#I know I drew raided like the white haired one

[novicedraws]

Self indulgent sketch dump

[aindyghosh]

My Heart Beats For You (Agatha/Rio)

“You don’t have a heart.” “Yes, I do. It’s black. And it beats for you.” ~ Agatha Harkness and Rio Vidal, Episode 1 of Agatha All Along

💜

Rio hated Agatha. Despised her. Few were as wretched as Agatha Harkness, the killer of witches.

The woman wouldn't hesitate for so much as a second to steal your power and leave you helpless and penniless on the side of a random street in a faraway village ruled by harsh anti-witch sentiments. Or rat you out to the so-called "authorities" to save her own hide. Or raid your home after a blissful night of lovemaking sex and flee with the grimoire that had taken you shy of a century and nearly your head to acquire.

The clicking of the door drew her attention and she gave the woman an instinctive once-over. Untamed—more than usual (“This is my witchy aesthetic! We have a reputation to maintain, you killjoy!”)—frizzy hair, undoubtedly a result of her nervous tic of tugging at her locks, a blue tartan shirt, that Agatha Harkness wouldn't be caught dead looking at let alone wearing, hanging off her shoulders, red spots marring her previously flawless pale skin, a testament to the neglect she'd been putting herself through ever since she became this mockery of a person she once was.

But it was her eyes that hammered the final nail in the coffin—weak, powerless, vulnerable, everything Agatha Harkness was decidedly not.

An irrational urge to dig up the Scarlet Witch's remains from under the ruins of Mount Wundagore, bring her back to life and give her a death as fucked as her spell threatened to overwhelm her.

"What are you doing here?"

Rio found herself wanting to smile at the scepticism lacing the woman's voice. Lost and adrift as she was, literally, being mistrustful of anybody who came knocking on her door was such a her thing to do. "Pizza?" She held up the rectangular box. "I figured if we are to solve the murder case, we better put in the hours, right?"

Agatha alternated her gaze between her and the pizza box for a minute that seemed to stretch on forever before beckoning her in with a defeated sigh. Rio's lips twitched at the familiarity of the gesture.

The house was nothing like she had envisioned for Agatha's residence to be and at the same time, she could see a part of the woman in every corner of the decoration. The purple pillows that contrasted the bright mustard walls and risked giving an eyesore to anybody not inured to Agatha's Agatha-ness; the conspicuous paintings that cost a hundred times more than they were worth, in her humble opinion; the multitude of spell books populating the wooden bookshelves; the mirrors placed around every other corner for Agatha to admire herself whenever she fancied.

Rio took a seat in a black-and-white wing chair. "Nice place you've got here."

"It probably needs a solid renovation, but it's home." It took every bit of Rio's self-control to not cringe. "Drink?"

"If you have a beer. Thanks."

"Have you ever met a cop with no beer in their fridge?"

"Good point." Rio conceded with a dip of her head. "By the way, did you know you have a fan club here?"

"A fan club?" Her bewildered face peeked over the refrigerator's open door frame. "What are you talking about?"

"Mm-hmm. Led by this girl called Beverly. Said she assisted you on a case."

"Oh, yeah!" Agatha shook her head with an abashed smile. "The, uh, Aaron Fueller case. She'd just joined. A near disaster, that one."

"Why?"

"She was a rookie, right? So, one day, I say to her, 'Has the suspect been seen in the last twenty-four hours?' And she says, 'Only on TikTok.' I ask her, "Well, did you learn anything?' You know what she replied?" Rio attempted to forge an intrigued expression to match the woman’s excitement, but it didn't seem like Agatha required an external stimulus to continue her story. Which was a good thing because Rio wasn't feeling all that generous to indulge this ridiculous behaviour. "She said, 'That I was totally using the wrong foundation brush.' Can you believe it?"

Rio responded with a polite chuckle before taking a swig from the bottle. She'd have preferred something much stronger than this for the conversation she had in mind, but she also needed to retain her composure for that exact reason.

The moment of levity subsided soon, as it was bound to, and Agatha shifted in her seat, visibly uncomfortable. Awkwardness. A long time ago, before Rio became closely acquainted with Agatha, she had imagined the woman as infallible. It hadn't taken her time to see through the unflappable facade, but irrespective of its falsity, its presence had once been irrefutable.

And now, Agatha Harkness' discomfort was laid bare for any amateur to notice.

Oh, how the mighty fall! Rio supposed, given their history, she should feel some amount of joy—vindication, even—but no introspection was necessary for her to realise the lack of any pleasure.

"I have a lead in the case," Agatha said after a minute.

That wasn't why she'd come over. "Go ahead."

Agatha scraped a thumb across her chin. Back and forth. Back and forth. "There was a car wreck about an hour before the time of death."

"Where?"

"Eastview."

Rio sucked her cheeks in. "Eastview?” Huh. “See, I thought you turned into a pumpkin that far afield."

"Hey, I travel! I'm worldly!" Indignation and defensiveness filled her tone.

"Where have you travelled?"

Agatha's mouth parted to reply. Rio knew better than to expect a proper response with a list of the places she'd visited in her lifetime—perhaps listing those she hadn't would be far less of a Herculean task—but the sheer child-like confusion that took her features captive was an unwelcome confirmation of her suspicions about the depth of the Scarlet Witch's spell.

Rio cleared her throat. "Okay, so what about the car wreck?"

Agatha, to her credit, grabbed the new thread of topic with both hands. "Bloodstain in the back seat."

"You think that's how they moved her?"

"Front two airbags deployed."

"Maybe two perps."

"Maybe."

Did it feel ludicrous discussing the "murder" of the woman responsible for Agatha's pitiful condition? Add some all-consuming fury to that, and the answer would be yes. Would that stop her from humouring Harkness and her apparent True Crime passion? "But you don't like it." Rio took another big gulp of the beer, the distant bitterness a mild tingle in the back of her throat.

"My gut tells me they're related, but I can't shake this feeling I'm seeing it wrong."

Rio leaned forward, pressing her elbows against her thighs. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember why you hate me?"

Agatha seemed to mull the question over in her head. Rio was content to allow her the time to do so, fairly certain about the answer she'd receive. And she was proven right when the woman mumbled a "No."

Had Rio belonged to the kind that believed in a higher power, she'd have assumed this to be a sign from her stars or the like, the Universe conspiring to bring the two of them together again. The stuff of the romance novels; sweet, tempting and absolute brain rot.

Rio chugged the rest of her beer and jumped to her feet, stunning Agatha into silence. She nudged the woman's sprawled-out leg to make space for herself and plopped down on the couch beside her. "Can I ask you another question?"

"I don't think you're going to stop regardless of what I say, so sure."

"Is this really how you see yourself?" she repeated her question from earlier at the 'precinct.'

"This is the second time you're asking that. What do you mean?"

"I mean"—she inched closer to the woman and brushed a gentle finger on her cheek—"don't you think something is missing? Something that you had but no longer do?"

Agatha bit down on her bottom lip and peered at her from under her eyelashes, her green gaze resembling a siren's. "I don't think this is appropriate."

Rio blinked. "What?"

"We should maintain a professional relationship." Agatha averted her gaze and muttered something along the lines of, "At least for the duration of the case."

Professional relation for the duration of the case—what? Rio looked down, only now noticing the lack of gap between them. Agatha Harkness—the real one—would have concluded it as another power play or intimidation tactic. It was almost refreshing to be taken at face value. Never one to play safe, she stroked the nape of her neck, allowing a smirk to twist her lips. "Do you want to, though? Be professional, that is, Agatha?"

"I—" The noise of objects clattering on the upper floor shattered the moment snapped Agatha out of her trance. "I'll go...check that out." She tossed her one last glance and scurried out of the room with an adorable frown corrugating her forehead.

💜

Rio grew aware of Agatha breaking free of her "Agnes" shell the exact second it happened—or rather, the exact second she announced it to the unsuspecting people of Westview by strutting around her lawn, harried and very, very naked. A piece of news like that tended to travel extra fast. Oh, how she wished she'd been present for the performance! For blackmail purposes, of course!

Fighting her, attempting to stab her—because let's face it, Agatha Harkness was hardly ever exposed when not combatting the Scarlet Witch's mind-fuckery—was just because she could. And maybe a teensy bit because of her vengeful part overpowering the more docile side of herself.

Agatha should thank her lucky stars that it was Rio who found her first and not any of her Salem coven's witches. They'd have ripped her apart, limb by limb, and danced on her grave. At least, this way, there would be a body to bury.

But she couldn't do it, and she knew that long before Agatha conjured that pouty, doe-eyed face to convince her against killing the woman.

"You don't want me like this." Wrong. "Me without power. This is undignified." She exhaled a nervous chuckle. "Admit it. You prefer me—"

"Horizontal?" Rio smirked. "In a grave?"

Agatha's jaw clicked. "Formidable."

Rio stared at the nick she'd caused between her collarbones, the blood trickling down the spot a stark contrast against her pale skin that was now brighter and healthier since the previous night. "You know I'm not the only person that wants you dead, right? Or wants to see you burn. Or hang or drown."

"Is there another option?"

"Oh, yes, plenty! Do you want me to list them—"

"No, thank you. I'm good." Agatha visibly swallowed. "Tell you what?" She approached with uncharacteristic slow steps. "Let me get my purple back and you'll be the first person to know, I promise."

Cute. Rio hummed. "Or I could sit back and watch while they tear you apart. Body part..."—she ran her dagger along the crook of her neck and south of her cleavage, relishing in the way her breathing picked up—"...by body part." She took Agatha's palm, injured from when she'd sliced herself on the wrong side of the dagger in a laughable effort to snatch it from her. "I am going to tell them your location, FYI. Expect them to be knocking on your door by sundown."

"Who's 'they?'"

Rio scanned Agatha, head to toe. A Boho-chic robe that did nothing to hide her erect nipples and bare feet that did wonders for Rio's imagination. She smiled. "The Salem Seven," she said and licked at the cut, the blood tasting a perpetually curious mix of metallic and sweet on her tongue. She caressed the woman's left cheek, her mild surprise at Agatha's eyes falling shut being replaced by the rush of warmth all but consuming her.

"Take care, Agatha," Rio whispered, and she had every bit of intention to walk away, but then the woman's piercing gaze dropped to her lips, and well, she had never been particularly strong against her intrusive thoughts.

Their lips met in an unexpectedly gentle embrace, the feeling not unlike two imperfect pieces of a puzzle slotting together despite the impossibility of such a pairing, but that was Agatha and her relationship. By every definition, a paradox that wasn't supposed to work together, and yet they did; because in the end, Rio's heart would always beat for Agatha Harkness.

[miceysfandomcreations]

After drawing straight through a dnd campaign session! I’ve finally finished! Happy early Lunar New Year @itoshisoup!

What do you get when you cross a Hell Fic alternate universe with a tragic ending, a Touya with bad coping mechanism, and a multiverse-hopping quirk? HTTM DTTS: HELLVERSE!

Ok, so, I finally read Hell fic which is really good! I’ve been keeping up with the blog for a while, so I was a witness to the 2022 descent into Dabi Hell along with the bajillion Hell fic aus that popped up. Earlier this month, I hit my mha phase, read Hell fic, and understood what the hype was about. I kept thinking of those aus and how they were perfect for a spiderverse-style crossover epic. So fueled by writer’s block for a completely different project, I made a mockup poster of the concept!

general art notes:

this was hard. Dabi’s anime hair is stupid hard to draw. The flame effects covered so much. I’m glad I didn’t do shading. Also, super proud of myself for figuring out a way to draw anime hair! I took inspiration from an across the spider verse poster with all the characters facing the camera head on. Because I had less characters, with designs similar to each other, I had to modify the poses to give some more character. Not sure how well I did on that. The white shape in the center represents MC, and I wanted it to look like the shape’s been erased from the canvas, cutting through all the Touyas.

the touyas (top of left column to top of right column, like a horseshoe), individual art notes, and story notes:

Normal fic!Touya. From default/default adjacent Hell fic universe. Don’t have much variation to go with, so he’s a ‘normal’ Dabi. Not much to say here. I think I drew him last? Was weirdly hard to finish.

jjk curse au!Touya. None of the other Touyas know what the fuck he’s talking about. What do you mean curses? What do you mean you’re dead? In universe, he and MC are HS second years/16-ish, so I made his eyes bigger, face softer, hair fluffier, tried to make him look youthful. I think you noted that this Touya didn’t look much different than normal, but as you can see, I made him blue. I think it’d be cool if he had fire glowing from beneath his scars. I thought about replacing with burned skin with exposed muscle (also blue), but decided against that for ease of drawing. His uniform’s white, because, y’know, death.

Villain au!Touya. From the au where Touya and MC ran away to become horny villains together and Touya makes a ‘no bitches’ joke to Shigaraki. He gets a matching tungsten ring and a smile! I envision him as the first alternadabi to pop up in Normal’s dimension for some reason. Maybe because he’s the most similar?

Pro-Hero!Touya. Is miffed and yet not surprised that so many of his counterparts are villains. The most well-off financially of the Touyas. The Touyas raid his agency’s fridge at some point. There are so many awesome hero au designs floating in the fandom. I came up the outfit on the fly and it probably needs to be redesigned a few more times before I’m personally happy. Still, it serves its purpose. This Touya gets gold-plated piercings because he’s worth it.

Toxic WLW!Touya. TBH I don’t remember much about this au. Does it take place in the MHA world or is it a mundane au? Either way, this Touya was the first one I had concepts for. I think every Touya is a trash gremlin no matter the gender, and I didn’t want her to lose that aspect. I gave her a new, pushed-back hairstyle because I didn’t want to draw 6 versions of the same hair, and canon Touya looks really cute with his forehead exposed. The nose piercings are replaced with eyebrow rings to take advantage of that.

late 20s!Touya. From that concept you had about an older Touya having a happy ending. This one is stable, happily married, and is a good parent. The others totally aren’t jealous at all! Why hasn’t the rogue Touya who started this mess try to take over his life? Uh…something something this reality too unfamiliar to him…too used to destruction and dying young…can’t fathom having a life like this where he builds instead of destroys…would rather tear open the multiverse than face the prospect of internal change. This Touya is more often than not the holder of the sole braincell and is trying to wrangle his younger selves in more positive directions. Assigned Responsible Adult (tm) despite not hitting 30. Wears sweats the entire time.

- I see late 20s!Touya as entering the story in 2 ways. Doing laundry and getting sucked into a portal waiting for the washer to finish (1). Seeing his alternaselves in the distance, calling his MC, and being like ‘I’m gonna need to leave for a week I have to stop myself from doing something stupid’ and following after (2).

misc notes:

I thought about doing a version of this for MC, or Shouto, but I never had a solidified design for MC, and Dabi was the funner brother to come up with concepts for.

The Touyas without the flames:

[azvolrien]

