me shortly; she is currently engaged in a conversation with Vê, but she said she came only for me. In her presence, I always find solace and calm, and indeed, who does not? She is the only blessing of father that matters.”

Mairon observed the gold and white robes placed next to the figure, each adorned with exquisite gems and intricate embroidery featuring snakes and winged lizards. The robes lying on the couch prompted a realization within him. Oh.

"My sole purpose in being present here today is to once more hear her, for I miss her more than mine own brother. The grace and allure she possesses are truly remarkable, and she truly possesses the skill to state it through her mortal form as well," Mbelekōre spoke without shifting his gaze, "do we share a past encounter? You sound as if I should know you."

“I- I go by the name Mairon," he attempted to articulate with a composed tone, "holding the position of chief smith of Árātō Aȝūlēz.”

Mbelekōre chuckled softly before speaking, "indeed, my brother has acquainted me with your achievements, and he holds you in high regard, Maira."

“Mairon. If it pleases Árātō.”

This time Mbelekōre directed his intense gaze towards Mairon with a frown, a sight seldom experienced when observing Ainur in their earthly manifestations. Reflecting on this unprecedented display of emotions, it dawned on Mairon that perhaps it was a conscious act from Mbelekōre side, "how does my satisfaction relate to your preferred designation? I have the liberty to address you both as Mairon or Maira without hindrance. It does not make a difference for me."

“You are most gracious Árātō,” Mairon said with a bow.

“Belegúr.”

“Árātō?”

“Belegúr. That is what they shall call me. Father´s pets that is,” he said with a slight smile.

“I- I am confused Árātō,” Mairon said as he walked closer to the smiling Vala.

"The Minnónar! Many names they will bestow upon me, yet Melkóre and Belegúr resound most pleasingly to my ears. But let us keep such knowledge from Mānawenūz, for he will only make sure they change it, as a joke that is. Mine brother would give me the lamps, should I make such a request, think no foul of him, though he does spike my temper at times," he chuckled, reclining comfortably on the sofa, "tell me, Maia, have you not once harbored the desire to behold them? To witness a realm beyond the confines of your own or Aȝūlēz's forge? Or that of the magnificent gardens of Palúrien! Do you not yearn to gaze upon the fruits of our collaborative efforts?"

Mairon let out a disdainful hiss. Arrogant indeed. The irony of the Vala before him being dubbed the wisest was not lost on him as he praised the "wonders" of Arda, all the while engaging in actions that threatened its very existence. With a sneer, he remarked, "you appear to lack any appreciation for Arda yourself, Árātō.”

Belegúr appeared puzzled as he gazed, "what we have made? love it," he said. However, Mairon, in contrast, shook his head disapprovingly and remarked, "yet, you were the one who attempted to dismantle it, more than once."

Belegúr firmly declared, "No, I would never contemplate such actions. I simply undertook what was essential. Arda cannot be confined to just valleys and seas; she craves the presence of mountains and rivers," he paused before shifting his gaze nervously towards Mairon and asked, "do you seek solace in a world devoid of chaos and conflict? Would you truly enjoy a peaceful world?”

What question was this? Of course, he would! If Mbelekōre had just left them alone all would have been perfect and he would never have had to talk to Eönwë or Olórin, or many of the others. Ever. It would have saved him a lot of headage and time.

"Yes," he muttered, attempting to reassure himself, while envisioning a scenario where Arda existed without the meddling influence of Mbelekōre. In this alternate reality, the landscape would be adorned with lush Palúrien flora and the calm waters of Ullubōz would stretch endlessly. Despite one's location within this imagined world, the scenery would remain consistent – a harmonious display of natural beauty. In his mind's eye, he painted a portrait of perfection, envisioning a realm untouched by external disturbances.

Mbelekōre huffed at that, “tell me Mīrĭ: What defines perfection? I am eager to know - the term 'perfect' has crossed my ears frequently, yet its essence eludes me."

“Perfection is- Perfection is anything flawless. It is where everything is exactly right.”

Mbelekōre pondered, gazing out of his window again, "perfection isn't innate, is it? Maybe it's about striving to perfect something with our actions. Do you believe that everything around us is flawless?"

No. He did not think that. His thoughts diverged from that notion. Aȝūlēz would often turn a blind eye to imperfections in the tasks of other Maiar, becoming irate when Mairon attempted to correct them. On the other hand, Mānawenūz, excelled in no particular area, exhibiting a tendency towards sloppiness and dependence on his fellow Valar for resolutions. However, these sentiments were left unspoken.

“I believe,” Belegúr remarked, “that perfection lies in the exchanges that occur between individuals, where friendships are forged alongside rivalries. In a utopia where everything is flawless, the necessity of engaging with others diminishes, leading to a swift escalation of hatred and conflict born out of sheer boredom.”   

“That would make you happy?” Mairon asked coldly.

“No. But it would be entertaining, I shall not lie about that, but no. I would like a perfect Arda too, but to have that you have to have chaos, to have a perfect Ëa everyone have to have a purpose, and no one has a purpose where there is no conflict,” Belegúr said with a shy look at something behind Mairon, “I would hate to see you without a purpose Melā, it would remove mine own I fear.”

"Ëa would not have been, if you had not been, Melā,” a soft voice murmured from behind, prompting Mairon to turn towards Núri who had appeared, clad in a white gown embellished with grey embroidery, accompanied by a brown cloak.

Surrounding her tear stained swollen eyes, the complexion displayed a rich dark brown hue that enveloped the black sclera and dark grey iris. Her cascading grey hair was intricately woven into a pair of modest braids that trailed down to her feet, gracefully framing her chest. A delicate silver circlet adorned with two earrings resembling glistening water droplets sat with opals elegantly held the edge of her hood in place.

With a measured pace, she approached Belegúr, extending her pale gray hand, notable for the additional weeping eye adorning its back. She tenderly brushed his white skin, her expression tinged with sadness. However, the true surprise came when she settled beside him, and he tiredly leaned into her touch, a faint smile gracing his features, revealing teeth akin to a feline’s. Their interaction unfolded in a quiet intimacy, as unspoken emotions played out between them. Despite the unconventional nature of their bond, a sense of mutual understanding and comfort seemed to envelop around them. 

In a mesmerizing display, he melodiously sang the word "Melā," and the enchanting sound resonated beautifully, leaving Mairon utterly spellbound. The captivating melody sparked an intriguing thought within him – how would his own name be heard when carried by a voice that possessed that mesmerizing quality that could potentially rival even that of Eru's own.

"Melā, how beautiful you are, Ithīr," he tenderly leaned towards her, expressing his admiration and awe. Núri gracefully allowed him to rest his head in her lap, gazing up at her with adoration, as if she was the most precious being in existence, a sight the Mairon had never witnessed before between anyone. Perhaps it looked a bit like the looks shared between Aȝūlēz and Palúrien, though even the renowned bond between Mānawenūz and Baradā did not quite match the profound look exchanged between Belegúr and Núri he was witnessing.

"You, Melā, are a creation of unparalleled beauty, a sight that delights me, the most pleasing that has been ever created, for me and for Ëa both,” Belegúr declared with sincerity, as he lifted his own hand to caress her hair.

"Do not succumb to those thoughts at this moment, Melā," Núri replied with what sounded like a laugh, although strained as if her thoughts were filled with sorrows and worries, "will you not remain by my side for some time?"

"I shall stay to remain by your side for as long as possible, solely for you, and I shall return with tales and laughs for you to feast upon.”

"And you shall not allow the spark of fury to ignite within you upon its arrival?"

“I shall only take the light to give it to you should you ever ask Melā Kherī.”

“I only ask you not to hurt thyself, for that would course me greater sorrow than all else.”

“... you are beautiful in thy sorrow, but if it displeases you I shall control myself where father permits it.”

“I shall leave you know Árātō, you mentioned being tired and I would not wish to bother you, and Kherī,” Mairon said with a gentle descent to his knees, Mairon bowed his head respectfully before promptly rising and taking his leave from the presence of both Valar.

“I shall see you again Mīrĭ?” Belegúr asked, and if he sounded desperate, it was only in Mairon´s mind.

Mairon hastened back to the gathering hastily, choosing not to answer. He had been oblivious to the fact that Belegúr and Núri shared a romantic relationship. While he was aware of their strong bond, it was a surprise to him, just as it would be to anyone else who did not know. But maybe it wasn´t that big of a surprise, the more he thought about it.

Núri consistently spoke on his behalf, and he never caused any harm to her belongings; in fact, the situation was quite the contrary. 

Mairon had received multiple reports from Olórin regarding Belegúr's whimsical actions of transforming her halls into gold, only for her to jestingly demand its restoration to its original state of grey stone, which Belegúr willingly obliged after a shared smile. It was said that Belegúr would adorn various locations with precious gems, strategically placing them where he anticipated her presence. It was rumored that, as per Olórin's reports, Belegúr had even converted her personal quarters within the halls into extravagant chambers of pure gold adorned with exquisite sapphires and opals and she had never asked him to change it for the joy it brought her. Allegedly, Belegúr had sought her approval for these lavish changes, presenting her with an abundance of jewelry as a gesture of liking whenever they met.

Perhaps they were destined to be together, it's possible that they were truly meant for each other. It wouldn't be uncommon among the Valar for marriages to occur later than that of Mānawenūz and Baradā after all.

---

Check it out on AO3 and leave me a comment if you liked it :)

Notes:

Melkor: I love Nienna, she is my lady love and she is the most beautiful creation of Eru ever - I would acutely stop destroying everything if she asked that of me bla bla bla also I´m so great bla bla bla Mairon: … I could make him worse. Melkoorrr she´s asking you not to destroy the laaammmppssss Melkor the Vala of chaos, alcohol (and cheese because rot), riches, and uncontrolled emotions :) I think Melkor can enchant his voice to sound however he wants - not all Ainur can do that, however - which is why I don´t describe his voice because it just depends on who he´s talking to and what he wants. - I do like to think here he sounds something between I Monster (note a band made out of Dean Honer & Jarrod Gosling) and Hozier, where Nienna sounds more like Mitski Melkor´s true (Valarian) name is never given by Tolkien - I have a lot of ideas about that - meaning that Melkor himself probably wanted to keep it a secret for some unknown reason and wanted others to use elvish names for him instead of his real one given by Eru, just like Mairon keeps a title as a name and we never get to hear his real one either. I really like Melkor and Aule´s relationship although nothing is said about it other than Aule didn´t want to fight Melkor out of fear of destroying Arda - makes me wonder why Melkor suddenly then decided to steal his Maiar when it should be in his interest to keep Aule of the mind to not fight him. Anyway, I am a firm believer that Melkor was Eru´s favorite and that Eru shared a glimpse of the future here and there with Melkor at least in the beginning, before he fell into madness. - I mean Eru really let him do whatever the hell he wanted with only a few verbal remarks, and those weren´t even rebukes to Melkor just advising that what he was doing maybe wasn´t the best idea. I know Tolkien didn´t use Primitive Elvish but I´m going to use it as a language cut between Valarian and Early Quenya, Early Quneya which I HC Eru gave to the Ainur saying that the Elvers would use it they did they also just completely remade it. Mairon = The Admirable: Quenya Ilmarin = Mansion of The High Airs: Quenya; Manwe and Varda´s mansion Mbelekōre = Might(y) Arising; Masculin Name: Primitive Elvish - a longer version of Melkō-r Arǭmēz = Oromë; Valarin Midu = Alcholo/Nector: Valarian Melā = Love: Primitive Elvish Kherī = Lady: Primitiv Elvish Vê = Death (early name for Namo): Early Quenya Árātō = Lord: Primitiv Elvish Aȝūlēz = Aule: Valarian Maira = Admirable/Excellent/Precious: Quenya Belegúr = He who arises in Might; Mighty Arising: Sindarin Melkóre = He who arises in Might; Mighty Arising: Quenya Minnónar = First borns/Elvers: Quenya Palúrien = Lady of the Wide Earth, Bosom of the Earth; Feminine Name: Early Quenya; Also the name of Friday (the day) Ullubōz = Ulmo: Valarian Mānawenūz = One (closest) in accord with Eru: Valarian Ëa = Everything/Be (existence?? Tolkien please explain your words better) Núri = To growl/Ask for mercy&/pity - coming for the word Nuru = growl/grumble (early name for Nienna): Early Quenya Ithīr = Light: Valarian Baradā = lofty/high with strength/size/majesty (early name for Varda): Primitiv Elvish - wasn´t sure to use that or the early Quenya name (Súlimi) but I think Baradā sounds better when thinking about it Mīrĭ = Precious thing: Primitive Elvish

[wingsofescape]

DVD Commentary: "They’re trying to erase history.” Ed sounded horrified. “Anything that could counter their arguments would be destroyed, so it looks like everyone agreed with them.”

“You got it. They’re taking books and works from universities, too. Al told me–”

Winry froze. The sound of a body slamming against the wall rang in her ears, followed by Ed’s furious sneer.

“You know where Al is?!”

———————————————

“I’m sorry,” Fritz said as he rearranged his monocle and massaged his shoulder. “Al told me not to say anything until you’d gotten your drinking under control. I was going to tell you tonight.”

“How did you even know–”

Fritz cast him a long look. “Edward. No offence, but it was becoming glaringly obvious.

“Al called me the night he left. He asked me to keep an eye on you in case things got really bad. He hoped you would have a wake-up call and finally quit, but he was worried it might be your breaking point, too.”

Ed stared at him, feeling every muscle relax one by one and his anger be washed away in a syphoning sound of relief and shame.

Al was okay. Al still cared enough to ask Fritz to keep an eye out for him. Al had been worried about his shitty excuse of a brother. It made Ed’s heart break into a million fragments, a kaleidoscope of undeserved love and crushing guilt.

“Where- where is he?” He croaked." What were some other Fritz scenes that you considered for this? What behind the scenes can you share between Al and Fritz and what it was like for Fritz to watch his friend/employee descend into alcoholism and then later be left alone with no clue about a sobriety journey? Very intrigued!!

Hello hello and thank you for your question!

SO (I had to dig out my outlining notebook for this) in the very first version Fritz was supposed to voluntarily say that he had heard from Al and that would be the thing that prompted Ed's recovery and withdrawal process. But then I thought that Ed's motivation had to be as internal as possible and it would make more sense to have him already started the process and hearing about Al is the thing that prompts him to really take his recovery seriously. Also I found the thought of Fritz getting slam-dunked into a wall for hiding stuff really funny.

On another note I find Fritz's dual function as both comedic relief but also historical exposition really fun to use. He gets thrown into a wall but we also get to learn about the world in 1933 and his struggle as a Jewish person living in Nazi Germany. His divorce with Thea Harbou was finalised on April 20th, 1933, and she did give a pro-choice speech a few years prior. And yes, his meeting with Goebbels actually happened (also parallels a similar meeting Winry had in her past hint hint if you've read chapter 11)

That's a very good question! Fritz has known Ed since Ed was 18 and Al since he was a teenager. He's watched them both grow into adulthood and likely used Ed for research purposes into his films (he had Oberth as a consultant for Woman On The Moon IRL). He's seen Ed struggle to find the balance between being a brother but also having to parent Al through the teenage years, he's seen Ed be in love with Noah and have a home with her and Al and seen that home be obliterated by Ed's own actions. I'm sure Fritz has both facilitated the drinking (after all, he and Thea used to throw huge parties) until he realised it was becoming a problem. Then he likely tried to have conversations with Ed - and I'm sure Al also came to him and expressed his worries about Ed - which Ed probably shut down and dismissed. Ed and Al also travelled quite a bit so I'm sure there have been times where Fritz was anxiously wondering if they were both okay.

So I don't think he was surprised when Al called him. Relieved in a way for Al, I think. But probably just as terrified for Ed as Al was, and it must have been hard not to incessantly call Ed to check up on him and tell him to get his act together. Ed (behind the scenes) went on a complete bender and didn't answer any calls post-chapter 1 so Fritz was extremely relieved to hear his voice and have an excuse to get him to come to set (namely Winry). And Fritz also recognised the potential between Ed and Winry and called Ed a jerk before he could do irreparable damage to his relationship with her.

Anyway before I write another novel, I hope this answered any curiosities!

[mirclealignr]

kaleidoscope life | e.s

elizabeth swann x reader

requested— by anon with the prompt “i can’t take back my mistakes, but i can try to fix them. please let me fix them.”

warnings; mentions of injury, death, angst to fluff.

word count; 1100+

a/n: i don’t really like this but oh well

to be notified when i post, fill out my tag list form or follow @mirclesjournal

It had been nearly three months of agonising tracking and navigating, following Elizabeth Swann across the seas, through storms and treacherous waves. You’d hopped from ship to ship—when you had money—and had learned that stowaways were not looked upon fondly, particularly aboard cargo ships.

In the beginning, when time had not yet eaten away at your sensibilities, you were just looking to get back to her, hoping that she was searching for you too. You wondered, in the early days, if she would lie awake at night and cry out for you, wondering where you were like you had done. But as the weeks passed without getting any closer to the woman you loved so dearly, you realised she was not looking like you thought she had been. She was without you and had not blinked when the change occurred.

You were left yearning for someone who would always be too far out of reach—in a constant chase for relief.

But finally, you were tailing the Black Pearl, gaining on her for the first time in months. You just needed to get close enough—you hadn’t a care in the world for the rest of the crew, nor the ship itself. You’d had time to be angry at all the rest of them, but this quest for vengeance was saved for Elizabeth herself. Elizabeth, with her smooth and tanned skin (though she had once been pale) and her perfect hands and wild hair you had spent many an evening braiding—she was the one who was supposed to search for you, take you with her, look after you. But you had been left cold on the deck of a foreign ship without so much as a clue as to how to find them. As to find her.

She left you alone.

The Black Pearl was the fastest ship in the waters, but not with the wind against it. As if fate might really be on your side, it began slowing down, and you knew all the tricks they used when the wind turned against them. Whatever they threw at you, you knew how to outsmart them. You were angrier, more determined to board that ship than they were to get away.

“Stop!” Cried Elizabeth, lowering the telescope she’d taken from Jack, “Stop this ship at once.”

“Why?” Jack asked, his eyebrows knitted together.

“It’s Y/N,” she said, her breath barely escaping.

She did not know whether it was relief or fear that had eaten away at her stomach, but something had taken ahold of her. For months she’d thought you were there on the other side of the glass she looked through, but when she glanced a second time, you’d disappeared. But this time, you stayed. It wasn’t a phantom, or a figment of her imagination, you were real.

“Impossible. Give me that!” he demanded, snatching the telescope away and pointing it towards the ship chasing after them.

He said nothing as he lowered the tool, allowing Will to check for himself, and then Gibbs.

“Mary mother of God,” Gibbs declared, astonishment evident in his voice, “Doesn’t give up, that one! Stop this ship, Cap’n.”

Jack did as his crew wished, and soon the whole deck knew that Y/N was on their tail, not some merciless rival pirate or the British Navy. It was a friend, someone they’d all thought to be dead.

“Here they come,” Will said, nervous to see Y/N—he was perhaps the only one who thought that their act of abandonment had not been so easily forgotten.

