#I promise I’ll write it!

[weepynymph]

Punchbags

When all their other plans for the future fall through, Rory, Paris, and Lane decide it’s time for a change of scene…

[urhoneycombwitch]

gonna take edibles for the first time in a WEEK this shit better send me to da moon. or else 😠

[madaqueue]

gn!reader - 18+ MDNI (jjk spoilers !!!! also just....angst. lots of angst)

you never hated the rain. satoru made sure of that.

“it’s a way to prove things are alive!” he’d beam, gaze fixed on the window as it slowly collected droplets, tracing their path down the glass. he smiled when they’d meet, rivulets diving down and onto the concrete below to join one another. as if they, too, were alive.

maybe that’s why you’d find him standing outside during storms, hair matted and clothes drenched. soaked in proof.

it’s almost fitting that it’s raining today.

almost.

the rain sounds hollow as it litters the ground. the dirt. the empty casket. for someone so loud, who filled every space with his soul and energy and mind, you would have expected more. but then again, not even the sun exploding and burning and wiping everything away until the only noise echoing through the universe is a chant of his name would be enough to capture him. to honor him.

instead, today, there’s no sound anywhere.

you want to scream, to pull out the grass and slam your fists onto the wood just to make something happen.

but it won’t make him come back.

it won’t make his arms wrap around you, pulling you into his warmth. it won’t make his lips press kisses over every inch of your skin like a promise. it won’t make those bright blue eyes linger a moment too long on yours. not ever again.

and then you’re on your knees. you’re screaming and your chest hurts and the rain tastes saltier than you remember and you feel like you’re drowning in it.

maybe then you’ll at least get to see him again.

“hey, it’s okay,” a warm voice pulls you back to the surface for a moment. but the hand rubbing your back is too small. it’s not him. “let it out,” shoko hums behind you, holding an umbrella above your shaking form.

you feel weak, like a strong enough gust of wind could blow you over. you wish it would. you wish it would throw you into the hole in the ground and cover you in wet soil and mud. even dirty, satoru would love you.

you wonder if he’d find this pathetic. he was never one for dramatic displays, especially for his sake. but then again, he never looked down on you for how violently the waves of your emotions seemed to throw you around, crashing into rocks and tumbling underwater. no, he would just rub your back and kiss your tears away. “it’s okay,” he’d whisper, “i’m here.”

but now he’s not here.

and he’ll never be here again.

and you can’t bring him back and you can’t hear his voice or his laugh or the soft little breaths as he fell asleep in your arms and you can’t say “i love you” ever again. because you won’t. you won’t ever feel what you felt for him again.

your heart is buried in the ground and no amount of digging will bring it back.

but then, more arms wrap around you. they still aren’t satoru’s, but they’re warm. in spite of the rain.

“we miss him, too,” yuji whispers. the others don’t say anything - they don’t have to, they can’t. what more is there to say?

but then, as they hug you, and you hug them, the grief gets a little lighter, just for a moment. because you’re all carrying it together. his students, his future, will hold him in their memories and bring him with them.

your head falls back, and raindrops land on your cheeks. the same places satoru’s lips used to be.

the sky matches his eyes.

maybe you can find him in the rain.

a/n: sorry :/

[katsu2ji]

too little, too late — m. fushiguro

a/n: megs i love u im sorry

megumi didn't realize how much you meant to him until it was far too late.

you had somehow settled in his heart, and whether you had meant to or not, he knew it was a dangerous game he was playing. he couldn’t let himself get attached—couldn’t stand to lose someone again—and so he didn’t. he tried his best to keep you at an arm’s length, denying the feeling any time a single thought of you would seep into his mind.

he wouldn’t—he couldn’t—allow himself that small bit of happiness, of warmth. he didn’t want to feel that familiar ache in his heart, and he didn’t want you to feel it either. he was protecting you, he told himself. he was stopping the inevitable before it even started.

he didn't realize how much you meant to him when the dagger had been driven through your body and into your heart, inadvertently into his own. he questioned why his world stopped right then and there, why it seemed as though the ground had been ripped out from under him.

he’d seen death before—this was no different, right? he knew it would happen eventually, just another casualty that shouldn’t have happened but happened anyway….so why couldn’t he tear his eyes away?

look away, for fuck’s sake, look away—

when your body hit the floor, he knew in that moment that he would make himself play that sound over and over again—he would never let himself forget it. he wasn’t allowed to, he told himself, for a reason unbeknownst to him then.

years later, when the day comes around and he sits in front of your resting place, reading your name off of the stone that he has memorized every jagged line and imperfection of, it was then that he finally realized just how much you meant to him.

and he would never get the chance to tell you. too little, too late.

katsu2ji © 2024. please don't copy, modify, or do anything of the sort with my work! i work very hard and you simply do not have my permission.

[cherry-pop-elf]

Warming Up The New Client

Fred Weasley x Reader

Sum: Was another one of those little bets you and Fred did. You lost, but you are kinda the biggest winner between the two of you. Especially when one of the Weasley’s business partners come in to discuss important things. Let’s see if he can keep his head straight

Warnings: 18+, cock warming, blow jobs, semi public, kinda cracky because not everything needs to be a porno you gotta laugh, accidental choking, worried boyfriend because whoops this has become a sitcom, after care. Lowkey tho any fic you’ll read from me will have it, unless stated otherwise. HEALTHY AND REALISTIC SEX

“MR WEATHERBIRD! What are you doing here?!” Fred would panic, as he would force his chair to push into the desk. Was followed by a thump, as your body hit the back of the desk. Hardly any space for you, and his legs, in the confined space.

Why were you under his desk, and between his legs? Well you lost a bet. Was a harmless one. Just those lazy Mondays, at the shop, where you both needed something to help stimulate the day. A bet where it didn’t matter who won or loss, because there weren’t really any losers when the fun is the game.

Your prize for losing was to give the winner a blow job. Nothing too crazy. That is until unaware company arrived. That being a man that the Weasley twins were meant to do business with. Seems like George must have missed the man. Well, he arrived via fire place. George wouldn’t have seen him arrive, unless in the office with you two.

“Is now a bad time, Mr. Weasley? I figured Mondays would work best for you. Tis a joke shop, after all. The slowest day of the week, as your largest income bracket is through the school children. A Monday morning felt the most reliable to arrive.” Damn his logic, that was what Fred thought. He had a point.

“No no! It’s fine, you are right. Just surprise, that’s all. Take a seat. Let’s talk!” He would grin his award winning smile, as you remained stuck in your hiding place. Left with a choice to make. Stop what you are doing, or see how far you could push the button. Well, you married a Weasley. What’s a little bit of risk?

“Wonderful. We have much to discuss.” Boy was this going to be boring. You knew it, Fred knew it, but hey. You are certainly going to make it more enjoyable. Or worse. Either way, it’s gonna be fun.

As the older gentlemen began his garble, you were busy with your own garbling. Letting his cock press into your cheek, as you tried to find a way to move your head. You didn’t want to just keep thumping your head on the wood. That’s not fun at all.

You were shifting your head all over the place, as you tried to get comfortable. Made for your boyfriend to struggle with paying attention to the boring work jargon his business partner was making. Was certainly difficult to make sure he looked like he was listening, and not currently getting sucked off. Certainly difficult indeed, when those freckled cheeks of his were rosey.

“You seem a bit warm, Mr. Weasley. Are you feeling well?” The older gentlemen would ask Fred. Ever the charismatic man he was, he was oh so quick to think on the fly. Lie out of every situation. Such a charming gift to have.

“Fever fudge. You know how my brother and I are. We always self test our products. That way if anyone gets hurt, it’s us. We only ever field test with mostly our siblings. We know how they would react to what we make, but not to strangers. No. We don’t act like it, but we try and keep things safe.” That seemed to win over Mr. Weatherbird. Charmed the man as much as he could charm a gaggle of girls in a quidditch stand.

The devil on your shoulder was going to be the death of you, and him, with what it was whispering to you. Wanting to try and make his facade crack somehow. Just a little bit. Enough to make him sweat under the pressure. Just a little bit. You don’t want to actually put him at risk of anything, but gambling is gambling. Win big, or die trying.