Fire and Water

I've wanted to go into a bit more detail about the mysterious Sea People for a little while now, and since I've established in supplementary materials that Roan's mother was one of them, that gave me a convenient jumping-off point for some conversation. Nothing graphic, but a few Implications about what life out in their islands is like.

~~~

It was a quiet night. The air was still, with only a light breeze stirring the sea; the water lapped gently at the sand, washing in and out without ever breaking into a proper wave. A far cry from a few nights before, when the sea had suddenly risen in a tide higher and faster than anyone could remember, engulfing small fishing villages all along the coast. There had been a prosperous harbour just a couple of miles to the south, but it was deserted now, houses inundated and boats crushed against the docks by the force of the water. Some of the people had survived, scrambling to higher ground and the roofs of those buildings sturdy enough to withstand the flood, but others would never be seen again. Already people were calling it the Great Wave.

Lorna sighed and added another twisted branch to the driftwood beacon before she sat back against the remnants of a swept-away dune and gazed up at the sky. There were no clouds that she could see, but the stars had a veiled, wavering look to them that night, in keeping with the dim, reddish tint that the sun had taken on all day. An owl flew soundlessly overhead, a pale shape in the gloom heading for the trees behind the dunes. Those had survived, at least; the dunes had taken the worst of the wave, sparing the woodland most of its fury.

Another while went by in silence before, at last, she heard the sounds she had been waiting for. The splash of oars, then the crunch of sand as the hull of a ship ran up on the beach. With a low groan of effort, leaning heavily on the staff Bruide had carved for her, Lorna got to her feet and squinted into the dark beyond the fire. If the wrong crew had spotted her beacon… But no, she was in luck. The long, sleek raiding ship drawn up on the sand looked much like any other from the Fire Islands, but its mast carried the black-and-white pennant of the Orca Clan. Even better, the prow was carved with stylised designs of the same animal, mixed in with rolling waves and running wolves. A second ship floated a little further from the beach, too far into the dark to make out many details but definitely bearing another Orca pennant.

One tall, powerfully-built woman vaulted over the ship’s rail and waded through the shallows to the beach. She carried no weapons except a short hatchet slung through her belt, but her pale face was marked with flowing tattoos in deep green ink, some fresh enough that the skin around them was still pink and raised, and a short mantle of thick, yellowing white fur was tied around her shoulders. Both marked her out as a raider captain, and the old bloodstains on the fur said that she was the latest in a long line of them. She drew closer to the fire, one suspicious hand on the axe at her hip, until finally she saw Lorna’s face.

“It is you!” she said, her grim look disappearing. “I didn’t think any of our crews had been stranded in these parts. How long has it been, little sister? Seven years? Almost eight? By the Deep, we’d given you up – thought for sure that the land-walkers would’ve got rid of you.” She stepped forwards, resting her hands on Lorna’s shoulders. “I don’t know what trouble you thought you were in back then, but that doesn’t matter any more – you’ve come to your senses now. You can come home and take your rightful place.” She paused. “Well, there’s no free benches on Sea Wolf,” she admitted, “but Whale Sister out there has a gap in her company that you’d be welcome to fill.” She sighed and ruffled Lorna’s hair. “It’s good to see you again, Sela.”

Lorna took a step back. “I don’t use that name any more, Vala. I’m not sailing away, not with you or with Whale Sister. I’m never, ever going back to the Fire Islands.”

“But- you lit a beacon?”

“I wanted to talk to you. That’s all. Just talk. I…” Lorna broke off. “With the wave earlier, and this haze in the sky… Something’s happened out in the Islands, hasn’t it? I suppose that… Well, you’re still my sister, whatever else happens. I wanted to know you were all right.”

Vala was silent for a few seconds, then took a deep breath. “So what name do you go by among the land-walkers?”

“‘Lorna’. My name is Lorna now.”

“‘Lorna’…” said Vala slowly, frowning. “Where did you get that from?”

“Never mind that.”

“Hm.” Vala squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “Grandfather is dead,” she said, opening them again. “Mother leads the clan now, sits in the keep in Hestvik. She passed Sea Wolf’s company on to me.” She waved behind herself, where a few other warriors from the ship had disembarked and were gathered on the sand.

“Grandfather is- how? Was he ill?”

Vala shook her head. “Grandfather, King Einarr, and most of the old clan-heads in the Islands with them. Se- Lorna. The King’s Island… It’s gone.”

“Gone?” echoed Lorna.

“The seer-priests knew something was going to happen,” said Vala. “The ground had been shaking, the mountain smoking. The King summoned the clan-heads for an assembly to prepare for an ashfall. You know the sort of thing – planning out a few mainland raids, hashing out some land- and thrall-rights on the other islands to help tide the clans over until the sky clears again.” She paused again and took another deep breath. “And while they were in the meeting-hall… We’d expected an ashfall, maybe some fire-flows. Instead, the whole mountain exploded.” Lorna swallowed and said nothing. Vala nodded. “The loudest roar I’ve ever heard. Maybe you even heard it from the mainland, it was that loud. An ash cloud like… Like nothing I’ve ever seen before, like it turned day to night. More rock than I’d ever imagined, blasted into the sky – the whole island just… What was that fancy word that skald-thrall used? You’ll remember. During that festival, years ago.”

“‘Obliterated’,” said Lorna quietly.

“That’s the one. All the way down to the water and beyond, just left a sort of ring of rock spikes sticking above the water. Sent that wave you saw, rushing out in all directions, before the sea came in to fill the space and started to boil, sending steam up to join the ash. If the rest of us hadn’t set up camp over on the next island… We were lucky to escape the wave as it was!” She closed her eyes again to compose herself. “So. Yeah. You wanted to know about the wave, and the sky? That’s what happened.”

“I… Gods, Vala. I know they’re the Fire Islands, but I never thought…”

“No, nobody did,” said Vala. She folded her arms. “So. You’re sure that’s a no on sailing with us?”

“It’s a no,” said Lorna firmly. She unbuttoned her heavy oilskin coat and pushed it back, resting one hand on her hip. “I’m blood-bound to the land now.”

Vala looked down at her belly, curving outwards beneath her knitted jumper. “…Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Who…?”

“My husband. His name is Euan. The baby’s due in another two months, give or take the odd week.”

“Euan. Not a name from the clans. A land-walker, then.”

“Of course.”

“Oh, Selaaa…” Vala raised one hand to her brow and dug her fingers into her hair. “A warrior, at least? So far as they have warriors on the mainland…”

“A shepherd,” said Lorna flatly.

Vala’s lip curled in distaste. “A thrall.”

“This isn’t the Islands,” said Lorna. “The people here aren’t split into warriors and thralls. Free people herd livestock and grow crops too.” She straightened her back, gripping the staff more tightly. “And if he were a thrall, so what? It wasn’t one of the warriors who saw how miserable I was in Hestvik and helped me to get out. It was a thrall from the fishing docks. Nobody in the Orca Clan would help – all they thought was that I was nervous about sailing on my first raid.”

“Mother had set aside a bench on Sea Wolf for you,” said Vala, smiling fondly despite herself.

“So all I got from the clan was ‘Oh, spend some more time in the training hall, you’ll feel more prepared after a few rounds with the weaponmasters’. Nobody listened when I tried to tell them that I didn’t want to be a raider, that I didn’t want to hurt people, to steal from them, to enslave them. Nobody but her. Somehow word had got down to the harbour that I wanted to leave – I don’t know how, maybe a servant heard me and passed it on. She helped me to take a boat, a small one, and sail away for good. Her name was Lorna. The gods know there was nothing else I could do to repay her.”

Vala glanced uncomfortably to one side.

“What?”

“Uh… Yes, Mother found out about her.”

“So she’s…”

“Very dead,” one of the other raiders cheerfully confirmed. “Slipway tithe for Whale Sister’s launch.”

“Shut up, Bjarni,” said Vala wearily.

“And I don’t suppose you spoke against it,” said Lorna after a brief, shocked silence.

Vala shrugged, folding her arms. “Oh, I’ve always thought it’s a waste of a working body, but you know how the priests get about the slipway tithe and paying the Deep’s dues. And… well, she was only a thrall, Sela.”

“My. Name. Is. Lorna.”

Vala stepped back at the look on her face. “…Lorna. All right.”

Lorna let out a snort like a bull about to charge and allowed her shoulders to relax slightly, but her scowl remained.

Vala went on, clearly having realised her misstep, if not completely understanding why it was one. “Where are you staying these days? Not here, I can tell – there’s not much grazing, if you’re herding sheep.”

“Euan’s family have a farm some way inland. A little fortified steading, up in one of the glens that lead north off the nearest sea loch.” She waved an arm in the right general direction. “The grazing’s decent there. His father usually gets a good price when it’s time to take the sheep down to the market.”

“Another shepherd.”

“He is now,” said Lorna. “But he was a bit of a warrior in his younger days. He said they used to call him Bruide the Brute, back when he was running with a sellsword band.”

Somebody gasped back among the raiders on the beach, but Vala just nodded. “That’s something, at least. And… You’re happy among the land-walkers? Up the valley with your shepherd?”

“Happier than I ever was in Hestvik.”

Vala shook her head, smiling ruefully. “I don’t pretend I’ve ever understood you,” she said. “But… I am glad you’re doing well. Look, I’ll keep Sea Wolf out of your loch on our raids, how’s that?”

“I suppose that’s as much as I can hope for,” muttered Lorna.

Vala reached forwards again, paused for the briefest instant, and patted her shoulder. “Maybe it’s for the best,” she said. “You never did do very well in the training hall, eh? Go back to your farm, little sister. Herd your sheep. Birth safely, and wait out the winter. If you need me – well, you remember how to make a beacon.”

Lorna nodded. “Goodbye, Vala.”

Vala nodded back and turned away, shouting for the ship to head back to sea. One of the raiders – not Bjarni – paused, giving Lorna a strange look, before one of his fellows grasped his arm and they all gathered to shove Sea Wolf back off the sand into deeper water, scrambling back aboard once the ship was floating again. Vala took her place at the tiller, raising a hand in a final farewell as the others ran out the oars. Before long, both Sea Wolf and Whale Sister had disappeared into the dark.

Lorna sighed, kicked sand over the last embers of the beacon, and trudged away from the sea to her tent behind the dunes.

When dawn came, she packed up the tent and began the walk home to the steading. It was a long one – she would have to camp for another night before she got there – but not particularly strenuous. The track of packed earth and scattered gravel was mostly on the flat, following the bank of Loch Dubh inland until, just after the small lochside town of Inverbeg, a side-road turned inland and sloped gently upwards into the glen. Although it was still cold, barely a month after Midwinter, only a few patches of snow lingered in sheltered spots and the road was clear. Lorna paused to catch her breath on an arched stone bridge over the river, gazing up the glen towards a thin plume of smoke in the distance. She smiled and kept walking until, near sunset on the second day since leaving the beach, the steading came into view, perched atop a small rise above the river. A sturdy stone wall about eight feet tall protected the main house at the highest point, while a bank of earth and a wooden palisade encircled the farmyard with its byre, storage sheds and other outbuildings. The gates were still open as she approached; Bruide was outside, leading a small, shaggy pony carrying panniers filled with blocks of freshly-cut peat towards one of the sheds.

“That’s you back from your stroll, then,” he said when he noticed her. He pulled back the bar securing the shed door and began to carry the peat inside. “Find what you were looking for?”

“More or less,” said Lorna. “The staff was useful, thank you.” She cast an eye around the farmyard. “How are we doing for winter feed?”

“Well enough for this time of year. Why?”

“I think… Winter will be a bit longer than usual. You’ve noticed about the sky, and heard about the Great Wave.”

“Aye, I have.” Bruide glanced upwards. The sunset was an unusually vibrant shade of red. “Hm. Might have to sell off a few o the flock to buy fodder for the rest, but we’ll survive. Wouldnae be the first long winter I’ve seen. Now, I willnae tell you to help in your condition, but if you could lend a hand wi a few o the wee blocks…”

Lorna chuckled. “Don’t worry, old man, I’ll help you out.”

“Cheeky besom,” said Bruide with a smile, the old blue tattoos on his face crinkling with his laugh lines. “Here’s a wee one for you.”

“Where’s Euan?” asked Lorna once they had finished stacking the peat and seen to the pony.

“Och, he’s away up in the top pasture. One o the yowes has a bad foot – he wanted to see if that salve you picked up does it any good. Should be back down in time for tea – couple o the bairns from the next croft are lending him a hand taking the sheep in for the night. Morag’s got a stew going.”

Lorna smiled again. Bruide’s wife was an excellent cook. “I’m sure the smell will lure him in if he’s lost track of time.”

“Aye, that’s the plan. Anyway, away in out o the cold. We can crack on wi some o the mending while tea’s on the go.” Bruide locked the storage shed behind them and walked up to the house, pausing to kick the worst of the mud from his boots on the metal scraper by the door before he hung his long woollen cloak with its wolfskin mantle up in the porch. Lorna hung her coat on the hook beside it and followed him in to the main room, where a pile of torn clothes and old sheets awaited their attention. Morag, busy in the kitchen, peered through the door and jabbed her wooden spoon pointedly towards the sewing basket before she returned her attention to the stew-pot.

Bruide stirred the fire with an iron poker, settled in his armchair by the hearth, and selected a worn sock from the top of the pile and a needle and spool of thread from the basket. “C’mon, then, lass,” he said with a grin. “I’ll race you.”

Lorna sat down in the next chair and picked up a tunic with a tear under one arm. “It’s only fair if we measure it by number of stitches,” she said. “If we go by things mended, you always win by grabbing all the little ones first!”

Bruide stuck his tongue out. “You’re just jealous I’m faster at sewing.”

“Just fix them!” shouted Morag from the kitchen.

Bruide and Lorna shared a glance, gave a snort of laughter in perfect unison, and began their mending. A while later, when the sun had disappeared behind the hills but the sky had not yet lost all its light, Euan finally got back from the pasture and Morag called everyone through to the dining table once the gates were locked for the night.

Outside, a gentle snow began to fall.

~~~

Yeah, that guy who looked back? He's important.

The Sea People - who don't, I think, even have a collective name for themselves; they're just 'the clans' as far as they're concerned - are pretty used to volcanoes. As the name implies, they get quite a few eruptions out in the Fire Islands. Unfortunately, they'd gathered to prepare for an Eyjafjallajökull, and got a Krakatoa instead.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[hythlodaeus-mynewoldfriend]

If you ship your OC with a particular canon character, then what was it about that character that drew you to them? Is it that you have a certain "type" when it comes to shipping? Or did you surprise yourself with who you felt drawn towards? If your OC is in a relationship with another OC then did you change any aspects of either of their backstories or personalities to make this work?

This is a very good one!

I will start by saying that I did not intend for Sib or Demos to get the development they got as I didn't think I'd get invested in it. However that all changed when I met a certain white haired tank, and it was all over honestly.

I honestly can't say what about Thancred that drew me to him so quickly, it almost felt like it was out of my hands if I'm being honest, Sib just picked him and I denied her because we were only two weeks into this game we hadn't even defeated our first primal! Honestly though it was his looks as I do have a bit of a type, see Dante from devil may cry, but what had me staying was the development of his character. I just am a sucker for people that learn to open up and not let the world rest solely on their shoulders. He matured and I vibed with that.

Demos and Yugiri was a bit of a surprise but it also took me well over a year to find a ship for him, and it came about when I was rewatching cutscenes for something else and the conversation you have with her after saving the people and she finds that the people of Doma are fine with not making any trouble to survive there was the way she talked about her home that just clicked with me and made me realize she was the one for Demos. He does have other relationships throughout the story and they two vibed with him in a way that just worked. In Hilda's case it was being a bit of the opposite of him, she loosened him up and reminded him to live once and a while. Lyna was much in the same vein as Yugiri in that he gravitates towards people that tend to not talk about things because there's a part of them that doesn't want to be a burden to a degree, but Demos is someone that listens and pays attention and knows a bit more on when to intervene and when not to. All were a bit of a surprise, as he took forever to figure out ship wise!

Anthea was someone that was made to be a character that I could ship with Hythlodaeus. Listen that man was just made to appeal to me! He's just so upbeat and positive and tries to look for the best in a bad situation, but there's this shadow of doubt that creeps in the background and it just felt like how I feel a lot of times. He fits a type I have also with loving those more look on the bright side kind of characters, see Ray Palmer from cw's arrowverse shows. When I finished EW I just wanted more for him too as a character because he deserved it and he just I wanted to pick his brain a bit more tbh. I also just wanted him to feel the way others felt when he was supportive of them, to Anthea Hyth is the same as Hades and Azem are to Hyth if that makes sense.

Now Conner and Elidibus I cannot resist a good tragedy and there is just something about memories and losing them and not knowing who you are any more that just, hmm idk was maybe helping me to cope with my job at the time (I worked primarily in a memory care assisted living facility). But I just loved this idea also of someone that has a good heart and still did terrible things, and let the weight of duty take over in trying to do what they think is best. Like there was never any winning for him in the end, especially once he forgot just who and what he was fighting for. He also just fits into this type that I have that I just can't not love, see Joshua Rosfield from XVI. And not to mention then seeing him in Panda! Ugh the way he was just so open and fun and loving the world and knowing what he becomes and then that ending of the raids! Just took my heart and ran with it! Shipping him with Conner worked as in Conner's original universe he didn't forget but he put safety and duty above all else kind of cutting him off from the world to an extent, but there was still that fun personality there and in his original universe he was more like how Elidibus is for him in ffxiv. And the ship was more of a second thought and the excuse I needed to put Conner in a universe where there was a heavy jazz music association with a whole society, but I didn't just pick the ship willy nilly, no there was thought to it and they do very much work.

As for OCxOC ships I have some with a friend and not much about the oc had to change really. Minor things like where they would hang out or if they were a WoL or not but overall backstories and personalities stayed the same. Now maybe it was easier because I've had OCxOC ships with this person before and it would be different with someone else, but I feel most of the time you shouldn't have to change your oc all that much when shipping with another oc. In my opinion if you have to change whole core aspects of the backstory and personality to fit then maybe they aren't meant to be, changes in development throughout their story is another thing and is expected to happen because they are now having a different element than the oc's original story.

Demos has one with my friend's bun boy and that one came from the two being artists in their own ways, her oc is a bard and Demos is more traditional artist. Their meeting was something of an accident in meeting in a tavern and her oc commissioning Demos to create a new gladiator poster for her WoL since he was a fighter in the pits and her oc was like his promo/hype man. Neither of their backstories had to change or their personality as they complemented each other in his being more out there and Demos being more subdued, but Demos listens and pays attention and can see past the masks, and her oc can get him to open up and knows when he needs someone there.

[jonquildove]

skjoldmoy:

The journey west had been arduous, treasonous rocks berating the bow of her ship, treacherous winds forcing a spray of salt to crystallise on ashen skin. She pulls her brown soft turtleneck to pillow up to her nose, as the waves crashed violently up to her. As the port drew her in, luring her into its cavernous mouth, Lagertha would only feel a wave of relief crashing over her. The Nords, notorious seafarers, would barely struggle against nature’s toils, moving through tempestuous waves with iron and wood, though skating through the frigid waves into the western lands only proved troublesome, the Earl could only hope that the strings of vomit hadn’t clung to the flanks of her ships, stomachs weakened under the travellers diet of salted, cold meat and sour milk. She was the earl of Hedeby, having left Kattegat, even as her heart yearned for her home and her husband Ragnar. He had cheated on her with the princess Aslaug. She had not felt happy there, even as she tried, sleeping with him and Aslaug one night on the bed. She’d step off the bow first, fingers unfurling from around their strained grip at the mast, ocean breeze fluttering braids in her hair behind her, eyes flickering toward the welcome, stiff smiles barely reaching the eyes of the men, cloaked in soft and jaded fabrics, the stark opposite to the worn leather that clung to her Northmen’s chests. Still, she’d thank them, ushering her men to obediently pad behind her, thick, stomping legs thumping in unison as they headed to their audience. As they walked, she’d pause, fistbumping her sailors, allowing curious eyes to settle on the wary faces, though an equal interest would beam from them. The Earl knew little about how she’d be received in the western lands, King’s Landing, as the westerners had so lovingly dubbed ; she curious and wanted to treat with them and see beautiful farming land, nor the savage reputation that the Nords had conjured up, a beast with claws and fanged teeth, so different to the truth of her ways. Sauntering into a large hall, gold adorning the walls and plating iron swords which jutted hazardously from a chair amidst the centre of the room, Lagertha’s head would crane, drinking in the sights before her. If this were any other day, a raid would be in order. Surely she wouldn’t be the only one with wandering eyes, greed flecked deep within them, though her men kept quiet, apprehensive of the western men bunched at the walls. ”Moi tsarevich," She bowed. "It is strange to arrive west under friendly pretences… your port is very pretty.” Heavily accented English jarred against her Nordic tongue, no more than a clamour in her ear as stilted words parted chapped lips. Athelstan’s vocabulary had allowed the Lothbroks to grow, he teaching Ragnar initially ( as he liked the monk ) and Gyda ; with sticks in the dirt, true speakers of the western tongue, though limited, extremely limited. She thought the words pretty. “I thank you for a pleasant welcoming.”