Elizabeth too felt the guilt bite at her heart and taint the blood that ran through her veins and into her brain. There, it polluted every thought she’d ever had of you. But her love remained pure, and she found herself smiling as you approached.

You knew when the ship stopped dead ahead that they had spotted you. It was their mistake, and not one you would let go to waste. You sailed beside the Black sails and dropped your anchor swiftly thereafter. You did not wear the same smiles as your ex-crewmates.

“Stand aside,” you motioned to the rest of the crowd, eyes locked on Elizabeth.

“Y/N, I-” but her sentence remained unfinished as you drew your sword and held it against her neck.

The crew could take you, but Jack and Will held the rest of them back. They watched you cautiously, and Elizabeth with an even sharper eye.

“You left me!” you cried out, strength faltering.

The moment you’d imagined for so long was finally at your fingertips, and yet you were faltering. Your strength was wavering, your resolve quivering as the woman before you struggled to keep her tears from falling. Her smile was pained, and you knew there and then she had not left you. But the months of betrayal you had clung to like a friend comforting you in the depths of self pity would not let go of you so easily.

“No, you were dead,” Elizabeth whimpered, “They pulled me from you, could you not hear my screams?”

Admittedly, the whole fight was a blur. The last thing you remembered was a sharp blow to the back of the head and piercing pain through your abdomen. You had not seen or heard Elizabeth.

“Why weren’t you there? Any of you?!” you turned to the rest of the crew, hopeless and desperate for the people you had once called family to explain themselves.

“It should have been a fatal blow,” said Will, “There were others injured, we were outnumbered and our strength was nothing to theirs.”

“We made a choice,” added Jack, “No one would have left you behind had we thought you were alive.”

“We cannot carry the dead, you know that,” continued Gibbs.

Your eyes flickered between them, the rationale fighting its way through all the pain and hurt. Elizabeth was whimpering under your weapon and the weight of your body, but still you could not bring yourself to let her go free.

“I cannot take back my mistakes, but I can try to fix them,” she strained to bring a hand to your face, “Please let me fix them.”

It was as if the distortion that had affected your vision for so long had been ripped away before you, and Elizabeth was herself again, not some loveless traitor. As each tear fell, it washed you clean of hatred and revenge, allowing you to see the woman you loved, the family you loved, as they were. Your kaleidoscope life was no more.

Your weapon clattered as it hit the floor, and Elizabeth embraced you fully. She let herself cry, and you did the same, no matter how much it hurt to admit that all this time you were simply in pain. It wasn’t anger, or vengeance, it was agony.

But Elizabeth’s arms were the remedy, and her lips were the medicine that tasted like honey on your tongue.

[fa-headhoncho]

Amajiki Tamaki x Reader

Prompt: You get drunk at a party and Tamaki saves the day.

Word Count: uh 2487

Reader: Female

Warning: very Americanized, out of character Tama??? I've never written for him before so be nice

Masterlist

=====

You walk up the stairs to the large house, the music echoing through the street through the open door. The party was in full swing, drunk college kids littered the lawn playing various games or talking amongst themselves. It was a normal occurrence by this point. Mirio threw a party almost every weekend and invited everyone he knew… which was a lot. His kindness and ability to make anyone feel welcomed made him friends with almost everyone he encountered.

The blonde was impressive, to say the least. He managed to keep his place in the top three of his class and party. You didn’t understand how he did it. He never seemed stress either… Oh, to be Mirio Togata.

“(Y/N)!” A voice calls interrupting your thoughts. You look around, spotting Nejire trying to wiggle her way between the dancing twenty-year-olds. She gives one of them a hefty shove, apologizing before finally standing in front of you. The periwinkle-haired woman, pulling you in for a short hug, “I didn’t think you were coming-- Oh, my god.” She cuts herself off as she takes in your outfit.

You fidget nervously under her gaze, pulling down the end of your skirt. You were wearing something you stole straight from Pinterest, a black lace top with a simple blue miniskirt and some boots. It was simple enough for a college party but edgy enough to catch a certain someone’s eyes. She stares a little too long causing you to rethink the entire thing.

“Neji, finish the sentence. You’re scaring me.” You snap her out of her thoughts, shaking the arm she had a gentle grip on.

A small smirk comes across her face, leaning in slightly as she whispers, “Are you wearing that for Tama?” She innocently questions. Blood rushes to your cheeks and you duck your head away from her. “You thought you were being subtle, I know why you come to these parties. Mirio isn’t good at keeping secrets.”

You let out a groan, bringing your hands to your face to hide. A couple of weeks ago, you got a little bit tipsier than you planned and ended up confessing how you felt about the awkward, indigo-haired man to his best friend. Explaining how the only reason you came to these parties was to catch a glance of him. Mirio, of course, encouraged you to just ask him to hang out but you were too scared to ruin what little friendship you built up.

Nejire giggles, knowing she caught you redhanded. “He likes you more than you think, (Y/N).” She mindlessly confesses causing a kaleidoscope of butterflies to erupt in your stomach. “He was actually talking about you the other day! Oh, you should’ve heard him. She just so sweet for her own good--” She lowers her voice to mimic Tama. somehow keeping a straight face in the process.

“--The way her eyes light up when she talks about--” She stops talking again, his intoxicated state making her distracted. You furrow your eyebrows and try to figure out where her mind just went before she lets out a squeal. “Oh, I love this song! Come dance with me!”

“Actually, I wanted to go see Tam--” You don’t have any time to finish your sentence before she drags you into the sea of drunk college students.

=====

Tamaki sighs, running a hand over his face as he contemplates the pros and cons of not going downstairs. Pros: he didn’t have to interact with anyone or possibly embarrass himself in front of almost everyone in their grade. Cons: starve to death… which sounded better at this point. The last time he went down to the kitchen during one of Mirio’s parties, he accidentally ran into someone and made them spill their drink all over themself.

He feels his face start to burn at the memory, he couldn’t even bring himself to apologize before Mirio stepped in and lead him back up to his room. After that, Tamaki stocked up on snacks in his room but they, unfortunately, ran out when he got a bit too hungry last night.

A loud growl sounds out from his stomach finalizes his decision. He decides to rip the bandaid and sets his laptop on the floor, flinging his covers off then marching towards the door. He makes his way down the stairs, the confidence he found now diminishing once he reaches the bottom.

Indigo eyes scan the first floor. Bodies were everywhere, people from different grades and even some from nearby universities filled the small three-bedroom home. It was times like these that made him grateful for his two best friends.

When Mirio, Nejire, and Tamaki moved in together, it was an unspoken agreement that Tama would get the room in the attic. It was tucked away and you couldn’t hear the noise from the constant parties they threw. And, no matter what state of mind the two were in, the severity of the “no one goes past the second flight of stairs” rule was no joke. If they caught anyone trying to sneak off up there, they were kicked out and never invited to their home again.

Tamaki sucks in a breath then b-lines towards the kitchen. He skillfully avoids the bodies and safely makes it to his destination. Quickly, he goes to his cabinet of snacks and grabs the first thing he sees. He turns around and rushes back to the stairs but is stopped when he hears someone call out his name.

He immediately recognizes the voice and closes his eyes. Don’t say something stupid, don’t say something stupid, don’t stay something stupid--

His eyes snap open and his whole body goes stiff when he feels arms wrapping around his neck. Your signature scent flooded his nostrils making him relax into the hug. It feels as if the whole room disappears around the two of you, the music going silent and the people vanishing. His anxiety of coming down here was worth seeing you.

“Tama! I’ve looking for you everywhere!” You slur out, keeping your arms around him as you pull away from the embrace. “I asked Nejire where you were and I’ve been trying to get up to say hi but people keep dragging me away. I came here to see you, I--” You start to ramble off, your drunken mind taking over and allowing you to word vomit. He listens with stars in his eyes, his heart singing at the thought you came to one of these parties just to see him.

“Oh, I’m so sorry for hugging you.” You suddenly unattached your body from his, a frown slipping onto your face at the action. “I know you don’t like that kind of attention. I just messed everything up--”

“It’s fine,” He rushes out before you could start rambling again. A small blush coats his cheeks as he watches your shoulders relax. “I don’t mind it from you.” He wasn’t sure you could hear him over the blaring music in the background but the large smile on your face says you did.

You open your mouth to respond but are cut off by some guy sliding next to you. “Hey there, sweet thang.” The man chirped out with a small smirk on his face.

“Hi!” You innocently giggle out, eyes turning to him for a second before directing it back to him to continue your conversation. “Tama, I found this little cafe you might like--” The man looks Tamaki up and down before going back to you, stepping in between the two of you causing a pout to appear on your face. “Hey, I was talking to Tama.”

“Why don’t you and I go find a place alone?” He more of demands than offers. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion at him, opening your mouth to deny him but snap it shut when he rests a hand on your hip.

“No, I don’t feel comfort--”

“Come on, don’t be a buzzkill.” He interjects, moving to lead you away from the crowd of people. Tamaki doesn’t know what takes over him when he reaches out and pulls the guy off of you. He has his hand on his shoulder as he looks down at him. He could tell by the steadiest of his words and the overpowering smell of body spray that he wasn’t drunk. He’s heard about the guys at parties that stay sober and scope out innocent girls who drank too much to take advantage of them.

He doesn’t realize how hard he was gripping the man’s shirt until he feels you gently place your hand on his lower back. “Tama, it’s fine. Let him alone.” He snaps his head to your voice and then back at the man, giving him the most intimidating look he could muster up before releasing the cotton.

“Tch. You can have her.” The man scoffs out, fixing the collar of his shirt and smoothing down the wrinkles. “She’s not even that hot anyways.” He mumbles out before walking away. Tamaki watches in satisfaction as Mirio stops him a few feet away, the bright smile on his face replaced with a scowl as he talks to him and then leads him out of the house.

Reality seems to come back to him when he hears a whine squeak out behind him. He spins around to see your lip pouted out and tears brimming your eyes. “Am I really not pretty?” You question causing his eyes to widen.

“No, no.” He rushes out, quickly moving forward to comfort you but stops himself. He didn’t want to make the situation worse by giving you an unwanted touch so he just stands there frozen. Your cries soon turn into body-shaking sobs, bringing attention towards you from other party-goers. Tamaki starts to panic on the inside, he was never good at consoling people but he couldn’t just stand there and let you degrade yourself.

Pushing down all his anxious thoughts, he reaches out and rests a gentle hand on your shoulder. He starts leading you out of the kitchen and towards the stairs as you continue to let the sleazeball’s words get to you. He couldn’t let you put yourself in front of all those people when he knew you were far from that.

Tamaki lets out a sigh of relief when you finally make it to the comfort of his bedroom. It was much easier to talk to you without anyone else around especially in this state of mind. He could focus on his thoughts and let you release your emotions freely without fearing the embarrassment tomorrow.

“I am ugly, aren’t I?” You suddenly croak out, voice still muffled by your hands.

“No, I-I think you’re very pretty, (Y/N).” You shake your head at him, dropping your hands to reveal your face. His heart sinks at your puffy eyes and red cheeks.

“You’re just saying that, Tama!” You cry out, stomping your foot like a child.

“No, I’m not!” He rushes out but you don’t look up at him. He allows his body to move over to you, cupping your cheeks and making you look at him in the eyes. Your lips were still in a pout but he noticed your tears yield. That gives him enough confidence to continue talking,

“You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” He confesses with a small blush on his cheeks. “You don’t even need to dress up to make an impression. When you show up to class in sweats and a sweatshirt, you still take my breath away. Don’t let that guy’s words make you doubt your beauty.” You let his words soak in, sadness replaced with fluttering in your stomach.

“Thank you.” You manage to whisper out with a tiny smile on your lips.

He lights up, a large smile on his own face seeing that he succeeded at comforting you. “No problem, bunny.” He gleams and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. He doesn’t even realize he let his nickname slip until you let out a giggle.

“Bunny?” You innocently ask with a lift to your tone. He feels his face heat up, eye-widening once again. “I like that. Bunny, bunny, bunny.” You repeat as you rest your hands over his on your cheeks. “I’m your bunny.”

He can’t help the chuckle that escapes his lips at how joyous you were with the term of endearment. “You’re so cute.”

“So are you.” You're quick to reply, nuzzling yourself into his cheek. There's a moment of silence as you just bask in each other’s presence. The air shifts around the two of you as it happens. His gaze absently flicks to your lips then back to your eyes. You seem to notice since you start leaning in.

Before your lips could touch, Tamaki turns his head. He knew you weren’t in the right state of mind and he didn’t want you to regret kissing him. He dreamed your first kiss would be much more than that, something the two of you would remember.

Your kiss lands on his warm cheek. Your eyes flutter open to meet his downcasted ones. “I’m so sorry. I thought--”

“No, don’t apologize.” He cuts you off with a whisper as he takes your hands into his. “I really want to kiss you…” Your face lights up at that, “but I-- just think about it more, okay, bunny?”

You nod excitedly, “Can we cuddle then?”

“Of course, let’s get you into some comfy clothes first.” He suggests then presses another kiss to your forehead. You let out another giggle and wait patiently as he moves to his dresser and pulls out a t-shirt and sweats.

Tamaki turns around to give you some privacy while you change. He holds back a laugh when he hears you struggling behind him. Once he hears your shuffling stop followed by the sound of something plopping onto his bed, he decides it’s safe to turn back.

His heart nearly explodes as sees you in his clothes laying on his bed. You easily burrow into his pillows and find comfort in his blankets. He shakes his head, knocking out all the inappropriate thoughts and makes his way over to your grabby hands.

He slips under the covers and you’re immediately cuddled up to his side. He tries to calm his internal dialogue as you press against his side, carefully sliding an arm around your body and adjusting in a more comfortable position. Your head lays on your shoulder with a leg and an arm slung over him to get as close as possible.

You let out a content sigh, feeling the warmth of his body completely relaxing you. Your eyelids start to get heavy and you yawn, “Night, Tama. Love you.”

Tamaki’s body stiffens under you like a board, the hand that was absently playing with your hair comes to a halt. “I-I love you too.”

[utterlyinevitable]

182 Days of Prompts: 99. kiss

FATL  |  What If  |  OH Fic  |  Flatmate  |  Fairytale  |  DWHAF  |  Tragically Twenty  |  Handful of Lovers  |  Stories for Songs  |  TWC Fic  |  Anita  |  Always or Never

(Buckle up this is basically a poorly executed fic)

Pairing: Ethan x F!MC Rating: 16+  Warnings: nothing outright but eludes to sex Summary: They can’t be together in real life. But what if there’s a place they can simply be? Enter Lia’s idea for a Control Room. 

Things to note: Ethan’s the only one who pronounces her given name properly (Loo-chee-ah. Most people pronounce it loo-see-ah).

____________________

“We can’t,” he admonished as he stopped himself from cupping her cheek.

“Please. Save the lecture.”

He’s moved towards his desk. “You know why.”

“And every time we stop it just makes me want you more… I want you, Ethan. All the time.”

She crossed the distance quicker than her short legs should allow. Her forefingers hooking in his front two belt loops.

“I…”

“Maybe we should just give in…” she said.

“Lucia…”

“Hear me out.” Her grip tightened just enough to fight his pull. “We let ourselves indulge in a controlled environment. A safe place. A place where we can put our pent up feelings. We’ll be the picture of professionalism everywhere outside of that space.”

He didn’t say a word, looking off into the distance with contemplation. She couldn’t read this look. Was he mad? Did she go to far? The idea didn’t seem so crazy…

“Ethan?”

“I’m… Where’s this control room?”

“Yours?”

He raised a knowing eyebrow. This has disaster written all over it.

“It’s the safest place! You don’t have roommates or nosey colleagues watching your every move.”

His eyes narrowed, his face still drawn in contemplation. “Touché.”

They both know the risks. They both know the reward this secret would enable. The one thing Lucia and Ethan want more than anything…

“So?”

Ethan closed his eyes. Took a breath. Then said in his stable tone, “You’ll have to walk me through this later.”

***

“Good evening, Lucia,” Ethan greeted upon opening his apartment door to her.

“Doctor Ramsey.” She smiled brightly, her kaleidoscope eyes sparking like a diamond.

“When does your little experiment st-“

She stepped over the threshold and pressed her lips to his. It wasn’t romantic or heated in any sense, just a press between companionable lovers. A chaste lingering kiss of knowing partners. His hand found her waist as he kissed her back, deepening, unsure with himself that this was real even though it felt so right. Ethics be damned.

She pulled away seconds before Ethan could truly taste the mouthwash on her tongue. She dropped her bag by the door, letting him shut it behind her.

“It started the moment I stepped in the building. What’d you think?”

“I have my reservations.” He folded his arms over his chest and assumed his authoritative stance. “This is risky, Lia.”

“It’s meant to be an outlet. How many times did you think about fucking me today?”

“Lucia!”

She continued to challenge, “Or holding my hand, caressing my cheek, kissing me..?”

He wouldn’t answer. Even the thought of saying his desires out loud felt wrong. His inner thoughts of her were meant for him and only him and even those were… wrong.

Ethan made his way to the open plan kitchen, promptly ignoring this thread of conversation.

She began to lament on their day as she moved through his apartment like it was her second home. She raked his body up and down biting her lip as she undressed him with her eyes - Ethan was still in his trousers but shed the pressed shirt in favor of a crisp white vest.

“At the nurses station today I wanted to wrap my arms around you while we read over Mr. James’s file.” Lia snaked her arms around his waist as he made their drinks. “I really wanted to kiss you in your office earlier when we were discussing that theory.”

She placed a kiss to the bare space of shoulder she could reach.

“And the good thing about this control room is I can do all of them. Right now.”

She unwrapped her arms from around him in his kitchen, moving around to his front. Standing on the balls of her feet she pressed another tender kiss to Ethan’s soft lips. He obliged, taking her all in. His arms wrapped around her waist, deepening the kiss as he pulled her closer and closer. Lia cocked her head to the right taking it further, inviting his tongue to dance with hers. In this moment she couldn’t help but remember the first time they were kissing in his kitchen. How they were both just people infatuated and somehow changing the course of their lives in one swift movement. She couldn’t help but smile.

“What’s on your mind?” Ethan whispered. She lost a bit of fervor and he knew it meant her mind was elsewhere.

“Mmm, you.”

“Me?”

“The first time we were here in this kitchen… together.”

His smile crooked as the memory washed over him as well. “One of my fondest memories.”

“Really?”

“I cherish all of the moments we have together.”

She had never wanted to say those three words more. But she knew it wasn’t the time. Once they were uttered the experiment would be over. He wouldn’t let them get that far, she was sure. If she told him, she’d lose him even quicker.

“Even though you think things were a mistake.”

It wasn’t a question. With all the push and pull he was doing with her, she took his actions as a confession of a series of mistakes. To her they were everything, and in her mind he kept her at a distance.

“I never said that. Things were - are complicated. You’re a colossal pain in my ass,” he tucked some wayward strands behind her ear “But you’ve made me happier than I’ve ever thought possible.”

They looked into each others eyes, holding the gaze. Longing, gratitude, lust, adoration… love. Her heart swelled at his words. It’s the most transparent he’s ever been about his feelings. Even if he didn’t actually say as much, she could feel it in the way he held her.