As you finally managed to force Fred’s chair back, you could properly move your head. Made him need to sit awkwardly, to not make it appear that he was pushed back. Didn’t want the man to get suspicious. Seems he wasn’t, as he was busy with papers. Gave Fred time to look down, and see your devious face. Stuffed with his cock. Was so arrousing, you could feel his cock twitch on your tongue. With fresh flavor for you to enjoy.

He would shoot you a glare, only for the man to look back up. Forced him to meet the clients eyes, as to try and act as chill as possible. Never did he think he would want to do paper work right now. Anything to not just cum down your throat. George was the moaner, not him. But you were seeing if they were identical in a few other ways.

That was until Mr. Weatherbird started to lean over the desk. Just trying to be polite, and show him something on the papers. Had Fred quickly slam himself back under the desk. Forced you to take his cock all the way down your throat, and gag on it. Had you cross eyed, and trying so damn hard to not gurgle on it. Guess you weren’t quite enough.

“What was that noise-?” “What noise?” “Sounded like someone was choking….” Fred, ever quick, was able to come up with the perfect lie. A lie melted in truth, to keep the seal on the little secret at hand closed.

“We have a product here called puking pasties. A pastry used to help kids throw up. For one reason or another. Not to mention we have many things that stink so bad you wish to obliviate yourself from the memory. Just kids being kids. George has it under control.” He would brush off the worry, as you tried to find your ability to breathe again.

Was rather difficult, as you were now trapped entirely under the desk this time. How your head was pressed against the desk, and held no way to move your head. Just gagging around his cock, with drool soaking all over your clothes.

The more you tried to steady yourself, the more his cock twitched in your mouth. Feeling your tongue trying to adjust itself. How your throat kept clenching and your lips desperate to move.

Before you could make any other noises, he was quick to wave his wand. Had his gramophone kick to life, and play that loud swing music those twins loved. Nothing like some big band to liven up the scene. Along with hide more of your gagging, and sputtering, in the hopes to finish this meeting.

“That’s better. Now, as we were saying-“ The droning was starting to get to him. All his mind could think about you was choking on his cock. Had him aroused, but also very worried he was hurting you. It’s not hot if it’s not consented on. Was an accident, yes, but he loves you and wants you safe. He had to figure out how to get you out of there, before things get worse.

“Say uh. Mr. Weatherbird, um-“ Wow was it getting harder to talk. Wasn’t helping that you were still scrambling. Your hands reaching into his lap, to try and push him back some. When trying to reach the front of his chair, you got a full grab of your favorite stress toy instead. Had his eyes go cross, for a moment, as he had to bite his lip. Trying so hard, but he wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Oh, I know it’s alot. You are so new to this world of business. I respect it. You two are stars, I can see it. I’ll do my best to help guide you both. You two are already doing so wonderful. Truly business savvy. Your parents must be so proud. Here, I’ll leave these papers for you and your twin to discuss over. Just send an Owl if you have any questions.” He gave a tip of his hat to Fred, as Fred himself did his best to give a flustered nod.

Mr. Weatherbird would give a wave goodbye, and vanished through the fireplace. As soon as he did, Fred pushed himself back. Made for a rather pornographic sight, and sound, as he popped his cock out of your mouth.

You were just covered in your own drool. Face more flustered than his own, with your lips swollen from being stretched for so long. How you were panting hard from the stress of the scene. It was all too much. You were just so perfect in his view. He just had to add to it.

He barely had time to close your eyes, as he leaned back. His cock just spilling his cum all across your face. Across your drool stained chest. You were just covered in so much. You were surprised he even had so much in him. Guess this was some life or death edging, so to speak.

With your breath caught, it was his turn to pant. Just leaning back in his office chair. His body slack, as he was seeing stars. That release was so needed, and so intense. He swore he pulled his back out from it.

“That could have gone better…Or worse. Depends on if we look at this from a positive view or not.” You would joke, as he gave a dry laugh. Happy to know you were ok. You knew he was worried, you could just tell. There was something sweet about it. That even with such heat of the moment he was looking out for you.

You would let him collect himself, as a cleaning charm solved all your problems. You also were polite to help out his dick away for him. After care goes both ways, after all. When he would come back to reality he would take care of you. You knew that. Until then, you’ll make sure he is cared for to.

Once he had his time to no longer sweat himself a new pool, he would pull you into his lap. Just cuddling you. A means of apology, without saying it. You knew he was trying to not have you humiliated. It wasn’t intentional in any way. The way you would play with his hair conveyed it. Both of you using your own silent little love language.

“So….Whens your next meeting?” The fact you asked that made his head spin. You wanted to do that again? That risk? The choking? The fear? The adrenaline? The insanity of it all?

“…….Thursday, after lunch….” He’s a Weasley. They were all adrenaline junkies. That’s just one of the many things that made you love him. Love him, kiss him, and bump your noses together. His adorable bird nose, with yours.

“You are such a minx, and I LOVE it.”

[foolishlovers]

[i-got-da-rubes]

Finally getting around to posting the deadname designs I commissioned from @less-depresso-more-espresso

[library-ghoulette]

Headcanons: Copia (Papa Emeritus IV) x reader who loves to bake

SFW, gender-neutral reader

Some cutesy fluff that I haven't been able to get out of my head all week. Because we've seen him go to town on that whipped cream in RHRN, we know this man has a sweet tooth.

He finds out about your hobby when you bring baked goods to a staff meeting or a Ministry potluck. "Who brought these cookies?" "Er, I did?" "So good... Did you get them at that little bakery in town?" "Oh no, I made them!" "You made them??"

He would never outright ask you to bake for him, but he can't help bringing up those cookies every now and then. Just... wouldn't it be nice if there were something sweet at the budget meeting next week? People would probably like that?

You bring a batch, plus a little box with a few set aside especially for him. You pass it over to him in secret so that no one gets jealous, and he falls for you, hard.

He becomes your go-to person to test new recipes on.

Loves to hang out in the kitchen while you bake, chatting your ear off the whole time and stealing little tastes of batter and handfuls of chocolate chips.

Wants to help, but you always end up banishing him to a stool a safe distance away from whatever you're baking. It's not that he's a fuckup, but he gets nervous when he's outside of his comfort zone, and that's when you get chaos in the form of dropped eggs and tablespoons confused for teaspoons.

Asks questions about what you're doing and seems genuinely interested even if he doesn't really get the technical aspects.

Yes, of course he wants to lick the beaters. And the spatula. And the bowl. Yes, it does send your mind to filthy places every single time.

Prefers brownies and cookies just slightly underbaked and gooey, warm out of the oven. He's impatient and hates having to wait for anything to cool down.

He's definitely one of those people who make nigh-pornographic noises when they eat something delicious. Exclamations and expletives, moans, praise.

He has so much confidence in your abilities that it borders on delusion. This is a man who will see the most heinous challenge on GBBO, one that reduces the contestants to tears, and scoff, "Heh! You could do that, easy!"

He's careful not to take your baking for granted or make you feel unappreciated. He knows what it's like for people to constantly demand more and more, and he's not going to do that to you.

Realizing that sometimes you get a sugar craving when you don't feel up to making anything for yourself, he teaches himself a simple recipe for those occasions. Yes, it's just a chocolate mug cake made in the microwave, but he's so proud when he makes it for you. He always adds a generous dollop of whipped cream and some of whatever sprinkles he finds in your stash, usually Halloween ones.

If you find some expensive piece of equipment or fancy ingredient or novelty cake pan that you want but can't justify buying for yourself, he won't rest until you let him get it for you. Or, if you protest too much, it will just show up on your doorstep one day.

The first time you make a birthday cake for him--pulling out all the stops with luscious fillings, homemade buttercream, fancy piping tips--he tears up. Just stares at it for a moment in shock before blowing out the candles. Barely wants to cut it. Insists that you get good pictures of it before he does. It's one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for him, and it makes him feel so, so loved.