Sansa heard the strong accent coming from the woman, indicating that she came from some far foreign land to Westeros. She couldn’t quite place it though, perhaps from the Free Cities? Hushed whispers could be heard from Joffrey’s men, as they glanced toward the woman and her men, as Sansa walked over to her place next to Queen Cersei. She was momentarily relieved that no-one was paying any attention to her at the moment. Until Cersei looked over to her that is, and smiled. “I’m pleased to see you here, little dove. I would ask you to show our guest around soon…”

Sansa nodded, knowing that she must needs do what Cersei asked of her. She wondered why Cersei called her dove, perhaps that she looked white and innocent. She also heard whispers in court she was called sobachka, a puppy -- as she was a wolf. They called her a puppy, as she could not fight in battle, she crying all the time, and Joffrey's guardsmen hitting her at his bequest. Joffrey placed one casual hand on the armrest of his throne, carefully avoiding the harsh spikes of the swords that adorned the back, as he considered this newcomer, glancing at her with the observant, interested green hues of his eyes that Sansa used to so love. “—Yes, well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, m'lady. And I thank you for the compliment. I pray you had a safe journey to here. And may I ask your name?”

[ravio-rants]

2 for any, uhh I cannot remember what it is but..7 for any, cause it’s my lucky number :smiles:

Why does your oc look the way they do? What are your reasons for their appearance?

gonna answer this for most of them bc its fun lol

Raide is actually way different than they originally were designed. she used to be a sona, or, my sona (ravio)'s opposite twin thing. i didnt like that idea anymore so i revamped him completely, and ended up mashing together "skull pattern bc its cool" "keep her hair similar" and "colors i like" and ending up with what we have now. oh, her hair actually originally was designed after a spatoon oc i had, and then i Hated drawing the hair so much that i never drew him, so, with my siblings advice, i made them wear a crown that looks similar to his old hair, and her new hair still has similar vibes but is much easier to draw.

Calen actually hasnt changed too much, to be honest. he used to be just an offbrand version of a character i liked from a fandom im no longer in, and because i had already made him kinda my own, i kept him around and changed him into a twili to match Raide. his colors are blue and gold because thats what his colors originally were, and his skin is tinted green because i didnt want All my twili to just be black and white. thats boring.

Vang was the first of the twins to be made, and was also my first twili oc, so she kinda became the outline for them. Her and her brother, Kalt, are supposed to look like siblings, but also look closer to Midna from canon, because they are part of the royal lineage, and i wanted them to match more with the canon looks we are given for twili.

Kalt is vang but to the left, design wise, honestly. they probably looked Very similar, if not identical before she transitioned, but neither of them minds. he has the same hair as The Hero (link from twilight princess) because he looks up to him and wants to be cool. (aka he started as just a twili Link design but i made him my own.)

(all of the twili are actually undergoing mild design changes currently. undecided if some of the new design choices will be part of an au or not, so i wont be explaining them here, since they arent complete yet anyways.)

Hobic the wizard design choices? uh. slutty gay wizard with his tits out. that was the whole design idea. also green. i dont think too deeply about these things, he's entirely a joke character.

The M Crew, Moss, Marble, and Media are actually mostly three colors. green, purple, and orange. Moss is Purple with green clothes, Marble is Green with orange clothes, and Media is Orange with purple clothes. the intent is to make them look fine on their own, but also like a fun group when put together. Media is supposed to look simplistic but kinda punk. (the end result is them looking like a bouncer at a concert but thats okay lol.) Moss is supposed to have a similar outfit to what i usually wear. letterman jacket, combat boots, ripped jeans. Marble.. marble was a struggle and a half and i dont like her outfit at all. she looks like she got a witch costume from spirit halloween and called it good, so i have to fix that.

Does your oc have any notable skills or good personality traits? Why did you give them those traits? Why do they exist in-universe?

hm. Raide is good at most forms of art. i gave them that skill because im a jack of all trades, and my oc's are almost always an extension of myself. Raide is a good artist in universe because she loves art a lot, and doesnt want to be a royal guard anyway, so why not try Every type of art while he finds out what they want to do? right?

Calen is good at mixing potions, and is pretty charismatic. honestly hes had these since being created so i dont know why he has them. as for in universe explaination: potions are his job, so hes been trained on how to make them(and he Has to know how to make potions.. because they keep him alive..) . charisma is also job related. hes a merchant of many wares (potions are just the ones he makes himself.), so he's gotten pretty good at being charming but honest. it helps people buy his shit.

this got long lmao- and those two are the only ones i could think of answers for quickly(they may or may not be my fav oc's of mine...) so if you wanna ask about other beans feel free!!

[cassandraclare]

The Whispering Room: James’ POV

Here it is finally — James’ POV of the Whispering Room scene from Chain of Gold. I wanted to wait until Chain of Iron was released to give more people a chance to read the book, and also because what we learn in COI does inform the scene. I hope you enjoy!

*art by Cassandra Jean

Cortana wove with her words, underlining each one with steel. She turned as her sword turned, and her body curved and moved like water or fire, like a river under an infinity of stars. It was beautiful—she was beautiful, but it was not a distant beauty. It was a beauty that lived and breathed and reached out with its hands to crush James’s chest and make him breathless. — Chain of Gold

James had felt a strange emotion when Daisy first took the stage at the Hell Ruelle. It was a mix of several feelings...

worry on her behalf, annoyance at Kellington, curiosity, and admiration for her bravery and poise. It was unfair of these Bohemians to force her to caper for them, and, he thought, a bit insulting to Shadowhunters in general. He supposed that Matthew had given them a rather unusual view of what the Nephilim were like in such circumstances.

And then she had begun to dance. And suddenly she was not Daisy, his old friend. She was Cordelia, whose name meant heart, whose every gesture was fire. Every earthly worry he’d had had been swept out of his mind. He was conscious only of Cordelia, whirling back and forth across the small stage. Cortana danced around her, shedding light like embers. The dull glow of the lamps illuminated her body, describing her every movement, her every curve as she danced. Her scarlet hair whipped around her in time to the music, and the golden light of the lamps in the Ruelle slipped across her skin, slow and hot, like beads of honey. The cadences of her voice, rising and falling, seemed to weave a cage of silken thread about her audience, and James was no exception.

Later, James would think it was odd that he had not compared her to Grace. Grace had never entered his mind at all. Cordelia danced, and by the end of her performance, James’s entire life had been disassembled and put back together in a new and different shape. He was conscious of Matthew, beside him, also staring as the crowd cheered, his sharp cheekbones flushed. He looked dazed; James couldn’t blame him.

Cordelia descended the stage and slipped through the crowd to come back to them, blushing at the looks and murmured comments she was drawing from the audience now. James could see the desire in the eyes that followed her. Everyone wanted her. He felt a dull fury. They had no right. They did not know Cordelia. She was more than just that dance.

When she reached them she let out a long breath of relief and smiled. She glowed with the exercise of dancing. Sweat beaded along her collarbones, shimmered between her breasts. Her eyes were bright as Cortana’s blade, strapped to her back.

“Bloody hell,” Matthew exclaimed.  “What was that?”

A look of uncertainty crossed Cordelia’s face. James said, “It was a fairy tale, Math,” and Matthew nodded. His dark green eyes searched Cordelia’s face, as if looking for the key to a locked room he had only just discovered.

Cordelia looked uncertain. James couldn’t bear that. She’d been magnificent; she should know it. But he couldn’t say that, of course. It would only make her self-conscious.

“Well done, Cordelia,” James said instead; when he unfolded his arms; his wrist hurt and he wondered if he’d been clenching his hands.

Cordelia. He hadn’t called her Daisy, and she looked a little surprised. It seemed inappropriate, somehow. Daisy was Lucie’s friend, the Merry Thieves’ compatriot; he found it a smaller name than she deserved. Cordelia, though—she had been a queen, hadn’t she? Queen Cordelia, daughter of Leir, ruler of Britain before the Romans had ever landed on those shores. Like Boadicea, a legendary warrior queen. A blazing white fire behind fathomless black eyes.

“Anna has disappeared with Hypatia,” James said, noting the empty settee, “so I would call your distraction a success.”

Cordelia’s lips twitched into a smile. “How long does a seduction usually last?”

“Depends if you do it properly,” Matthew said, with a wink. James felt it as a spark of relief, a bit of lightness amid the feeling that something heavy was sitting on his chest.

“Well, I hope for Hypatia’s sake Anna does it properly,” James said. He registered, with the reflexes of a parabatai, that Matthew had gone still next to him, and wondered what was wrong. “Yet for our sake, I hope she hurries it up.”

All hint of Matthew’s jocular tone from before was gone. “Both of you,” he said urgently. “Listen.”

Did he mean all the muttering about Shadowhunters? Was he only noticing it now? It had followed them since they came into the place. But when James followed Matthew’s gaze, he found Kellington staring with an expression of vexation, not at them but at the door. All questions were answered as through the door came Charles Fairchild, looking around him with a haughty expression. He looked like was about to raid the place; so much for whatever work Matthew and Anna had done for Downworlder-Shadowhunter relations here.

Matthew narrowed his eyes. “Charles,” he sighed. “By the Angel, what is he doing here?”

Charles was, James thought, probably looking for them. He was making his way through the crowd and gazing around him. Luckily for them, the crowd was not interested in letting him through, and he was moving very slowly.

“We should go,” James said. “But we can’t leave Anna.”

In one way, at least, Charles’s arrival was helpful; it threw a bucket of cold water on the roiling heat that had gripped James’s heart since Cordelia had begun her dance. Back to the matter at hand: a demon, a Pyxis, a plan.

“You two run and hide yourselves,” Matthew said, still keeping his eyes on his brother. “Charles will go off his head if he sees you here.”

“But what about you?” said Cordelia.

Matthew shrugged, but James could see the tension in his jaw and his shoulders. “He’s used to this kind of thing from me. I’ll deal with Charles.”

Not for the first time, James wished that his parabatai wasn’t in such a hurry to sacrifice his own reputation. He exchanged a long look with Matthew, but Matthew was sure, and determined, and his desire to rush into his own humiliation was an issue that would have to wait. Nodding, he turned and caught Cordelia’s hand with his own. “This way,” he said, and she nodded back in acknowledgement. As he pulled them into the crowd he heard Matthew’s voice calling, “Charles!” in a hearty tone of pleasant, if entirely false, welcome.

James didn’t know his way around the place, and the crowd made orientating himself even more difficult, but after some trial and error he and Cordelia managed to get behind Kellington and slip into a corridor leading away. This wasn’t safe in itself, since from the main chamber one would have a clear view down the entire corridor. In fact, they were temporarily more exposed than before, and James’s hope for the hallway to take a quick turn or to contain large statuary to hide behind was quickly dashed. He continued to hold onto Cordelia’s hand, not that he needed to; she seemed to know her way better than he did.

Partway down the corridor, James caught sight of an open door — its silver plaque labeling it the entrance to THE WHISPERING ROOM. Swiftly he drew Cordelia inside, out of sight. He slammed the door behind them, causing a loud noise, but he thought it couldn’t possibly be heard over the crowd in the main chamber. Only then did he release Cordelia’s hand and take stock of their surroundings.

The room was dimly lit, but not cold: a scented fire burned in the grate, filling the space with the smell of sandalwood and roses. It was a study, he guessed, based on the gigantic walnut desk against the wall and the bookshelves opposite, but it was too richly decorated to be solely a place for studious contemplation. Phoenix feathers and dragon scales danced across the gilded wallpaper; there were no windows, but the walls were hung with patterned tapestries, the floor covered with a rug so thick James felt his boots sink into it as he moved further into the room.

Cordelia had leaned her back against the wall next to the door. Her eyes were closed and she was taking deep, full breaths, calming herself down. Cortana gleamed gold over her shoulder; the firelight gleamed a deeper gold on her skin, which seemed to take and hold its warmth. James curled his fingers in against his palm.

He wanted to touch her. He half-turned away, pretending to study the books on the wall. Any other time, he would have been fascinated by the titles. Now they seemed distant, neither immediate nor imporant. He could have sworn he heard his own heart hammering. He said, “Where did you learn to dance like that?” surprising himself with the roughness of his own voice.

His gaze snapped back to Cordelia as she opened her eyes and gave a little shrug. There was something magical about the dress she wore: it followed the shape of her own body rather than the shape of corsetry or whalebone petticoats. It slid softly against her skin as she moved, just as her dark red hair tickled the bare skin of her throat, her shoulders. “I had a dance instructor in Paris. My mother believed that learning to dance aided in learning grace in battle.”

The word grace pierced James like an icicle. He could not quite picture Grace at the moment, it was true; could not quite envision her face. He had given Grace his heart — that was an immutable fact, something he knew as he knew that two plus two equaled four. But he had to admit that at the moment his heart did not feel given. It felt like a thrumming machine inside his chest, pumping blood and heat.

“That dance,” Cordelia added with a quirk of her soft mouth that struck James like a blow to the stomach, “was forbidden to be taught to unmarried ladies. But my dance instructor did not care.”

“Well,” James said, keeping his voice steady with practiced control, “thank the Angel you were there. Matthew and I could certainly not have pulled off that dance on our own.”

Cordelia turned away from him, the smile still on her face, as though she were keeping it secret from him. She trailed her hand along the top of Hypatia’s desk. At one end was a stack of papers held down by a large copper bowl of fruit, and she brought her hand up to trace its rim.

James may have been distracted beyond the capacity for distraction he’d known before, but he was still a Shadowhunter. “Be careful,” he said warningly. “I suspect that is faerie fruit. It has no effect on warlocks—no magical effect, at least. But on humans…”

Cordelia pulled her hand back as though stung. “Surely it does not harm you if you do not eat it.”

“Oh, it does not. But I have met those who have tasted it. The say the more you have of it, the more you want, and the more you ache when you can…have no more.”

Cordelia was looking at him now, and though it took a great summoning of courage, he returned her gaze. In her dark eyes the silver and blue flames of the fireplace danced. James could not catch his breath. He had never felt this before, this breathlessness. It was like pain, but with a sweet, sharp edge. Like licking honey from a knife. He said, in a low voice, “And yet. I have always thought…is not knowing what it tastes like just another form of torture? The torture of wondering?”

The door shook on his hinges suddenly, making a clatter that made both he and Cordelia jerk their heads around to look at it. The knob was starting to turn.

Cordelia paled. “We’re not meant to be in here —“

James’s world closed down to just this: Cordelia was here, she was with him, and she looked frightened. He would do anything to stop that look on her face. He caught her in his arms, and the relief was incredible — he had not realized how much he wanted to be touching her until he was. Until he was holding her, and her strength and warmth and softness were all pressed against him, and her face was so beautiful it hurt, and her lips were parted in surprise and without another thought he kissed them.

He could feel her sharp intake of breath with his hands, clasped together at her lower back. She gasped, but did not draw back, or away — he thought he would have died if she had — she leaned into him, her full lips opening under his. She was kissing him back. He tasted honey, smelled jasmine and smoke. His hand slid up her warm cheek and into the soft fall of her hair.

Time stopped.

Cordelia’s arms were around his neck. Her lush mouth opened a little against his, and the kiss deepened. He moved his hand to the back of her neck to bring her closer. Her teeth grazed his lower lip, and he couldn’t help it; he moaned, and felt her tremble against him.

Very far away, a voice chuckled and the door closed with a soft click. This whole thing had been intended as a ruse, he knew, for the benefit of whomever was trying to get into the Whispering Room. Probably some Ruelle attendees, Downworlders most likely, who had snuck off for a rendez-vous.

Ruse accomplished, then. With intense regret, James drew back from Cordelia. Her hand, warm and soft and wonderful, was against his neck; her fingers stroked his pale white scar. Her eyes were fixed at the level of his shoulder. He could hear himself say her name — Daisy, my Daisy — instead of responding, she whispered, “I think more people are coming.”

He knew it wasn’t true. He didn’t care. He knew what she was saying: that she was asking and giving permission at once. All James’ life, he had struggled for control: control over his sudden falls into shadow, control over the dark world he could see, that was invisible to everyone else. He had worked and fought and trained for control every day, and for the first time in as long as he could remember it deserted him.

The walls he had put up burned to the ground in an instant as he caught Cordelia to him. He groaned against her mouth, his hands slipping over the silk of her dress, the hot satin of her skin. He undid the strap that held Cortana, got rid of it somehow — carefully, he hoped — and let himself fall back into delirium.

He did not ask himself why he had never felt desire like this before. He could not. He was lost in the feel of her, the incline of her waist, the flare of her hips, the rise and fall of her chest as she gasped. They were kissing wildly, uncontrolled; they fetched up against the desk, Cordelia’s back to it.

Her body bent backward in an impossible arch, her hands going behind her to brace herself. Her eyes half-closed, her head fell back, revealing the bare column of her throat. He pressed his lips there, eliciting a gasp of surprised pleasure.

His hands trailed up the sleek material of her dress — he could feel the heat of her skin through it — from her waist to the neckline of her gown. His palms followed her curves until the tips of his fingers were pressing into the bare bronze skin just above the neckline of her dress. She was sleek and soft and hot all at the same time, like nothing else he’d ever touched. He heard her whimper; she was saying his name, and his heart beat in time with her words: James, James, Jamie please.

The please undid him; shrugging off his frock coat, he caught hold of her around the waist, lifting her until she was perched on the edge of the desk. The material of her dress bunched around her knees, her thighs, as she took hold of his shirt by the starched front and kissed him. His mouth drove against hers, hot and demanding, even as he clambered onto the desk after her. She reached up her arms for him and he sank down on top of her, bracing his weight with a hand above her head.

He paused, just for a moment, looking down at her. Her scarlet hair fanned out across the desk, her eyes glazed, her full lips red from kissing. He was cradled by her body, her legs on either side of his hips, her skirt rucked up nearly to her waist. She wrapped her long, bare legs around him and he shuddered. What was in him, what he wanted, was inchoate but insistant, a force he’d never known. A yearning like hot wires in his blood, the pain-pleasurable ache of unbearable wanting that drove him to kiss her again, kiss her harder. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling at it as he kissed her breasts, flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin until she gave a low scream and clutched at him with desperate hands.

He sank down against her and kissed her, hot and deep and hard. She arched into the kiss, her breath coming in gasps. He felt her through the thinner material of his shirt: the heat of her, the swell of her breasts against his chest, her hands smoothing over his chest, his sides.