Before she could reiterate his feelings he said, “I want to take things slow. Do it right this time. I - I don’t want this… arrangement room to be just about sex.”

“So you don’t want to rip my clothes off right now?”

“Believe me, I do. But the next time we do, I want it to mean something.”

She laced her fingers with his, “I think every moment we spend together means something.”

“Of course they do.” Ethan shook his head with a silly private grin. “I want to woo you.”

“I’m ready to be wooed, Mr. Ramsey.”

Calling him Doctor Ramsey seemed too formal, too close to work. In here, their safe space, they were just two people.

***

They were taking things in stride. It’s obvious they were happier than normal in the few weeks that passed since they started this game. Although they didn’t let their affection show through touch in public, their looks and verbal cues said otherwise. Both making mental notes of their opportunities to slip up throughout the day for use later.

“Come on, Lucia. I’ll drive you home.”

It became a little routine. The days they’re on shift together he’ll offer to drive her home, save her from the long train journey that would be cut in a third if he drove her. He always made a show of explaining how he’s driving her for the greater good of the team - if she gets home early she’ll go to sleep earlier. Though the reality is far from that.

“Thank you, Dr. Ramsey. Have a good evening, Baz!”

He drove them back to his place. Once in the elevator their hands intertwined and they fell into the comfort of just being Lucia and Ethan. Dr. Ramsey and Dr. Lipari were left at the hospitals parking lot. She held his hand cradled in both of hers resting her head on his shoulder.

“I have been wanting to do this all day,” she sighed as she cuddled closer.

He chuckled.

“What?”

“The irony of your control room.” Ethan clarified, “It’s the place where we lose control.”

“It’s the place where we get to control our relationship on our terms,” she said matter-of-factly.

Relationship? Are they in a relationship, he thought.

They haven’t discussed what they were or weren’t, preferring to live in the sweetness of their moments together. Labeling their time together could have detrimental repercussions.

Right now neither of them were ready to let go.

____________________

> days of prompts masterlist <

taglist: @mercury84choices @withbeautyandrage @forallthatitsworth​

@choicesficwriterscreations​ @openheartfanfics​ 

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH8

You guys have made it! Starting next chapter this story is going to look much different. This chapter also includes a couple never-read-before scenes, and the end of this one changes the course of this story quite a bit. I hope you’re all ...ready for it?

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

Previous   First   Next     AO3

Chapter 8: Say Amen (Saturday Night)

“I’m impressed, Adrikins.” Chloe crossed one leg over the other. “It’s not like you to go on the offensive.”

“I don’t like seeing my friends get hurt,” he said while Jean Luke poured their tea. “Lila has gone too far.”

“I’m so glad you’re seeing things my way. With you on my side, I think we can have her running back to Italy in tears by next Tuesday,” Chloe said with a crooked grin.

“Well,” Adrien drawled in his token wishy-washy tone that Chloe hated. “I want to stop her, but I don’t want to humiliate or hurt her.”

She should have known.

“Adrikins, we have got to do something about that moral compass of yours.” Chloe rolled her eyes and took a sip of her tea.

“Just because she’s mean and selfish doesn’t mean she deserves to be completely mortified. There has to be another way.” Adrien chided.

“What if we send her a fake letter saying she won an all-expense-paid trip to Jamaica for two years?” Chloe suggested. “Then we have our pilot strand her in the middle of the jungle.”

Adrien gave her a disapproving frown.

“What? I’m just brainstorming,” she said. “All I’m saying is that I will spare no expense to make her disappear.”

“No harm, Chloe.”

“I liked you better when you were spineless,” she grumbled. “Where has all this new-found courage come from anyway?”

“I just thought about what you said.” He reached for a madeleine. “…And Lila confronted me.”

“I suppose I give you an A for effort.” She applauded him slowly. “If you could convince that bakery brat to join us, then we might get somewhere.” Chloe’s eyes narrowed when Adrien averted his gaze. “I can smell your guilt from here.”

“I don’t want Marinette to know about this,” he said. “I want her to continue to move on and be happy.”

“Why do you care so much about Dupain-Cheng? I’ve known you two were friends, but I didn’t think you were that close.” Chloe eyed him.

“Lila has caused her enough grief, and she’s my friend.” He shrugged. “She’s important to me.”

His newfound protectiveness didn’t sit well with Chloe. She turned her back for a few days, and now Dupain-Cheng had Adrien eating out of her hands. She would have to keep an eye on them.

“So, that’s why you want to do something about Lila now? To help Dupain-Cheng?” She asked, doing her best not to sound offended. “And here I’d thought you couldn’t stand to see me being unjustly ignored.”

“You’ve known Marinette longer than I have. Do you think she deserved to be treated that way by her friends?” Adrien asked.

Chloe shifted her gaze to her cup, taking a long, thoughtful sip. “No,” she said, “as much as I hate her, she didn’t deserve that.”

Adrien’s eyebrows raised in surprise, but a smile curled on his lips. “You’ve changed.”

“Don’t think for a second that I care about her,” she scoffed. Her cheeks burned when Adrien leaned against his fist with a smug grin.

“I like it. It suits you,” he said. She puffed her cheeks out stubbornly, prompting a laugh from Adrien.

“Well, if you’re not going to let me do things my way, and you don’t want Dupain-Cheng to know about this, then I’m going to need some time to think and pull resources together,” she said, getting back to the matter at hand.

“Thanks, Chlo.” He leaned back and took a deep breath. “Although…”

“Don’t ‘although.’” Chloe groaned.

“I just feel kind of bad for yelling at her like that,” Adrien said.

“Why? She deserved it.” She snatched a bonbon from the tray and popped it into her mouth.

“I know, but…” He clasped his hands together between his knees. “It still feels mean.”

“Your passion was short-lived, Adrikins.” Chloe rolled her eyes.

Adrien pursed his lips, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I’ll talk to her again tomorrow and give her one last chance.” When Chloe shook her head, he added, “If she says no, then we can figure something out. Something safe and not needlessly cruel.”

“You’re such a goody-two-shoes. Always thinking everyone can change and be nice.” She stuck her tongue out with a gag.

“Well, I never gave up on you, and now you’re a superhero,” he said pointedly.

Chloe flipped her ponytail over one shoulder to hide her smile. “Fine. Do whatever you want, but I’m still going to think up plans for revenge for when you inevitably fail.” She waved him away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He crossed the room to kiss her cheeks in farewell before taking his leave.

Chloe clapped for her butler the moment the door shut behind him. “Jean Rousseau, how quickly can we have a case of live lobsters delivered?”

♪♫♪ Kaleidoscope Eyes ♪♫♪

“Wait, what happened?” Adrien asked that night over video chat. His Chinese notecards were scattered across his desk, abandoned the moment Marinette’s picture flashed on his screen.

“Clara Nightingale wants me to design for her! She came by in person and everything,” Marinette said. She laid prone on her chaise, legs kicking as she chewed her nails. “I’m so nervous, but she thinks I’ve got what it takes.”

“Of course, you do. You’re awesome.” Adrien assured her.

“Thanks.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “So, how was school for you today? Anything exciting happen?”

“Uh, just same old, same old. Lila being Lila.” He averted his gaze. “Nothing noteworthy to report.”

“That’s good, I guess,” Marinette said. “I take it Chloe hasn’t made a move?”

“Nope.”

“Give her time.” Marinette rolled her eyes. “By the way, my new friends still want to meet you.”

“I’d be happy to,” he said, thankful for the change in subject.

“Macy invited me to hang out at her house on Friday. Maybe you could come along if you aren’t busy,” she suggested.

“I’ll beg my father.”

“Awesome!” Her blue eyes sparkled when she smiled. She seemed so relaxed and carefree. Just as she should be.

He tapped his fingers on his desk, his conscience loud in his ears. “You know I’d do anything to help you, right?”

“What? I, uh, yeah I mean, we’re friends, so I’d do anything to help you too,” she stammered, cheeks pink. “Why?”

“No reason, just if you need anyone to bounce ideas off of for Clara, that’s all…” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I should get back to studying.”

“Right, I’m sorry for calling and distracting you!” She scrambled to sit up.

“It’s fine. I’m glad you did,” he said. “Talk to you soon.”

“I’ll let you know how designing goes,” she said. “Good night, Adrien.”

“Yeah, good night…”

♪♫♪ Dancing With a Wolf ♪♫♪

“Did you finish filing those papers Mme. Mendeleiev asked you to do?” Alya asked after school the next day.

Lila suppressed an eye roll, cupping her hands to her cheeks. “Oh no, I didn’t, and I totally forgot that my mom set up a meeting for me with some ambassadors about a new idea I have to help special needs kids in third world countries!” She clasped her hands together. “I know you’re busy, but would you mind finishing that up for me? I will totally make it up to you!”

“No worries, girl,” Alya said. “Go save the world.”

Lila smiled triumphantly as she sauntered toward the locker room, looking forward to her afternoon off. The students here were so gullible. She’d never had such an easy time pushing her work off on others, and now that Marinette was gone, she could do whatever she wanted. Rounding the corner, she found Adrien standing by her locker with a solemn expression.

“Hey, Lila,” he said. “Can we talk?”

“Are you going to apologize for how you spoke to me yesterday?” She crossed her arms over her chest with a humph.

“I am.” He nodded.

“Well, go on then,” she said.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he said.

Her shoulders relaxed, and the smug grin returned to her lips. “Apology accepted. I’m so happy that you see things my w-”

“I’m not finished.” He cut her off. “I’m sorry for yelling at you, but I’m not sorry for what I said.” Her eyes narrowed, so he continued, “If you continue lying to everyone and using them, you’re only going to hurt yourself in the end. People are going to figure it out eventually, and they’re going to be angry with you.”

“These people are blind. I’ll get away with it for as long as I want.” She brushed past him to open her locker.

“I know you think that, but you’re wrong,” he said, and Lila could see where this speech was going. “I’m going to give you one last chance, Lila. Tell everyone the truth.”

She rolled her eyes as she shifted her books. “Or what, Adrien?” She turned to him and cocked a brow. “What are you going to do? Tell everyone that I’m lying? Good luck. You see how well that went for Marinette.”

Her name sparked something in his eyes, and Lila smirked when his jaw clenched.

“I’m not going to expose you.” Adrien shook his head. “You’re going to expose yourself, and I won’t help you when you face the consequences.”

“We’ll see about that.” She reapplied her lip gloss before shutting her locker. “Sooner or later, you’ll see things my way, and when you do, I’ll be waiting.” She strutted past him with a wink, hips swaying.

“Is that your choice?”

She turned over her shoulder with an amused grin. “Oh, Adrien. One day you’re going to learn that not everyone in the world wants to be nice,” she cooed.

He nodded thoughtfully. “Suit yourself.”

At that she rolled her eyes and paced from the locker room. Adrien didn’t scare her because he was all talk and no bite—just one thing that she loved about him. Boys like him were easy to manipulate, and it was only a matter of time before she had him under her spell just like everyone else. All she had to do was wait.

♪♫♪ Cinderblock Garden ♪♫♪

Come to my garden.

When Marinette received the invite from Adrien, she swore she was dreaming, but the gates opening before her were the pinch in the side she needed. This wasn’t a dream. Adrien really invited her to his house! She should have changed schools ages ago.

“Marinette! This way,” Adrien called from the front door, a bright smile warming his face.

“This is the first time I’ve been invited to your house. I’m a little nervous…” Marinette admitted as Adrien’s bodyguard shut the door behind them.

“I had to beg Nathalie, but I think I have something that can help you with your designs for Clara.”

Adrien led the way through the large house, and Marinette soaked in as much of it as possible. It was the first opportunity she had to peek into Adrien’s life, and she wasn’t going to waste it.

Colorless walls and floors were sparsely decorated with lavish couches, untouched from the moment they were placed. Towering portraits spanned the walls, watching over each room with their solemn expressions. Goosebumps trailed up Marinette’s arms. Every object was meticulously placed, and each room resembled a museum display more than a home. She half expected an alarm to go off if she touched anything.

They passed enough tall doors to make anyone dizzy, though all of them were closed, barring Marinette off from what lied beyond. The Agreste mansion hid many secrets, some that even Adrien probably didn’t know. Adrien’s house felt more like a fortress than a home, designed not only to keep the rest of the world out, but to keep the family locked in. It was hard to tell from the outside, but moving through one gray room after another, Marinette started to see the house for what it was: a cozy prison built for a boy. No wonder Adrien was always eager to leave—it was easy to feel alone in a house like this.

She’d never considered what other barriers stood between her and Adrien. How many doors were between them? She liked to think she’d made it through a few, but the tall walls of the mansion with its many locked doors reminded her just how little she knew the boy in front of her. Would those doors ever open for her? And was Adrien even capable of opening them? She didn’t know.

“Your house is very…” Marinette searched for a word.

“Depressing?” He turned to her over his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t say that-”

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s true. My father is a brilliant designer… of clothes, but his interior décor makes funeral homes seem cheerful.”

“Lonely,” she said. “I was going to say I can see now how you get lonely.”

“It’s not all bad,” he said as Gorilla opened the brown double doors, and they stepped out into the backyard.

The dreary aura of the house gave way to warm sunlight, and Marinette welcomed the change, taking a deep breath of fresh air. Rose bushes lined the yard, vines trailing up the house in knotted tendrils while dozens of butterflies fluttered between the flowers. Despite the ever-present roar of the city beyond the walls, the garden was a tranquil place.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, dumbstruck.

“My mother loved to spend time out here, and somedays I catch my father sitting on the steps with his tablet. I thought that maybe it could inspire you too.” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck, and when Marinette turned to him with a smile, he gestured to the stairs. “Come on. It’s even better down there.”

Adrien beckoned for her to follow, and she trailed her hand along the smooth stone railing, head leaned back to take in all of the greenery. Sunlight trickled through the trees, casting speckled, glowing patterns on the ground. Birds chirped in the bushes, the occasional tiny head peeking out between the branches. Everything was so lively here, living in perfect harmony—a direct contrast from the dissonance inside the house.

They came to stop in front of the statue at the center—Adrien’s mother immortalized in stone. Much like the rest of the portraits in the house, it was beautiful, but also sad. Marinette couldn’t imagine losing her mom the way Adrien lost his. He put on a cheery face, but Marinette knew that he was still mourning deep down.

“My dad loves having images of my mom around. It’s like she’s still here with us,” he said. “It probably sounds silly, but I like to sit out here and talk to her sometimes. It’s comforting.”

“I don’t think that’s silly.” Marinette shook her head. “You really miss her.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “But I know she’d want me to be happy, so I try to keep my head up every day.”

Marinette hesitated, her fingers twitching toward his. It wouldn’t be out of line to take his hand. She just wanted to comfort him…as a friend. Despite convincing herself it was an innocent gesture, her heart still skipped when she finally mustered the courage to slip her hand into his. He welcomed it, giving her hand a tight squeeze.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” she said, “and for sticking by me through everything.”

Adrien turned to her, the sunniness returning to his smile as he shot her a wink. “I’ve got your back, Marinette. You’re one of my best friends, and I’ll always be here for you.”

Her cheeks warmed, and she turned back to the statue. It was strange. Normally hearing Adrien say such things would have sent her straight to cloud 9, and she would have spent hours replaying those words in her head. But her heart couldn’t seem to get off the ground. The light fluttery feeling was weighed by a heavy darkness as if it were still trapped in the house, unable to escape into the peace of the garden.

Then I guess we shouldn’t consider ourselves bffs if there’s so much we don’t know about each other.

Maybe we shouldn’t.

“Marinette?”

She blinked, and something hot slid down her cheek. Adrien stepped closer as she batted at it with a shaking hand, a wet sheen glistening on her fingers.

“It’s okay.” He pulled her into his arms.

She clung to him as more tears spilled over, burying her face in his shoulder. She hadn’t intended to make a habit of crying in the arms of the boy she loved, but given the circumstances, she couldn’t help it. Her tears came when they wanted and refused to surrender once they started. Luckily, Adrien was so perfect and understanding that he always held her close, whispering soft encouragement until her sobs quieted.

Marinette loved him with all of her heart.

“How can anyone live with themselves when they inflict this kind of pain on others?” Adrien murmured into her hair. “Lila Rossi really is evil.”

♪♫♪ …Ready for It? ♪♫♪

Chloe wasn’t surprised to see him that evening—she didn’t even pause her yoga when he entered. It should have bothered him more that she predicted he would cave, but Chloe had known him a long time. She knew better than anyone what his limits were.

“Have you thought about my request?” she asked, shifting into downward facing dog.

Adrien chewed his cheek, Marinette’s tears now dried on his shirt, and steeled his resolve. “If you and I were to plot revenge against Lila…what do you have in mind?”

[rosy-cheekx]

from the dialogue prompts! 6: “go away” “no, not until i know you’re okay”

Oh boy this one was hard to write for whatever reason, but she’s done! just in time for us to pretend a world in which Jon or Martin’s lives are ever in real danger doesn't exist....right?

AO3 Link in source on OP

-

On Being Fine, Absolutely Well-Adjusted, and OK

Martin supposed he should count himself lucky. He hadn’t needed to go to the hospital after the Prentiss attack, had come out with only a few worm scars to show for it, god especially when he thought about Jon and all the worms he and Sasha had had to corkscrew out of him, his face and neck and arms and legs—

See? Martin shook his head, clearing his mind’s eye of the silver and crimson kaleidoscope. It could have been worse. He scratched at his calf, where a close trio of scars had begun to heal, skin-tight and shiny, and, at last, remembered he was supposed to be washing his hands. He was glad the unisex Archive lav didn’t have a mirror by the sink; he didn’t need a reminder of how tired he must look.

The return to work had been difficult, but not as bad as he had expected it to be. Knowing Prentiss was dead had made it easier to return home, though he had immediately spent his first pain-free day rearranging the furniture, as recommended by his therapist. (He had lied to her, of course, claimed an attempted break-in + assault had traumatized him. It wasn’t that far off from the truth, anyways.) So Martin had been spending his evenings repositioning, redecorating, cleaning; anything he could to erase Jane Prentiss and those horrid things from his mind. It wasn’t easy, and Martin still spent nights awake, hyperaware of the smallest sound of squelching or the smell of rot. But he was alive, he reminded himself at home in the mornings, concealing eye bags and trying to reassemble his appearance into some approximation of normal, and shouldn’t that be enough? He hadn’t been seriously injured, like Jon or Tim, hadn’t had to risk a lonely end save them all like Sasha. He should be the most well-adjusted of the three of them.

So why was he here, in the Archive toilet, gripping the edge of the sink so hard he might crack it?

Martin released his grip and watched his blood flow back into his fingers, flexing them. He should really go do...something. Work, probably, if Jon ever decided to stop speaking to him like he was a jigsaw with too many pieces. He splashed some water on his face and exhaled deeply. He was fine, he could-

 “Oh shit!” Martin yelped as he turned to face the door into the bullpen. In the reflection at the corner of the mirror that hung on the back of the door was a shiny, squat, silver worm. “Fuckfuckfuck!” Martin cursed, backing into the door and pulling his shoe off with one hand. He patted for his beltloop, where had taken to keeping his corkscrew, and huffed to find it gone. Of course. He was trying not to be paranoid.