[comatosebunny09]

you're good at this—playing all coy and social as if you aren't a clump of nerves ready to burst.

like your legs aren't bouncing beneath the table, and you haven't knocked your knees against its underside a few times, almost spilling your wine.

like you haven't bitten your lips to hell, and your teeth aren't stained with the pretty rouge of your lipstick because of it.

no one's the wiser to your plight. to the quiet war waging in your head and the anxiety spilling like lava into your extremities.

you'll never get used to this things, no matter how many you attend—these parties, these galas, these socialites, this acting.

none of it is you.

not the form-fitting gowns, the kohl clumped to your lashes, the facsimile of a smile you've worn all evening until your cheeks ached.

but through the chaos, one thing remains a constant: him.

him and the hand he has clasped around your thigh to tether you. anchor you back to earth. all big and warm and reassuring, and he's angling himself a little closer until your nostrils fill with the scent of cured leather and peeled mandarin. and, fuck all, he’s warm even from this proximity. so hot, you feel the pressure of his body slowly seeping into your own.

his eyes gleam like the sunset in your peripheral. silently, they ask if you're alright beneath a slightly raised brow, above a customary smirk—a mask he dons during these gatherings if only to make the time fly by. not meant to tease you, he promises. he reserves something genuine for you.

he knows you're not alright, which is why he rubs all gently at the notch of your knee—an attempt to bring you back when you feel your mind slowly disconnecting from your body.

- at an event with sylus. you're clearly nervous. you always are. so the pair of you bid an irish goodbye, and he'll murder anyone who has the gall to stop you.

- watching him sneer at the partygoers blocking your exit is low-key a turn on.

- the night concludes with you both settled on your couch in your living room.

- and, of course, kissing ensues. because why wouldn't it?

- and he's a little handsy, so deft fingers creep up the expanse of your thigh because, of course, the slit of your dress would beckon such actions.

- and sure, yeah. you're into it as he gently pushes you back against the sofa. slots himself between your split legs as your fingers rake through the riot of his hair.

- and he hums all nice and low into your mouth, very much enjoying the sticky grind of your lips together.

- this is sylus. he's always gentle. always takes care of you, treating you like aged porcelain preserved in a museum.

- so why the fuck are you so nervous?

- you’ve made out a thousand times before.

- sex, however.

- well, fuck.

[sxyves]

🏷️ - overwhelmed!reader. afab!reader. sub!reader. softdom!hyunjin. cockwarming.

“close your eyes baby, i’ll take care of you.” are the last words either of you say as he enters you.

you’re tired, that’d be an understatement for what you’re feeling like right now, on hyunjin’s lap, him inside of you. you were too lazy to really do anything right now, all you wanted was to feel close around him.

eyes fluttering shut as you rest your head on his shoulder, his hands caressing your back and rocking you back and forth.

“don’t worry about anything, just relax.” he whispers softly in your ear,

relax

that’s all you had to do, nothing was wrong, just you, him, and the soft taps of the rain on your guys’ roof.

coming home tired and wanting nothing but to be right next to him, you couldn’t think of anything else right now, just you and him.

“hyunjin” you mutter out quietly after a while, he responds with a small hum.

“i’m sorry.”

“don’t be.”

“no— i just feel like i’m being too sensitive and annoyi-”

he interrupted you,

“shhh”

“don’t be sorry for anything, i’m not upset at you, __.”

“i know, i just- felt so—”

“__, did you not just hear what i said?” he said, a little more stern now. you went silent. “i said it’s okay, you don’t have to worry about anything right now, just.. calm down, focus on yourself.”

you nod slowly, sinking into his lap again,

he was right, calm down.

[vgilantee]

fuck it!!! right from the dm’s, more of my planning!!

werebeast price - hunts his mate but it’s all a game to him. he’s flirting and courting her the way werebeast instincts and culture tell him. Prey is an apothecarist’s apprentice and exploring the woods when the hunt begins (i cannot express how down bad price is for prey)

demon gaz - met her centuries ago in a different language, in a country renamed then destroyed. now he sees Soul supervising a class. it’s small, only a handful of the town’s families can spare their children to learn to read and write, but she doesn’t mind at all.

when she sees him she recognises him. thinking it’s from a dream. but your brain can’t come up with new faces, only recycle ones it knows. so maybe she does know him? or did know him? so when he introduces himself and takes her hand, pressing her knuckles to his lips, she isn’t surprised that she feels the familiarity, the comfort. her soul knows him, after all (reincarnationnnnnnn!!!!!)

merfolk johnny - saves his mate when her small fishing boat capsizes in a sudden, horrific storm. he has never cared for humans much before but he can’t let one as beautiful as you - one who sang to herself while drawing in nets despite how the melody may scare away the catch - drown before learning your song

i have nothing for minotaur simon’s mate yet, and i haven’t got a name for his or johnny’s (taking a page from @ghouljams and naming them) but! i have quite a bit of worldbuilding done if y’all are curious

(souls are real in this au, and it’s set vaguely 18th century. but i’m playing in the sandpit with my toys so it’s very loosely based in a real time but i get to pick and choose my favourite bits)

(also i am so nervous about tagging ghoul in this they’re so so cool 🫣🫣)

[jhuzen]

a what? [m.reader]

this… idk what this is. it’s very indulgent so excuse the very chill grammar. my head is hammered by all the hot men in hsr. so here. yes, they won me over (jfc how could they not my god, i’ve been waiting on them for months) ☠️ so here’s a self-indulgent cat-boy alignment from some tall men in hsr. i’ve been playing since the release and i’m already just a few exps away from level 40 send help.

𖦹 nsfw/suggestive contents, hcs ig, i use the speculative name for the trailblazer hehe, top reader :’D, this is basically a shitpost but also not LMAO.

GEPARD LANDAU — official dogboy, a lapdog too if you will

is this even a question at this point?

he’s your little pup (maybe not so little), and he radiates that golden retriever vibes. he’s a little more serious than that, sure, but rest assured, he’s always on you when you need him and he’s not particularly swamped with his guard duties as the captain.

he never fails to light up every time you pass by him when he’s out on patrol. he appreciates your little visits of course, sometimes even stopping by to bring him some food when you can. but there’s always something so magical whenever he sees you around the city, just minding your own business, not really aware that he can see you from his post.

and there’s just a spike of serotonin in gepard’s brain every time he ‘bumps’ into you in one of your personal excursions, romancing you with such subtlety (it’s really not much subtle, everyone and their mother in belobog knows you and him are together).

he thinks he’s so slick, trying to smooth talk you, when really, the tips of his ears are bright red, while you, completely unfazed only tried to hold in a laughter. what a trooper your boyfriend truly is!

serval thinks she should be getting second hand embarrassment from her brother’s actions towards you, but you both just looked so sweet that she just had to enjoy the view of you humoring her stiff as hell brother. he’s way too serious on the field (rightfully so), but it was all the more endearing to see a bit of that innocent glee that gepard somehow manages to manifest with you around.

he’s your good dogboy bro, always ready to serve you. though that doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate getting spoiled. your massages, especially your back rubs, are the highlight of his day after a grueling training — after his nice hot shower, with you guiding him all the way to your shared bedroom to give him a nice massage, it’s absolute bliss for him.

the cute sighs and the way his face becomes scrunched up as you worked the knots away from his muscles was adorable.

and if… the mood provides it, often times it leads to something a little bit more intimate than your wholesome little act of service.

gepard is a babygirl through and through man. he takes everything that you give him like a champ — extremely cooperative and will do anything as you say. maybe it’s because he likes being ordered around for once, maybe it’s because he finds it incredibly attractive to see you take charge… it could go either way and it drives him nuts.

he’s very loud, so you will be entertained at the plethora of ways gepard has to come up with just so he can’t be heard by the other neighbors while you completely wreck him.

handle with care after, please, he has to go to work the next day! we can’t have the famed captain of the silvermane guards limping around >:((

𐂂

SAMPO KOSKI — absolute mid with the way he’s a dog for seeking attention and a cat for being such a little bitch

congrats! you have a weird man for a boyfriend. the man that roams the streets of belobog be it in the underworld or overworld.