His hands aching to touch her in kind, to find out what she liked, what made her gasp, and do it again and again . . . Nothing had ever felt like this, nothing. He’d known desire before; so he remembered, so he had believed. It turned out he had stepped into a puddle and thought it was the sea. As Cordelia moved in his arms, as her lips, he realized there was a depth to desire he hadn’t even guessed at: that it was more than just desperation, but joy and need and wanting and being wanted back. It was a fever dream, his hands sliding up under the heavy satin of her skirts, the salt-sweet taste of her skin, the soft sounds of her pleasure as she urged him closer, urged him onward, the desk seeming to spin beneath them.

He heard, as if at a great distance, the sound of the door opening. He lifted his head, saw the slim fair-hared figure in the doorway. Ice washed through his veins. Cordelia stiffened, began to scramble to sit up. No, he thought, but he couldn’t stop her, couldn’t blame her. It — whatever it had been — was over.

He slid off the desk. Already the fever was vanishing, that feeling —the glorious freedom from the burden of his own will — receding. Grasping at his control, he drew it around himself,  reaching for his coat, turning to calmly meet the gaze of his parabatai.

“James?” Matthew said.

[drabbleitout]

Find the Word Tag Game

Double Tag By: @spacetimewraithwrites over here and @winterandwords over here! My Words: fold, flower, furrow, free, fresh, flesh, lift, carry, drop, & move. Tagging: @asomeoneperson, @northernrosewritings, @kjscottwrites, @ashen-crest, @emelkae, & anyone else who would like to join! (As always, please don't feel pressured or rushed!) Your Words: Lead, Linger, Loose, Lump, & Law

Fold(er)

“And here I thought you’d like crowded places that smelt like booze.” Beau shuffled to an appropriate berth, moving along with the line. He searched for the mapping of Garnet’s face against [the nightclub's] records, not surprised to find him in their denial folder –only not for the reason he expected. “What're you making that face for?” Garnet scoffed. Beau regarded him for a moment, smirking. “You’ve been here before.” “Probably,” Garnet shrugged. “You were arrested here.” “Drop it.” He went serious, eyes narrowing.

Flower(s)

“This way,” [Duras] smiled, calm and welcoming, offering out an arm in signal to walk with her. He obliged, hooking his elbow in hers as they started for the stairs. “You’re going to be the next best thing, B-Zero. Just wait and see.” She took no mind to the climb, having no trouble in her thin heels and pencil skirt suit. White, it was embroidered with several flowers, a symbol famous for BloomingTech. Even her hair was neatly fixed into a bun, pinned to mimic the daisy shape. “It’s just like taking you to school, on your first day.” She patted his arm again, both stepping into the automatic doors.

Furrow(ed)

“Nose on the ground!” Garnet palmed the man’s head, shoving his face to the floor. “You’ve been a pain in my ass for months, Benton. Can’t you let a guy have a coffee break before you start tearing shit up again?” He glanced up to the pair standing in the hall, double-taking for a better look at Beau. His brow furrowed, nose wrinkled, crooked and swollen from being broken –perhaps once or twice. Most of his face was harsh from previous injuries, looking similar to the face of a professional boxer. An unsuccessful one. Benton tried squirming free again. “Allow me, Lieutenant,” more officers were in the hall, one crouching down to help detain Benton. “Step off, Shitbox. I got ‘im.”

Free

Beau took the lighter. With one, effortless try, he woke a flame from the jet, holding it out to shelter from the blowing snow. Garnet slouched to meet it, taking a few drags before it took. Beau closed the lighter, sliding it back into Garnet’s jean pocket. “Why is it,” Garnet paused to pull the cigarette from his mouth, “you never tell me to stop smoking?” “Because my métier isn’t medical. It’s not my place to advise you how to live your life. And to make you stop smoking would be taking away your free will.” “And here GodHead’s worried you’re gonna go full Terminator and enslave us.” “Too much work, in my opinion,” Beau grumbled, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Besides, if you’re asking me why I don’t ask you, you already know it isn’t good for you. Telling you to stop would be redundant, a waste of time and energy.”

Fresh

I only have one of these and, strangely, it's too spoilery to post lol

Flesh Skin

Ives was made for destruction, to be brutal and vicious. He knew how to protect, going to that apartment building and wading through bullets and violence to get to Ryker had been simple. Natural. But having him there, soft skin and warm breath made Ives distrust himself. He’d lost control in the raid. Seeing Ryker in his battered state, he’d killed two people. And what if he lost control now? What if he hurt Ryker? Warm hands cupped his face, unsure how long he sat there in his panicked daze, pulled into focus as thumbs caressed his cheeks. “You okay?” Ryker whispered.

Lift(ing), Drop, & Mov(ing)

“Drop your weapons!” Ryker was suddenly there beside Beau. He was riddled with cuts and bruises on his face and arms. “Stand down.” Garnet echoed him, moving past into the group for arrests. A hand on Beau’s shoulder drew his attention up to Ryker. “Where did you get this?” He nodded to the rifle. “Ives gave it to me.” “Ives…?” But his face paled, carefully lifting the rifle out of his grip. “Alright, let’s… how about you let me deal with this, and you call for transport?” “Yes, sir.” “And Beau?” Ryker regarded him for another moment, “Let’s not tell anyone about this, alright? We’ll keep it a secret. Think you can keep this a secret?” “Of course!” Beau smiled. “I can keep a secret.”

Carry

“Hey, look at me. Look at me, Ives. Eye contact,” reluctantly he did so, tearing his stare from Ryker to look Garnet in the eyes. “He’s gonna be alright, okay? We need to get him upstairs to a medic. Can you carry him?” “Yes,” he calculated his bearings, Garnet helping him gather Ryker up in his arms, sure to tuck his head against his shoulder. He stood with Ives, still speaking calmly. “Down the hall, up the stairs, to the lobby –just don’t drop him.”

[sassycassie-s-writing]

A Future That’s Worth It

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Rhysand

Rating: PG/K+ (lots of implications but nothing explicit)

Original Idea: Nothing in particular.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) I have some headcanons on height and weight of the characters that I used for this one. Have fun!

^^^^^

The bed dipped behind me. I’d been more than halfway to sleep, but the movement shocked me awake. I rolled over.

Rhysand gave me a lazy smile. “Evening, love,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

“Technically no, but a little bit.”

“Sorry.” The look on his face implied he was in no way genuinely apologetic. He shuffled to get more comfortable, one wing draping over the two of us, and loosed a long sigh. I snuggled against his bare chest, eyes on his tattoos.

“Something the matter?” I asked quietly. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder.

“If I never have to truly fight again, for the rest of what will hopefully be a very long life, I will be grateful,” he said, breath fluttering my loose hairs.

“Me too,” I agreed.

I felt a claw against my mental shields, a single, gentle drag against the black marble I used to keep my private thoughts private. A request for entry. I reached out tiredly to feel his own mental shield was already lowered. A rare occurrence for him. He had one of the most complex shields I’d ever experienced.

I let the shield drop. His presence overwhelmed me almost immediately. I’d probably never fully witness the extreme depth of his power, but it dominated over my little well of magic by what was probably thousands of times.

His presence was the comforting, healing darkness of lovers clinging to one another. The gentle shade under a wide oak tree on a hot summer day. Nothing of the sharp, secret darkness of spies and assassins. The soft night of dreams. “Do you feel peace, now?” I asked. “Now that the King of Hybern is dead and his army decimated?”

“It’ll take years for me to reach true peace for that, after all the pain and death and suffering. But I feel peace right now, holding you. I feel a grim tranquility in knowing I would gladly cause more carnage if it meant keeping you safe. I hated releasing that beast inside me during the war, but I’ll always go feral to protect what’s mine. You, our family, this city, our people. All of it. I would fight until my own death to ensure the future of those I’m responsible for.”

“Self-sacrificing fool,” I teased. There was no bite to the words.

“You’re one too,” he retorted with the same tired lack of malice.

“Never said I wasn’t. Therefore, you can’t call me a hypocrite.”

“Touché.”

I wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer to me. “Get some sleep, High Lord. We both need it.”

He brushed some of my loose hairs from my face. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too.” I smiled slightly.

The sweet caress of his darkness in my mind soothed all the day’s worries. If neither of us ever had to pick up a blade for a battle ever again, it would be too soon.

I reached up with the hand around his waist and stroked the bone of his wing. He shivered, but he’d taught me where to touch to calm, and where to touch to excite. His other muscles were pliant, relaxed, as I ran my fingers gently over his wing.

We put each other to sleep not long after that.

—

“—told him it was a bad idea, but he was just like, ‘Stop telling me how to live my life!’” Mor’s loud voice woke me the next morning as the doors opened downstairs, the last bit dropping as low as she could go in a horrible but hilarious imitation of Cassian. Amren’s laughter followed.

The bed was empty besides me, but Rhys’ side was still warm.

I got up and pulled on my dressing gown over my nightgown. I brushed my hair briefly so it wasn’t quite so tangled and ventured out of our room.

Mor and Amren had already made it to the kitchen and were raiding the pantry for breakfast.

“What’s a bad idea?” I asked around a yawn.

“Cassian was gonna challenge Azriel to a flying race. From the House to the roof here,” Mor explained, pointing directly overhead.

“Azriel’s gonna win,” I said.

“That’s what I said. Cassian didn’t listen.”

I chuckled, joining them for breakfast.

Amren looked around. “Where’s your High Lord?”

“I was gonna ask you two the same thing. I assumed he got out of bed and came down to talk to you guys. Sheets were still warm when I woke up.”

Mor’s expression turned to one of amused dread. “He’s gonna join the race,” she said.

“I bet you’re right,” I replied. I rubbed my eyes. “They are five-and-a-half centuries old and they still behave like children.”

“Glad you’re his mate and not me,” Amren said with a smile as she drank from her goblet and shuddered. She hated food still, but she no longer had a choice.

“Frankly, me too,” I said. “I can’t imagine the chaos the two of you would cause.”

Mor laughed.

I assume you’re at the House of Wind? I thought down the bond, pushing the thought hard to make sure he received it.

Yep, Rhys’ voice replied in my mind.

I’ll be on the roof. Mor and I will referee.

I don’t know what you’re talking about. The words were too laced with laughter to be the truth.

Children. All three of you, I fired back.

All I got in return was his rumbling laughter. Distant thunder promising a welcome summer storm.

“Wanna join me on the roof?” I offered to Mor and Amren.

“Not really,” Amren replied.

“I will,” Mor said.

The two of us climbed up the stairs and sat on the white-painted iron chairs. Mor had a cup of tea and I had a mug of molten chocolate.

I looked up at the House of Wind. So far, there were no figures flying around its peak.

Mor lounged on her chair and eyed me. “Aren’t you cold?”

I shrugged. The early spring air was still clinging to the cold of winter and my satin dressing gown and nightgown were clinging to the cold right along with it, but it was something of a welcome change after the stifling heat under the covers in bed. “I’ll be fine for how long it’ll take Rhys and his brothers to get here.”

You ready? I asked.

Waiting on you, he replied.

We’re ready.

Then look up.

“They’re going,” I said to Mor, turning my attention back to the House.

Sure enough, three figures leapt off a balcony near the peak, streaking in a straight line toward us, wings barely extended to keep them aloft and at the angle they wanted. From their distance I couldn’t make out who was who yet, but I knew it wouldn’t take long.

“Five gold marks on Azriel,” I said.

“Aren’t you supposed to always bet on Rhys?” Mor teased.

“Azriel is lighter than Rhys and Cassian. I’m making an educated guess.”

She laughed. “Okay. Five gold marks on Rhys then.”

We watched them get closer.

“Rhys is going to be offended you bet against him,” Mor remarked.

“Probably,” I agreed.

“Rhys can winnow and Azriel… kinda does to. With the shadows. I’m not sure how he does it,” Mor mused. “But, Cassian—he just flies everywhere. So he’s probably a little better at it than both of them. More practiced, you know?”

I nodded. “Yeah… how about, if Cassian wins, we each give Amren five marks?”

Mor laughed. “She’d love and hate that. That we made her bet for her and chose Cassian.”

I shrugged. “Probably. But she wouldn’t mind the money.”

“Not at all.”

I caught glints of blue and red. Rhys was on the left, no Siphons, with Cassian in the middle and Azriel to the right. I still couldn’t tell who was in front, but it looked like I might have been right about Azriel. He looked like he was barely ahead of Rhys and Cassian.

As the three drew closer, I realized this was the future we’d fought the war for. The future full of fun and joy. The future of stupid games and meaningless bets. No gambling lives. Just a few marks for no reason other than fun. If Rhys never turned into that beast again, if he’d done enough to ensure our safety and security—finally—then it was all worth it.

They were close enough to see their faces now. Mor and I cleared a place where three could land all close to the same time and not knock over any furniture or trip. While Mor thought it’d be funny, I didn’t want anyone to face-plant off the roof.

Azriel slammed feet first into the roof. I thought I heard the attic rattle. Rhys hit barely half a second after, with Cassian right behind.

Mor gave me a long-suffering glance and sipped her tea. “I owe you five marks,” she said before flouncing back downstairs.

“You placed bets?” Cassian asked.

“You’re surprised?” I retorted sharply. Azriel snorted quietly.

“Fair enough,” Cassian said.

“You bet against me?” Rhys sounded offended even as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. His warmth banished the cold clinging to my dressing gown.

I shrugged nonchalantly, refusing to rise to his bait. “Azriel’s lighter than both of you. Skinnier. He can probably cut through the air easier. I made an educated guess,” I said, repeating what I said to Mor. I tilted up onto my tiptoes and kissed Rhys’ chin, since he was too tall for me to reach his cheek.

Rhys chuckled. “That’s okay, because I owe Cassian ten marks. I bet on Azriel too.” He kissed my forehead. The four of us still on the roof started making our way down. “So, what’s for breakfast?”

“Whatever anyone can find!” Mor shouted from below.

I grabbed Rhys’ wrist and held him so Cassian and Azriel would get ahead of us. When we were alone, I wrapped my arms around him. “This is the future we—you—fought for,” I whispered. “Is it worth it, to you?”

“I can’t think of anything more worth it.”

“Me neither.”

We held each other for a few more moments.

Then Cassian was calling us to haul downstairs before the food was gone.

Laughing, we descended.

[therealityhelix]

Okokokok so!

I'm gonna have to look tomorrow and see if any of the art I drew back then still exists. That might be a special treat, to the the art of a younger Helix! (I won't say baby Helix since in 06 I was still...ah well, you know.)

So, if there were a hundred houses in Menzoberranzan, House Mett'an was in constant battle with their rival, House Hazu for 99th place. These houses were commoner than common and nobody gave a shit about them. But their fierce rivalry and complete unimportance allowed them both to fly under the radar when they did absolutely heinous (by drow standards) shit to one another.

House Hazu sacrificed quite a bit, but managed to call down a curse on the entire Mett'an bloodline. All Mett'ans born since that time have some kind of serious Stat disadvantage. Weak, clumsy, hideous, it's always something. So the last intact matron began Secretly leading her house into a Drow taboo: mixing with other races.

They were not in enough favor with Llolth to call up they type of demons that create draegloth, but they summoned a lot of other things. House Mett'an has few pure Drow anymore, but quite a few tieflings and genasi, also some fey blooded and dragon blooded, and exactly one aasimar.

That's gonna be important.

The aasimar was sent by Eilistraee as a saboteur. They allowed themselves to be taken in a slave raid, and, disguised as a female, was assigned nursemaid to the matrons only surviving daughter, Amarazzthia. Now, as an unmixed Drow, Amarazzthia suffered the full brunt of the Hazu curse, and is dumb as a box of rocks.

This turned out to be perfect for the aasimar, who was able to hide her lack of braincells with potions and spells, while at the same time, teaching her about a whole different world.

There came a time in feyruunian history when Llolth fell entirely silent, and the underdark began to tear itself apart. The resulting violence resulted in the near eradication of both houses, and the loss of the last matron. Without any other candidates, Amarazzthia was declared matron, and she and the aasimar revealed what they'd been up to. The suggestion was pretty simple: The city was becoming a shithole, their rival was basically gone, and everything sucked. On the surface, there was the possibility of greater status and self determination, as well as a goddess that didn't play stupid games, and it was all just waiting for them.

The twenty remaining members of the house, mostly genasi by now, upped sticks and moved topside.

Amarazzthia is still stone stupid, but she is deeply dedicated and all about the group. She never fully grasped hatred or fear, and so is pretty damned good at being motivational. The aasimar, a gender fluid being, accepted her invitation to become her husband and when all this is done, they'll try to start rebuilding the house. She might take Gale or Wyll back with her too, if they can accept certain Drow customs concerning polyandry that she has seen no reason to give up.

She's a cleric of Eilistraee, and is chaotic neutral rocketing towards chaotic good. She looks like the most average drow imaginable: very black skin, very white hair, red eyes. She loves the color purple, and anything that reminds her of the moon. Pearls, moonstone, cats eye quartz, marble. The only thing she misses about the underdark is the mushroom wine.

Finally got around to making that drow oc I've had waiting around since 2006 in bg3. It's not a perfect one to one, since Amarazzthia rarely speaks, and tav never shuts the fuck up, but I am being the dark skinned drow I want to see in the world.

YES YES YES YES YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! what's her class what's her alignment who is she vibing with do you have art/screenshots of her [twirling my hair and kicking my feet like at a slumber party]

[galacticxcosmos]

𝑭𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓 ♕︎ jjk

Pairing :- Jungkook X Reader

Genre :- Suger Daddy AU, Romantic, Erotic, Angst and Fluff

Word Count :- 3.5k

Summary :- You didn't need a Sugar Daddy, but you still have one. What could make things worse? You having feelings for him probably?? But things were already messed up beyond your imagination, you heard of the saying, "Love hurts", but this much??

Warnings :- Explicit Sex, Noona kink, Dom Jungkook, Sub reader, A lot of angst (idk how I managed to write), mature theme, confused feelings, Jungkook with his smooth ass lines to melt your heart.