Picking up his shoe, he threw it at the worm, half-hidden by the rubbish bin. It bounced harmlessly—or, maybe it hit? Martin couldn’t tell. Either way, the worm moved, and that was when Martin’s vision greyed dangerously, heart leaping to his throat. Oh god, he couldn’t breathe? Why couldn’t he breathe? Was it the carbon dioxide? No. The fire alarm wasn’t going off. Martin’s thoughts raced and he desperately jiggled the door handle, only to find it turning against him. Oh god, it was her. It was-

“Martin?”

It was Jon.

“Jon? Jon, fuck, hey, don’t come in, okay? There’s a worm and I don’t want any of you getting hurt.”

…is what he would have said if he could catch his breath. Instead, all he could let out was a raspy, strangled “Jon.”

“Martin, are you alright in there?” Jon’s voice was too calm, too casual for the bile rising in Martin’s throat.

“W-worm.” Martin sputtered as he heard a click of a cane through the door; probably Jon taking a step backward at the word. “Got-gotta kill it,” he babbled, more to himself than to Jon. He could try with the shoe again, but it hadn’t worked the first time, and that would leave him unprotected if he wanted to step on it.

“No! Martin, don’t-”

Oh, he could step on it. Seized in a moment of something, a peculiar blend of bravery, fear, and plain exasperation, Martin crossed the few squares of lino between him and the worm and moved to step on it with precision. To his great surprise, it rolled out from under his foot, glinting against the overhead lighting.

“What?” Martin mumbled aloud, and the realization hit him all at once: this wasn’t a worm at all. Cautiously, he picked up the metal tube and spotted a small label on the bottom. The thin silver tube contained MAC #239: Not Like Other Girls, according to the reddish-brown sticker.

“Lipstick?” Martin whispered to himself, slumping against the wall of the bathroom and letting out a relieved sob. He had been terrified of lipstick?

The realization that should have calmed him down instead sent him spiraling. Martin Blackwood wasn’t always the calm one, but he was always the shoulder to lean on. He couldn’t do this, not have a breakdown in the middle of his workplace, not with—

Tapping came from the door outside. “Martin? Do I need to break the door down?” Jon was still outside, Martin realized with a start.

“Uh-” Martin choked back a sob. “No, no, it’s alright, Jon. I’m fine.”

“You certainly are not.”

“It was just a-a bloody lipstick tube, Jon, I’m alright. Just leave me alone.” Martin shuddered a breath as he swiped at his eyes with the hem of his sweater, praying to anything and everything that for once Jon would just do as he was told.

“No.” Of course not. “Not until I know you’re okay.” Jon’s voice was softer now, a part of Martin realized. The gentleness of his tone struck Martin and he found himself shakily standing and moving to the door. Unlocking and opening it, he saw Jon, leaning heavily on the medical cane he had been given after the incident, eyes a mix of panic and concern, like the way one might eye a wounded animal. Somehow, that look managed to make Martin feel small, protected, loved, and it warmed something in him.

It was that look that broke something in him and Martin felt a taut string inside him snap loose. Tears welled up in his eyes and he desperately swiped at them with the sleeves of his sweater, leaning against the doorframe. “I feel so stupid,” he mumbled, choked laughter mixing with his tears. He held up the lipstick tube, which he had pocketed earlier, and held it up to the light. “It doesn’t even look like them, not really, I-I-I just saw the squat and silver and panicked.”

Jon’s hand was on his arm, but he was quiet, not saying anything until Martin had collected himself, heaving sobs to hiccups to shallow breathing as he brought himself to baseline again. “Martin,” Jon said quietly, flexing the fingers that held his bicep, “I know you’ve had a rough few months.” Martin scoffed. “Fine, okay, maybe rough doesn’t begin to cover it. What I mean to say is, well…” Jon’s mouth floundered for a word properly, lips forming a few different shapes before settling on, “are you, you know, getting help?”

“Yes, Jon, I’m in therapy.” Martin surprised himself with his own honesty. “But there’s not really much I can say, you know? Not without getting carted off to a sanitorium or getting doped up on meds of some kind or another. I mean, evil worms haunting my house and my workplace? A worm woman determined to kill me and everyone I care for? Not exactly something cognitive behavior therapy will fix.”

Jon sighed in assent, nodding. “That’s fair, I suppose. I just-Martin.” The hand squeezed his elbow and Martin felt a jolt of electricity run through his skin. “You’re allowed to hurt, you know?” Martin’s eyes must have given away his thoughts because Jon continued, voice soft and gentle. 

“We all suffered, Martin, but you were the one who was locked in your home, and then the basement where you work, for months on end. Just because you’re not-” he shifts to wave his cane idly, “-doesn’t mean you haven’t gone through hell alongside us.” Jon’s voice has taken on a hardness to it, an insistence Martin last remembered seeing when they were locked in Document Storage together, when Jon was so afraid of being forgotten. It made Martin shiver, not from fear but from something in the way Jon’s eyes bored into him. He was determined to make Martin believe him. Who was he to refuse The Archivist’s words?

So Martin listened, letting Jon’s insistence settle in his chest. He had suffered; he had lost months of his life to Jane Prentiss, he couldn’t sleep without a fear of worms crawling into his skin and mouth at night. He didn’t feel safe until he was in the Archives at his desk, the one that surveyed the whole room and had two fire extinguishers still tucked into the drawers. As Jon spoke, Martin let his muscles relax slowly, until he was leaned up against the alcove in which the door to the toilets stood, helpless under Jon’s gaze and yet feeling the strongest he had in weeks, if not months. Tears welled in his eyes and he heard Jon hesitantly break off. 

“Ah-Martin? You-ah shit, I’m sorry.” Jon’s voice had lost the severity it had previously held and was back to its quiet insistence. “I’m sorry, you-you didn’t ask for a soapbox.”

“No, no,” Martin shook his head, raking his nails through his hair. “I...I think I needed to hear that.” He smiled; a shaky, fragile thing. He scratched the back of his calf awkwardly, trying not to dislodge Jon from where he was precariously balanced between the hand on his arm and the hand on the cane. “Thank you, Jon, really.” 

Jon smiled and shifted his hand from Martin’s arm to his hand, squeezing gently before releasing it and sliding the lipstick tube from his hand before turning to the bullpen. “Anytime. C’mon, let’s see if this is Sasha’s or Tim’s. I think it’s more Tim’s color, hmm?” 

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Dr. Strange’s Apprentice

Stephen Strange x apprentice!reader

warnings:

a/n: for some reason i never retain any information from dr. strange stuff? so if this sucks its because i cant process it. i dont like how this one turned out i literally have no ideas

prompt: anonymous: “Hcs for being Dr. Strange’s apprentice?”

you were led to become strange’s apprentice after a tragedy and a brush with death

you woke in the hospital with bad news, there were no other survivors in the accident you had just experienced

while you were recovering, a doctor came in to visit you

“hi, y/n. im doctor christine palmer, and im so sorry for your loss. but i think i know a guy that could help you through this”

she gave you an address that you sort of recognized

“177A bleecker street? isnt that the funky looking house in greenwich?”

“something like that, just trust me on this one”

“thank you, doctor”

at first, you were a bit skeptical, but you tried your odds and hobbled to the place on your crutches

when you knocked, a man in blue robes and a red cape answered

“can i help you, y/n?”

“oh, hi? sorry, a doctor at metro-general sent me here”

“doctor palmer, im aware”

“ah, she called ahead?”

“no. come in”

you were very weirded out

“so, what is this place? and who are you?”

“you ask too many questions”

“oh, okay”

from the moment this wizard met you, he saw himself in you

lost, hopeless, upset with the way the world had treated you

“to answer your earlier question, i am doctor strange, the sorcerer supreme”

“oh...i dont know what that means”

he found you somewhat funny

“in time, you will”

he looked back on the teachings of his former master to show you what it meant to start your training

you honestly didn’t know what to think of the kaleidoscope of the world projected in front of you

“are you ready to commit to your training?”

“sure...i mean, i dont have anything else to do”

a valid reason, truly

“your leg will heal naturally, your mind, on the other hand...”

“i know, i gotta do some spiritual shit to help myself”

“thats one what to put it”

it took some time for you to understand what it was that dr. strange was teaching

but once you grasped the puzzling concepts, you excelled

there was a fine contrast between you and your master

he was much more sophisticated than you, but he had a sense of humor

you were on the bubbly side, always goofing around with your magic

“y/n, how many times must i remind you that opening portals into the freezer for the ice cream is misuse of your magic”

“oh, come on! i just cant resist the hunka-hulka burnin’ fudge!”

“just...just walk to the kitche—did you seriously just grab it while i was telling you not to?”

*through a mouthful* “sohwry”

wong watches the two of your sorcerers converse often, it’s one of the only things that really makes him laugh

calling the cloak of levitation “cloakie”

it drives strange crazy dbshahhsh

but cloakie answers to it just fine

during battles, it sometimes flies away from your master to give you a quick assist

“thanks cloakie!”

being assigned “homework”

so much reading it could’ve driven you mad

strange explaining the eye of agamotto and the time stone to you

“now listen, this comes before everything else, you must learn to protect yourself because i’ll let you die before i lose this”

“what a comforting thought”

stephen was pretty up front with you

he didn’t like the way that the ancient one kept so many secrets, so he informed you and as much as you should know

“those yellow gloves look like you’re getting ready to wash the dishes” (no hate i actually liked them lmao)

meeting thor and loki!

“i think i’ll just send loki through the looping portal while i take care of business with his brother, would you mind keeping him some company?”

“i’d love to!”

and then you gracefully fell with him, he didn’t enjoy your presence very much

stephen would tell you about his life before he became a sorcerer

all was well for a while after that but then lmaooo a famous scientist just happened to crash through the roof

“woah, you’re bruce banner! love your ice cream”

“not now, y/n”

“my bad”

meeting tony stark and just kind of...not vibing with him

but something about him seemed familiar

“no shit, sherlock” (seriously im mad i this wasn’t in a3 or a4)

epic battle on the streets of new york that led to your master being captured by aliens

you and wong went back to protect the sanctum, but you pitched in to help fight the real battle

much to the dismay of wong

and then wong dusted, so you were left to protect the sanctum

you missed your master very much

in the next five years, you did all you could to learn about your magic

and your skills proved spectacular

you suspected that you might need to take dr. strange’s place for good

until wong reappeared right in front of you

“hello again, y/n. did you miss me?”

“miss you? wong, i’ve been dying over here!”

“that seems like an exaggeration”

helping to open portals around the world (and galaxy) to get everyone to the big battle

and finding your master, all had become right once again

“doctor strange!”

“y/n! i have to say, im impressed at how you handled yourself after thanos”

“you mean youre happy i didn’t destroy the sanctum or become interested in. the dark dimension?”

“more or less”

a teamup to remember between master and apprentice

returning to the sanctum with strange

“did you move the relics around??”

“...i wanted to remodel”

i cant think of anything else???? im sorry shhshshshsh

[myelocin]

love, sicily | kozume kenma

Synopsis: Perhaps it’s through serendipity that you’ll begin to look at the world past the rose colored lenses and finally see the kaleidoscope of gold that it brings.

Characters: Kozume Kenma, Sugawara Koushi

Genre: Fluff, Travel, Eventual Romance, (Mutual) Pining | WC: 4000+

Playlist | Pinterest Board

A/N: This is a commission from @haiikyuuns​ ! I had a lot of fun with this one so thank you for trusting me miss maam ;A; 

commissions

Track 1: Paris in The Rain | “I look at you now and I want this forever; I might not deserve it but there’s nothing better.”

Sugawara Koushi is what comes with Paris.

He’s the first, the only, and the current. It’s through summer nights under city lights, where you first are introduced to what love could be.

Where it could be this. Only this.

The summer of ’13 looking like living in an okay city that doesn’t really have much to offer in the rural side of southern Japan. One convenience store by the train station, and a teashop that most teenagers wouldn’t exactly prefer to frequent. Sunsets by the shore are nice, because your world had always just been nice.

It was okay.

Watermelon and ice drops in June, falling leaves in September, snowy paths you had to shovel every weekend in December, and the Sakura blossoms in March. Routine was okay, so you settled that you were too.

Koushi was who looked like what love could be to you. The word “eventually,” fitting. To be in a constant state of pondering if the word love could ever be redefined.

And in a way, it does. He doesn’t exactly become love, the more you think about it, but rather he just remains as is. Your constant; a day one of some sorts. Serendipity as a thing reserved for what could only be thought of as fiction, because reality had never been an ugly place for you.

So looking through rose colored lenses it was.

From your place you settled the most comfortable in—in the sidelines—you sat and watched Koushi bloom. Where for years it stayed okay. As is. Still a routine that frankly neither of you wanted to break.

Where eventually, the first crack of that well maintained schedule looked like a roundtrip ticket from Tokyo to the city of Paris, a suitcase, backpack, and a map of a city unknown to you.

The sight of Paris and Sugawara Koushi. Silver hair and hazel eyes. Every color that’s linked to what you’ve always known as home found in him. The pastel pink of his lips like the rose petals from outside his home, the silver of his hair as the clouds in the sky because for some reason rain always triumphed over sunshine.

And Paris, in the rain, with what you think as love, in front of you. Seen through your eyes as what you tell yourself is it—the greatest that love could ever become, because all you’ve known are shades of pastels with just a hint of silver.

Just one, perfect, palette that seemed to be enough for you.

(Until it wasn’t for him.) (It never occurred to you that just a few shades and a set of familiar streets would never be enough for him.)

“Paris is great, isn’t it?” Koushi turns to you and says, where he holds his hands out and past the balcony to catch a few drops of rain.

He looks beautiful. (Always has, you think.)

You nod your head.

“I’m coming back here next month because I got the job, actually,” he smiles, looking wistful.

You pause.

Rain still pours, and there’s a little bit of thunder. You think to yourself that if he chose to say any other set of words other than a watered down version of “I’m-leaving-you-and-that-good-for-nothing-town-forever,” you’d already be pulling him down into the streets and kiss him under the rain.

“Like,” you say, trying to sound out your thoughts; your throat feels dry. “—like forever?”

Koushi looks far away, and when he leans further to catch more raindrops, he feels far away. Further away, you think. Has he always been this far away?

“I hope forever,” he laughs, then turns to you. He’s smiling like you share his happiness with him. Are you happy along with him?

Silver hair kind of white against the backdrop of Paris in the rain, and hazel eyes that still look like all the shades of home stare at you. Your palms feel clammy, but you smile.

He turns away, and the rose colored lenses you’ve always seen the world with suddenly crack.

(When you sleep that night, Paris in the rain just becomes a city caught in a thunderstorm.)

Track 2: Paris | “if we go down, then we go down together.”

Kozume Kenma’s always hated looking at a city caught in a downpour.

He was never much for traveling, but he knew a city like this was meant to be explored.

He sighs, suitcase in tow as he opens the door to his hotel room and face plant into the bed. The skies above a city meant to live in sunshine continue to weep, so he turns on his side, facing the window to ponder. Not necessarily about much, because his thoughts have always been quite linear.

Kenma liked schedule. Predictability.

Booking a ticket to Paris three days after Tetsurou’s drunk speech was not predictable.

And because he spoke of the devil, his phone rings, flashing Tetsurou’s name in big, bold letters.

“You know,” Tetsurou’s voice drawls. “I don’t know what on God’s green earth even possessed you to jump on the first flight out of here to fucking—“ he pauses to inhale, before continuing, “—Paris out of every other city, but you did, and everyone’s confused as fuck.”

Kenma shifts in place, frankly wondering the same thing, but of course he’d never tell him that. There’s an ache that comes when he cracks his neck, but it’s a familiar one. He supposes that he’s used to a lot of things. The ache in his neck; the black roots that always grows faster than he can retouch them; Tetsurou’s voice that still sounds worse than his mother’s nagging.

“Why are you even there?” his voice comes again over the phone.

“You told me that I needed to do more,” Kenma replies.

The city still weeps. He wonders if someone’s out there trying to catch raindrops, or perhaps dance and kiss in the rain.

After all, it’s Paris, he thinks. A lot happens in a city people shroud with love.

“Do more,” Tetsurou parrots, confused.

Kenma nods, blinking with the tap, tap, tap that comes from the rain against his window.

The gears don’t turn in Tetsurou’s head until after a few more moments pass, his eyes eventually widening at the memory from three nights ago. It’s always been known that Kenma’s been more of a reserved person when it came to most things in life. Ever the calculated, side character type of person. For the most part it was okay, but he supposes that even the most silent could still have moments where they want to peek a little outside the view from inside the box.

Over the phone, Tetsurou smiles, nodding his head.

“You gotta live a little more, Ken, “ he remembers himself telling the younger man. Given that he was a little past tipsy when he made that impromptu speech, there was never an intention to say it as something to be understood as more than just a passing comment.

“See the world,” he said.

Kenma booked a ticket that night, and three days later he finds himself looking at Paris in the rain, with not much of a plan in mind.

“Do more,” he remembers.

And Tetsurou thinks that this counts.

“You trying to prove something to someone?” he asks Kenma, voice suddenly honest.

Kenma sighs, closing his eyes and thinking of the little world he lives within the big wide universe. He’s never really felt small, but sometimes even Tokyo gets lonely.

“Something like that,” he answers.

“—let’s show them we are better.”

The funny thing about serendipity is that it looks nothing like how it’s supposed to look like.

All your life, when you thought of happy moments in regards to love it was always an image that you thought was set in stone from day one.

Instead, it looks like this:

Wet concrete, a cup of coffee, and the rooftop with the view of the city that’s done nothing but weep since the day you arrived. The rain smelled nice, at least. There was always something about the way it lingered that reminded you of home.

—Of silver, and hazel, and pastel colors, and a goodbye that was said like a hello.

You sigh because you just know Sugawara Koushi’s the kind of person that means to linger after the exit.

But like the nature of serendipity, it’s three minutes later where things take a turn.

It turns into looking like a stranger with golden stars for eyes, a question always looking like it’s wanting to break past the barrier.

He shuffles awkwardly in place, looking like a deer caught in the headlights when you turn your face to look at him. You squint, having half the mind to greet him with a broken bonjour before he’s eventually bowing his head profusely and explaining that he’s sorry with an accent familiar to you.

Classic Tokyo boy, you snort.

“Rain kinda ruined the skyline, huh?” you prompt, breaking the silence.

He shrugs. “Not really here to see the city.”

You blink, not exactly phased. You came here following Koushi, so you were practically in the same boat.

“To do more,” he answers. Vague, you think.

Maybe not the same boat. The same ocean, riding the same current maybe, but not the same boat.

“Do more,” you repeat. “So like, are you soul searching?”

“This is beginning to sound like a bad fanfiction,” he mutters, shaking his head, then sighing. “I guess I’m trying to look outside my comfort zone.”

“Ah,” you nod your head. “So kinda like soul searching, but not really; I get it.”

Beside you, he straightens his back. “You do?”