you vaguely recall the first time you and him met was when he was trying to persuade an overworld citizen in buying something, and you, as shameless as you are, moved towards him and squeezed the skin of his exposed waist, making the poor man yelp.

you gave him one questionable look before slut-shaming him with that getup, but not before buying your much needed supplies and leaving a sack of belobog currency.

admittedly, your relationship with sampo began as a transactional one. you buy stuff from him and he rewards you with a relatively risqué entertainment that your old folks would certainly faint from if they knew in the first place. but, as it turns out, even such a peculiar relationship can grow an oasis of genuine fondness for each other.

your dates before were just you and him meeting up in his place, hanging out, and then both of you just go on your separate ways. nowadays, it’s him that comes inside your house, incredibly woeful and in need of your attention and you oblige him regardless of how whiny he is.

oh, right, yes. sampo is whiny, have you seen him around his comrades? the man has the ‘woe is me’ attitude every now and then, and more often than not, you instigate that form of reaction whenever you tease him with a grin on your face.

there’s reasonable (or so i hope) amount of you calling out his outfit and why he feels the need to expose his waist only. sampo said it’s to attract customers like you, and you gotta hand the win on him on that one. though, it was becoming far more evident that you no longer see him as just an entertainment value and you as his source of income.

so. bloody. needy. it’s like he can’t live without your attention — thank the stars that the ban between the overworld and the underworld was lifted eventually so he can visit you more on the surface. one minute he skirts out of your home after some good fucking and then the next, he crawls back to you pathetically like a kicked puppy.

though, that is only to say that you got sampo absolutely hooked with your touches that he feels still lingering on his skin — you had an affinity for just harassing his poor waist while you call him names. he loves it anyway.

his clinginess comes with merit though, he appreciates the skin contact and you appreciate that chest of his to lay on. absolute king. if you tell him that his tits are the only selling point of why you finally fell for him, he will sulk and just sigh all day, looking at you with such disappointment.

“so i’m just a slab of meat to you, huh?” — sampo koski, xxxx

“pretty sure what’s in here are fats.” — you, nuzzling your face in his chest, xxxx

honestly, dating sampo feels like a one night stand, considering that he’s willing to limp away from your home in the crack of dawn, but it also feels just as endearing when he seeks you out or if you do the seeking, you could see how genuinely delighted sampo is to have you near him.

𐂂

JING YUAN — certified cat boy that’s just too good at fucking [with] you

mercilessly sly and an absolute mastermind, jing yuan has his fair share of mischief in the first place and you aren’t one he can spare despite having the honor of being the famed general’s partner.

you’re not so much of a fighter, you’re just a humble assistant to fu xuan (she disapproves of your poor taste in men though), but you learned to sleep with one eye open at the cost of you getting completely mauled to death by a general in need of his lover’s touch. he jumps at you with little to no warning, and you’re not certain if you should be proud of his stealth skills or just straight up be terrified lest you wake up to a succubus sucking you dry.

all that aside though, jing yuan is a passionate partner behind closed doors. he might look passive, but he’s sure to constantly be listening to your mumbling, even down to you just listing down what you need to buy for your home. he loves every part of you undoubtedly.

though, he likes to randomly charge you these fees wherein the currency is your warm hug. he could be a lot taller than you and still drape himself to your side while you hold him with one arm all the while cooking with the other.

a big, biiiiig cat, that’s for sure. and he accepts it, but on the account that you use it to tease lil ol’ him, get ready to be milked dry or at the very least, deprived of any form of affection from your cat.

he’s got a bit of an attitude too. he dreads the fact that you have a far more gentle disposition to his subordinates compared to him. you’re always so hard on him on work days, it makes him feel so lonely.

alas he has a remedy for that, particularly something you didn’t like at all.

mischief and a bored jing yuan on slow days are days you reminded yourself not to enter his office on, just to be safe and not get lured into his silly tricks. it always somehow fails, considering that he still is the general, and even though you are acting as fu xuan’s guide/assistant more than the general’s right hand man, you can’t refuse his calls because it’s still one of your responsibilities.

your cunning partner made sure to take advantage of that and cue… you writhing and breathless on his seat while he helped himself to your… offering from under the table. he promises he will be quick, but jing yuan is insatiable. for every time this happens, once or twice, a cloud knight would walk in to look for their general, and you had to talk to them without even giving away the embarrassing position you’re in.

hands down, a pillow princess if he’s not riding you to death. he’s the dozing general, but when the mood calls for it, he can take charge and just… leave you dry. so good luck with that.

cherishes the aftercare, he loves the slow intimate moments between you and him after. and if you’re a god at it, you can’t ever make him leave the bed, ever.

you once said, “oooh big stretch” when your beloved general did so one morning. that was the first and quite possibly the last time that you had him completely speechless for a good second. and that was saying a lot, considering that he always has the last word in your conversations. it became a core memory lmao.

𐂂

BLADE — another ultra catboy… except it’s the kind of cat that demands a lot from you after scratching your face

how in the many worlds did you ever pull this tormented man and his big sword? it’s concerning, really. kafka finds it amusing though that you even managed to make a space for yourself in blade’s little emo heart.

just laying it out there, you and blade babysit silver wolf and there’s no getting out of it apparently. kafka already placed you as the voice of reason when the one time she sent out only blade to look after silver wolf while you were off stalking the astral express gang, he dressed like a hobo, so much that he became extremely suspicious in sight more than he ever could dressed as just himself.

that aside, blade is probably one of the most demanding lovers you have dated (threateningly jealous at times too). no one can top him (but you ehe), he’s like a grumpy cat, literally swiping at you on the first few months before suddenly caving and asking you for almost everything.

really he just misses you, but he’s not into admitting such a fact. for the years that he’s gone through, whatever it may have been, you who did not care about who he was before was something that drew him in even more, you went at your own pace and it was no different when you became his. there was a sense of comfort that you brought to him.

so anyway, demanding partner that wants nothing but you. he’s extremely protective, which you found endearing, until you realized he will point a sword even to a little kid who so much as insults your face. not really good when you’re gathering intel when elio asks you both to do so.

dates with blade either includes the stellaron hunters because they are very fond of your relationship and are very nosy… or just you and him cooped up in your room, sleeping together, or ‘sleeping together’. not all too grand, but on missions that elio sends you both out on, you take the time to indulge your beloved and eat on different places, trying out delicacies of every particular world you visited in. blade doesn’t say much, but with the way his hand grips onto yours tightly already says a lot.

just throwing it out there, he is… quiet in bed. a grunter or a gasper, but if you really, really hit the right spot, he gives the deepest whine that leaves him shaking.

you either handle him with care or if he asks for it, go rough on him. like what was said, blade knows what he wants and will demand it from you all the same, no exceptions. and if you fail to live up to his expectations, he will move himself all the while glaring at you with so much disappointment.

he has… insane stamina, and if you can’t keep up, you better start working on that. the last thing that you want is to disappoint your vengeful boyfriend that has a lot of issues on his back. and while it’s not too bad of a sight to see your beloved imitate a sulking cat, it’s not so good when he ignores you. it’s not just about sex, if you so much as get that disappointing stare, best make it up to him and treat him like he’s your everything (as you should).

you once saw kafka and silver wolf planning out wedding destinations for you and blade at some point. you are unsure how to feel about your comrade’s deep involvement in your relationship — even more so when elio suggested the big wedding after you lot have accomplished your mission to the universe.

anyway, to say the least, your catboy is overly possessive and knows what he wants and can and will demand it from you. but even with such an overbearing personality and a terrifying look on his pretty face, you were already well versed in the blade language.

he thanks you on nights when you’re just out cold, probably tired from a mission, pressing a soft kiss on the side of your head. this man may have already considered elio’s proposal of the wedding date (jk).

