#She brought black yarn

[jtl-fics]

Words cannot express how tempted I am to write a side piece to FF that details GS’ POV from finding out her grandson got stabbed to the reveal.

I want to show her full commitment to the bit. Getting Paul to assist her, listening in as Andrew and Neil talked in the car, her thoughts regarding all of this, Wymack having texted her exactly where she needed to go beforehand, her going up to the receptionist and pretending she doesn’t know English to sell the bit further, the stroke of luck that is dear sweet Nicholas, Squeezing the SHIT out of Wymack’s hand so he doesn’t rat her out because he KNOWS she’s speaks English, and the realization that is “Aw shit, they’re good kids Sara and you’ve already lied to this extent already. Time for the Smith family tradition of ‘COMMIT.’”

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

In one of my middle school science classes we had a project where we had to make up a sea animal and my group (mainly me and my friend Jared cuz the other dude did not help) came up with the biolumajelly

A bioluminescent jellyfish....that smelled like apples

Why did it smell like apples? Cuz when I was making the diorama for it I spilled some apple scented hand sanitizer on it and we decided to roll with it

I remember nothing about it other than it was black and rainbow and glowed in the dark and smelled like apples

I made the jellyfish out of this type of yarn (specifically the black one)

And some plastic easter basket grass i had lying around

Ive made a version of it out of polymer clay but I kinda wanna draw it

[muskoxen]

I like how Valancy is described exactly the way you’d describe a changeling child: tilted, eerie eyes; stick-straight, lusterless black hair; a “three-cornered, white” face; small; thin; possessed of a “ghastly grin”; sallow-skinned.

But instead of bringing trouble and discord to the family, she is the only peace-seeking member of a family filled with inharmonious, petty, and emotionally abusive people.

She is like the antithesis of the changeling; the second she leaves, the whole family goes into turmoil; the second she leaves, she finds happiness and satisfaction.

Edit: Nailed it! Just got to ch 27 and Valancy-as-a-Changeling is explicitly brought up 😭

“It makes me think of those what-d’ye-call-‘ems,” said Uncle Benjamin helplessly. “Those yarns—you know—of fairies taking babies out of their cradles.”

“Valancy could hardly be a changeling at twenty-nine,” said Aunt Wellington satirically.

“She was the oddest-looking baby I ever saw, anyway,” averred Uncle Benjamin.

[gabessquishytum]

A very self-indulgent ask here. Hob, having needed to start a new life, decides to take it easy from the fast pace of the city and buys a section of land to start a little farm! Most things come back easy to him - so many years living off the land, one way or another, doesn't go away quickly.

He's patching up the old farmhouse, painting board, hammering nails, breaking a sweat through it all. He starts tilling soil and planting seeds in the smaller back garden - mostly herbs to start with. He plans to ask one of the neighbors for help with the old farm equipment that was left over by the old owner. Even in here, things have changed so much! There's so many new machines and tools! Hob honestly thought it would feel like sliding into an old well worn pair of boots (and in many ways, it still is) but it's still new and fantastical.

He gets some chickens, which makes him realize how much he missed having chickens (and fresh eggs!). He enjoys the toil, the strain of muscle that a life like this provides. He enjoys the sweat on his brow and the easy rest his finds after a long day.

Then Dream comes to him, freshly retired and still wobbly on his newly human legs. So Hob coaxes him inside his home and gives him the care he needs. And slowly, Dream takes to this new human life of his.

So Hob teaches him how life used to be (and how it still is for many). Dream finds he especially likes feeding the chickens and watching them run around, pecking away. His eyes go wide the first time he sees a week old chick moving around. He names her Jessamy. She's his favorite.

Hob tells Dream to "go wild" in the house, and Hob enjoys watching how the fantastical mural progresses on the kitchen walls. Swirling colors and scenes only possible in dreams are revealed on the old walls. Hob smiles as he hands Dream a glass of freshly made lemonade and can't help but think how perfect he looks here in the light of the setting sun with stripes of blue and purple on his cheek.

Hob figures out how the old tractor works and how to attach the tiller and the direct drill with the help of their neighbors (a friendly group - the couple down the road brought them fresh milk). They get the first field tilled and sewn with winter wheat just in time for the cold. Hob takes a picture of Dream up in the tractor, looking wildly out of place in black skinny jeans and his silk top. Dream flips him off and Hob just laughs. Dream finds he quite enjoys that sound.

Winter comes and the daily chores slow (not stop, but slow) and Dream finds himself indulging in arts even more. Hob picks up some soft yarn and hooks when they're in town and the pair of them work on learning to crochet. Dream hates his first piece - a classic granny square - but by the time the holidays approach, he's made both him and Hob well-made scarves. Hob wears his every time he goes outside. It makes Dream smile.