You shrug. “Everybody’s always seeking for something aren’t they?”

He exhales a sigh that sounds more like a laugh so you laugh along with him.

“Mandy,” you say, giving him your name.

“Kenma,” he says, giving you his in return. “So what’s your story?”

You sigh, thinking about it and realizing that you’ve been feeling a little more lost than found lately.

“You really wanna dive straight into that?”

Kenma thinks of what do more exactly means, and settles that maybe this could be count as something to find the meaning to that.

He shrugs. “I’ll dive in if you do,” he answers, and just like that, the man besides you turns from just a rooftop stranger into a stranger with a name who knew just a little bit more about you than the usual you would think is okay.

(Maybe it’s Paris, or maybe it’s just the way your world has kind of tilted, but as you sound out your tale it feels kind of okay.)

Track 3: Roses | “Get drunk on the good life, I'll take you to paradise.”

“You’re going where?” Koushi asks you, eyes wide.

“Italy.”

Serendipity looks like this too. Wide eyes, and an unconvinced tilt to the head. It sounds like Koushi pacing back and forth in a room, his suitcase packed and ready to go, as is yours, but the destination on your respective tickets going somewhere different.

“Shit,” he says. You pause; he never was the type to curse much. “Do you need me to go with you?”

“I’m going with someone actually,” you decline, voice quiet. Mentally, you curse yourself. Why is your voice even quiet? Looking at it from an objective point of view, you’re an adult. You’re in control of your own salary, and sometimes impulsive decisions are granted because in the long run they’re good for the soul.

“You’re going with a stranger,” he deadpans.

You open your mouth, but no words come out. He had a point.

“Are you okay?”

The words he says sound familiar, and a part of you sighs to itself because in a way you’ve missed the familiar. Paris wasn’t familiar, and neither was the idea of Koushi telling you the forever kind of goodbye. Truth is, he could romanticize the see you later parting all he wanted, but that was kind of it. See you later becomes a couple photos you’ll stare at on social media then scroll past, then eventually into just greeting during the holidays before it dwindles into silence.

Just a box of photos of you and him from the coastal side rural city of your hometown, kept in a box, stored in an attic.

“I’m okay.”

You’re not. Sugawara Koushi and the little world back home is all you’ve known, and even if Paris in the rain became just a city caught in a thunderstorm to you, this wasn’t height of what the rest of the world had to offer.

So you smile. “I just wanna do something a little different for a change. I’m okay, I promise. A change is good right?”

The smile he gives you has you feeling terrified.

“—we could be beautiful.” | Italy

And the truth is, a lot of things really could be just that.

Kenma reminds himself that there’s a lot more to Italy than just the deeper saturated colors in the sky, and wider bloom of the roses, but sometimes his eyes wander. Doing more, rings in his head—again and again kind of like as if it’s a broken record.

So “doing more,” begins with thoughts.

He looks at you. A stranger he met by coincidence at a rooftop of a weeping Paris two weeks ago and now he’s suddenly walking along the coast of Italy with you beside him. He knows your name, a little bit of your story, and the fact that you have EDM music plus a couple of sad boy hour songs in your playlist.

He watches you smile when you lean down to smell the flowers, then wonders why you seem to look happier against the pink roses instead of the classic red.

All it takes is for you to smile at him, once, starry eyed and looking like all you know is the sun, and his thoughts stop for just a second before it spirals.

It fucking spirals. How does it fucking spiral?

The first thought that rings true and crystal fucking clear to him is that he’s certain that he wants to know than more than what he already does.

Why do you look happier next to pink instead of red? Why did it look like you wept with Paris? Why are you in Italy with a stranger you barely even know?

“—hideaway.”

Truth is, you think that Italy’s just a hideaway. One extra week away from home, so that goodbye isn’t goodbye yet.

When you look at Kenma whose eyes look distant when he stares at the distance, you wonder if he’s keeping his eyes on the horizon or trying to look past it.

Maybe Italy’s a hideaway for him too.

“Say you’ll never let me go.”

You fall asleep each night trying to tell yourself that he belongs with the city that cries, while the pastel colors of home would always be there for yours to cherish.

You don’t know what exactly you want to let go of just yet.

Serendipity has you looking at the world like it exists for you to conquer it, and perhaps for some it does. For you, you think you just want something to call yours, and for someone to call you theirs.

Track 4: All We Know | “Maybe we should let this go.”

Kenma’s the first to tell you about letting go.

You have half the mind to ask him of what exactly there even is to let go of, but it’s this one night in Italy where Sicily pours all over again.

“I didn’t know Europe liked to cry,” you laugh, staring at the streets outside.

“Maybe it’s just crying for us,” he offers as a response. To be fair, his words did work as if it’s consolation, so you give him credit for at least that and laugh with him.

Kenma’s nice.

He’s a stranger, but he’s nice.

It’s in Italy where you learned that he liked computer screens over window panes, and the buzz of Tokyo over the silence in Miyagi. He’s young, but he’s settled. There’s a house he’s trying to call home, and a kotatsu that serves him well during the winters.

He was a setter for a team, and has a friend that nags even more than his own mother.

Kenma likes apple pie, and despite the initial impression, he’s pretty good when it comes to conversation. He blushes when you look at him in the eye and smile, but eventually he stopped trying to avoid your gaze whenever you did do that.

You can feel him looking at you again, so you tug on your coat and walk towards where the awning of your impromptu shelter ends, palms stretched out to catch the rain.

(You think of Paris.)

“Wanna make a run for it?” Kenma suggests, hands shrugged in his pocket, and eyes looking like two pools of the most beautiful gold in front of you.

(—then you don’t.)

“Kozume Kenma’s getting kinda bold now,” you snicker, walking closer towards him then to the edge as the rain falls harder.

He puffs his cheeks, turning away from you to face the side, and shrugs off his coat to hold it above his head and your own.

And it’s true, you think; there’s something about gold eyes against dark streets and the bokeh of city lights that just fit. You think to yourself that you know his name, and a little slice of his life, but you want to ask him more.

You’re in Sicily with a familiar stranger, and it’s in this fleeting, little, perfect moment where you think that Paris has always just been a city. Never a chapter in a romance book or the postcard that you dreamed of standing in.

Italy looks like rain and now, and gold, and familiar strangers.

You’re not in love, but maybe you should let some things go.

A car drives past, and the streets clear. There’s more than just a few puddles on the ground, but Kenma’s eyes look like a prettier shade of the moon when it turns gold. He’s chuckling, in the way you think only you’ve heard among all the people in the world, and he feels close.

“—we’ve passed the end so we chase forever.”

So close that he could kiss you.

Is this what doing more means?

Maybe, he thinks; there’s a lot of maybes that comes with serendipity. With a sharp breath, you look at each other, then break out into a run.

“—this is all we know.”

You’re drenched in the rain and you’re laughing. Kenma’s long past given up trying to squeeze out rainwater from his jacket and instead just leans against the wall to look at you.

He likes to think that he’s part of the reason as to why you’ve smiled so much today.

“You good?” he hears you ask, and he nods.

“All good.”

He means it.

-

Track 5: Right Here | “Can we just talk it out like friends?”

-

“Are you running away because of someone?” Kenma asks.

You let his question sit for a few moments to think it through. Are you?

You don’t know, so you sigh, then look at him. “What does love look like to you?”

Kenma shrugs, but doesn’t ask about your question. Instead, he looks forward, twiddles with the frayed string of his sweater and gives you his truth. “It looks like a lot of things.”

He takes your silence as a response, so he continues.

“I love grocery stores at midnight,” he shrugs. “No lines.”

You nod your head, accepting his answer; you suppose that love could be that too. “I love League of Legends,” you try. “Even if some players can get toxic.”

“We should game then,” he mutters.

“Bet.”

You snicker, looking to the side and pretending like you didn’t see the faint dust of red on his cheeks. If he asks, you’ll just say that it’s because of the red in the sky and leave it at that.

He doesn’t, but he does ask for more slices of you. “What else?”

“I love how sunsets look in my city,” you say. “Cosplaying. The stars. My immaculate playlist. Pink roses over red. Purple hair.”

He nods, happy with the fact that he’s piecing together little bits and pieces of you.

“You love someone too,” he says, but the lilt in his voice gives away that he’s asking rather than just stating it.

You think about what he says. When you thought of love it’s always looked like all the shades of silver and maybe a couple palettes with just pastel. It looked like the beige of Paris and the cotton candy skies from home.

Then in comes the rain, the world drenched, and past the rose colored lenses you finally begin to see the first hues of every other color.

Italy, with this vibrant, beautiful kaleidoscope, and Kenma, who stands in the center of it.

You see gold, gold, gold.

“You love someone,” he says, and when the world love registers in your ear you think about how much you loved getting caught in the downpour from last night.

“I do love someone,” you tell him, because a part of you would always call that love. It’s in Italy, next to a stranger, where you learn that love doesn’t always have to be this or that. In reality, it’s actually as simple as being this and that.

The waves off the coast, and the sunny city from the postcards drenched in front of your eyes. The calm before the storm, then the beauty of how the rain falls and wind howls right after. You come to love running from point A to point B in a downpour, with a stranger who held his jacket over you and him as an attempt to keep you dry.

Love can be Koushi, still, and always.

As you calling him later that night and telling him about the adventure that serendipity took you in. He tells you a little bit about Paris, and how he’s always going to be right there, when you need it.

You nod to yourself as he says those words, because you’re fine with the fact that even if he won’t, you can always tell yourself that you’re right here for you.

Track 6: Nobody Compares To You | “Nobody, nobody, nobody compares to you.”

To Kenma, you are what comes with both Paris and Italy and the serendipity found after trying to find a face to correlate with “doing more.”

You’re sitting beside him, on the window seat of a plane headed home, and he spends the duration of the flight above seas thinking that he doesn’t want to approach a goodbye.

At the end of the day, he realizes that he’s just a stranger. And maybe to you he’s just going to be a photograph in an old SD card you’d look at once every couple of years before forgetting about it in an attic, or losing in some corner of a house that would you see you for the rest of this lifetime.

He’s never looked at unpredictability in the face. His whole life he’s sneered at the sight of a break in routine, and what’s unfamiliar, because not everything is laid out for him to acclimate to.

He thinks to himself that maybe Italy would be enough, and the downpour of Europe are wild enough of a memory to catapult him into seeing a little more.

Because he saw so much.

“Do more,” he hears Tetsurou say.

Was booking the first flight out of the country without a plan enough?

Kenma shakes his head no. It was a step, but it wasn’t enough.

Telling himself that he’s always going to have Sicily isn’t enough. Leaning in close, almost kissing you once, and watching the hues of the world burst like fireworks and settle into paintings against the depths of your eyes just once isn’t enough. Knowing that you love to play league but not know who your favorite champions are don’t even come close to being enough either.

He wants this, and wants to know you.

He’s certain that Mandy is a name he’s always going to remember despite the age, but he wants to ask you so much more.

Kenma acknowledges the thought that he wants more photographs on his phone and nights where he’d have no choice but to run across the street in a downpour. The truth that he finds in Italy is that there’s nobody like you, because you are who comes with the colors that he never thought he’d discover outside of Tokyo.

Suddenly the routine he’s bound to come home to isn’t enough anymore.

You’re both skies above Japan, and he wants to look at you watch the sunset and talk about all the things you love again. Whether it be in Italy or Paris. Japan or the rest of the world. Under the shelter of sunlight or in the eye of the storm.

He wants to ask you why you love pink roses more than red.

This isn’t love—not just yet, but it could be.

Track 7: Something Just Like This | “How much you wanna risk?”

All you’ve known is silver, but perhaps gold works too.

Kenma stands beside you, luggage in hand, and the exit a few steps away. How much does he want to risk exactly?

Not a whole lot.

The routine that used to be enough was never a whole lot.

He shifts his weight back and forth between each foot as he wracks his brain with thoughts of what he could say.

On the other hand, you don’t want to say goodbye.

Something just like what you have now is nice. The company of a stranger you saw the world be doused in colors in with is nice. Parting then potentially forgetting isn’t nice.

You think to yourself that maybe all you’ll be to him is a face to match a name, and a stranger meant to remain in only photographs of this slice of his life.

As you close your eyes, the colors of pastel and silver flashes behind your eyelids, but they aren’t blinding. You know it’s not because of just Italy and that rooftop in Paris that gives an answer as to why you’re suddenly seeking gold.

How much do you wanna risk? What exactly is there to risk?

Kenma’s the first to break the silence. “Do we say goodbye here or are we going to do something dumb like book another ticket to another country?”

You bite back a laugh, peeking at him through the curtain of your bangs. He doesn’t look away this time, so you offer him a smile when he meets you halfway.

Now that you think about it, Kenma’s always sort of met you halfway.

(It’s nice.)

“I don’t think my bank account would appreciate me booking another ticket on impulse right now,” you laugh.

Kenma’s eyes glimmer, and you think, gold.

“So you’re saying you’d still go with me?” he asks.

“Not everybody is a CEO to their own company, so maybe next time,” you chuckle, amused at the way he seems to deflate ever so slightly at your words.

“Next time,” he mutters, nodding to himself. “We’ll see each other next time?”

You shrug. “I mean, I’d run in the rain with you again.”

He laughs, shoulders shaking a little, eyes crinkling along with his smile. “See you in the next time?”

The way you smile at him has Kenma thinking about the boundaries evident between saying that he wants to do more than actually doing more. So it’s when you’ve turned your back, a few meters already away from him where he exhales a sigh and calls out your name.

You turn around before he even finishes.

What you see is gold. Gold, gold, beautiful gold; as the center of the kaleidoscope of colors.

“If I kiss you the next time, would you kiss me back?”

Kenma’s still as he sounds out his words, the taste of it foreign in his tongue. But he welcomes it this time. You’re looking at him like he gave you the sun, and he holds his breath.

“Earlier in the trip, back in Paris you said you were looking for something,” you tell him first. “Did you find it?”

A pause, then a smile. “Answer my question first.”

You think about what you’d have to risk if you answer yes, but the only thing that comes to mind are colors you know you’re starting to grow out of, so you roll your eyes, laughing. “Then I’ll look forward to that next time.”

He exhales, shoulders feeling light. “Good to know because I think I found what I was looking for too.”

You prolong the see you later. “Was it yourself or something else?”

The answer comes to him naturally, and he grins. “A little bit of both, actually.”

[crystalirises]

Clouds

Hi guys! So, this is the second prompt for this week (which means I have to spin the wheel of angst again). So... this was inspired by @thesmpisonfire‘s post about possessive!Ghostbur. (I am so sorry if I butchered your idea ;-;)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27724511

I also added the story below in case you don’t want to read it in ao3. Also, please take note of the trigger warnings as this isn’t exactly... just angst.

TW: Major Character Death and Poisoning (just... bad times...)

Fundy paced back and forth in front of the castle, his head downcast as he waited for his da— Ghostbur to arrive. When Phil had signed those papers, he felt a twinge of happiness he hadn’t felt in a long time. In his excitement, he had flung himself across the room, right into Eret’s arms. It felt nice. Eret had embraced him just as tightly, running a hand through his hair as they happily proclaimed him as their son. Fundy didn’t ever want to let go.

Still, he would be lying if he said he didn’t see the way Ghostbur watched from behind a corner. The dead man looked paler than usual, blood seeping from the wound on his chest as tears cascaded down his cheeks. Ghostbur had approached him after, throwing himself to the ground as he begged Fundy to spend at least one last day with him. Fundy had agreed out of guilt. The man was trying so hard to be the father he always wanted. One day. That’s all Wilbur wanted, and Fundy chose to give it to him.

“So— Fundy!” Fundy shivered, a chill running down his spine as Wilbur appeared from behind him. There was a picnic basket in his arms, though why Ghostbur chose for them to have a picnic together is beyond Fundy’s understanding. There was an excited grin on the ghost’s face, one Fundy swore he’s seen before. “I’ve packed us… well… you some lunch. Remember, the picnics we had together when you were younger? It… It seems like yesterday…”

Fundy winced, a memory of happier times flashing before his mind. “Oh. That’s great, Ghostbur… But, you’re not… You’re not going to just watch me eat, right?”

“Well, I thought we could spend the day catching up, you know? A-and you might get hungry at some point so I… You like salads, don’t you?” Fundy did not like salads, but… Ghostbur looked so nervous about this.

“Yeah. Yeah I like salads.”

They made their way to a far-off river, Ghostbur happily floating around Fundy as they got farther from New L’Manburg. Fundy could barely understand what his da— Ghostbur was saying. It felt as if the conversation would flicker into a new topic with every second they took to get to their destination. As Ghostbur appeared and disappeared from within his view, Fundy wondered if this one day would be enough for Ghostbur to move on.

“So… uh… Eret, huh?” Ghostbur’s voice was gravelly low, yet… it felt curious, not a single trace of malice or hurt in his tone.

“Yeah. Yeah. Eret. They’re great, you know?” Fundy looked over but Ghostbur was staring off into the sky. “Da— are you okay?”

“H-huh? O-of course, Fundy!” Ghostbur almost dropped the basket, raising his hands in a placating manner. “I just want what’s best for you, Fundy.”

Fundy smiled, “Thanks.”

They reached the edge of the river, Ghostbur insisting for Fundy to wait as he set up the picnic blanket. As he watched the ghost hurriedly unpack in a frenzied manner, Fundy drifted off into a memory. He recalled the sun on his face, his small hand tucked into a warm hold as his mother’s laughter floated down the field. His father would have finished setting up by the time they reached him, an immaculate smile on Wilbur’s face as he reached out his arms towards Fundy.

“Fundy? Fundy?” He jumped back into the present, a mockery of his father’s memory floating before him. A hint of concern flashed across the ghost’s face, his hand on Fundy’s cheek—

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking about… stuff.” He walked past him, his cheek cold from the touch. Ghostbur nodded, floating ahead of him as Fundy looked at the food Ghostbur had prepared.

“Sorry, I tried really hard to remember what you’re favorite food was but…” Fundy understood, Ghostbur could barely recall much ever since he died. He wasn’t surprised to know that he wasn’t as memorable as he wanted to be (despite being his son—)

No. Fundy was okay. He had Eret now, anyway.

The salad looked great, Fundy could hardly count the amount of berries Ghostbur must have use. The picnic mat was soft, the smell of sunshine and dirt pervading his senses as he half-heartedly listened to Ghostbur’s words. He looked at the salad, his stomach growling with hunger. He took a bite.

He choked, the taste bitter against his tongue. It was horrible. Well, that’s one thing Ghostbur didn’t have, Wilbur’s actual cooking skills. He wanted to stop at the first bite… but he didn’t want to make Ghostbur upset. He sighed, taking another spoonful of that horrid salad.

A few minutes passed, his head was beginning to pound. His whole body was shaking… the salad falling to the ground as a searing pain forced him to the ground. His stomach felt as if it was on fire— his vision blurring until all he could see was…

“I’m sorry, my son.”

Ghostbur’s hand was rubbing his back in a calming caress, as if placating him to peace.

“I tried. I really did. I want you to be happy, Fundy.”

Then why… Why was he suffering?