𐂂

DAN HENG — third cat in a row. are all xianzhou men cats? but he’s the cat that’s quietly watching you, always listening

what do you mean he’s a [redacted for spoilers]? absolutely not. this man is a cat through and through.

the cat that silently watches you from afar while you do your own work. perhaps it’s because you always offer a sense of tranquility that dan heng found himself deeply enamored with you. you were just… so peaceful. it helped a lot, your presence soothed his deeply rooted anxieties born from his past. it’s as simple as you just shrugging and telling him, “why bother with anything else when i am alright where i am right now,” and dan heng fell hard.

you are as expressive as you can get, and can even get on the trailblazer and march’s antics. but the fact that you were mature enough to let yourself be resigned to the fate of time, that you were able to accept things as they are far better than anyone could, it was something your dearly beloved dan heng admired. in a sense, he also wanted to emulate whatever you’ve got going on.

bettering himself even more just because he loves you? goals. you changed this man and that was a sworn promise that he will never ever leave you from then on. always prowling around you, babysitting march 7th with you, reluctantly holding the trash the trailblazer rummages through with you, teaching old man welt how to use his beacon with you, etc.

that’s it, you can never pry dan heng out of your life anymore (unless you ask him to, in which case, please don’t, the man already has a lot to carry, how do you expect him to bear the weight of a broken heart from someone he thought he found happiness in?).

this catboy definitely lacks the expressiveness that you have, but just like any other stoic cat owner out there, you’ve basically read him well at that point. it’s almost as if you have the urge to make a guidebook about your boyfriend, and the aeons know that everyone in the astral express will eat it up.

he’s a little hard to coax at first to be more open in the beginning parts, but give him some time and he will be quicker to pry open than any other food that has an equally hard shell.

same thing in your more… intimate moments. give him some time to get used to things, especially if you’ve got far more experience at this sort of activity. go gentle, he loves the cradling embrace every time you ease yourself into him. he gets shy randomly out of nowhere in the middle of your little session, so do be patient.

though rest assured, he will grow bolder, eventually asking you to do all sorts of things that even you weren’t aware he knows about. he’s very eager to learn from you all the more, not just about the things that he prefers but what you also want! he’s extremely observant with your reactions, where you like to be touched.

let him take control every once in awhile, let him know that even in something as intimate as this, he can have a say. let him ride you until whenever, let him go at his own pace and he absolutely will lose his mind over that. the feeling of your arms around him, securing him in a tight hug while he drapes himself over you? dan heng will go nuts.

he’s also… very vocal. but he tries his best to keep it to a minimum lest you both let everyone in the express know what’s happening. usually though, you two only get frisky when everyone’s off the train and the only left are you, him, and dear ol’ pom-pom.

aftercares are everything to him, there’s something so touching at the fact that you are more than willing to still get up after being so spent just to make sure he’s comfortable after. you’re making this man cry, damnit! too good, too good.

never underestimate the tight grip he has on you — he’s usually the big spoon and he never hesitates to cling onto you. you’re like the safety that he finally found after running away from the things that trouble him. and every day with you is a day he always looked forward in waking up to.

𐂂

CAELUS — what the fuck is this? it’s not a dog or a cat. it’s a fucking trash panda.

ah yes, a raccoon with rabies (see: stellaron)

honestly, there’s no telling what is wrong with your boyfriend. it is… terrifying tbh. but you promised to be a supportive partner no matter how unnerving it is to see your beloved rummage through myriads of trash cans around belobog. more than once or twice, he has come up to you with a trash bag and even brought you a golden one.

you once asked what their use would be, and caelus just gave you a carefree smile while saying “we eat them to have better and stronger attacks against the enemy!” you quickly called dan heng and march to restrain him.

he texts you at the most ungodly hours. you don’t normally sleep at the same time as the other trailblazers since you took up the mantel in keeping watch of the express with pom-pom while the lot of you traversed through the heavenly galaxies of the universe. and because of that, your boyfriend just texts you until he falls asleep.

and when you are asleep in the day, before he heads out, he makes sure to tuck you in real good with a kiss for extra measure. seriously, he’s way too sweet for his own good. once or twice, you’ve caught him while you’re barely awake and he still manages to leave you flustered.

missions in different worlds means having to taste the myriad of delicacies a certain nation in a world has to offer. you both once ended up in a remote broken up island when the express made a quick stop in this one particular world that has… what do they call those again? archons? and you and caelus went ham on the dango milk (there was a distinct lack of trash cans around and everyone was safe from his addiction).

he loves you all too much, to the point where he’s attached to your hip, going wherever you go. getting all sulky when someone had your eye for a little bit longer. in that same nation in a world you stopped over, your eyes just happened to gaze a second longer at this young man with long braided blonde hair. though you were more interested in the tiny floating thing beside him, your raccoon was not able to inhale some copium and went all pouty at you.

either he ignores you, or he sends you a batch of sad pom-pom stickers in your beacon.

just wrap him in a blanket and fuck him silly, it can make him forget about the tiny things he was mad at you for. and just like dan heng, he can be very loud. so you kinda have to keep shushed up, a kiss usually does the trick however, so it shouldn’t be too hard to manage your little rowdy trailblazer.

he’s willing to take charge every now and then, he also still wants to make you feel good, after all! but he’s more of a pillow princess too, fuck him sideways and that gets him going, it makes him cry actual tears and alas, it was a blessing in your eyes to see him plead for you all the while trying to muffle his own sobs.

and after doing his head in, it is a must to spoon him after you clean him up. and maybe formulate a half-assed response when march comes knocking on your door, asking if you both fought or… let her come to an impending realization and just… make her not look at the both of you for a good week straight.

either way though, caelus is your pretty boy, always armed with witty teasing remarks and shitposts and a lot more stickers of pom-pom ready to flood your private messages with him.

10/10 -5 for the trash can obsession. ehe.

[daeyumi]

Cycle of the Stars

Prologue I:

Protosphere

***

THUD.

THUD.

A wave of sensation washes over them, vague and fleeting, like light filtering down through deep water.

Colors.

Thoughts.

The impression of someone calling out to them from far away, obscured through the blurry images that whisper across their eyes.

THUD.

Silence. Oppressive and heavy.

It feels familiar somehow, this weight. A long forgotten dream. They feel that they’ve known it before.

They think they feel a sense of self. An identity against the current of infinitum, one blot on a blank sheet of paper. A tangible presence. It dissipates the next moment, rolled away on the tide.

‘Before?’

Not understanding the comparison, they sit alone with the word and it’s implications. More colors spring forth to their eyes, unbidden. A lone figure on a hill, his back to a ruined land. Red and grey and black. The gold-tinted-orange of a dying sun, bleeding out over the empty horizon.

A vast expanse of dying grass, crowned with innumerable gravestones. Grey earth, grey sky, grey stone. An aftermath, a finale. A beginning. A single swatch of green, kneeling before a headstone. Life among death.

A hole in a gnarled tree, leading down, down, into the recesses of the world, swallowing life and soul and self.

A call.

A name.

A word.

Link.

The connection, the void.

Everything and nothing.

The colors swirl before their eyes in an infinite flash of space and time.

THUD.

Memories? Visions? They try to close their eyes against the current of impressions and find them to be already closed.

THUD.

Mind racing, as if fighting through the muddy currents of a storm-bloated river. They can’t understand. Thoughts begin to feel impossible. Even the whirling forms within their mind’s eye start to close in on them, oppressive and threatening. Moving so quickly that the sound deafens their ears, crushing the blunt silence with an overwhelming pressure.

They crack open their eyes and find no relief in the cold darkness that envelops them, somehow moving even faster than the nauseating colors that threatened their closed eyes moments previously.

THUD.

THUD.

Thud.

Thoughts begin to slow, finally finding relief in the void beyond cognition. The intangible shapes and patterns flow languidly now, a comforting caress to replace the constant barrage on the senses. Blue. Like the shallows of a river that stretches to the horizon, through which can be seen the blue sky above, falling off into infinity. Above and below. An all encompassing finality to contain the world. Blue and green and the serenity of the day’s end.

Gradually, they become aware of a clenched fist repeatedly making contact with a thick pane of glass in front of them.

Thud.