A/N:- I am still working on my series, mean while I just posted this quick Oneshot. I did go into depth of literature to give out the finest of my capabilities but it's not that bad, you can give it a try I guess. P.S:- Ignore the typos ans slight grammatical errors, I am too lazy to do proof reading. :P

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

The night fell, covering the sky with a dark blanket, the one that had holes through which you couldn't see light spots that resembled shimmering starts. You were standing in your large walk-in wardrobe, looking over the racks on racks of designer dresses, trying to decide what you were going to wear tonight.

A pit of uneasiness formed in your stomach, the feeling where you go back to back with feeling nauseatic to not feeling anything at all. You wondered what you were doing, why you were still doing this, even though you knew perfectly well why you still did.

You didn’t need a sugar daddy, yet you had one. You might have succeededly lied to everyone but lying to one's own self is indeed a difficult job. You had a good job when you first met him, you had your apartment, you had a decent income. A really good income, actually. There was just something about him, something that drew you in and captivated you and when he’d made the offer you hadn’t been able to refuse.

He got you a bigger apartment, you didn’t need to work. The only thing you needed to do was look pretty and be available for him whenever he needed or wanted you. You’d made one mistake in all of this and it was the one thing that kept you here and somehow simultaneously made you want to leave. You made a mistake, did something that you weren't supposed to.

You had fallen in love with him and you were falling harder.

You weren’t sure how much more you could take if you were being honest. You had given up so much just to be near him and you were starting to realise that the sex and accompanying him to certain events as his ‘friend’ weren’t going to be enough. You wanted more and you knew that he wouldn’t give it to you.

That was one of the most important rules that he had put in place when this first started. No one was to know about the two of you. Not one single person. You didn’t want that anymore though. You hadn’t wanted that in a long time but you knew that it wasn’t going to change.

You weren’t even the only girl that Jungkook had and your heart hurt a little bit more deeply each time he gained another conquest. Jungkook might be paying you to keep you around, for whatever reason you didn’t know, but that didn’t stop him from being the same playboy that he’d always been.

You sighed, pulling out a short black dress for the event tonight, knowing that Jungkook would love the way that it hugged your body tightly. It was sexy, but not in a way that flaunted your body, just the way that Jungkook liked it. The black fabric hugged your curves in all the right places, the long lace sleeves covering your arms adequately. The scooped neckline covered up to your collarbones, a cutout back showing just the right amount of skin.

You walked over to the floor to ceiling mirror, slipping on your black heels and double checking your appearance, knowing that Jungkook would be here soon. Just as you finished adjusting the way that your hair fell around your slender shoulders, the doorbell rang. You let out a small sigh, knowing that Jungkook was here to take you to the new years eve party.

He always rang the doorbell when he came, despite the fact that he had the code to get in and the fact that you’d told him repeatedly that he didn’t have to. You figured it was his own way of keeping certain boundaries in the relationship that you shared. You walked over to the bed, picking up the red clutch that you’d filled with your things earlier, glancing at yourself in the mirror one last time before leaving the room.

You pulled open your front door your eyes landing on the beautifully put together man waiting for you. His dark brown hair fell across his forehead in a soft wave, his silk soft lips pulled up into a small smile, his beautiful eyes wandering over you in approval of your choice of outfit.

He was wearing a quite obviously expensive black suit that accentuated his body to perfection. The crisp white shirt he was wearing had the first couple of buttons open and you wondered how he could manage to add a casual influence to the outfit and still look as good as he did. "Noona..." His voice was effective enough to send chills down your spine.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked in that soft, melodious voice of his that seemed to make your insides melt whenever you heard it. You found yourself nodding, stepping out into the hall beside him and pulling your door closed, steeling yourself to your feelings and the night that was to come as he wrapped an arm around your waist and leading you to the elevator.

You sat at an elegantly decorated table, drinking another glass of champagne, surrounded by beautiful rich people who talked about nothing and yet somehow never ran out of things to say and wondered what you were doing. Why you were here, why you kept doing this?? Confusion was bubbling up inside you.

You didn’t belong here, you knew that you didn’t belong here and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to leave, to remove yourself from the situation you had willingly put yourself in for something as silly as love. You downed the rest of your glass, waving over a waiter and grabbing another with a small thank you and continuing to drink the one that you had just taken.

It wouldn’t be so bad, if the man you loved actually harboured some kind of feelings for you in return, but he didn’t. You knew he didn’t and yet you just couldn’t seem to tear yourself away from him, desperate for any scrap of attention he threw your way.

You let out a small scoff, taking another sip from the crystal glass that you held. You didn’t even know what number drink this was, you’d had a fair few since Jungkook had disappeared, leaving you alone in a sea of people that you didn’t know and didn’t really want to know.

It was late, you knew it was late and you found yourself wondering just how late it was. Was it almost midnight yet, almost the new year? A time when people vowed to themselves to change in some small or significant way that they never usually saw through. Did you really want another year of this? Another year of being nothing but a plaything, something to be hidden and kept a secret? Another year of loving someone that would never feel the same way about you?

Your eyes drifted around the room, taking in the countless people adorned in jewels and expensive suits. Did you really want another year living a life that you knew you shouldn’t be living? Hell, half of the people here thought you were an escort and to be perfectly honest you weren’t exactly far from it. You missed your old life, where you were respected and had friends, where people didn’t look down upon you because you were nice and a hard worker.

Your eyes landed on Jungkook, arms wrapped around a beautiful girl on the dancefloor, your mouth dropping open slightly from shock. He was kissing her. Right in front of you, in front of everyone else, in the middle of the large dance floor.

You felt a stinging in your eyes, knowing that you were going to cry and that you needed to get out of there. It was the final push you needed, the final nail in the coffin. That you couldn’t do this anymore was the only thought you seemed to have as you rose to your feet before unsteadily leaving the large and opulent ballroom.

Back in the apartment that you had called home for such a long time, you were sat on the floor in the middle of your bright living space, two suitcases open in front of you and surrounded by clothes that you were trying to pack.

Your phone had been vibrating incessantly for a while before it had stopped completely, probably Jungkook wondering where the hell you had gone and what had happened but you had ignored it completely.

You had changed into comfortable leggings and a sweater, much more to your liking. You had begun to raid the closet, grabbing the least expensive items that you had purchased since you had moved in here.

You wiped your eyes for what felt like the billionth time, wondering when you were going to stop crying about this. It was for the best, you knew it was for the best. You couldn’t keep doing this to yourself and you should have had this much respect for yourself before this entire thing started. You were pulled from your thoughts at the loud banging that sounded out on your front door, your eyes shooting up to look at it as you nibbled on your lower lip nervously. You weren’t going to let him in, you couldn’t let him in.

Your eyes grew wide and you froze as you heard numbers being punched into the keypad at the door and you could have slapped yourself for your stupidity. You’d forgotten to change the code, how could you forget to change the code? Your panicked eyes locked with his as he walked into your apartment, his eyes filled with a frustration that changed to slight panic as he took in your position on the floor, surrounded by suitcases and your belongings. “No-- Noona... What are you doing?”

There was a slight tremble to his voice that he couldn’t seem to hide and your eyes took in just how disheveled he looked, his hair no longer perfectly styled and now looking as though he’d run his hands roughly through it more than once. You dragged your eyes from him, looking back down to the suitcase in front of you and reaching to pick up some of the clothes beside you, tucking them into the suitcase as you spoke.

“I don’t want to do this anymore Jungkook. I deserve better than this and I need to learn to respect myself again. I’m going home.” You looked up at him as you finished speaking, noticing the way that his face had seemed to lose a little color, the way his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed deeply.

He began to walk toward you, closing the distance between you quickly and you dropped your eyes from him once again, reaching out to put another stack of clothes into the suitcase. His hand found your own and you almost flinched from the contact, refusing to look up at him and meet his eyes as he spoke to you in his soft, calm voice.

“I don’t want to lose you, I can’t lose you. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. Just tell me what you want Noona, please.” There was a desperation in his tone, one that he didn’t seem to care to hide at this precise moment. Your eyes slid shut as you drew a shaky breath, knowing that he couldn’t give you what you so desperately wanted.

“You can’t give me what I want Jungkook, I know you can’t. I’ve done this for as long as I can, this needs to end now.” Your voice was barely a whisper, your heart seemingly breaking more at your own words. You wished he could give you what you wanted, you wished for it with everything that you had, but you knew it wasn’t a possibility.

Jungkook’s hand tightened around your own when you tried to pull it away, a hand reaching out to force you to look at him. The tips of his fingers felt ever so soft against your skin and you had to fight not to lean into the touch. “You don’t know what I can give you Noona. You don’t know what I would do for you,” you could hear the nerves in his voice when he spoke and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his own as he continued to speak. “Noona, listen to me. I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to fall asleep every night holding you. I want to come home from work to see you dressed just like this. I want everyone to know how much I love you, because I do love you, Noona. You and only you.”

Your heart almost stopped beating with his last words, your eyes widening as you looked into his own beautiful orbs. Your brain scrambled to try and process what he’d just said to you, that he loved you the way that you loved him. When you took too long to respond, Jungkook drew in a shaky breath, before speaking once again. “I was just scared. I knew that there was something about you the first moment that I met you and I wanted to keep you by my side as much as I could Noona. I know you think there have been others besides you, but there hasn’t. I’ve loved you for a long time, I want a relationship with you. I want you by my side forever Noona..”

You sat there, looking at him as he crouched before you, your mind frantically trying to process what he was telling you. You wanted nothing more than to believe him, but there was one thing that kept nagging away at you. “What about the girl earlier tonight? I saw you kissing her,” your voice shook when you spoke and you almost cursed yourself for showing how nervous you were about that question. You wanted nothing more than to believe him, but you knew that you needed to know.

Jungkook’s voice was soft when he answered you, a certain look in his eyes that made you believe him. You knew that he was telling the truth.

“She kissed me, I pushed her away and went to look for you, but you were gone. I’m sorry.” His hand gave your own a gentle squeeze, his eyes searching your own. “I really do love you. I want to give us a chance. What do you want?” Jungkook was practically handing you everything that you had wanted since you’d met him to you on a platter and you were feeling overwhelmed. You had dreamt of this for so long and you’d suddenly found yourself at a loss for words now that he was offering it to you.

Unable to form any words, you answered him in the only way that you could, leaning forward and capturing his lips with your own. He instantly reached out to you, settling himself more comfortably on the floor and pulling you into his lap, his hands gripping your waist tightly as though he was scared to let you go.

You shifted yourself so that you were straddling him, somehow never once breaking the kiss. His tongue brushed the seam of your lips, looking for access which you granted, his tongue dipping inside as your hands reached up to tangle in his silky hair. The kiss quickly grew more heated, both wanting each other with a desperation that was surprising. Jungkook’s lips pulled away, moving along your jaw to your throat, nibbling and sucking on your sensitive skin and causing a small moan to escape you as heat shot through you straight to your core.

His wandering hands found the edge of your sweater as he removed his lips from your skin, pulling the sweater up and over your head quickly and throwing it somewhere in the room, before quickly returning his mouth to your neck. You ground yourself onto him, a small whimper escaping you as your hands flew down to push his jacket off of his strong shoulders. The action caused Jungkook to let out a small groan of his own as he pushed up against you.

His voice was practically a growl against your ear when he said “Bedroom, Princess. Now,” his tone changed, dominance was evident and you didn’t have to be told twice, getting to your feet with Jungkook following quickly behind you into your plush bedroom. You had barely made it into the bedroom when Jungkook pulled you against him once again, your tongues tangling together with the same desperation that had been present in the other room.

Your hands flew to his shirt, fighting with the buttons for a few minutes before you finally managed to get them undone, the fabric falling to the floor as Jungkook maneuvered you toward the bed. His hands reached down to unclasp your bra, that quickly disappearing too, before he also removed your leggings and your panties, finally pushing you down on to the bed.

He quickly removed the rest of his clothes, before joining you on the bed and settling himself between your parted thighs, capturing your lips once again in a searing kiss. You whined into his mouth, desperately wanting him to touch you, the sound seeming to let him know exactly what you wanted from him as he removed his lips from your own and ghosting soft kisses along your throat.

He kissed his way along your collarbone, finally reaching your chest and drawing one of your stiff nipples into his mouth as one of his hands drifted along your thigh, eventually reaching the place that you wanted him the most. His tongue circled your hardened nipple as he drew a finger along your wet slit, a soft moan escaping him when he felt just how wet you were for him. Your hips bucked up, desperate for more contact with him and you felt him smile against your skin before he gave you what you wanted.

You moaned as he slid a finger inside your wetness, his thumb drawing circles into your clit when he eased another finger inside. His mouth came up to meet your own, your small whimpers and whines being caught by his mouth as his fingers worked you, your small hands gripping his shoulders tightly. You were a shivering mess beneath him when you finally pulled your lips away from his own, your voice coming out as a shaky whine when you spoke.

“I want you inside me Jungkook, please.” He chuckled against your throat, where he’d moved his mouth when you had pulled away. “Whatever you want, Princess,” was all he said as he removed his fingers from your wetness. He shifted, aligning himself with your entrance before slowly pushing into your wet heat.

You both moaned, Jungkook burying his face in the crook of your neck as he buried himself to the hilt before giving you a few seconds to adjust. His hands moved gently along your arms, fingers wrapping around your wrists to hold your arms above your head. He began to move almost painstakingly slowly, before suddenly slamming back into you with a force that pulled a surprised whimper from you. Your moans and whimpers filled the room as Jungkook continued to pound into you. “Is this what you wanted Noona?” he asked, his breath coming in short pants as he fucked you hard. You couldn’t find your own voice, your own whimpers and moans coming out as breathless pants as he continued to slam into you and you could only nod in response.

Jungkook released one of your wrists, your freed hand instantly flying to tangle itself in his soft hair as Jungkook shifted slightly, the new angle allowing him to hit you even deeper than before. Your legs began to shake slightly, the knot in your stomach growing tighter as you grew closer to your release. Your walls clenching around him told Jungkook just how close you were as he moved his free hand to rub circles against your sensitive bud and that was all you needed to fall over the edge.

Your body shook around him, your walls clenching him tightly as your orgasm washed over you. Jungkook’s movements became more sloppy and less controlled, before finally reaching his own release. his body tensed, head buried in your neck as he groaned your name, coming deep inside of you. He collapsed against you, his grip on your remaining wrist falling away and you held on to him gently, almost afraid to let him go. As if he sensed your worry, his lips quirked against your shoulder before he lifted his head, brushing a soft kiss on your lips and looking you straight in the eyes.

“I love you Noona, and I always will” he said gently, brushing his lips against your own once more. You gave a small smile as he pulled away, unsure of how this one day had ended the way that it had but unbelievably happy that the man that you loved also loved you. “I love you too Jungkook,” you whispered, "Don't say 'too' it sounds like a contract" he pouted that had successfully melt your heart, "I love you Kookie" he giggled at the nickname, "I love you more" he wishpered, you placed your lips against his soft ones, a happy smile of his own gracing his lips as you captured them in yet another loving kiss hoping the night to not end.

The End.

Feel free to like or reblog, you can follow me for more. Let me know how was it in the comments, this is the first Oneshot that I have written in this account

~peace out.

[pan-fangirl-345]

Did Fate Screw Us?

Summary: Everyone has a Soul Mark. Yours just happens to make you miserable. Your brother, Ken, tries to make it better, but between work and having to care for your siblings, telling Tooru Oikawa that you’re his soulmate really isn’t on your agenda.

TW: Mentions of animal abuse, child neglect, there’s some swearing, a little bit of angst.

A/N: This was supposed to be a cute little one-shot, but it’s over five thousand words and there’s some angst, but it has a happy ending I swear!

You stared down at the tattoo that wove it's way up your arm, the turquoise and white and a strange shade of brown all interwoven and twisted together, coming to a stop right above your heart in a ball of tangled colors.

It was your Soul Mark, a permanent tattoo everyone got when they turned ten years old. Yours was different from everyone else's though. Most people had a small bracelet tattoo over their veins, others had a small ball above their heart like the one where your tattoo ended. Others even had tattoos that covered their entire hands.

Yours though, yours went from the tips of your fingers all the way up your arm, over your shoulder, before sliming to a ball over your heart, whorls and smears of ink that covered your skin.

Your mother had cried the first time she had seen it, but had never told you why.

You had figured it out, years later, in history class.

The bigger the mark, the more skin that was covered, the harder the relationship would be.

You had started to hate the mark after you figured that out. You had thought maybe fate had screwed up somehow.

Even the universe could make mistakes right?

But then you saw him for the first time.

Tooru Oikawa, an amazing setter. 

You had gone to the same middle school, and you'd seen him around in the halls. You had seen him smiling at a pretty girl in your last year there. Everyone was figuring out who their soulmates were, getting crushes and getting over the whole cooties phase.

He was attractive, he was smart, he was an athlete. He was everything society wanted him to be. Except for his mark.

He had always seemed do proud of it, despite it's size, the white and turquoise curled around a color the same shade as your eyes.

You had seen his mark, looked down at yours, and immediately known what was going on.

You hadn't talked to him though, you had realized, even at such a young age, that he was going to be great, that he was going to do amazing things, and that you would only distract him

You had started to cover your mark up, getting up early to cover it completely in concealer, wearing a sweater in the winters as an excuse.

You thought that after middle school you wouldn't have to worry about it.

But then you walked into class on your first day of high school at Seijoh.

He was right there, sitting in class with Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa.

He'd glanced up at you when you walked in, before going back to talking to Iwaizumi, tattoo on full display.

You kept your head down, you went through the motions, you avoided him whenever possible. 

Until the next year, when your brother, Kentarou, joined the volleyball team.

Kentarou, as much as he looked like a delinquent, was a good kid. He was scary looking, but he was sweet, and he always had a hug for you when you needed one.

Which was more often than you would've liked to admit.

"Ken, you need to stop forgetting your phone," you chided as you handed your baby brother his phone. "What if Kaida needs us and I don't answer?"

"I know, I'm sorry, I thought I put it in my bag this morning," he grumbled, taking a drink from his water bottle.

"Just . . . try to remember okay?" you asked, moving your head to look at him.

"Alright," he mumbled.

"Good boy," you teased, ruffling his hair.