“When I found out, I was devastated.”

But he said it was fine—

“And really… Eret of all people… You chose the traitor over m— I’m not mad at you, Fundy.”

THEN WHY WAS HE IN PAIN?

“I love you. You’re my son, my boy! I couldn’t handle it, Fundy! I just can’t lose you!”

You lost me the day you chose Tommy and Tubbo over—

“I couldn’t have you calling them your father, you know? Eret… Eret doesn’t deserve it.”

As if you do?

“You’re my son, and I refuse to let them take you away from me! That’s why I— Shhhhh. Fundy, it’s okay. It’s okay. It’ll be over soon. I promise.”

He didn’t want to die like this.

“I’ll be here when you wake up, okay? It’ll be over soon. Shush now.”

The last thing he feels is his father’s hand in his hair.

.

.

.

.

.

The clouds were splashed with a kaleidoscope of color, their outlines moving slowly across the sky. He doesn’t know how long he stays there, watching as the clouds disappeared into the darkness. And as the sun sets, he looks around until his gaze spots a lone figure nearby. A familiar lullaby gliding through the air, he knew this lullaby. He knew this man beside him. A smile formed on his face, his throat burning as he spoke.

“Dad?”

Ghostbur turned around, a satisfied grin on his face.

“Hello, son.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Look, if I have to suffer nightmares from this I’m posting it.

So... yeah. Sorry if it sucks (I wrote this at like 10 cause I didn’t want this to haunt me in my sleep) or if it’s too dark. Not my usual style but I just really wanted to right it rn. So sorry if it’s too dark though ;-;

[forbidding-souda]

Hey! Idk if you're still using the prompt list from the beginning of the blog, but could I have a KazuichixReader for #33 - "I'm awake, I'm awake!", preferably gender neutral? (Also jsyk one of your links in the masterlist is broken - SDR2 Boys reacting to S/O dying their hair)

33: “I’m awake, I’m awake!” Kazuichi Souda

Oh, thank you for telling me ^^ I forgot I changed my blog name haha my bad. And yes I’m still doing the old prompt list :D

I also got the phrase, “kaleidoscope of butterflies” from another fanfiction but I have no clue which one and it’s way too beautiful of a phrase to me to include without noting that I didn’t come up with it.

-Mod Souda

His fingers dance around your figure, fighting the urge to yawn in case it would wake you.

Wind blows through the windows, the breeze causing you to shift, scaring him a little. Oh, what time is it?

He gets up, his bare feet patting against the floor, to look out of the window. His hair brushes with the wind as he spots out all of the lights from the summer festival. 

Alright, so he was a little excited, dancing back and forth between the window and your sleeping body. 

Originally, he invited you to go to the festival with him. You declined his offer. It broke his heart. He was wondering why his proposal was denied. Was it him? His stench? Did you just not like him?

But you told him after awhile. 

“It’s not you, Souda! I just...” You twiddled your thumbs and shuffled in place. “I can’t go out in public, not as a place like that. There are too many people for me to be comfortable.”

And he understood completely. Well, he understood somewhat. Sympathy, not empathy. 

So now he stays with you, watching the festival from the window as you sleep from behind him. 

What time is it?

Oh! It’s time!

He screams your name, jumping on your sleeping form. “Wake up!” 

You blink. It’s the first thing you do. One more thing you saw? His hands pushing on your chest like he was giving you CPR.

“I’m awake, I’m awake!” You call out loudly, pushing him away.

Perhaps, though, being angry isn’t the most satisfying reaction. He is a bit sensitive. You make sure to not show how irritated he made you, putting on a small smile and sighing. 

“What’s the dealio, Kaz?” You ask.

He didn’t want to annoy you, and he refused to believe you’d ever hold something like this against him. It is definitely worth waking up for. 

But a kaleidoscope of butterflies bursts within him when you make eye contact with him. It’s the way you lazily smile that brings him warmth. Your selflessness, your kindness to him. It’s all what makes you special to him.

The tiredness in your eyes disappear when the first firework erupts in the sky.

A small gasp leaves your lips. 

He grabs your hand, taking you from your bed, and leading you to the window. Outside the air is fresh, and the clouds in the sky are whisky and grey. The only lights are from the houses and the rainbows in the sky. They flicker with thought, popping loudly and crackling as it descends before another wave comes.

The two of you stand close. Your shoulders touch, and you are positive that he feels the same connection as you. You can almost kiss him. 

Instead, you put one foot on the window’s seal, climbing up on it.

“S/O, what are you doing?”

Your window isn’t at the front of your house, and the exterior has a small brick fence around it, to which you jump onto. Doing that fills you heart with exhilaration. Once misstep and you could fall. You look back at him, the spark of a firework illumining you from behind.

You looked like an angel.

“Are you gonna join me?”

His shocked expression was the only answer you received, and then a yelp of surprise when you jump his way. Onto the roof. He can see your dangling legs until you pull yourself up.

The rooftop was where all of your parties took place. For all of your life you had found that being up their was the only joy life could bring you. It makes you smile to look up at the city, to where all of the people sit in groups and laugh together. To watch and observe is your specialty.

He can see your head dangling down, hair spiked, as you look at him. “Are you coming or not?”

How was he to get there? Jump on the fence and then the roof? Seems ridiculous. But if you could do it then... maybe he could, too?

You watch with amusement as he hops onto the fence, placing his feet on top of it with a horrible sense of balance. 

And when he jumps, arms spread out in front of him like a cat, you hook one of your hands around his forearm. His jumping ability is much better than yours. He makes it well without much of your help. And he crawls up the rest of the way.

The fireworks up here seem brighter than before, and much larger, too. Their colors varied significantly. Ranging even a few different shades of each color of the rainbow.

A few other people have been up here with you. All of them are out of your life now, drifted apart from your lack of communication and public outings. 

So now it’s just Kazuichi Souda up on the rooftop with you, the two of you celebrating the summer festival.

Is he patient enough to deal with you, too?

“This is where I take all my friends.” You say, calmly. “Of course, you are more than a friend to me.”

He wasn’t sure if he was capable of even jumping up here. More than a friend, you had said. So you did know that he was asking you out on a date. Well, of course you did. Why wouldn’t you have?

Despite having those intentions, you bluntly stating that you consider him more than a friend made his heart levitate. You really are peculiar, aren’t you?

A small wave of anxiousness flutters against every muscle in his body when you turn to look at him. Is this about the time two people would kiss? Is that what people do... on dates? The idea made him uncomfortable, if he was being honest.

But instead, you turn away, smiling to yourself.

“Thank you for waking me up, Kaz. That was very nice of you.”

You don’t really like fireworks. Never will you tell him that, though.

“I- uh- you’re welcome, S/O!”

Again, you look at him, eyes sparkling with admiration. There are no words on your mind. Only emotions. Gratitude, specifically. And the feeling of being safe. Welcomed.

“Let’s do this again, okay?”

[zoessecretjournal]

Monday, April 19th, 2021

Today was a great day! I didn’t sleep so well despite the full on beach day we had the day before. It was Taylor’s last day here, unfortunately we really only got to say goodbye today as I was leaving at 11am this morning to meet up with Ryan. I let her sleep in my bed and she gave a groggy goodbye as my Lyft approached the apt. On the way to Ryan’s I listened to Shygirl and started out the window, trying to stay cool. It was the first time I would see him since all of our serious talks, and he had been spending the weekend trying to help Kathleen get to LAX (she mixed up the dates apparently) so I expected him to be tired. I got there around 11:30 am, dressed in my chartreuse green baby doll dress with a white soft tee underneath. My gold earrings, white tennis shoes and gold lobster broach as accessories, and a natural style face. When he came to collect me from outside he certainly looked tired, but happy to see me. When inside, he complimented the color of my dress and drew in to kiss me, and then he held me for a long while. He genuinely gives really good and meaningful hugs.

As soon as I sit down on the couch he plops his head on my lap, wanting me to scratch his head. I tell him he’s just like a cat and he gives me a look to suggest “so?” in a cute way. Whenever I scratch his head, he always ends up doing it to me at the same time, as well as using his other free hand to hold mine or touch me in some way. We stay this way, catching long gazes at each other intermittently, for about half an hour. He asks me about my Hinge profile and how I must have a line of suitors. I tell him about my date with Daniel and how cringe it was, but not before he asked if I kissed him!!! I lie and say no, because I never wanted to really kiss Daniel in the first place. We have fun reveling in how basic Daniel is, and then Ryan proceeds to tell me about his coffee date with someone this week with someone from Hinge. Apparently she is also “ethically non-monogamous” and only wants to make friends. Whatever.

Then we decide to walk to his car to head off to the LACMA. Ryan shows me how they just laid out new tar on his street and someone had ruined it by driving on it, he really isn’t happy about it apparently. I honestly don’t really understand the big idea, but maybe I would care if I drove. On the way to his car he is of course quiet and a really slow walker, I feel like I fumble all the time trying to keep his pace while traversing the uprooted side walks of East Hollywood. Ryan thought he got a ticket as we were walking to his car and my stomach dropped, knowing how much that has effected other people I’ve dated in the past. Thankfully it ended up just being a “thank you” note from someone he helped get a spot behind his car. I could breath a sigh of relief, honestly. On the way there he held my hand, put his hand on my though, squeezed my fingers while catching my glance a few times. He doesn’t talk much in the car and I’m learning he really shows that he cares in a lot of non-verbal cues, which is so different from the Ryan I knew as a friend.

At the muesuem, Ryan gets a iced espresso before we get in. The place was pretty empty and we weren’t in a rush, it was a nice change of pace to be outside with him somewhere in the day time. Ryan took a second picture of me (The first was while i was sitting on his couch) in front of the dome next to the LACMA. Both were prompted by him, which made me feel pretty good. During the Nara exhibit, I found that I was much more talkative, I actually expected him to make jokes about more of the art but there were none! He didn’t even laugh at some of the funny ones! I respected his approach though, very contemplative. There were some really beautiful pieces, and I take a long while to stop and stare at everything. I really appreciated his patience and how he kept pace with me, he was interested in seeing it all with me.  The big paintings of Nara’s work were pretty amazing to see up close. I’ve seen a lot of this work in art books, but those photographs and scans can never capture the way the skin of the character’s look in person. They literally look alive, you see all the blue, pink and yellow hues that make a breathing person, but with this simple illustrated, petulant face. The eyes were also a kaleidoscope of colors, his techniques I've tried to commit to memory. especially the white dot technique.

After the exhibition Ryan thanks me for inviting him, saying no one ever invites him to things like this or things in the day time. I ask why he thought that was? He replied “I don’t know, covid?” and then he sings “or maybe I’m secretly cancelled!”. I wish I would of said this at the time, but I suspect it’s because he’s sober, and I hope that doesn't happen to me. He asks if I am hungry, and I say that I am, he suggests Korean BBQ by his place, to which I agree. We drove down 6th st which apparently he had never gone down and he remarked on how beautiful it was, it certainly was, I had missed it. We still hold hands, and even tighter this time as we make our way to K-Town. We both order the Bulgogi and while we wait for our take-out order Ryan discusses with me his thoughts on the exhibit. He spoke about how long Nara had been an artist and expected to do the same style over and over because it’s what sells and rarely to those artists get to do other stuff. He then started relaying it to his own work and how dispensable art is and how we just eat content like McDonald’s. I agree with him, I explained how I felt disenfranchised for those reasons as well. We get our food eventually and head back to his apt. On the way back from the car, Ryan makes a few stories on people leaving bagged dog shit in random places in his neighborhood. He doesn’t have a lot of shame when it comes to his musings in comedy. A quality I both admire and am fearful of. When we get inside I take off my shoes and spruce up a little. We eat in his kitchen next to his two open windows with the honey suckle veranda directly outside. We both had a non-alcoholic beer with our meal which was surprisingly good.  I can’t remember much about what we talked about, I think we just were eating and played footsie a little bit.

He invited me to lay down with him in his room after we were done, so I followed him there. We laid down for some moments, very close and comfortable.I was caressing him all over, I genuinely like to do that with my partners, but specifically Ryan, hes very receptive to touch. We end up kissing and he stops and asks me if I really want to do “this” and I tell him I do. We end up having sex twice, both times Ryan tries hard to focus on me cumming. I don’t but I think he thinks I did the 2nd time. For some reason I’m having a hard time with that, and also getting wet, but I still had a great time (I was really close though) . We felt closer some how, less stress involved. I even fell asleep with his head in my chest. When he woke up, he woke me up. He caressed my neck and grabbed my face to look at it, my eyes still half-way closed. He gets up to go take a bath and I slowly come to and retrieve my phone and go sit in the kitchen next to the open window. I respond to everyone I can, Matt (from Hinge, who I met yesterday at the bonfire) had messaged me to tell me he was free all week, and he was making carbonara if I wanted to stop by. I think I’m going to see him tomorrow.

When Ryan gets out of the Bath and dressed (in a matching green playstation shirt might I add) he puts on a podcast, gets a sparkling water and lays down on the couch. I assume, no room for me, so he wanted to be alone. He was quite quiet as well again. So I decide to purchase somethings from amazon (sewing machine, humidifier, etc) and when I finally put my phone down I look over at Ryan and he was looking at me. He immediately puts his arms up to say “Come here”. As I approach he says that I can lay on him any way I like, face up, down etc, and so I lay down on him stomach down so I can still see him, and he starts to massage my shoulders. We listen to this podcast for awhile like that, and talk about random things relating to it. at some point they get onto the topic of Randonautica, in which I explain to Ryan, who had never heard of it, what it was all about. As I’m explaining it, he downloads the app! I had dared him to do it, but he actually was really interested. Funnily enough, the pin it dropped was right in between his ex-gf’s apt (Dani) and his good friend Shawn’s apt (Who they both date apparently) which really freaked him out. But just as he got the pin, his friend Shawn messaged him on facebook! He looks at me bewildered and asks if I want to meet his friend Shawn and go check out the pin and I agree. I had expected to sleep over but felt instantly rejected, but realized we had spent a lot of close time together so I should just deal with my feelings right then and there. Ryan gets my attention and re-assures me it’s just because he hasn’t had much space the past few days and he had a really lovely day with me. His serious tone made me feel better and I assured him that I was ok.

Before we head out I ask if we can take a Polaroid together, unfortunately both times they are incredibly blown out. He lets me borrow a jacket of his, even though I just gave him back his sweater and we head off. I tell him that I have a bunch of mushrooms I’ve been waiting to take and ask him if the next time we hang out if we could do them/he could babysit me and he enthusiastically agrees. Even though I tell him I am quite the handful on them in large doses, he had a look of reassurance that he can handle it. We’ll see.

We arrive in the area and walk to the pin, Ryan points out where Dani lives as we pass by. The pin was behind a residential gate with an old mustang stored in it, with both its hood and trunk open and a shovel up against it. Ryan tells me his “intention” he set for it was for us to see a UFO, which there was none. But we did see a cardboard cutout of Vegeta from Dragon Ball Z, so I guess him being an alien is close enough. We walk to his friend’s house, which Ryan had the access code memorized, they must be very close. Shaun and his friend seemed to be working on something music oriented for a game as we walked in, Shaun was very nice and welcoming. We end up talking for awhile and he offered me a Kombucha, Ryan seemed to really enjoy himself and liked that I got along so well. We hung out probably for about half an hour and then decided to head out so Ryan could take me home. He asks me how I’m doing and I say that I am having a really nice time, and he looked really happy about that and confirmed he was too.

On the ride back he had his hand on my thigh and I had my hands on his hand and the back of his neck, giving him a light massage while we listened to the tail end of that podcast. When we get to my place he tells me I should borrow his jacket again, that it looks nice. I tell him that I’m going to be busy all week but we will see each other soon, he tells me he is also going to be pretty busy. He reiterates what a great time he had that day and gives me a deep kiss and a long hug. We part ways and I arrive back home to tell Johnny some of the snippets of today while I respond to all my messages on my phone. I ate sushi and got ready for bed. Ryan texts me a bit in the evening, telling me again! how nice today was and what he was up to. It felt really easy and nice.

[sdottkrames]

You know what? (I learned that from you!)

@comfortember prompt 7: blanket forts.

Summary: Peter decides to introduce his uncles Thor and Loki to the concept of blanket forts

Note: I just really love Uncle Thor and Uncle Loki, ya know? I need more Peter & Loki fics. (Again, let me know if you have any recommendations)

I suggest you read my fic I’m Just Saying If You Really Loved Me You Would Share Him before reading this one (at least the UncleNapped chapter) but it’s only briefly mentioned here so this can be a stand alone fic, as well!

Read on AO3: here

“Tony, I’m hoooooome,” Peter sang as he entered the living area of the compound, promptly making himself giggle. When there was no immediate answer, he walked through the floor, trying to find his mentor. Each room was curiously empty.

He was heading back to the living area when his phone rang, lighting up with Tony’s picture.

“Hey, Tony. Where are you?”

“Sorry, kiddo. Running a little late at a meeting with Pepper. I’ll be there in a little while, okay? There should be a surprise landing for you in about...oh...30 seconds.”

“Okay,” Peter said slowly.

“It’s good, I promise. I gotta go, I’ll see you later, okay? Bye, Pete!”

“Bye?” Peter said, but it sounded like a question. Shaking his head, Peter stood in the middle of the living room, wondering what this surprise was that was supposed to come.

He didn’t have to wait very long. A bright light filled the living room, making Peter squint. Then it vanished as quickly as it came, and standing in its place were two familiar faces.

“Peter!” Thor boomed, bounding forward to pick the boy up in a big bear hug.

“Hey Uncle Thor!” He giggled. “It’s good to see you again!”

Once on his own two feet again, he walked over to the other God, who held out a fist for him to bump.

“Hey Uncle Loki. So, what brings you two to our neck of the universe?”

“Well, there was this thing-“ Thor began, scratching his neck and shuffling his feet.

Loki rolled his eyes. “We wanted to see you again,” he interrupted.

“Really?!” 

Peter’s face absolutely lit up. He hadn’t seen the two Asgardians since they had “kidnapped” him after school a few months ago. They’d spent a day exploring New York together, and he’d had so much fun. He’d missed them.

“Absolutely,” Thor said kindly, and Loki nodded. 

“Well, what do you want to do, then? Tony should be here soon, so maybe we keep it a little closer to home this time and stay in the penthouse?” Peter thought for a moment. “We could play games, or watch a movie. There’s plenty of snacks and blankets-“ suddenly an idea hit him and his eyes got all big and excited. “ooooooh! Blanket fort!” 

Loki blinked. “Blanket fort?”

Thor looked equally confused. Peter just grinned.

“Trust me. It’ll be fun! And when we’re done, we can watch a movie in the fort. C’mon! Let’s go get some blankets!”

Without waiting to see if the gods were following him (or to think about the fact that he’d just ordered two gods around) Peter hurried down the hall towards the closet, where he knew all the blankets were kept. 

Tony had started stocking that closet ever since Peter started spending more weekends at the compound. The older hero had pretended to be annoyed that his mentee was always complaining about being cold, but soon that closet had been emptied of its previous contents (just random junk, according to Tony) and stocked with all the softest, fluffiest blankets Peter had ever seen. And a massive first aid kit, as well, also courtesy of Peter’s spending more time there.