A hand. An owner. Belonging. An emptiness to once again overtake the soul, blotting out the essence of the previous inhabitant to make way for new images to stamp their impressions on its walls.

Confinement.

A separation in the everything.

The e v e r y t h i n g

thud.

n e v. e r e n d. i. n g

thud.

thud.

thud

The quieting pulses are forced to one final crescendo as the hand, unbidden, makes a last desparate strike against the unmoving surface, shattering the barrier of the world.

Heavy glass bursts outward from the threshold along with a surge of viscous liquid, pouring out toward the ground; the draining substance revealing a limp, convulsing pile of limbs and torso, frantically coughing up fluids from their burning lungs. The sound of draining pressure coincides with the roaring in their ears and the desperate cacophony of retching and wheezing before falling uncomfortably silent; the only sound the steady ooze of solution falling to the ground far below in steady droplets. Drip. Drip. The solitary rhythm of measured time.

A heartbeat passes and they stir, blue eyes opening slowly as if wading through still water. Weakly, they try to raise their head to the glow of intense light radiating from above; their muscles strain tensely before falling limp again, exhausted.

Trapped.

The walls seem to close in again, threatening their inhabitant once more with darkness and manic imagery that still flashes before them when they close their eyes to blink. Forcing limbs to move, straining for something, anything but the paralyzing numbness that binds them. One motion at a time; but their muscles won’t obey, their mind won’t respond. Pain. Stagnation.

A hand passes through the right side of the eyes’ range of vision. Slender, pale fingers to match the hand from earlier.

Their own hand.

Panic sets in amid a tangle of flailing limbs.

Coughing, gasping for air, the pallid figure claws against the side of the cramped enclosure, hands scrabbling to find purchase on the smooth interior. Shaky fingers finally make contact with the shattered remnants of a glass wall in the side of the tank and grip weakly to the edge of the hole in the room, still dripping a slow current of colorless liquid onto the empty stone floor far below. In between ragged breaths, they start to pull themself desperately toward the edge of the enclosure. Muscles quivering from disuse, chest heaving from exertion. With a final effort, their body clears the opening and slides down to the floor below, landing with a quiet splash that shatters the silence in the cavernous chamber beyond the broken tank.

He lay unmoving for a moment, save for another round of violent coughing.

It takes everything they have to lift their shoulders off the floor, still-bowed head following suit. Hunched over, their weight barely supported by quivering arms. They try to lift their gaze and immediately retch again, a repulsive mix of bile and clear fluid spilling over the exposed skin of their legs and onto the panels of the already wet floor beneath them.

Bony fingers clutch at an emaciated throat.

Can’t—

The room spins and they fall the short distance to the floor.

Unconscious.

Unmoving.

Sodden, pale hair clinging to a thin frame. Skin, and bone, and earth. A birth or a battlefield.

The last gasps of echoing sound die alone in the vast recesses of that empty room, smothered by the endless labyrinth of tubes across the vast ceiling.

***

He woke.

A thick darkness suffuses the room, broken only by the cold blue light flickering through the thick haze that obscures the edges of their vision. The trembling figure pushes himself up on weak arms, bleary eyes surveying the landscape before them. Fallen pillars on the ground, crumbled beyond recognition until they snaked across the cold stone terrain and beyond to the edges of the horizon, starlight glinting off them in irregular patches. Beyond, small shapes protrude from the ground, obscured by fog and distance. Shrines? Homes? Some even show a faint glow of light that cuts through the mist.

Their head spins.

Blue eyes hazily follow the swirling patterns from the base of a row of short pillars up to the top where they meet the sky, seamlessly melding into the azure heavens.

An endless expanse of sky and clouds, above and below. All encompassing. Lightning without rain.

With effort, he directs his gaze to the pinnacle of the sky.

Six identical moons above, surrounded by a myriad of stars, trailing constellations back down towards the earth. Blue. The blue of the night sky, whose weakly blinking stars, too, are never strong enough to illuminate the land below. The blue of the deep ocean, where forgotten kingdoms sleep in disrepair, the same as the dilapidated landscape they see before them. Remnants of a broken empire. An unnatural blue, made worldly only by age and disuse.

Ages of….

A heavy weight overwhelms them, as centuries of water carving deep fissures through mountains; and they collapse to the ground, exhaustion reclaiming its hold on the figure once more. Cold. The void of the cracked tile below shoves daggers into their skin, leeching what little strength they had and reducing them to a crumpled heap on the frigid stone floor; the repetition of choppy, shallow breaths the only sign of life.

Another wasteland, empty as before, piercing white. Scattered glass upon a vast field. The cracks between lead down, down into the black oblivion of eternity, where all things are null, as time itself, as life, as identity, as color; and above, the frozen world. Colorless, unbroken.

Silent.

Melancholy; the soul of the interloper. Convergence. Concurrence.

Passed beyond knowing.

A lone tree in a grassy field.

Faces obscured behind titles and grand deeds.

Stories.

Legends.

“The face in the glass… is that the real you?”

They felt they should know… something. A past, a future. An identity. Surely they’d had one before?

…Before?

It’s empty; like walking a corridor lined with doors made of possibility that turn to dust at the moment of approach. A glass room bounded by mirrors and crystal vases filled with water. Tangible but hollow. Repeating in on itself with every refraction until the thin lines of light and shadow mean nothing to the perception of an observer.

Connections.

Thoughts.

Disorientation as one thought reflects back above the others.

Resonance.

The impression of a name. Link.

They felt sick again, and then they felt nothing.

***

The stars still shine above when they wake, crowned by those too-consistent moons. Not moons and stars, Link realizes as their vision steadily begins to clear. Too perfect to be….

Gingerly, they try to uncurl themself from their position on the floor and find that their body does work, though made none the easier by their atrophied muscles. He stretches out a trembling hand, placing it against the smooth floor and pushing himself upright. The air smells stale and slightly damp as Link looks around, cataloguing the shapes that their eyes hadn’t been able to make out before.

Strange figures in the fog solidify themselves into derelict machinery.

The walls are lined with rounded devices that give way to wide panels above, decorated with carved patterns of lines and circles evoking myriad constellations in a night sky; the points of the stars glowing faintly with ethereal blue light. Most of the light in the room, however, comes from the six identical skylights crowning the apex of the chamber. The “moons” Link had noticed previously. The large round lights form a circular pattern around the top of a singular central pillar in the room. A pillar which was not, in fact, a pillar; but the shaft of the massive incubation tank that, Link realizes with growing horror, they themself had occupied until just recently.

With difficulty, he shifts his position from where he sat on the floor, gradually turning around until he sits fully facing the massive apparatus. It is made of a hard material, more akin to stone than metal, and cool to the touch; an ominous column that bows out as it reaches the floor to make room for the cavernous space inside like a gaping maw. Link shivers as they reach out their hand to place it on the raised pattern of the tank, rough and almost porous in contrast with the sleek underlayer. It reminds him of a stomach, he thinks, or perhaps a tangled mass of intestines, with its maze of uneven lines twisting and curling in on themselves. They feel vaguely sick again but curiosity forces them to keep looking anyway, noting that the center of each circle in the pattern houses a window of varying sizes, some seeming to lead to other tanks, adjacent to the main belly but many times smaller in size. Empty.

Empty, too, is the largest chamber of the incubation tank, looming above their thin frame like a drooling mouth, with shards of shattered glass forming the teeth at the edges of the main window. Link hasn’t the strength to stand and look inside. He doesn’t think he could stomach the sight anyways; flashbacks to the manic fervor of trying to escape already rising to the surface of his memory.

Their eyes drift instead to the base of the structure, where thick tubes as wide as Link’s own torso run out towards the edges of the walls, joining with other machines and even to the wall itself. The tubes glow faintly where patches of the outer material has peeled away to display the translucent membrane beneath. It’s apparent that they would have been used to transport the clear liquid into, or out of, the massive cistern. There’s no current running in either direction, but Link wonders if they house the vile solution even now. They force themself to look away, swallowing hard.