"Stop that," he hissed. "You'll get that skin shit in my hair."

"It's called concealer, dumbass, and no I won't."

"Is Kyouken-chan willingly being touched by someone?" a voice cooed, and you tensed when you saw Oikawa step towards you.

"Who's your friend Kyoutani?" Iwaizumi asked, looking at you.

"My sister. Kyoutani (Y/F/N)."

"You two look nothing alike," Iwaizumi said, glancing between the two of you.

"Ken looks like our father, I got more of our mother's looks," you said, trying to act like you weren't being drawn to the setter, like your entire being wasn't aching to be nearer to him.

He was looking at you quizzically, before his eyes darted to your hand, then back to your eyes.

"Remember to text me when you get home," you told Kentarou. "Oh, and I'll be late again tonight because I have a shift at the shelter. Make sure to feed the dogs, and get Kaida to bed on time or so help me, I will ground the both of you."

"I will," Ken hissed.

You nodded to Oikawa and Iwaizumi, walking as slowly as you could manage towards the gym doors.

Once the door was safely shut and you were far enough away, you crouched by the lockers, taking deep breaths.

He must've felt the pull. He must've. There was no way he didn't know now. All your hard work, down the drain just because your little brother forgot his phone.

What if he wanted to talk to you? What if he wanted to try and make something work? What if he wanted to be with you?

"I have to get out of here," you muttered, bolting for the entrance to the school.

________________________________ Your panic subsided when you went to school the next day and Oikawa didn't try to talk to you. Kentarou had remembered everything so you didn't need to track him down, so it was a good day.

Until you got to work.

"We have a new arrival," you supervisor told you.

"Uh oh, that doesn't sound good."

"Well, they don't seem to be taking very well to any of our other members. I figured if anyone could get him to calm down, it was you."

"Breed?"

"From what we can tell, a Pitbull Great Dane mix. Cops raided a dog fighting ring."

"Poor babies."

"They found four litters of puppies. Three with six and one with eight."

You shook your head.

Despicable.

"Here he is."

"Oh, poor baby," you cooed, taking in the light brown dog as he trembled in the corner of his kennel. "Hey there fella," you said softly. "Is he violent?"

"Nope, go right ahead," your supervisor said, leaving you to do your job.

"Hey, it's okay," you murmured, stepping inside, shutting the door, leaning against it.

The dog reminded you of someone, with it soft brown eyes and lighter colored fur, but you couldn't place who.

"It's okay," you promised. "I'm not going to hurt you. See? No sharp sticks or shocking guns. I promise, I'm not going to hurt you. I know that it's loud in here."

You slowly stretched your hand out so he could sniff it, watching for signs of aggression. You had enough bite marks to know that sometimes random little things triggered a dog.

No sudden movements and you would probably be fine, but you wanted to make sure.

Slowly, the dog lifted it's head, stretching out it's neck to sniff your hand, licking your palm lightly.\

"There you go. See? I'm not going to hurt you," you said calmly, moving to rub his head softly.

His hackles raised slightly and you drew back.

"Okay, no touching yet, that's okay, we can work up to that," you said.

"Did you get him to calm down?"

"Yeah, but warn everyone not to touch him, he got a little agitated," you told your boss when he came back ten minutes later.

"Do you want this one?"

"If you wouldn't mind giving it to me, yes. I want to make sure he's safe before we give him to a family."

"So he's your responsibility when you're one shift now."

"Alright. Can you get me a harness?"

__________________________ As soon as you stepped through the door after your shift, your little sister Kaida was throwing herself into your legs.

"(Y/F/N)! You're home!"

"Hello little dragon, have you eaten?"

"Sort of, I made myself a sandwich when I got home, but Ken isn't home yet."

"Alright, did you do your homework?"

"Yes," she said proudly showing you her scribbled on math homework.

"Good girl," you cooed. "Go watch some TV while I start dinner, yeah?"

"Alright!"

You smiled fondly as she bolted to the living room.

At nine years old, your sister had the same coarse, frizzy hair of your brother, and she wore braids most of the time to control it, but when she got home for the day they came out. She was such a bubbly person, especially for someone her age, and she made you smile everyday.

You found a pot and filled it with water, digging out a box of pasta.

The door slamming twenty minutes later signaled Ken's return and you smiled at him when he threw his bag down.

"How was your day?"

"Long," he grumbled, moving to the living room, probably in search of Kaida.

He came back in five minutes later and said, "I know you worked today, go sit down, it's my day to cook dinner anyway."

"Thank you," you told him, snatching the brush he had in his hands.

He grunted, moving around the kitchen, taking over.

"Kaida, come here, I'll help you with your hair," you called, and she plopped herself in your lap eagerly.

"You're much better at this than Ken," she told you, making you laugh when Ken made a protest in the kitchen.

"Ken tries his best but he doesn't understand how it feels to have your hair pulled."

You quickly worked your way through her hair, letting it calm you as well as her. She told you about her day, and about how she had met this really cute boy on the way home that had just moved into the neighborhood.

"His name's Takeru Oikawa!"

Ken dropped something in the kitchen and you dropped the brush you were holding.

Your brother knew Oikawa was your soulmate, and you had both agreed to keep it between the two of you until you were ready to face it.

"Ken, are you alright in there?"

"No," he snapped, stepping into the living room.

"What did you drop?"

"I'm not hurt," he told you, waving you away when you rushed over.

"What's with the reaction?" she asked, turning to look at you both.

"We . . . we might go to school with a family member of his," you said. "Did he mention someone named Tooru?"

"Yeah, that's his uncle."

You let out a breath, picking up the brush.

"Sorry we freaked you out baby," you murmured, running the brush through her hair again.

"It's okay," she replied, leaning back into you.

"If you want, you can invite him out for a playdate," you told her.

"We said we'd walk home with each other," she said.

A lot of the kids in the neighborhood walked to school together in big groups, kids who's parents worked early or had older siblings that couldn't take them.

"Okay sweetheart."

"When's Mommy coming home?"

"Late, sweetpea," Ken told her. "She's taking another shift at the hospital this month."

"Oh," Kaida said, deflating a little.

"Dad said that he could take you this weekend if you wanted," you told her, making her perk up.

"Really?"

"Yep, do you wanna go?"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!" she shouted.

"Okay, go call him," you said, smiling at her enthusiasm.

"You work too hard," Ken mumbled when he sat down. "You look tired."

"I'm fine," you assured him. "Besides, there's a new dog! I think you'd like him."

Ken nodded, slumping onto your shoulder.

"You really should talk to him."

You opened your mouth to argue, but Ken interjected.

"I know I say a lot of shit about him, but he is a good guy, and I think he'd be good for you. I also think he deserves to know."

"He's not going to want me Ken," you said. "He's going to take one look at me and this mark and he is going to laugh and walk away."

"Not everyone is Mom and Dad," Ken grunted.

"I know that," you snapped, then winced. "I know that, but . . . I also know how much he loves volleyball. I know how hard he pushes himself to do better, be better. I'm not . . . I'm not the kind of person he's going to want, or the person he needs."

"You're soulmates, if anyone is made for him, it's you!"

"Mom and Dad were made for each other," you reminded him. "Mom and Dad were soulmates and look how they turned out. Not to mention Grandma and Pops!"

Ken sighed.

"Just . . . think about it please. He wants to know you. All he talks about is how amazing they're going to be and how beautiful they are. He doesn't even know it's you."

"Ken, if he knew me, he'd hate me."

"If he did then he'd be missing out on a lot."

"Ken, you're required to say that."

"I'm not. I'm telling the truth."

You rolled your eyes, but patted his knee.

"Get back in the kitchen, you're gonna burn dinner." ____________________________

A few more weeks went by, and everything was good.

Kaida and Takeru were fast friends, and when she wasn't playing with him, she had gotten hooked on volleyball, just like her brother.

Takeru had taken a liking to your house as well, so there was more giggling going on now.

It made you happy that she had such a good friend, someone that made her smile like that. She had never had many friends.

"Kaida, I want you to remember that I have to work tonight, and that Ken is picking you up, alright?"

"Okie dokie!" she said, dashing into the community center where she was learning to play volleyball with Takeru.

As soon as you got to the shelter you headed for Kuma, the mix that had come in. He still really only liked you, but that was okay.

"Hey big fella!" you said when you walked into his cage.

He had really come out of his shell, he liked the friendlier dogs, and you had brought Ken in, so he was okay with someone other than you.

He didn't like cats, but he didn't seem to mind little children.

"You wanna go for a run?" you asked, holding the harness in your hand.

He jumped and gave a happy little noise that you took as a yes.

Kuma was only about a year and a half old, and he still had the energy of a puppy.

"Okay boy, come on," you cooed, hooking the harness on, opening the door. "I'll be back in twenty minutes!"

You loved going on runs with Kuma, one because no one gave you any problems, two because it gave you the exercise that you missed out on in school. You took the job in lieu of a club, and this gave you the exercise.

"Hey (Y/F/N)!"

"Ken? What are you doing out here?"

"The team is on a run," he said, crouching to pet Kuma, who licked his face. "I saw you and bolted ahead."

He was right, the rest of the boys seemed to be catching up to him and Kuma looked at them excitedly.

He was becoming much more friendly with other people as long as they didn't work at the kennel.

"That's a big dog," Iwaizumi muttered when he slowed down. "Is that yours?"

"No, he's a new rescue that came in earlier this month. This is Kuma, and he's a very good boy."

Iwaizumi let the dog sniff his hand and laughed, rubbing his ears.

"You two need to stop rushing ahead," Oikawa chided, bent over his knees panting.

"Kyoutani was the one that ran off yelling! I wanted to make sure he wasn't gonna deck some poor soul."

"I'm not that bad," Ken muttered.

"Puppy!" Oikawa shouted when he straightened. "Can I pet him?"

"Yes," you said, after making sure his yell didn't startle the poor dog.

"What's his name?"

"Kuma, for now, but when he gets adopted they might change it," you said, scratching his back lovingly.

"(Y/F/N), let's be real here, if you have it your way, you'll be bringing him home," Ken mumbled.

"And that wouldn't be a bad thing. I'd feel better knowing that you and Kaida weren't home all alone with two little terriers as protection," you snapped. "Especially since Takeru has been coming over! No one would ever really wanna mess with you, would they baby?" you asked, cooing to the dog, who licked your cheek.

"How do you know my nephew?" Oikawa asked, suddenly straightening.

"Your nephew is now my d-" you paused, catching yourself. "My little sister's new best friend. Kaida Kyoutani?"

"Shittykawa, how did you not put that together?" Iwaizumi asked.

"They look nothing alike!"

"Bullshit," Ken coughed, glancing at you.

Your wrist buzzed and you sighed.

"Great, now I get to go get mauled by a bunch of five-year-old's and a bunch of five month old puppies," you moaned, waving your brother off Kuma. "Come on boy, let's head back. Remember Ken, you have to pick Kaida up. Mom won't be home tonight, she's pulling a double shift, and Dad said he might stop by. Pops is coming by on Saturday to see us, and I want the house cleaned before then because you know how Pops gets. I feel like I'm forgetting something."

"Homework, food, and bills."

"Bingo," you said, snapping your figners. "God I hate my life," you muttered. "See you later little brother. Come on Kuma, let's get back," you said, breaking into a sprint towards the shelter.

_________________________________ "I'm late, I'm late, I'm so fucking late!" you muttered, rushing through the halls to get to your first class, ignoring the weird stares and murmurs you were getting.

You, Ken, Kaida, Takeru, and Tooru, had somehow managed to get wrangled into a movie night.

Oikawa had dropped his nephew off, and then gotten sucked into the chaos with you and your brother.

Ken was right, he was a good guy, but he had kept staring at you.

You had felt the pull all night, and you had tried to act normal, but something was off.

You were trying to ignore the way you thought he was cute curled up with your sister and his nephew, the way the dogs were at his feet, tails wagging.

He was attractive, and he was smart, and funny, and good with kids and dogs, and he was determined. He was everything you would ever want . . . but were you?

Were you all he would ever want?

The thought kept you awake through the movie, and once you had fallen asleep, you were dead to the world.

You had stayed up so late that you had slept through your first alarm, then your second, and then your third. You had barely managed to get the other two out the door, and you had completely forgotten about yourself until you got halfway out the door before you realized you were still in your pajamas.

You were late to first period, your mark wasn't covered, and Kyoutani didn't have his books for his third period class.

You were this close to a mental breakdown and it showed.

"Are you alright?" Oikawa asked quietly when you snuck into your seat.

"No," you muttered, stuffing your hand into the folds of your skirt to try and cover the mark.

He kept quiet for the rest of class, but he was waiting for you after class ended.

"Do you need to talk about it?" he asked.

"Talk about what?" you asked, heading for your brother's classroom.

"About how you're raising your brother and sister."

"No," you replied. "I'm handling it."

Oikawa arched an eyebrow and scanned you.

"This doesn't happen every day," you assured him, carding your hand through your hair to try and control it a little more.

"How often do you see your mother?"

"Every couple of days usually."

"What about your father?"

"Every few weeks," you told him. "Look, why do you even care?"

"I . . . I don't know," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"I don't mean to be rude, but do us both a favor and stop asking questions. You won't like what you dig up," you muttered, walking into Ken's class to drop off the books he forgot.

Oikawa looked like he wanted to say something, but one of his fangirls pulled him aside, saving you the trouble of telling him to get lost.

_______________________________ Nothing really changes over the course of the next months.

You do end up bringing Kuma home, Oikawa stops asking questions, and everyone seems to be happy.

He somehow didn't see your tattoo, or if he did, he decided not to say anything about it.

You become a third year, Ken quits the team and then joins again.

Kaida and Takeru get their Soul Marks, and Takeru meets his soulmate the month after.

Kaida hasn't met hers yet, but you're sure that she will soon.

Takeru keeps coming by, bringing his soulmate, who is now also very good friends with Kaida.

Oikawa and the others are training and becoming stronger.

Ken finds out that his soulmate is Yahaba, who is more than happy to avoid that for now.

But then their tournament is coming up, and they can't avoid it, so they start to work together.

You see Yahaba slam your brother into a wall at the game, and you see Seijoh's defeat by the hands of Karasuno, who move onto Shiritorizawa.

You're there to catch your brother when he cries into your shoulder and you assure him that he did his best, that this is not his fault.

Kaida cries with him, and then she cried with you, even when she doesn't understand why you're crying to begin with.

"I want to talk to you," Oikawa tells you one day when you go into the gym to drop off something Ken forgot.

"About?"

"The fact that we're soulmates."

You choked on your own spit, eyes wide when Oikawa reaches for your hand.

"No."

You said it so forcefully that he actually took a step back.

"No?" he asked, confusion and surprise mixing together on his face.

"No, you aren't going to want this. You aren't going to want me. This isn't going to work," you told him, pulling your hands to your chest.

Your panicking, and you know that you're probably overreacting, but . . . you don't want to trap him with you.

So you do the only logical thing you can thing of.

You run. _______________________ He was chasing you!

He had run after you the second he got over the fact that you were running. You were dodging people, heading for the doors.

Why was he chasing you? Was this so important to him that he was willing to miss practice to talk to you about it?

"(Y/F/N)! Stop, just talk to me," he called, pushing through people, trying to catch up to you.

How far were the doors?

Would you make it?

Suddenly, a hand latched onto yours and you were pulled into an empty classroom and you struggled.

"Stop it," Oikawa hissed. "I just want to talk to you about this."

"Talk about what? The fact that our relationship is pretty much doomed from the start?" you snapped, trying to wrench your wrist away from his fingers, which were like iron.

"What do you mean 'doomed from the start'?" Oikawa asked.

"You pay attention in history, right? The more skin the tattoo takes up the harder the relationship."

"Fuck the history textbooks," he snarled, tightening his grip. "My mother always told me the more skin the tattoo took up the more my soulmate would care for me. The more we would love each other."

You let out a wet chuckle.

"Who's right?" you asked, staring him down as you both stood there, wills clashing as your worlds collided.

“Let’s find out,” he said, moving to grip your hands in his.

“What?” you asked, trying to jerk away.

“I said, let’s find out.”

His brown eyes bored into yours as you stared at each other. 

“I want to know, (Y/F/N), if this is something I am going to want. I want to know if this is something you are going to want. We won’t know unless we try. So let’s fine out. Let’s find out together.”

He wasn’t going to let this go, you knew that. He wasn’t going to let this go until he found out.

“Alright.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

_____________________

“Are you sure that you can’t move to Argentina with me? They’re willing to pay for you to come with me,” Tooru said, trying to bribe you.

“I can’t just pack up and move to Argentina, Tooru! What about Ken and Kaida?” you asked, leaning back against his chest to get a better look at him from where you were perched in his lap.

“Hire a babysitter!”

“Tooru!” you chided, hitting his arm lightly. “You know I can’t do that. I have classes starting here in three months. I want to be here for Ken and Kaida until I know that they’re on their feet.”

“But . . . you’ll be so far away,” he moaned, tightening his grip around your waist.

“So? You can still text me every day and you can call me whenever you want,” you told him, kissing his cheek lightly. “Besides, I’ll go to every single game you play against Japan and you can come home for holidays.”

“But . . . what if-?”

“Tooru,” you said, twisting around so you were straddling his hips. “You survived without me until four months ago. You didn’t even know we were soulmates, I think you can survive this. Besides, it’s not like I��m going to stop loving you while you’re gone.”

“You two really can’t keep your hands off each other can you?” Ken asked.

“You can’t say anything little brother,” you retorted, gesturing to where Yahaba was perched in Ken’s lap.

He flushed, but Yahaba chuckled.

“She has a point Ken,” he teased, toying with Ken’s fingers.

“So you really won’t come with me?” Tooru asked.

“You know I can’t. Maybe when I’m out of school and Kaida graduates,” you said, settling back around.

“But that’s so far away,” he whined, burying his face in your neck.

“Doesn’t matter,” you told him. “No matter where you are, what lifetime we’re in, how far apart you think we are, no matter who tries to keep us apart, I will always find a way back to you Tooru. The universe will always find a way to keep us together,” you assured him, taking his hand.

“Promise?”