Once Thor and Loki had made their way to the closet, Peter piled on the blankets and pillows, grabbing a pile himself before heading to the living area and dumping them unceremoniously onto the floor. The other two followed suit, Thor looking amused and excited, and Loki wearing an expression of mild interest.

“So you’ve never heard of a blanket fort before?” Peter asked, mentally taking stock of the room and the best vantage points for hanging and draping the fort walls and ceiling.

“No. We have no such tradition in Asgard. How, exactly, is a blanket a suitable material for a fort? It would offer no protection whatsoever,” Loki asked.

“Well, it’s not for protection,” Peter laughed. “It’s for fun.”

Loki nodded, thoughtfully.

“I like fun,” Thor offered.

“Perfect. Now let’s get started. I need the couch moved over there, and we also need a chair. This fort is gonna be epic!”

The next hour or so, Peter taught the others how to build a blanket fort. He showed them the way Ben had always tied up the top of the fort, explained that said top had to be the lightest blanket, and waxed poetic about the uses of duct tape. The gods listened with rapt attention, and Peter smiled to himself, feeling important as he directed them. He may have even showed off a little by handing from the ceiling when setting up the top of the blanket fort.

Soon, the living room was transformed into a fuzzy kaleidoscope of colors, complete with a floor of equally eclectic pillows. Peter flopped down onto the pile, grinning happily at the ceiling.

“I have to admit that was rather...fun,” Loki said, quietly.

“I thought you might like it!” Peter smiled at the trickster.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, brother,” Thor said. “Now, we need some food and drink for the movie.”

“Ooooh. Tony keeps a big box of pop tarts in the pantry. And a giant container of hot chocolate mix.”

“Sounds delightful. I’m rather good at hot cocoa,” Loki said. “I can make the drinks.”

“Alright. I’ll grab the pop tarts.” Thor stood and they both headed toward the kitchen.

“I guess I’ll pick the movie,” Peter said to himself. He grabbed the remote and started browsing Tony’s extensive collection. “What about the newest Star Wars?” He called.

“Not sure about Point Break and Reindeer Games, but I’d say you’ve seen that one about 19 times.”

Peter spun around at the new voice. “Tony! You’re back!” He said happily.

“Yeah, I am. Now, why does my living room look like a blanket rainbow just threw up?” Just then, Loki walked in carrying three mugs of steaming hot chocolate. “And why is the god of mischief making cocoa?”

“I was advised that alcoholic drinks were unsuitable for young midgardians, and I make a very nice cocoa. I can change it to something stronger if you like,” Loki said, placing the mugs down on the table inside the fort.

“NO!” Tony nearly shouted. “Cocoa is fine. I’m just very curious about how all this happened.” He gestured towards the colorful masterpiece.

“It was my idea! They’d never made one before,” Peter explained. “And watching a movie is 1000 times more fun inside a blanket fort. Everyone knows that.”

“You’re right,” he said. “And you know what?”

“What?” Peter asked, tipping his head sideways.

“I learned that from you. I never did blanket forts until I met you, either, and they are definitely a must for movie nights.” Peter beamed. “You got enough cocoa for me, Loki?”

Loki snapped his fingers and a fourth cup appeared on the table. Tony eyed it skeptically. 

“It’s not poisoned,” Loki rolled his eyes. “I’ll have that one, if you prefer. You can have one of the ones I made earlier.”

Tony grabbed a cup, and Thor walked in with about 20 pop tarts piled onto a plate. 

“Wow, uncle Thor. You like pop tarts?” Peter asked, grinning.

Tony groaned. “Kid, you aren’t the only reason I keep, like, 30 Costco-sizes boxes of Strawberry Pop Tarts. Once, we ran out, and Point Break here accidentally fried the electricity, he was so upset!”

“I did apologize,” Thor pouted.

“Yeah, yeah. No harm done, Thor.” Tony patted his arm, and Thor’s smile returned easily.

Peter chuckled lightly to himself, grateful for his crazy, silly family, and pressed play. As words started lighting up the screen, proclaiming news from a galaxy far, far away, Peter found himself stretched out with his head in Tony’s lap and his feet in Thor's. Tony was playing with Peter’s hair and making the boy slowly fall asleep. It was so relaxing, and he was surprised when he felt a set of new hands scratch his scalp. It felt amazing.��Loki (Peter swore the asgardian could read his mind) smiled at him knowingly, and the hands returned so there were two sets playing with his curls.

Really, there was no way he could stay awake now.

“Loki, I was here first. You have to wait your turn,” Peter heard Tony say, and felt one of the hands pushed away.

“You can share, tin can. Peter likes it, don’t you, spider?”

Peter smiled. “M’sleeping,” he mumbled, and the others quieted as their hands continued running through his hair. Peter fell asleep with a smile on his face.

[the-omni-princess]

Blood Bound [Chapter Four]

Author: @the-omni-princess

Pairing: Vampire!Bucky x Witch!Reader

Summary: Vampires and witches have been known enemies since the dark ages. Backstabbing, secrets, and magic turned supernatural brethren again each other. As a natural-born witch, you grew up on these stories, your own monsters under your bed. What happens when one of those sworn enemies claims that you are his blood mate, the vampire equivalent of a true mate? Will you give in to this man out of time? Or destroy him for the sake of your Coven?

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: witchy and vamp stuff, blood, minor injuries, nightmares, illusions/flashbacks of assault and death and terrible living conditions.

A/N:

So! This chapter was written (and inspired by) for @moonstruckbucky ‘s challenge, the #halloweenhauntsauchallenge

My prompt (bolded) was “Magic is really very simple, all you’ve got to do is want something and then let yourself have it.” (from Halloweentown)

Enjoy!!!

-

[Series Masterlist]  [My Masterlist] 

[Playlist Inspired by the Series]

-

----

Previously….

A few realizations hit Bucky one at a time, time seemed to slow around you. Firstly, the necklace that was now exposed and pressed against your collarbone, had a mint leaf charm. His free hand ran across the charm, dread and recognition creeping up his throat, burning him from the inside out. Mint.

Secondly, was the fact he never told you his last name. Sure, you could have researched it, but no one but his small family back at the motel knew his nickname. No one except maybe….

The final realization came when you opened your eyes, the wind and sparks surrounded the two of you, pressed together tenderly, satisfaction settling deep into his bones. He felt a chill run down his spine as he connected the final dot. What was I saying in my vision? You looked up at him with the utmost adoration, the haunting familiarity made him gasp softly. Your eyes had swirled into a different color with your powers surrounding him. You had kaleidoscope eyes.

-

Here, with your face in his hands, Bucky felt the entire world finally start to make sense. All the pain, all the loneliness, it all would be worth it. You were the missing piece of his very existence. His little witch.

“Theo?” He murmured, unable to hide the hopefulness in his voice. Every single sign pointed to this one conclusion, and yet-

“Who the hell is Theo?” Your face scrunched up in confusion, and he couldn’t help but notice how cute you were with your nose creased up like that, despite his heart dropping at your words. “And why are your eyes like that?” You mumbled absentmindedly, your hand raising to touch his cheek.

Sparks flew from your fingertips, crackling around his skin. He shuddered, tilting his head towards your fingers. “Like what, little witch?” He smiled warmly, letting himself get lost in your glowing eyes. His little witch was somehow alive, and even though you didn’t seem to remember him, some part of you did, at least enough to trust him. Even though he himself couldn’t remember everything, here he was, getting lost in the swirling colors in your irises. He had a second chance, in the form of a second life.

“Your eyes… Bucky, they’re golden and black,” he sighed softly, feeling a warmth settle into his chest from hearing you call his name, the words beyond them being lost. Until they practically hit him in the face. The words. Those words he spoke as Theo died in front of him. Another realization. But this time it was a mutual realization.

You gasped softly, pulling away from him, the spell around you broken. The wind froze, and the electricity died out with a fizzle. His eyes swirled back to crystal blue, making you gulp faintly. His utterly pained expression as you took a step away made your heart clench. “Y-you… you’re a witch!” You cried out, terror creeping up every muscle and nerve in your body. “But a vampire… oh god, you are – were –  a natural-born witch.”

You took another step back, your feet getting caught in a tree root. You screeched, falling backward as a sharp pain shot through your ankle. You tensed, waiting to feel the dense undergrowth of the forest, but instead, you only felt the small shiver of cool skin. Slowly, you pried your eyes open, another yelp stuck in your throat. Bucky had not only caught you but was already sitting you down on a thick fallen tree. He moved fast, a blur as he grabbed your blanket, wrapping you up in it.

“Always so clumsy, little witch,” he muttered, adoration in his eyes. He stilled, take a shallow breath as he looked down at your foot. “And you’re bleeding.”

His hands were shaking, and as his eyes went red, your natural reaction was fear. “P-please don’t,” you placed a hand on his chest, and his eyes snapped up to yours. It made sense now. The swirling winds, the unpredictability. Two supernatural creatures rolled into one, and he was tied to your very soul.

He calmed to your touch, willing himself to not be the reason for the fear in your eyes. Wordlessly, he ripped off a piece of the bottom of his shirt, kneeling and pulling your ankle up. You could start to feel the warm blood drip down your foot, your ankle twisted from the fall. “Why don’t you drink from people casually? It’s not written in any of the books about vampires, and I’ve never been able to, ya know, ask one before. Like why don’t ya just find some chick and drink up without killing her?” He wrapped up the cut, using the fabric as a makeshift gauze as you rambled on, calm again at his presence. Once he was done, he stood back up, a little wobblily, but standing none the less.

“Drinking blood from someone without killing them is the uttermost form of trust. It’s telling the vampire you don’t just trust them to not kill you, but that you’d gladly die to help them. Some vampires get a little cocky about that idea.” He took a step closer, before sitting beside you. “Why aren’t you wearing any shoes in the middle of the woods?” He wouldn’t look at you, still trying to distract himself from your blood. His own personal drug.

“Where did a vampire learn proper wound technique?” You shot back, giving him a look.

“The civil war,” he deadpanned, now meeting your eyes out of pure spite.

You turned slightly towards him, “The American Civil War, huh? How old are you really? And are you going to explain who Theo is? And why a vampire, who is supposed to be coordinated and perfect, stumbles all over the place?” You went quiet, before adding in a small voice. “And how you’re a witch…” Your hands gripped onto the bark of the fallen tree, letting the course texture distract you from your swirling thoughts.

He sighed softly, running his hands through his hair nervously. “Well, first starters, yes. The American Civil War. Theo is a long story, and so is the lack of coordination.” He closed his eyes, unsure how to tell you the next part of his sentence, without freaking you out. “And I can’t remember when I was born.”

“Wait, sorry, hold up. You can’t remember when you were born?!” You asked incredulously, eyebrows up, and turned towards him in shock.

He nodded slowly, letting himself turn back towards you. “I was born in the 1660s I think… And turned in 1702. I can’t remember exactly when I was born because of the way I died messed up my memories.”

Your head tilted unconsciously towards him, nose scrunched up again. “How did you die?”

“You sure you want to know, sweetling?”

“Everything. I want to know everything,” you laid your hand on top of his on the bark of the tree, looking up at him. “Whoever this Theo is, how you died… you… I want to know about you.”

His eyes were zeroed in on where his hand was pressed against yours. They trailed upwards, locking onto your birthmark on your inner wrist. He took a deep, and technically unnecessary, breath, calming himself faintly. “I was raised in the Colonies, I cannot exactly remember it all, but there was always this girl. Theodosia, my Theodosia. She was a witch, I know that, and I guess I was too.” His eyebrows scrunched together, taking a gulp of air before continuing. “I-I… I cannot remember who exactly, but someone was after us. They were suspicious, and they….” His lip trembled, and, quickly getting the hint something happened to her, you gently rubbed your thumb into his hand. Any remaining fear of him left as he choked out a sob, having difficulty swallowing as he spoke, “I ran, god, I ran. I-I cannot remember exactly when, but they found me. They found me and killed me in those wetlands, during Queen Anne’s War, and Steve found me. Vampire venom… well, it could only do so much. The damage, it took my memory, and balance at times. Venom turned me, saved me from death and cursed me to an eternity of pain.”

“Eternity must be lonely,” you whispered softly, gently lacing your fingers with his, tenderly leaning your head against his shoulder. “At least you have someone to spend it with.”

“And Sam,” he was quite shocked to see you leaning against him, but the yearning in his chest was finally settled down, sated at your touch. “They are my family. I got lucky in some ways, though I would not wish this curse upon my most hated enemy. The very meaning of life is the end. How a human spends their short lives on this planet, that… that means something because it can end. It does not end for a vampire. It’s awfully hard to kill a vampire.”

“So, you forgot you were witch, huh?” You teased faintly, smiling softly up at him.

He cracked a smile; silently grateful you were trying to keep the mood light. “I did not even remember Theo for years, until-” He tensed, taking a breath, unsure how to continue. You squeezed his hand gently, encouraging him to continue. “Until you came back,” he whispered softly.

“Came back?” You scoffed, making his shoulders fall, disappointment was written on his face. Witches, looming darkness, a dead coven, hell even a vampire being blood bound to you, you could accept. But the idea of reincarnation? Not likely. Or was it? This entire ordeal was utterly exhausting to think about. Naturally, you quickly diverted the conversation. “Why don’t I reteach you how to be a witch?”

He looked over at you skeptically, “Is that a good idea?”

You shrugged, “Considering the unchecked windstorm we had twenty minutes ago, I’d say you need a bit of practice.” You looked up towards him, gently pushing a stray brunet curl out of his eye. “And all that power? I’d say you’re a natural-born,” you whispered.

“Is there a difference?” He tilted his head faintly towards you, seeking out your warmth.

“Magic has rules, it takes energy from the witch to give off energy. Smaller things like Natasha’s mood changing power, only take a small amount of energy. Larger things, such as Wanda’s telekinesis, take larger amounts of energy. Natural born witches have stronger power with less energy, we were born with the Gift, instead of learning it.” You paused, your fingers gently holding the mint charm of your necklace. “That’s why the Council doesn’t like Naturals, we’re stronger.”

“Show me,” you looked up to see how close he was. Now, with your head tilted towards him, your lips were only an inch or two away from his.

You quickly turned away, blushing as you nodded. Holding out your palm, you let the electricity flow through you. Small crackles of blue and white sparked around your fingertips, running up and down your hand. “Magic is really very simple, all you’ve got to do is want something and then let yourself have it.” You let the sparks die down, looking towards him. “Of course, there are specific spells, but that’s the main part of it. You can try it if you want, you seemed good at controlling the wind,” You gently took his hand in yours, not noticing the slight blush explode on his cheeks as he followed your lead, right hand facing palm up. “Now want it,” you murmured.

He gulped, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. “Just want it.” But he was distracted. His thoughts weren’t of the winds as you thought they were, they were on you. He was focused on having you remember. Yet as the winds began to pick up, he knew you weren’t remembering it quite yet. His eyes opened, and the breath got knocked from his lungs. You were smiling, the wind picking up your hair slightly, a small wall of wind spinning around the two of you. You were utterly enchanting and mesmerizing. He smiled warmly, biting down his excitement as he let the winds die down. He honestly didn’t think he could do that, but you kept pushing him just a little further.

You yawned loudly, your eyes struggling to stay open as the wind died down completely. Bucky tenderly pushed a stray curl of hair away from your eyes and behind your ear. “Let’s get you back to bed, little witch,” he gave you a lopsided smirk as he stood, easily picking you up bridal style. You yelped, clinging to his shoulders, which felt familiar. “Do you trust me?”

You looked up into crystal blue eyes, “With my life,” you murmured. He shot a devilish grin back down at you, making you instantly question that trust.

He sped to your cabin, jumping up and easily landing on the second-floor balcony of your bedroom. You were clinging to him, face buried in his chest, shaking from the speed he ran through the woods and clearing in. He opened the door and stepped inside your bedroom, closing the door with his foot before laying you on the bed. He sped away from a moment before speeding back beside you, laying a new blanket on top of you. Sasha jumped onto the bed, the calico giving Bucky barely a look before nuzzling into your side.

“You admitted to having balance issues and then go and pick me up, make up your mind,” You were already half asleep, yawning again as you curled into the bedsheets. Your limbs felt heavy but managed to grab onto Bucky’s hand before he left. “Stay… please…” you murmured, your eyes slowly closing.

As you slipped into unconsciousness, you could feel his weight dip into the mattress as he kissed your forehead tenderly, whispering, “Always, Sweetling.”

-

Running. Running. Running. Can’t escape, can’t run fast enough. Going to get caught, going to-

The mantra repeated on a loop in your head as you ran through the colony. The door to your cottage just out of view. You could almost cry in relief as you saw it getting closer. Pulling your skirts up higher, you sprung forward just a little harder. Ripping the door open and slamming it closed, pressing your back against the wooden door. Home. Home was safe. But Bucky wasn’t home. Home wasn’t safe.

A calm knock on the door made you jump, rushing away from the entrance as it opened. The man stepped forward, a sick grin on his face. “Ah, there you are witch,” he grinned.

You cried out as two men entered beside him, grabbing onto your arms. “Please! Please, I’m not a witch!” Lying. That’s what you were doing. Lying. Trying to save yourself. It wasn’t working. Rough arms grabbed onto your skin, pushing, prodding. You were doomed.

Alone. Freezing. The cold iron of the jail cell you were roughly tossed into set a chill deep into your bones. Alone. Terrified. He was only supposed to be gone for a week, just a simple trip to a nearby village to retrieve herbs from a friend. And yet, here you were. Utterly alone.

Deciding to keep the last bit of your pride was a difficult feat. As with all suspected witches, you felt defiled. Ripped off your clothes, the villagers trying to find Satan’s mark on you. A small scar on your wrist gave them enough “proof” to toss you in front of a judge. That and the book of naturally made ointments hiding in your room.

You couldn’t quite understand what was going on. As you clutched onto your lucky mint leaf in your pocket, you tried to plead your case, but the man in front of you didn’t seem to hear a word, pointedly ignoring your petitions. He instead chose to listen to every person you knew from birth turn on you, accusing you of witchcraft. Selling yourself to the devil.

It would be fine. You knew this judge, and he knew you since birth. He wouldn’t sentence you to the gallows, as he shared the same secret as you. Witch. Soon James would be home and it would all be alright. You’d be snuggled up in bed in his arms and the world would right itself once more.

That was a feverish dream. But it wouldn’t be your reality. “Theodosia Ann Barnes, you are guilty of being a witch and are sentenced to hang by the neck until dead. May God rest your soul.” Did you hear that right? Theodosia?

Days. Weeks maybe? Who knows how long you were in this dusty, cold, crowded cell. As they corralled you and the other 17 girls into the woods, leading you on a march of death, your mind was going wild. You’d never see him again. As the wind picked up, so did your heart. Bucky. That’s all that mattered. He was here, and they couldn’t get to him now.

Calm, and embracing death as you stood on the stool, you closed your eyes. Grateful that at the very least, the last thing you saw in this life, were icy blue eyes. Resigned to the end, you felt at peace as the stool was kicked away.