From his vantage point in roughly the center of the stone floor, Link can make out precious little else about the darkened room. More tubes cross the ceiling, traveling again the distance between the walls and the central pillar and meeting it, Link presumes, at the top; though they aren’t going to risk passing out again to crane their head to see. More strange shaped rubble gathered around the corners of the room. Link can’t even begin to guess its source, as none of the constructs nearby seem to be crumbling or missing pieces.

Their wandering gaze solidifies on an incongruous shape sitting amongst the wreckage. Curious, and without any other course of action, they begin to crawl towards it.

The object in question reveals itself to be a small ring about the size of the palm of their hand. It appears to have once been a perfect circle, adorned in symmetry with the same constellation pattern as the walls of the cavernous room; now sharing in its fate. Broken and discarded, dust and other refuse clogging the fine grooves in its surface. A crack runs across the rounded surface, culminating in a sizeable chip missing from one side.

Link picks up the ring with a trembling hand, fumbling it once before gaining a steadier grip. It’s made of a similar material to the tank in the center of the room, but judging by its size must have once been a piece of something larger.

The image sticks in their mind as they continue to scan the room for anomalies among the mess of machines and wires running the perimeter of the vast space. A forgotten tool lying alone in the wreckage of a desolate land, buried with the past.

The parallels to his own situation seem significant somehow.

He finds his fingers curling around the ring instinctively, though his eyes now look past it, focusing on a dark gap in between some of the panels on the wall to his left.

The exit.

Or so he hopes. A brief flash of fear crosses Link’s mind, imagining a passageway closed off with more of the rubble before him. Trapped. Apprehension washes over him, imagining the suffocating embrace of the water inside the tenebrous vessel. Why was he even here? Alone? The rest of the room is empty, the machines deteriorating and, as far as Link can tell, inactive. Is there more to this place? The sheer number of control units along the walls suggest there should have been a sizable number of people to operate the facility. His mind balks at the implications of his solitary confinement to this place. The sole inhabitant of the tank, the sole inhabitant of the room. How long..? Memories of the interior of the tank are replaced by thoughts of a sealed chamber, no doors to be found on the smooth interior; or a narrow exit blocked by collapsed rubble. His breath quickens and new images flash before his mind. Bloody fingernails capping raw fingers, scrabbling at the walls, bruised and bloodied knuckles; and still the harsh, unmoving stone of the enclosure, one person unable to do what only time can accomplish, unable to tear down the boundaries, to free themself. An agonizing death by starvation. He doesn’t want to think about the alternative.

It’s too much.

He tries to fight through the rising alarm, shoving it down to the pit of his stomach along with his nausea. Deep breaths. Clenching his fist further, driving nails and the imprint of a stone circle into the palm of their hand. Forcing themself to lift their gaze once more to their destination.

Link shakes their head to clear it and immediately regrets it, the throbbing in his head only intensifying with the movement. I need to leave this place.

***

The hallways beyond the central tank chamber are more of the same in appearance. The now-familiar constellation pattern decorates the upper part of the walls, while the lower portion is tessellated with the twisting pattern of curved lines in chunky relief, boundaried by a single line of the same raised, rough material running unbroken down the length of the hallway. It is this conformation that Link clings to as they make their way down the dim corridor, leaning their weight on the wall as they half stumble, half pull themselves along the wall with shaky arms; making up the difference for their protesting legs. It’s the fourth hallway like this they’ve encountered, though there had been only one exit from the incubation chamber. The path had split often, at first, and he had needed to retread the same paths multiple times in places as he met with many dead ends in the labyrinthine halls. They had passed other compartments on their quest to find the exit; small rooms bare except for a couple sparse beds with thin shelves jutting from the walls beside them. An impossibly tall chamber with a vaulted roof that seemed meant for storage, but held nothing but dilapidated shelves and crumbled debris. A locked door at the end of an agonizingly long hallway for which Link did not have the key, nor the strength to try to open. They fervently hoped it didn’t lead to the exit. The door had felt cool to the touch, but Link had been forced to abandon it to continue his search down the previous passageways.

This whole place is abandoned.

Though he knew it already to be true; the deafening silence betrayed no signs of life. Link’s own shuffling footsteps, quiet though they are, are the lone sound in the eerie gloom.

He feels more lucid, now, though his head still pounds and his vision still swims even from this slow movement down the corridor. They try to recall anything about themself, but find nothing to betray their past in their memories. Link. He feels that he ought to know something about the owner of that name. About himself. But any attempts to recollect further are met with failure and the feeling of trying to lift water through a sieve. Meaningless, obviously, but they are far too exhausted to feel frustration. And they can feel that their body will need to eat soon, even through the lightheadedness and nausea that still blanket them like thick fog.

A blue aura ahead signals the room at the end of the hallway; too far to make out, but steadily coming into view. Narrow panels hang along the walls, framing the doorway as Link draws near. Smooth and blank, but placed as though a sign to indicate the path. It would have seemed significant if not for the fact that every door prior had also been marked in a similar manner. Link’s fingers catch on the edge of a panel and they stumble, crumpling to the ground as they enter the room at last.

Not the exit.

But this room was different to the others they had encountered previously. Link swallows bile as he raises his head from the floor, dizziness returning in full force while they reposition their legs beneath them and reach for the edge of a low shelf to pull themself to their feet. Rows of glass tanks line the walls at the edges of the room, more uniform by far than the singular pillar shaped tank in the chamber Link had awoken in, with its divots and knobby carvings surrounding uneven windows. These seem almost sterile by comparison, though each window was still rimmed by twisting patterns of stone. They had no apparent function, as they lacked the tubes that had connected the larger tank to the machinery and walls of the huge cavern. There also didn’t seem to be anything inside. It was hard to make out whether the clear liquid contained within differentiated from tank to tank, and even that would have been to difficult to see if some of the tanks had not been cracked and partially drained. A high table spanned the length of most of the chamber, rising up from the ground like a solid plinth.

Having regained his footing, Link starts once more down the rectangular room, supporting his balance on the intermittent tables or walls. They are struck once again by the sheer hollowness of the place; the tables, the shelves, the jars embedded in the walls- even the room itself, he realizes, lacks the network of tubes crossing the ceiling that had so defined other rooms in the labyrinth. It isn’t so much that the room is empty so much as… devoid of habitation? A strange… desolation that they hadn’t registered until now, even despite the layers of dust that coat every surface. He passes a small, round alcove in the side of the wall, housing yet another barren container, this one free standing but otherwise matching the others in the room; the only thing setting it apart being the myriad “arms” that protrude from all sides, each containing a channel that points toward the central chamber.

Trying to combine something? It looks like it was built to fit this space. Or the other way around…. Link shudders again, contemplating the purpose of his presence in this place.

It’s a short enough distance to the other end of the vault, but it takes them several more agonizing minutes to cross the expanse. Step by step, feeling the omniscient gaze of the empty tanks on his back. his legs refuse to increase pace, however; continuing his uneven gait towards the far door, and at last steps into the small antechamber beyond.

Carvings in twisted stone relief completely cover the interior of the round room, only serving to highlight the closed door opposite him. He’s reminded once more of the bowels of a giant beast, the writhing pattern enclosing him, constricted; waiting to be digested. It’s cramped and oppressive compared to the previous rooms, and Link feels the walls start to close in around them. Reliving. Clenching his fist on the circular charm he had picked up from the floor earlier, he focuses on the sole thing keeping him in the room. Fresh air. It creeps in from the edges of the door, fighting a losing battle with the dank, musty scents of the broken down facility. Giving its life to promise freedom to another.

The door doesn’t budge when Link turns the handle so they throw their weight against it clumsily, falling upon the access with a dull thud. They are forced to repeat the action again and again before the door relinquishes its hold and creaks open, heavy stone scraping aside as Link slides to his knees. He is moving forward again almost instantly despite his exhaustion, spurred on by the faint breeze he feels across his skin.