“I swear it on us,” you confirmed.

“Why us?” he inquired.

“There’s nothing I believe in more than that.”

[aimeelouart]

I dunno how you feel about Rufus, but I think it’d be kind of interesting to see if he found a young time travel Cloud instead of the 1sts. Like it starts off where he like “oh another shinra bastard” but by the end evolves to “if anyone hurts Cloud I’d kill everyone in this tower and then myself” lol

The Tanuki of Shinra Tower - 2106 words, roughly the same continuity as SSC, so Cloud looks like a kid

--

Rufus blinked at the little blond child, freezing halfway through his office door. The little blond child glared back from the wall, a knife clenched between his teeth. Slowly, he slid back into the vent he was hanging out of and pulled the cover closed behind him.

“Huh,” said Rufus. He picked up the phone on his desk and dialed Veld’s office.

⁠—

The child was back, this time raiding the break room for food at the asscrack of dawn. He paused when Rufus came in, eyes briefly flitting down to where Rufus’s guns were holstered, before apparently dismissing him as unimportant and going back to rooting through the fridge.

Rufus narrowed his eyes, a little insulted but more than curious enough to set his annoyance aside for the moment. He realized what he hadn’t the first time⁠: the tiny little thing had mako in his bright blue eyes. The tiny little thing had a SOLDIER’s enhancements. So Rufus leaned against the wall by the door and crossed his arms over his chest, observing as the child picked up a container of leftover wutaian noodles, sniffed it, made a face, and put it back.

Had his father handed one of his bastard children over to Science? It didn’t seem like something he’d do, but at the same time it didn’t seem like something he wouldn’t do. And if the little thing was an experiment, why was he running amok like this? Veld hadn’t had a clue that a blond child was loose in the vents when he’d first called, though Rufus and the Turks in general were starting to think the kid had something to do with the many mysterious happenings around the Tower.

The kid finished his raid as Rufus watched thoughtfully, standing up with an apple in his mouth and a half-eaten sandwich in one hand. He kicked the fridge door shut, cast Rufus one last uninterested look, and scrambled back into the open vent, closing it behind him with his bare feet.

“Huh,” said Rufus.

He mentally dubbed the child Tanuki and set the coffee to brewing before he went back to his office and called Veld again.

⁠—

The Turks weren’t making much progress on tracking Tanuki down, which was, frankly, hilarious. Some wild theories were being thrown around, mostly for entertainment and venting frustration that they were somehow losing to a child whose age wasn’t even in the double digits. The most popular theory was that Tanuki was actually a very lifelike robot.

Rufus’s personal favorite theory was that Tanuki was the hellspawn of Scarlett and his father. Scarlett, being a heartless bitch, had dumped her newborn baby in a reactor, from which he had then emerged filled with the wrath of the gods and spite enough to kill all of Shinra by a thousand petty cuts.

Considering how often the coffee makers in the executive floors had been mysteriously sabotaged, it seemed about right.

Rufus came back to his office from an executive meeting that had lasted well past 9pm, exhausted and determined to pick up Darkstar so that they could go home immediately. He found his dog, certainly, curled up in the corner of his office on her bed. 

He also found Tanuki, sleeping like a pup against the barrel of her chest.

Starry raised her head and whined very very softly, short tail wagging as if to say ‘look what I have!’ Rufus toed off his shoes and crept over to crouch just out of arm’s reach, observing the boy’s sleeping face. Of course his murderous (pushover) guard hound would be the first to pin the child down. He shook his head and patted her flank. Her tail wagged harder.

The child woke all at once, eyes flying open and landing squarely on Rufus. It was impressive. He’d seen Turks who had far less control over themselves so soon after waking.

“Oh. You,” said the child in a sleep-roughened voice. He rubbed briefly at his eyes, yawning without actually opening his mouth. “Tell Darkstar to get off me.” One of her heavy forelegs was laid over his waist, keeping him trapped curled up against her. Mako strength or not, it was probably difficult to wiggle out from under a heavy, stubborn dog.

A little smile curled at Rufus’s lips. The kid was fearless. He liked it, especially in a maybe-possibly little half-brother. “Why would I do that instead of, say, calling a Turk while you’re stuck here?”

The kid shot him a wry look that didn’t quite fit his soft young face. “I could kill either or both of you instead,” he said with not an ounce of false bravado. Pointedly, he tapped the hilt of the knife at his waist with one finger.

“Then why don’t you?” Rufus was curious. What exactly were the kid’s goals here? Based on his preternatural skillset, he could probably have killed every single person in the Tower and gotten away with it.

“Too much trouble. I’d prefer you alive.” He reached up and scratched Starry behind the ear. She leaned into it, tail and tentacle waving happily. “And Darkstar is the most tolerable out of all of you.”

Fair enough. Rufus was satisfied for now. He whistled and Darkstar got up with a deeply reluctant whine, slinking sulkily over to his side. Tanuki got up too, stretching fluidly, and headed for the vents.

“Do you have a name?” Rufus asked impulsively.

The kid climbed up and slid into the vent feet-first, pausing to look at Rufus. A tiny, shit-eating grin curled at his lips. “All things considered,” he said, “I think the nickname you gave me is good enough for now. I’ll tell you when you’ve earned my name.” Then he closed the grate and vanished.

Rufus huffed. Alright then.

⁠—

The tiny acts of sabotage continued apace, much to the Turks’ frustration. Veld still had yet to see Tanuki himself, though a few of the younger Turks had caught glimpses. That might have been deliberate on Tanuki’s part⁠—he seemed to be something of a little shit. Rufus himself had semi-frequent, if unpredictable, conversations with the child, mostly when he caught him stealing food from the break room. 

Or from his desk. Tanuki was shameless.

The child would pass on information when it suited him⁠—flash drives, printed files, occasionally physical evidence. It all seemed very random, but Rufus guessed that there was some kind of connection between everything. Whatever it was, it was inscrutable, even to Veld.

Or at least, it was until nearly all of Science was demolished in one fell swoop.

The chaos was incredible. As the reports rolled in, it seemed that dozens upon dozens of small events had neatly lined up to kill the top scientists and send the whole department screeching to a halt. Hojo was dead, killed by one of his own experiments. Hollander was dead, drowned in a vat of mako. Every fire sprinkler in the whole building had gone off and didn’t shut off for nearly thirty minutes. The physical damage was incalculable.

And Rufus had a feeling it was all Tanuki’s doing.

Oh, he had no evidence. But arranging something so grand in scale would certainly explain why someone of his skills had been doing nothing but relatively harmless sabotage for nearly three months. Veld agreed, when he voiced his thoughts. No one had any idea where the little gremlin was, or how he’d done any of it.

Rufus got part of an answer when he retired to his executive apartment at the top of the Tower, unwilling to go to his preferred home in the city proper when there was still so much work to do. Starry perked up the moment the front door opened, whining and bounding away from his side. Eyes narrowed, Rufus drew his weapons and crept into the apartment. If Starry was whining instead of growling, it was probably fine, but one could never be too cautious.

He followed the sound of Starry’s whines into the master bedroom. There was a trail of blood leading from the windows to the en-suite bathroom. When he entered, he found Tanuki curled up in the bathtub, head pillowed on a folded-up towel with Starry nosing at his hair. His hand was pressed over his stomach. Bright crimson soaked into his shirt and dripped trickled into the bathtub, flowing steadily down the soft incline and into the drain. His lips were tinged blue, cheeks pale, the dark circles beneath his eyes stark.

“Shit,” Rufus breathed, fumbling to holster his guns and pull out his PHS as he quickly crossed over to kneel by the tub. “Kid.”

Tanuki didn’t open his eyes. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. “Did you know...that…Hojo is...actually a...good shot?”

“Was,” Rufus corrected, hitting the speed-dial for Veld’s personal phone. It was the first time he’d ever used it.

Tanuki huffed a laugh. “Was,” he agreed. “Sorry. Tried not to bleed too much on your fancy expensive carpet.”

“Oh, make no mistake,” Rufus said, shucking off his white jacket and shifting the PHS to his other ear, “you’ll be cleaning it up later.”

“Sure,” the kid agreed, breezily enough that it made Rufus’s stomach twist strangely.

Veld picked up. “Rufus?”

“Tanuki is shot and bleeding out in my bathtub. Executive suite. Send medical assistance.” He paused. “SOLDIER kit, a surgeon if you can manage it.”

“Understood.” Veld hung up.

Rufus got another towel and pressed it against Tanuki’s torso, gently moving aside the little hand that could no longer press down with mako strength to staunch the bleeding. “Hold on, kid,” he told his maybe-possibly⁠ little...no, his definitely little brother. Because Rufus said so, and what he said went.  “Help is coming.”

Tanuki didn’t say much of anything.

⁠—

The kid lived, though it was touch and go for a while. They couldn’t risk taking him down to the non-science medical floors just yet, so Veld came personally escorting one of the Turks' own medics. Assisting in emergency surgery on a mako-enhanced child on the floor of his bathroom was certainly not something Rufus was ever going to forget.

Eventually, though, long after his knees had gone numb and his back started cramping, the last bullet was fished out and the wound closed with a Cura, cast by Veld because the medic was exhausted. Rufus washed the blood from himself, then helped the medic wash the blood off the kid. They put him in Rufus’s bed, covers tucked up to his chin with heating pads (and Starry) around him to help as he recovered from blood loss.

The medic left, escorted back to her own floor by a younger Turk. Veld and Rufus both watched Tanuki sleep, lost in their thoughts.

“Did you know that Hojo was actually a good shot?” Rufus said abruptly.

Veld looked at him from the corner of his eye. “...no. That, I did not know.”

Rufus fished a bloodied USB drive out of his pants⁠—the same USB drive Tanuki had been clutching in his free hand. On its side, a neat label read ‘For Verdot: Valentine & Gast.’ He handed it over.

“I have a feeling he wasn’t just being glib about his own injuries,” he said, a wry, tired smirk pulling at his lips. “He’s a little shit like that.”

Veld read the label and slowly⁠—so slowly⁠—slipped the drive into his inner suit pocket. “Hm,” he said, a strange tightness in the corners of his eyes. It softened a little when he looked back at the kid. He leaned over, briefly resting his hand on top of Tanuki’s wild blond hair. “Get some rest,” he told Rufus, standing upright and straightening his suit jacket. “We have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

On that cheerful note, he left.

Rufus glanced at his newfound little brother and sighed. Great. Now he had to sleep on the couch.

⁠—

When Rufus woke up the next day (late, because he deserved it for once, goddammit) he found Tanuki mysteriously missing and his fridge quite a bit emptier than it had been before he’d gone to sleep. He shambled around a bit, checking to make sure the kid hadn’t gone and holed himself up in a closet like a real tanuki or anything equally ridiculous.

There was a note on one of the pillows on his bed. In a surprisingly elegant hand, it read ‘call me Cloud.’ When he flipped it over, the other side had the name and number of a carpet cleaning company. Rufus threw his head back and laughed, startling Starry.

Yeah. Tanuki⁠—Cloud⁠—was going to be just fine.

[raindrops-and-tubestops]

Fluff: 3. “Have you seen my hoodie?” “Noo.” “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?” /Lin-Bumi/, please.

Oooooh this is a new pairing for me! Thank you for the prompt anon ! I did change the wording…I feel like Bumi would wear a sweater…

I hope you enjoy 💜

——————————————————

He had to be going crazy. He knows he tossed his sweater somewhere as he was tripping over his feet on the way to the door this morning. He glanced quickly around the entryway once again.

Where did it go?

Bumi was trying to get to the market before Lin came home. He wanted to make dinner for them, they both needed the quality time after how hectic the week had been. They had been literal ships passing in the night, only acknowledging each other with a chaste kiss on the cheek or a soft pat on the closest body part. He had been spending a bit of time on the Island, Tenzin had given Bumi several classes to tend to himself.

And Lin, well she was being her normal self, diving into each crisis thrown at her with gusto. She had a few officers who were one medical leave, they had gotten injured in a raid turned ambush by the Triads the previous week. She had been working all different hours, each day a different shift, just to offset the work load. He would tell her that she needed to take care of herself…she’d in turn roll eyes affectionately.

Being the Chief doesn’t stop just because I’m off the clock or a little run down.

He could hear her voice, low and gravely, sticky like warm honey, as the words floated through his mind. A small smile crinkled the corner of his eyes as a soft chuckled rumbled through his chest. If there was one person, aside from his mother, that he was hopelessly devoted to, it was Lin Beifong.

As he turned slowly, surveying the room and it’s contents, his grey eyes were drawn to the pile near the front door. It looked suspiciously like Lin’s armor.

How did I miss that?

‘Babe,’ Bumi called curiously, the statement more of a question.

The pet name was a work in progress, more often than not she’d roll her eyes and ask him not to use it. Other days she’d indulge him, trying out some of her own, ‘darling,’ was a favorite of hers.

No answer was forthcoming, but his gut told him that she was indeed somewhere in the apartment. As he continued looking he registered a trail of discarded clothes. A pair of black uniform pants next to the kitchen table. A white tank top carelessly thrown behind the couch. Bindings draped over the high back of Lin’s favorite reading chair. Metal hair pins in a nest pile on the coffee table.

He tried again, ‘Linny?’

He waited a few moments, still eyeing the mess his Chief had made. The bedroom door opened with a creak that cut through the silence like a knife. Soon enough he could hear the soft tread of her bare feet, but he wasn’t ready for what greeted him as she emerged at the end of the hallway.

Lin Beifong, in all her glory, was an admittedly gorgeous woman. Her steel grey hair and sharp green eyes cut quite a contrast against her pale skin. Her frame was lean and muscular, with just the right amount of curves that most people would consider ‘feminine.’ Her cheekbones sharp, giving her a stern appearance, until her lips would lift in a shy smile. Her lips, round but not overtly slow, a soft pink that darkened as she became more excited.

Normally these features, and others her airbender lover was able to catalogue, were hidden under the previously mentioned armor. It was rare, even at events and parties, for Lin to forgo her precious metal, and even when she did, she was noticeably uncomfortable.

Not because she wasn’t confident, because confidence in her body was something Lin had in spades. No…she wasn’t sure she could adequately protect the people she loved if she wasn’t in uniform. Which would put her on edge, even with the metal accents she would incorporate into her formal wear.

Bumi knew exactly how lucky he was., that he of all people, was able…no PERMITTED to see her so relaxed. To see the esteemed a Chief of Police as the woman under the armor, under the facade.

This vision of her, rumpled and clearly still sleepy, just waking from a nap, was for him and only him to see. Her hair was curling slightly at the ends, having been freed from the pins that normally held it. She hated those curls. She had confessed this to him after one of thier first night s together, after he had seen her bed head, her face buried in her pillow. Bumi had merely drawn her closer and placed a soft kiss on those curls, nuzzling the back of her head slightly.

Her long legs were also on display courtesy of the spandex work out shorts she favored for at home. The strong muscles under the smooth skin gave Lin a graceful yet powerful appearance. His fingers itched run up and down her calves, maybe even farther if she’d let him.

As he continued his perusal of her body, he jolted with a start. She was holding up one side of the garment on her torso, hand gingerly rubbing at her hip as she tried to make sense of the world.

The sweater, his FAVORITE sweater mind you, was flowing down her frame. It was a present from his mother, from however long ago, different shades of blue, green, and greys swirled together in a dizzying pattern. Lin had said so herself many times that the pattern made her crossed eyes.

Bumi smirked and crossed his arms over his chest, hip leant against the back of the chair.

‘Hello sleepy head,’ he teased, ‘you haven’t seen my sweater have you?’

Lin dropped her fist from her side as the other scrubbed across her face, desperately trying to clear the sleep from her mind. She didn’t even remember getting to the bed…

‘No,’ she responded sincerely confused.

Bumi chuckled which drew Lin’s attention finally. She narrowed her eyes and crossed her own arms, she didn’t understand what he was talking about.

‘What’s so funny?’ she asked, clearly more awake.

Bumi shook his head slightly, stepping around the chair and closing the distance between the . She tracked her lover with her eyes as he came closer, raising her chin in defiance. Stopping inches from Lin, her head barely reaching his shoulder, Bumi forcefully tugged on the material of sweater.

Taken by surprise and finding herself off balance, Lin fell gracelessly into his chest. The airbender grinned as he wrapped his arms around the metalbender tightly.

‘You sure?’ He asked again, her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink as she realized her mistake.

His chief mumbled something, burying her head in his chest.

‘What was that?’

She sighed as she leant back, ‘I forgot ok?’

His hand snaked up to the base of her neck, stroking the fine hair. Bumi drew Lin closer, his hand urging her to relax into him.

‘It’s ok babe, looks better on you anyway.’

The kiss placed on her forehead and the steady pressure on her waist caused a gasp to escape her lips. Breathy and soft and promising all at once.

‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled again, ‘it’s soft…did you need it?’

Bumi could feel the steady beat of her heart, the fleeting pressure of her fingertips as they flexed on his own waist, and the puffs of warm air on his neck as she quietly spoke.

Overcome, he kissed her again, his breath ghosting across the delicate skin of her temple. He could feel her lips lift in a soft smile.

Prompts 💜

[abbysfrenchbraid]

Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 3

Masterlist  /  Playlist for reading in this chapter, the reader is fighting an infection and making a furry friend.

CW for phsyical injury, bodily fluids, extreme pain, loss of consciousness and being pinned down by someone (this sounds terrible but I promise it gets more fluffy halfway through!)

This beautiful screencap of Valka was shared in our discord and I don’t know who took it, please let me know if you know the artist so I can credit them and check out their other work!

Healing

You woke up crying, the pain in your cheek threatening to split your head in half. Your cheek was wet from your tears and sticky from the wound that had been seeping all night. Eda stirred next to you and you both stared at each other in utter horror. William’s daughter looked like a corpse. Her cheeks and eyes had sunken deep into her skull and her face was a greyish color. You probably didn’t look any better, if her shock was any indication. 

The cell opened and you got your first round of water and bread for the day. The man feeding you gave you a pitiful look but did not say anything about your state. There was still alcohol on his breath and he looked annoyed about his task, probably wishing he was still in bed like the other warriors. You did not dare to ask for help.