-

You woke up frantically, crying out, clutching your chest blindly. Bucky was already beside you, startled by your hysterical crying. You quickly attached to him, sobbing into his chest, sweat making your hair stick to your forehead and the back of your neck.

He simply cooed, running his fingers against your head to fix your hair, his free hand running up and down your back in soothing circles. He let you sob, never questioning why you broke down.

“I’m really her, aren’t I?” you whispered softly as your cries quieted down, the weight of those words finally settling between the two of you. “How can I be her?”

“Me.” He replied in a hushed voice. You could hear him gulp, gently holding you tighter, not that you minded his unnaturally cool skin against your heated body. “You said magic is about want. When Theo died in front of me, all I wanted was our future together again, I wanted her back. I don’t think I did the rebirthing spell correctly; I must have changed it into a literal rebirth spell, though I can’t exactly remember.”

You shook your head slightly, not wanting to move too far, craving to stay in his arms for a moment longer. “But why now? Why be alive now? Hundreds of years after those damned Trials? Do you think all of this is connected somehow? I can’t be Theodosia Ann Barnes, that’s not possible!”

“You’re a Natural, and Bound, that’s not supposed to be possible anymore either,” He murmured. “Besides, I never told you her full name… or when she died.”

You stilled, eyes going wide as you quickly pulled away from him. His hands fell down to your hips, attempting to keep you close. “M-my dream,” you tried, “They took me- took her- while you were gone.”

“She-“ he cut himself off before correcting, “You, were supposed to be safe. Mint to keep you safe and remind you of me,” his voice lowered, a hand rising from your hip to expose the mint charm necklace you wore. “You had this then too when you were younger. I just didn’t see it then.”

“That thing after us, the thing that killed the other Coven… it’s because of me isn’t it?” Your hands were shaking, terror seizing you.

“I think it’s because we found each other. Bound,” he hesitated, “Witches, Naturals as well, are powerful.”

“Powerful enough to start a witch hunt in the middle of a peaceful colony to kill?” The details of your dream were slowly starting to come back to you. Why would the colony turn against you-  no, her - like that? None of it was making sense.

You yawned, letting Bucky lay you back down under the covers. “Sleep, Sweetling.”

At the nickname, your mind swirled, as did the longing in your chest. “Stay here, Angel Eyes,” you whispered softly. “You promised.”

He visibly tensed, his own longing filling and clutching at his heart as his memories swam behind his eyes. He relaxed faintly as he laid beside you, letting you bury yourself in his protective embrace. Sleep came much easier after that.

---

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[grimmseye]

A Bird in the Hand: Chapter Six

Read on Ao3 here!

Rating: T

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (eventual)

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Essek Thelyss

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Molly Rez, Amnesiac Mollymauk, Oh My God They Were Roommates, Existential Topics, Essek getting excited by both Mollymauk and his weird magic, Mention of Torture (in literally like the first sentence)

— — —

The scars littering Mollymauk's body weren't a result of torture, as Essek had first assumed. Blood magic was still fairly taboo, but he knew it had its merits. The life force was a powerful source of magic, and drawing blood was safer than drawing directly from the soul.

Most blood magic came in alteration and control. One could use their own blood to change themself, to augment their power by manipulating the force that defined them. Or, they could take another's essence, claim it and use it to collar its source. Blood made scrying simple and curses into child's play. It was a very useful component, and Essek preferred to stay quiet about his own applications of it.

What Mollymauk did, he theorized, had to do with sacrifice. There was power in that, too. The giving-up, the exchange of something to gain, or to take from another, was a form of magic that dated back to its most ancient roots. Before there was wizardry, druids, artificers, those who learned their craft and honed it through study and training, there were those who made pacts with something else.

The question then became what Mollymauk was sacrificing to. A god, a demon, a devil? Or simply to the Weave itself, using his blood as the guidelines to tangle its threads in new formations.

It was all very exciting.

So was watching Mollymauk, though he was ashamed to admit it. He hadn't asked the tiefling to undress, but Mollymauk had been more than happy to divest himself of his shirt. It left him in loose pants, the material fluttering in the cool wind that blew past. He'd taken up blades in Essek's backyard at Essek's own request. One of his swords was wet with his blood, and illuminated with a radiant glow.

The radiance took a point away from Mollymauk contacting of the negative planes, though Essek knew better than to negate it completely. Tieflings had infernal heritages, it was entirely possible that all the oddities of Mollymauk's body were tied to a single source. It was doubtful, but it was also worth noting.

Essek did just that, writing down his thoughts, knowing he'd be glad to have them later. A stream of consciousness on a page was better than neat and tidy notes that lacked detail and most importantly context. He seethed when thinking of the number of projects he'd had to abandon all because he hadn't marked down a late-night thought.

"You have another of these, you said," Essek prompted. "The other sword does not use radiance?" It was difficult to look at the blade directly with its sunlit glow.

Mollymauk twirled one scimitar with an idle air, catching it in his palm. "Yeah. Ice for that one."

Essek moved forward, wanting a close look. He muttered a word, burning the first-level slot to sharpen his gaze to magic. "Activate it, please."

Without missing a beat, Molly obeyed. It made his insides shiver to see the blade come up, cutting neatly into his skin. It was shallow and precise, drawing a scarlet line along the edge of the blade that beaded and dripped over Mollymauk's collar. Molly held it still against his chest for Essek to watch as the blood crystallized, frost crawling over the surface of the blade. It was evocation that brought the ice to the surface, and that brimmed off the blade's glowing twin.

A hint of necromancy burned in Molly's blood, and suddenly Essek had the thought: what would he find if he drew some from Mollymauk's veins, was the blood under his skin inherently magical was he built from necrotic energy, he'd crawled his way out of a grave so what did that make him. Surely he wasn't undead, or the way magic interacted with him would change, the spells Essek had cast on him wouldn't work, but he couldn't count as mortal, either.

So what on earth was Mollymauk Tealeaf? The question had a giddy sensation roiling up in his stomach.

"What's up with your eyes?" Mollymauk asked, and Essek blinked back to himself.

It took a moment to remember what he meant. The spell gave his eyes a kaleidoscopic appearance, reflecting colors that shifted madly in the presence of magic. "Ah. I cast a spell on myself, it lets me sense magic in the vicinity. Do you know about the different schools of magic?"

Mollymauk closed his eyes, arms swinging at his sides so the sword blades dragged in the dirt. "... No," he concluded, with a definitive nod. "I really don't know shit about magic as a whole. I don't know why or how this happens, but cutting myself makes my swords fancy."

Essek remembered the way blood had burst in a gnoll's eyes, blinding them, making the snap of their jaws only seize the air. "Is there anything else you can do?" He pressed.

Mollymauk gave him a long, withering look, and snorted. "Wizards. They tell you I know a place and then spend the time quizzing you about your blood curses. Yeah, if I cut a bit deeper, I can affect other... things. People, monsters, whatever. It's only temporary, but it can be enough in a pinch. If someone's about to get run through with a sword..."

Mollymauk's gaze went distant. His breath hitched, and he lifted a hand, putting it on the ragged scar on his chest. "It might be enough to throw them off."

Essek let him linger, uncertain what had captured his mind but hoping that maybe this would help unlock the rest of his memories. If he could return Mollymauk to the Nein, safe and happy and just as they'd found him, then maybe he could relieve the weight of his guilt. If bad and good were opposites, then surely if he just did enough good, that would eventually outweigh the bad.

He knew that logic was flawed. If that were the case, then the teleportations would have eased the pressure. But that was small, not necessarily easy for him but simple enough, something he could do for anyone. This was different. This was special. This would mean something, and then he could be forgiven, even if they never knew of his betrayal.

Eventually, clarity returned to Mollymauk's eyes. He shook himself, his expression pensive and tail coiling. Essek prompted him with a quirk of the eyebrow. Each time this happened, there was the hope that maybe he was fixed at last. And as was true each previous time, it didn't seem to be so — Mollymauk only gave a yawn and stretched his arms out, mindless of the blades he held. "So, yeah. Blood curses. Can't exactly demonstrate them without a target, though."

Essek sighed, but let himself be swept into a new focus. In time, he soothed himself. Mollymauk would regain his mind in time. Regardless, letting the memories filter back gradually seemed to treat Mollymauk better than forcing the issue, even if Essek was still looking for a more direct way to unlock those memories.

He tapped his own temple, refocusing. What Mollymauk said was true, there wasn't a target to use for a demonstration. Unless —

"You said the effects were temporary," Essek checked.

Mollymauk gave a shrug. "Far as I've seen."

"No lasting effects?" The question got him a shake of the head, as expected. Magic usually wore off without a trace. To call Mollymauk's abilities a curse was likely a stronger word than was accurate, too small and too brief to qualify. Curses clung and festered, even a blindness spell was likely to have more effect than what Mollymauk could do — except that it wouldn't come through in a split-second of need, by the time Essek was finished pulling his components and conjuring the sigils in his mind, a sword would be through Mollymauk's chest, through Caleb's, through Jester's.

Life for life. Perhaps it was a more equal exchange than he'd believed.

"In that case..." Essek drew the words out, giving himself a moment longer to consider. "Target me."

Mollymauk's face contorted into bewilderment. "Are you sure?" He prompted.

"As long as what you said is true, and the effect is only temporary, then yes." Even if the thought did make his skin prickle, remembering how blood spurted around the eyes. He wondered how badly it would hurt. Essek could fight, but it did not mean he was comfortable with pain. Not like Mollymauk.

The tiefling shrugged, shifting his weight between each hoof. "Ready?" He asked. Then he broke out into a sudden grin, saying, "Honestly this is weird. It's always a split-second thing for me, I've hardly had to think about it."

"Would it help if I attempted to strike you?" Essek pulled a curl of ice between his fingers, crystalizing purple magic that was so dark it bordered on black. Mollymauk watched the movement of his fingers, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he grinned.

"Talented hands," Mollymauk commented, and then cleared his throat. "But uh. You know what? Fuck it, why not. Give me your best shot, Thelyss."

Mollymauk slunk back, and the shift to his posture held Essek's gaze where it didn't belong. Mollymauk typically held himself lofty and large, filling up the space around him. That meant this change made for a captivating view, to watch as he became a serpentine creature, one who curled one way to the other and then lunged in to strike. He wasn't attacking Essek, though, was only on defense, swaying in place with a hypnotic flow.

Essek watched him, biding his time, a stalemate. He counted the seconds, learned the pattern of Mollymauk's weight, found the point when he'd struggle to shift his movement and then —

Crimson splashed in his vision. Essek gasped, a hand flying to his face as the burn began to settle in at the corners of his eyes. Blood trickled from his tear ducts in heavy drops, sticky as they rolled down his cheeks. The sensation was nauseating.

Necromancy, he recalled. That had been the magic that flashed the second before he lost his vision. He cleaned the blood away with a few casts of prestidigitation, blinking his eyes to find Mollymauk standing much closer with streaks of blood on his own cheeks, and not so much as a speck of frost on his skin.

"Handy trick," Mollymauk commented, as the blood wicked off of Essek's skin. "You mind...?"

He swallowed his nausea, saying, "Of course." Essek cupped Mollymauk's jaw, sliding his thumb across his cheek to where the peacock feather was inked to clear the blood away. He only realized a moment later he hadn't actually needed to touch Mollymauk.

"Thank you," Mollymauk all but purred, and Essek would swear the tiefling pressed into his hand before he pulled it away.

He drew in a breath, and as he let it out he forced his muscles to unwind. "Thank you," Essek returned. "I have some interesting points to consider from that."

"Oh, yeah?"

A smirk twitched at the corner of his lips. "You wouldn't understand it." It wasn't meant as an insult. Or, perhaps it was a bit of an insult, but mostly just a statement of fact.

"True enough," Mollymauk shrugged, and to Essek's disappointment, he didn't bother prying.

In the distance, the sky began to change. The change in the light was enough to draw both their gazes. The clouds that cast the city in darkness had begun to spiral open, an eye dilating over the Bright Queen's palace to let in a light that made Essek wince even from so far away.

"I suppose we will have to pause this," Essek said, turning away to head into the house. "I prefer not to willingly blind myself."

"Please think about what you just said," Mollymauk drawled as he trotted up beside him, tail flicking against the back of Essek's calf.

He had to snort. "You have something of a point, but that was performed as apart of an experiment. Learning, studying, improving, not just..." He stopped himself and just huffed out a breath.

"Oh?" He could hear the smirk in Mollymauk's voice. "That means something."

Essek considered how honest he wanted to be here. Mollymauk was not a subtle individual — to call him such would likely be considered an insult. In that same vein, Molly had shown little if any regard for social norms and standards, often to a frustrating extent. "I am only frustrated," he said. "What you see there is apart of worship of... something they do not understand, and treat as a deity because of that."

"Lot's of folks don't understand me but I've yet to be treated like a god. Shame," Mollymauk sighed. "So it's some kinda ceremony? They wouldn't be having a festival, would they?" His expression lit up.

Essek actually felt bad dashing his hopes. "No, it is not the kind of ceremony you would want to partake in," he said. "It is... reverent, to an alarming degree."

"Wrong: I'd love partake in that — just as long as I'm the center of attention." Mollymauk's comment dragged another chuckle from Essek's chest. He'd been laughing more in general, since meeting the Nein. It followed that one of their early members would be much the same.

Mollymauk continued, "Really, though, what's going on? You conjured a big spooky cloud to keep the sun out, didn't you?"

"You have not heard of our Beacons yet, have you?" Essek prompted. They stepped across the threshold, Essek drawing the curtains that ideally would have only been for decoration.

"I've heard 'em mentioned?" Mollymauk shrugged. "That's — lemme guess, beacon of light?"

"That is the idea, yes." Essek lowered himself into a chair, while Mollymauk all but threw himself into another. He wrinkled his nose as the furniture creaked under the tiefling's weight. "There are these... dodecahedrons. They were found, and so were some of their properties. They found that when one is consecuted — I would say attuned, but they use consecute — their soul enters this Beacon upon death, to be reincarnated at a later time."

As Essek explained the beacons to Mollymauk, the tiefling's gaze grew distant. Snippets of conversation pulled to mind, pieces falling into place for Essek. He nipped his own criticisms of the practice short, circling around to say, "That is reason why your friends are so revered in the Dynasty. They —"

"We found one," Mollymauk interrupted. His voice was distracted. "No. We met in the sewers — Thuron."

The name pinged in Essek's mind, one of those sent to retrieve a beacon. He hummed, quiet and prompting, not wanting to break Mollymauk's reverie.

"He was killed. The guards took it, but we —" A smile pulled at his lips. "Caleb and Nott, those fucking bastards. Can't trust either of them, clever assholes'll stab you in the back at the first sniff of trouble."

Essek swallowed a protest as Mollymauk trailed into silence. Molly's brow furrowed and he shook his head, a hand coming up to cover one eye. "Gods," Mollymauk groaned. "So we'd been lugging around your god in a lead box."

"Allegedly," Essek couldn't stop himself from breaking in. He bit back any further words, but the moment had passed. Clarity returned to Mollymauk's gaze. He gave it a moment before continuing, "I have my doubts that it is any sort of deity. I think they need to be studied, not worshiped. By I am in the... extreme minority, in that regard. And I would prefer these words not be repeated."

Mollymauk gave him a crooked, tired smile. "What's a little blasphemy between friends, Mister Thelyss? And honestly, I don't blame you. That reincarnation thing, that sounds like a nightmare."

The words were alien enough to shock Essek. He cocked his head, leaning forward. "You wouldn't want to be consecuted, given the chance?"

When Mollymauk only scrunched up his nose he added, "Theoretical immortality. Death is no longer an object of fear, as it becomes a delay, not an end. That doesn't appeal to you?"

By his expression, it definitely did not. Molly's voice was rough when he spoke. "What you said about how the souls... awaken. What about the person they would have been? Is it really even their soul, or are they just suppressing someone else? I wouldn't..." Mollymauk pulled his legs up, tail curling around his shins as he rested his chin on his knees. He looked small, in that moment. His voice shook. His eyes were wide. "I don't want anyone else's memories. I don't want anyone else's thoughts."

Essek stood up. The movement was sudden enough to snap Mollymauk out of it, leaving him blinking at Essek with wide red eyes. He wracked his brain for something to say, a way to interrupt this descent, and landed on Caduceus' voice: "Would you like some tea?"

Mollymauk stared at him. Then he laughed, hoarse, and pushed himself to his hooves. "Sure," he croaked. "But there's not a chance in all the hells that I'm letting you make it."

They were silent as they moved to the kitchen, Essek standing begrudgingly aside to let Mollymauk make a mess of things. He was a good cook, but hardly a considerate one.

And maybe it was poking the sleeping owlbear, but Essek couldn't deny the questions that lingered on his tongue. "It would, theoretically, still be you," he said. "And who is to say that the person you become is not influenced by the person you were."

Mollymauk snapped his head to look over his shoulder, pinning Essek to the spot with a near-snarl. With teeth bared and ears pinned low, he looked a beat away from outright snarling in Essek's face. Then the fight drained from him. He breathed a sigh through the nostrils, drawing himself upright as he poured water into a kettle. "I am the last person to yuck anyone's yum," Mollymauk said. "If someone wants to go body hopping to the end of time, they can be my guest. But I want no part of that. It's just not for me."

Essek hesitated before dipping his head in a nod, even if Mollymauk couldn't see. "That is fair," he murmured. "I do not think it is for me, either."

"You were pretty pushy about it." Molly clicked his fingers at Essek and pointed to the stove. Essek just sighed and touched the runes, igniting a fire for him to set the kettle atop.

"You can do that on your own. Regardless, I was curious," Essek said, leaning back against the counter. "You are so against having another person's memories, but you want your own back. What is the difference there?"

"It just is." Molly started taking out the tea — all of it, in tins and bags and boxes. Most were blends that Caduceus had given him, but some came in his grocery order. Essek hardly understood the difference between them all. As Mollymauk worked, his tail lashed. It would betray his agitation if the tension in his voice hadn't already. "It feels different. Right now I'm missing pieces of myself. Those people, your people, the Nein, they're important. I don't know why, but they just are. But there was something before them."

Mollymauk turned, the anger in his face now resembling fear. Dread, maybe, or horror. It left him pale and clutching the edge of the counter, looking at Essek like he expected him to sprout fangs and lung for him. "There was something else, and I don't want it. This is my body now, my life. He gave it up. He doesn't get to take it back."

Essek remembered the haunted sheen in Molly's eyes when he'd called him by a different name.

Mollymauk.

Lucien.

"If that is true," Essek said, giving up on any further inquisition, "then you have nothing to worry about. He is... whoever he is. And you are you. You cannot become him."

It didn't work that way. He was making a statement with no backing, barely even understood what it was Mollymauk feared so terribly. But whatever he'd said, it seemed to work, with Mollymauk's shoulders going loose and a sigh expelling from his chest. "Yeah," he puffed. "Yeah that makes sense. Good thinking, Mister Thelyss."

"I am... happy to be a help to you."

And though it was said with a dryness in his voice, Essek found the words rang true.