It’s the longest hallway he’s encountered so far. Not even a pinprick of light can be seen ahead; the corners of the wall all converging to a single point in the darkness. The tunnel ascends at a gentle slope that wears on his legs after just a few minutes of walking, though Link already uses the wall to support their weight. they long to sink to the floor and rest, to give in to the deep exhaustion that has plagued them since they awoke. His throbbing head is at odds with the gnawing pangs of his stomach. He feels as though he has been wandering the deserted passages for hours, days. Sense of time degraded and fractured beyond recognition. If he could see what his state of mind looked like, he imagines it would be like the stone lines on the wall. Twisting, sinuous, ever moving forwards but slowly, painfully. Doubling back or circling around before continuing on. None of them connected. Fragmented. His breathing is getting heavy, and they can tell they’re moving slower than before, their movements less coordinated. If he stops walking now, the floor will swallow him whole. Returned to the void.

He walks on.

The dragging of footsteps is joined at last in its lone refrain, accompanied at last by the soft sound of a wayward breeze.

Blue eyes raise once more toward the outlet of the passage, confusion registering with the recognition of an inky chasm past the walls. Startled, their mind summons once more an image of cramped rooms and overbearing machinery waiting beyond, wandering forever; before the solution snaps them back to sentience.

Oh.

It’s nighttime.

Footsteps quicken and they stumble the last few steps toward the exit, relinquishing his grip on the wall as he rushes down the corridor. Frantic. Wind whipping through the tangle of long hair at their back and rushing through their ears, deafening. The slapping of feet on stone is replaced at once with the dry rustling of grass, and he falls to his knees as the world opens up before him at last; vast forest rising up around him as he emerges from the cavernous hole in the ground, long overgrown with flowering vines that herald the changing of an era.

Link feels as though they kneel before the precipice of a dreamscape.

Thick forest, the vast swath of trees forming columns under a vaulted ceiling of branches, starlight pooling off the leaves and filling the cool night air with energy. An infinite expanse of world surrounding. The ethereal made manifest amid the verdant sanctum of possibility.

Freedom.

And survival.

[mr-walkingrainbow]

FANFIC POLL RESULTS ARE IN! Here’s your guys’s promised teaser ❤️

Teaser won by 58%! So excited! (But also should I be concerned 1.8 percent voted for me to go burn???? 🔥)

Any who! The fanfic in question! (I’m gonna do a keep reading thing as a compromise for people who would want to read it fresh ❤️)

TITLE : Oh Non!

Oh Non!

Ennui was originally confused at the feeling that burdened their soul, feelings of anything, were but a tiring and sluggish experience that she rather not bother herself with. 

And if it wasn’t for the way she felt while watching Joy tend to Anxiety, she might have completely blamed the odd emotion on shock of nearly being blown out of headquarters a few days prior, courtesy of Anxieties storm. 

She always did feel things, if anything, in substantial delay. 

But non, alas. Here Ennui lay on their faithful couch. Limp as always, but inside fighting a confusing turmoil. 

She didn’t like the way Joy helped Anxiety. She of course wished no harm on the little thing, rather, the opposite. Ennui wanted to be in Joy’s place. She wanted to endeavor to Anxieties worries. She wanted to flip a hand in her direction and hear her call her Mon Ami in return. She wanted-

Oh non. Oh non, Mon Dieu!

Ennui had somehow sunk further than possible into the little red couch, non, she has sunk to the very bottom of l'esprit!

Ennui was Envious. 

[hyperfocusthusly]

Motivational Monday

Tagged by the lovely @perfectlysunny02

A little snippet of the Bucktommy amnesia fic that has consumed me as of late

Edit: the first chapter is out 🫶🏻

—

“Evan?” His voice is too small, shaking out into an empty room.

He tries again, louder this time and turns towards the door. The movement was a mistake, the swirling in his head rockets into vertigo. He knocks against something and tries to hold onto it but he can feel himself slipping down towards the floor. He’s shaking with the weight of the name ringing through his head - Evan. The one he doesn’t remember, the one he knows he’s terrified to be without.

There’s a sound in the edge of his awareness, something coming towards him, but it feels so far away, like he’s being dragged down underwater. The hand on his face is helping, a thumb gently swiping away the tears falling down his cheeks, a voice emerging through the fog.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, hey, can you look at me? I’m sorry”

He forces himself to look up, sees him there, the face he can’t quite hold on to, blue eyes blazed with fear.

“Please don’t leave me” is all he can manage.

Very no pressure tags: @wikiangela @buckevantommy @buckcurls @foxtrot91 @apassingbird @epiphainie @bidisasterevankinard @leashybebes @desert--moonchild

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #142 Part 2

His parents had spent years working on their portal, to the point where they were neglecting their own children. Danny didn’t know any better, neither did Jazz. To them it was just how their family ran and for the most part it worked for them. It allowed Danny to really study space and the Stars. His room was covered with different ship models on the shelves, glow in the dark stars on the ceiling and posters on the walls.

Jazz had similarly explored her own thoughts and topics as she studied Psychology. Her room was more feminine but still had a certain scientific decorum to it.  

He never thought that he’d suddenly be ripped from all the things he loved. But here he was with the trench coat man, instead of taking some biology class or something.

“What happened with the portal?” Danny asked.

The man took a long sigh, “listen… quite a lot of shit went down after your accident.” 

“That tells me nothing,” Danny glared at the man.

“I get your upset kid, but let me at least know your name. Mine's John Constantine,” 

“…Danny,” Danny muttered after a moment. He wasn’t sure he trusted the man but he guessed he had no choice. He was also noticing he felt a bit off, it was the weirdest gut feeling and Danny was having trouble telling exactly what the feeling was. It was like the feeling was telling him to trust John, although at the same time John had this weird feeling about him that had Danny feeling weary. He decided to trust John just a little, hopefully it got him back home, after a moment Danny spoke again, “…Can you at least tell me if the portal worked?”

The room was silent for a moment and then John spoke “Alright, fine, I’ll tell you what happened but some background first, do you know who the ancients are?” 

The name didn’t sound familiar, “Ancients? Like Ancient Aliens or something?” 

“No, no…” John took a swig from a flask in his pocket and then started fiddled with an unlit cigarette he pulled from a different pocket. He then looked Danny up and down, “You don’t know the first thing about the infinite realms do you?”

“The what?” None of this was making any sense and the more Danny talked to this guy the more he was getting a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Something about this conversation felt wrong, like Danny should know all of this already but he just didn’t. 

“Right well… I guess the easiest way to explain this is the portal your parents made was to the infinite realms.” John said, putting the cigarette in his mouth.

“My parents called it the Ghost Zone.” Danny muttered.

John seemed to chuckle at that, “I mean it is mainly inhabited by ghosts, however they aren’t the only ones, far from it in fact. I’m sorry but… I couldn’t allow your parents unlimited access to the realms. I had to disable it and prevent it from being reactivated.”

Danny felt a little disheartened after hearing that, he guessed John was probably right though. He remembered hearing his parents talk about how they’d dissect every ghost they found to study them. The bully’s at his school often bullied Danny over it especially after his dad and mom would continually embarrass him on parent teacher nights and on field trips.

Danny let out a small sigh, “so when can I go home?”

John looked a little surprised, his eyebrow quirked up, “so you're unaware of your situation right now?”

“Situation?” Danny trailed off, he remembered getting shocked and then he remembered waking up here, “where are we?”

John let out another sigh, “shit, well from my research you're supposed to know everything about your powers when you wake up.”

This made no sense to Danny, powers? Danny didn’t have powers, he didn't have the meta-gene.

“Powers? I don’t have the meta-gene. I think you have the wrong person.” Danny stated as he folded his arms in front of himself.

“Then how are you floating?” John asked with a smirk.

Danny looked down and he indeed was floating just an inch off the bed, he wondered when that started but the feeling threw him off a little as he stumbled a little trying to keep himself upright. It didn’t work and he fell back down on the bed with a little thud. He turned to see John watching him with a small hint of amusement in his eyes. 

“What am I?” Danny asked, his voice small and a little panicked.

“You, Danny Fenton, are an Ancient. I know the term makes it seem like you're old but the term is more because your people are ancient in age.” The explanation made no sense to Danny but he could somehow float now. He thought the term ‘Ancient’ was a little much for some floating powers.