You drifted in and out of consciousness for the next few hours as the last few other prisoners were taken to Randvi and questioned about their knowledge and alliances. There was an aura of hopelessness in your cell. No one was speaking, everyone was staring at their feet and flinching at any loud noise. Eda ate a piece of bread and got terrible stomach cramps but managed to keep it down. At least one good thing. 

People were going in and out of the longhouse, you could hear horses outside, swords clashing in the distance - probably training - and a few servants sweeping the big hall and cleaning up last night’s mess. Suddenly something small and white moved into your field of vision. Were you dreaming again? You were sure you had a fever by now.

But this was real, Eda saw it too. She had straightened up next to you, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. A scrawny white cat was cautiously circling the cell and apparently scouring for leftovers. You quickly skimmed the ground for anything you could offer the little animal. And yes, there was a big crumb right next to your heel. You carefully pushed it closer to you with your foot and managed to get it all the way into your hands’ reach. 

Quietly whispering and purring to the cat, you tried to lure her closer. And sure enough, the little white lady slowly came closer to your hands. You stayed completely still and held out the crumb on your open palm. Carefully, the cat stuck its paw through the bars and pulled the crumb back toward her. She devoured it right away. Softly meowing, she looked up at you, asking for more. You smiled at the sweet animal, a silver lining on this terrible day in this terrible cell.

“Birna! Where are you, you little rascal?” a familiar raspy voice called out, this time in the sweetest singsong, making you smile even more. The cat did not move from its spot next to you, instead meowing back louder to call to her mistress. You slowly stretched out your hands and she watched them curiously, beginning to purr as you drew your fingertips over her soft fur. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Eivor rounding the corner, wearing nothing but a thick grey knee-length tunic and fur boots. She froze in her tracks when she saw the scene before her. You quickly pulled your hands back, thinking she was angry at you for petting the cat. She suddenly rushed to the guard that had fallen asleep on his chair, slapping his chest with the back of her hand and ripping the keys to your cell from his grasp. He jerked awake, but Eivor had already opened the door and squatted down next to you. 

“Fuck the gods.” She sounded astonished and extremely worried at the same time. “Damn you, Dag, how did you not see this? Her wound has festered!” 

Eivor’s voice got louder and angrier with every word. She placed a hand on your forehead. 

“She’s burning up! I’m taking her to Valka.” With one swift motion, she had unbound your hands and picked you up. You hung in her arms, too weak to move. As she carried you out of the pen, she shot Dag a warning look and hissed: “We’ll talk about this later.”

The tall warrior almost ran out of the longhouse, whispering to you to stay with her and that she would take you to the best healer she knew.

“Don’t you worry, little bird. You just have to fight and recover. I will take care of you from now on.”

You arrived at a smaller hut and entered the dimly lit room that smelled of burned incense and freshly cut wood. A small, black-haired woman with a beautiful headdress and impressive facial tattoos leaped to her feet when she saw you come in. 

“Oh Eivor, what have you brought me now? Lay her down here.” She motioned to her bed, a simple wooden plank with a sack of straw and a number of furs. Eivor laid you down gently, kneeling next to you and squeezing your hand. 

“She was struck by her master two days ago. It must have gotten this bad last night.”

Valka crouched down and inspected your tender flesh. You fainted several times as she prodded at the wound but Eivor always called you back to her. The healer was now assembling herbs, burning something, and heating up water in a kettle over her fireplace. She ground up some sort of root and a few herbs and threw the mixture into the boiling water. Then she took a clean cloth and ordered Eivor to place the hot kettle on a wooden plate next to the bed. 

She dipped the cloth into the hot, sour-smelling brew that stung in your eyes and nose, then she pressed it on your cheek. It felt like she had stabbed a dagger into your skull, the pain ringing in your ears and making you see nothing but burning white. You were too exhausted to scream, fading in and out of consciousness. Instead, your body started violently shaking and Valka yelled at Eivor to pin you down before dunking the cloth into the scalding hot liquid and repeating the procedure again and again. Thankfully, you lost consciousness completely after the third time. The last thing you felt was Eivor’s big, warm hands on your upper arms and her knee on your hip, holding you down as you convulsed in pain.

-

When you woke up for the second time today, you were still lying on Valka’s bed. You wore a long linen tunic and the women seemed to have washed you, freeing you from the sweat and dirt that had accumulated in the last days. The room smelled better than before, the kettle was over the fire again and the small woman stirred dried flowers and other herbs into the water. Eivor was sitting next to you and wringing out another piece of cloth over a bucket. You braced yourself for more pain, but the water was cool and the blonde gently wiped your forehead and healthy cheek, your neck, and upper chest, humming softly to herself. She dampened the towel anew and folded it to lay it on your forehead. It was only now she realized you were awake. 

“Little bird.” She laid a hand on your cheek. “The worst is over.”

Valka came over with a mug and put it down next to you. She gave you an exhausted but encouraging smile.

“I apologize for hurting you this much. The infection was spreading across your face, I needed to draw it out. You will need at least a week to heal.”

You raised a hand to your face, but Eivor stopped you from touching yourself.

“We will put on a bandage later. Now there is just a salve,” Valka explained, “and you will have to drink this daily to help your body fight from the inside and give you strength.” 

She handed you the clay jug and you carefully raised it to your lips, taking a small sip of the concoction. It tasted sweet and earthy, immediately spreading warmth throughout your body and giving you the strength to fully open your eyes again. The wolf-kissed smiled at you. 

“I will leave you in Valka’s care for now. Soon I will take you to my hut and look after you there,” she promised. “I need to go and attend to important business, but I will bring you both supper later.” She took your hand again and softly rubbed her thumb over your knuckles, then she raised it to her lips and placed a feather-light kiss on the back of your hand.

Before leaving, she put her hands on Valka’s shoulders and sincerely thanked her for helping you. Then she gave you a last smile and left. 

The healer forced you to drink three jugs of her wonderful tea, then she helped you outside to relieve yourself and brought you back to bed, rubbing the salve into your cheek again and ordering you to sleep for now. The ointment numbed your skin and made the pain bearable. Taking a final look at the sun setting behind the mountains, you drifted away to sleep again. 

-

When Eivor brought bread and stew later, you felt much better already. The two Viking women sat on the floor next to you as you ate together. The stew was made with thick chunks of fatty meat and big slices of root vegetables, filling your stomach for the first time in days. Eivor told Valka about the raid; apparently the healer had not attended the celebrations yesterday. When the warrior told Valka about Dag's terrible state last night and this morning, the dark-haired woman just shook her head about this much exorbitance and stupidity. 

Even though you were still exhausted and not fully present at times, it was nice to sit with the two women and listen to them exchange stories and opinions, talk about plans for the future and a woman Valka was thinking about pursuing. The name Randvi caught your attention at one point, but with a meaningful look from Eivor, the topic was changed. 

As it got dark and you couldn't stop yourself from yawning, they debated what to do with you this night. Valka offered to sleep on the floor so you could stay here, but Eivor argued that she had a bed large enough and far more comfortable for the both of you. The healer admitted that you seemed to be stable for now and made Eivor promise to call for her immediately if anything happened with you. 

She handed Eivor a bag with the ointment, a few clean bandages, and the herb blend for the tea you should drink for the next few days. The blonde slung the pouch over her shoulder, then she approached you with a suddenly shy smile. 

“We haven’t asked you for your opinion on this at all. Do you even want to sleep in my hut?” she asked timidly, seeming almost nervous as she waited for your answer.

You shook your head and smiled. “Eivor, I’m just glad to be out of that terrible cell. I will sleep on the floor if I need to.”

“Little bird, tonight you will fly into the land of dreams on the softest wings. This bed is fit for a queen.” 

You held up your arm and wrapped it around the back of her neck as she picked you up again. Valka accompanied you outside, then she said her goodbyes and left for the longhouse. Eivor carried you in the other direction and used her knee to open the door to her big wooden cottage. Red rugs covered the wooden floorboards and a big torch next to the entrance lit the room, drenching it in flickering golden light. Her bed really was gigantic, with intricate carvings on the headbord and furs draped over the mattress.

The warrior gently lowered you onto her bed and laid down an enormous quilt over your body. She lit a candle on her side of the bed and put out the torch. Then she sat down on a big trunk and took off her boots, placing them neatly at the foot of the wooden bedframe. Slowly, trying not to disturb you, she laid down next to you and covered herself with a thin blanket. You raised your head.

“Won’t you get cold?”

Eivor looked at you in surprise, probably having assumed you were already sleeping. She gave you her wonderfully crooked smile. 

“I’m very hot blooded. I don’t mind the cold.” 

“I admire that,” you sighed. “I’m always freezing.”

She turned toward you and rested her head on her arm, stretching out her other hand to brush a strand of hair out of your face. Her fingers stayed on your forehead for a moment. 

“Your fever has dropped. Good,” she mumbled, “you’ll be better tomorrow. Sleep now, little bird.” 

-

Later at night you woke up from the sound of your own chattering teeth. The cold had entered the hut and taken a hold of you with its icy fingers; your whole body was cramping up and shaking. 

You looked over at the warrior lying next to you. Eivor was sleeping soundly, her bare arms thrown over her head and one leg sticking out from under the blanket. She seemed to be immune to the bitter cold.

There was no way you could fall asleep like this, freezing and shivering, your jaw hurting from trying to stop the chattering. You had to take the plunge. Slowly, you turned over to Eivor, scooting closer to her and lifting the quilt to come in contact with her warm body. She was radiating heat. 

You snuggled up to her, laying your head on her shoulder and resting your arm on her chest. She flinched at your weight on her, opening her eyes to make sure there was no danger. You two shared a silent look, then she smiled and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you in closer and warming you up so quickly that you were asleep again within minutes.

-

The next morning you were woken by the bustle outside, animal noises mixing with the blacksmith’s hammer and people talking as they walked past. A rooster crowed and reminded you of your old home in Williamsburg. You were still lying close to Eivor, your head in the crook of her arm and your leg intertwined with hers. She hummed in her sleep as she felt you stirring and pulled you in, not allowing you to move.

You noticed that your head wasn’t throbbing anymore. Your cheek still felt tender and the wound stung, but you were sure the salve and the herbal infusion Valka had given you would get you through the day. 

Eivor moved again, turning her torso toward you and holding you even closer to her chest. 

“How did you sleep, little bird?” she mumbled into your hair. “Did I share enough of my warmth with you?”

You pressed your forehead into the hollow spot beneath her collarbone and inhaled her wonderful scent, a mixture of herbs, tree bark, snow days and a faint musk reminding you of the deer on William’s pasture.

“Without you, I would have frozen to death last night,” you murmured back. She enveloped you with her strong, hot body while her fingers stroked your hair absentmindedly. 

Suddenly, the blonde drew her head back to look down at you. 

“How is your face? Better?”

You nodded. 

“It still burns, but I think the worst is over.”

Eivor let go of you and stretched her arm toward the bag on the wooden trunk, almost falling off the bed when she finally caught it. You grabbed her hand just in time to pull her back up, both of you having to laugh at her clumsiness. She opened the small jar with the rich yellow cream and dipped two fingers into the mixture. Careful not to press down too hard, she rubbed the salve into your cheek, all the way from your jaw to your temple. As she massaged the little dent there, you closed your eyes and leaned into her touch. 

After a while, Eivor got up and put on leather pants and a coat over her tunic. She lit the fireplace so you would be warm all day and slipped on her boots, promising to return soon with breakfast and a kettle to make your tea. 

You let yourself fall back onto the pillow and pulled the quilt all the way up to your nose. This day promised to be a lot more comfortable than the last ones. There was not going to be much to do except lay around and wait for Eivor to check in on you every once in a while. Maybe she would give you something to do - you could mend clothes for her or sweep the hut or prepare food for later. 

It seemed terribly unfair to you all of a sudden, you sitting here warm and fed while Eda and the others were still biding their time in their cell. It was not like you had done anything to gain anyone’s favor, Eivor just seemed to take to you a lot and your injury had drastically changed your path here. You wondered what the others were doing now and what they would be doing in the next few weeks. Eivor hadn’t taken them here without reason, there had to be a purpose to all of this. 

A noise at the window made you look up. It was Birna, the white cat from yesterday, shooting you a demanding look through the gaps in the wooden grid that let in some light without leaving a big hole in the wall. Right, no glass windows. No wonder you had been freezing last night. Careful not to lose your balance, you got up from the bed and took the grid from the small opening. You were delighted to see that it had started snowing outside. Birna gave you a satisfied meow and squeezed through the window, immediately heading for the bed and curling up right where you had sat. The spot was probably still warm.

After placing the grid back in the window frame, you joined Birna on the mattress. She stretched and rubbed her tiny head against the back of your hand, demanding to be petted, and you humbly obliged. The two of you sat together for a while, the little lady purring in response as you made her compliments and told her about the cats back at Williamsburg.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. This was strange - why would Eivor knock? To make sure you weren’t indecent? She had already seen you naked yesterday, although it would fit her to still be all honorable and courteous.

Another knock.

“Eivor, are you there? It’s Randvi.”

Your breath caught in your throat and Birna looked up at you, indignant at your sudden refusal to pet her. You did not dare to move or say anything. 

“Listen, I know we quarreled yesterday, but does this mean you won’t speak to me now? I just want to talk.” She sounded desperate, knocking harder this time. Fuck.

For a moment, there was silence and you started to hope she had left. 

Then the handle turned and the door opened. 

Randvi stood in the door, tall and beautiful as ever, her hand still on the doorknob. In a matter of seconds, her face went through surprise, confusion, realization, anguish and then nothing but wrath. You sat stone still, staring at her.

When she spoke, her voice was quiet and ice cold.

“So that’s how it is. I understand now.” She laughed but there was no humor in her voice, only bitterness.

Before you could say anything, she had turned on the spot and slammed the door shut. You could hear her steps fade away on the path to the longhouse and finally dared to release the breath you had been holding this entire time.

Birna had jumped at the loud noise, but now she rolled herself up in your lap and began to purr again. You let your head fall back against the headboard and stared up at the ceiling, trying to gather your thoughts. 

Jesus Christ.

You jerked up when you heard steps at the door again, but this time it was Eivor that entered. There were snowflakes in her hair, her face was flushed from the cold and she had brought a well-filled jute bag and a dark metal cauldron. A bright smile was on her face as she stomped her feet to get rid of the snow on her boots and threw the bag on the bed. 

“First snow!” she pointed out the obvious and took off her coat before letting herself fall onto the bed next to you and giving Birna a big smooch, which the cat took with an annoyed grumble.

“How did she get in here?” Eivor laughed and ruffled the cat’s fur. “She doesn’t like the snow. The little Viking princess is a sensitive one. She stays in here all winter and complains until the thaw comes.”

You cleared your throat. “I let her in through the window. But…” Eivor seemed to finally sense something was wrong and gave you a questioning look.

“Randvi was here.”

The blonde closed her eyes and sighed, then she blinked up at the ceiling just as you had done minutes earlier. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s complicated.” She shook her head.

You bit your lip and gave her an apologetic look. “She seemed displeased.”

This was a vast understatement, but you did not want to get involved in this, whatever it was. 

“I’ll talk to her later. This has nothing to do with you,” Eivor promised. Exactly.

You shared a breakfast consisting of bread, goat cheese and dried fruit while the water over the fireplace had started boiling and the herbs inside filled the entire room with their pleasant smell. 

When you had finished your meal and started sipping your brew, Eivor propped herself up on her elbow next to you. 

“Y/N?”

“Yes, Eivor?”

With her fingertips she drew patterns into Birna’s fur, her brow furrowed in contemplation.

“Do you think you could take another look at the map? I am planning on raiding Fort Winton tomorrow or the day after. The time is right, we are experienced in fighting in the snow and cold. I want to get this done.”

You swallowed hard, thinking of the life you had led before. If you supported this raid, you were betraying all your previous affiliations and fealties. Winton’s Steward was a terrible man. He had scared you when you were younger and he scared you now. You were sure that there was not a single person under his rule that enjoyed his company or thought him a good sovereign. You took a deep breath.

“I will. But under one condition: I do not wish to be seen as subject to English rule and fealty. I owe them nothing. I will give you all my knowledge and skill and I will swear my loyalty to you, only you. I will no longer be an English prisoner but your servant and by extension, a part of this clan.”

Eivor listened to you intently and considered your proposition for a moment, then she nodded. 

“I would not have let you come into my house and sleep next to me if I did not trust you already. I do not know how, but it sometimes feels like destiny brought us together.” Her hand moved toward yours, then she pulled it back and continued to pet Birna.

“I will speak to the council about this tonight. Tomorrow you shall help us strategize, so we can leave at first light the next day.”

You agreed, stretching out a hand to stroke Birna’s fur and just so happening to brush over Eivor’s knuckles with your fingertips. Both of you had to smile, feeling as if you shared a secret, one that had not fully revealed itself to you yet.

The warrior actually had a few tasks for you that you could take care of in bed: a few of her tunics that had tears and holes, a pair of pants which had ripped at the back - she went crimson red and mumbled something about a drinking contest and a wrestling match - and an old fur coat she had grown out of but gave to you to mend and wear. 

You spent the day with Birna, sewing and patching up Eivor’s clothes while telling the cat stories about Delia and Henry and your favorite adventures from your childhood. Eivor came by later, dropping off some more fruit to pass the time until supper. She seemed slightly irritated, but when she saw your work on her clothes she rejoiced. 

“You’re an artist, little bird! With you by my side, I will soon look like a queen!”

You laughed and clutched the fur coat to your chest. 

“I will take this as my first payment, then. Thank you. Maybe I will finally be warm for once.”

“Y/N, are you telling me you were cold last night? You must be made of ice if my heat could not pierce you,” Eivor teased you playfully. 

“Oh, it most certainly did. It seems you are the only one capable of doing so.” You smiled at her. She grabbed your hand and rubbed her thumbs over your palm. 

“I need to go now and meet the council. I will come back to warm you later.” She stroked Birna’s fur one last time, then she got up and in leaving threw you a last look that sent blood into your cheeks and made your stomach flutter.

“I long for it,” you whispered after she had closed the door behind her.