Spring comes and with it, so does a bustling time of planting and planning. They work in tandem, prepping fields, buying seeds and fertilizer, caring for the chickens. They start renovating the old barn for either cows or sheep - they haven't decided yet.

Dream finds he quite enjoys the look of Hob in the midst of work. The sweat on his brow, the arch of his back and the tensing of muscles under his sweat soaked shirt all make for a very appealing image. If he takes out his sketchbook and works on capturing the moment, Hob doesn't comment on the sudden loss of extra helping hands.

It comes to a head on a perfectly average Tuesday when Hob's in the kitchen, kneading dough for bread for the week. It's early still. The sun has just started to peak over the horizon, their roosters just starting to crow - Jessamy from the sounds of it (and yes, so much for thinking she was a hen). Hob hears the padding of footsteps on the cool hardwood floors when a head rests against his back. He chuckles, telling Dream good morning and says he's up early.

Dream just grumbles in reply, a pair of hands rest hesitantly on Hob's sides. Hob continues, letting Dream soak up his natural warmth as he slowly wakes. The loafs will need to be formed still once the first proof is done, so for now, he places a towel over the top of the large bowl and pushes it up to the wall.

Hob turns in Dream's gentle hold and lets his body rest against the edge of the counter. Dream huddles closer, sighing as Hob wraps his arm around him. Dream looks up, this close, their noses are just hairs away from touching. Neither say anything, but both just know as they close the distance, it was how it was supposed to be. Here, in this house they each rebuilt with their own hands, on the land they tended to and cared for, they find love within each other.

This is sooooo lovely. I am very very into the idea of Hob going back to the land and starting a little farm. And how good it would be for Dream to create a whole new realm in the waking world. A sanctuary where he can live in harmony with all the living things around him. The food is home grown and home cooked, the bed is a little lumpy but perfect after a day of hard graft. Life revolves around the act of tending and of creating. It's not too far away from what Dream is used to, but it's all so totally different as well. It's new, but it feels safe.

Hob didn't realise it, but he also really needed this. The modern world is loud and bright, and if he's honest he's been craving the quiet and the stars and the solitude for a while. Solitude with Dream is even better. Sitting on the front step cuddling their chickens, talking about how the crops used to be in the old days before the fields were enclosed. Dream draws patterns in the dust with his finger. Life is quiet. Life is good. When the stars start to come out, they'll put the chickens to bed and then clatter up to their own room, to cuddle up under the patchwork quilt that Dream worked tirelessly to make as a gift for Hob. Tomorrow is a new day to shape together. The fact that Dream is looking forward to it? That means more than he can ever say in words.

[summerlovingbaby]

massage

“ Would you like a massage?”

Remus appeared in the dorm doorway, leaning on the frame, still wearing his bag but absent of his coat. He must have been in the libary reading. He looked the same as he always did. Acrylic yarn sweater with black pants. Green converse that were at one point black, but faded to such a state of disrepair. Remus didn’t care. Shoes were shoes, and as long as they had no holes they were functional.

Y/N placed the towel back on her head and flopped backward back on his bed, she couldn’t be bothered to respond.

“ Headache?”

“ No… long day,” she decided was an appropriate response.

Remus ditched his bag in the doorway and stepped out of his shoes without unlacing them, “ Do you want me to rub your feet?” he offered again.

Y/N rose to her elbows, and removed the rag from her face that she used to block out the sun that seemed content to disturb her. She could have magically closed the window, but couldn’t be bothered. She looked at him strangely, narrowed her eyes at him and nodded.

He took a seat next to her feet, lifted them from the bed and placed them gently in her lap, he kissed her ankle carelessly before carefully untieing each of her shoes and slipping of her lacy white socks. Y/N flopped back on her bed forgoing the towel and settling on draping her arm over her eyes to relax.

“ Want to talk about it?” Remus offered, rubbing at the ball of her feet, almost so gently it tickled.

“ Not to bad, being overdramatic really but this school is running me ragged. It’s just awful. I must be coming down with something, I have to be, I’m usually not this bothered by everything, but the suns too bright all the time and people talk to much and- Merlin! Remus, what are you doing to me?”

She snatched back her foot and looked at him with an accusatory glance. Gradually he applied more pressure as he rubbed her feet though it was never absent of his hands usually delicate nature.

“ Rubbing your feet,” he said innocently. He opened his hands and Y/N placed her feet back in his lap apprehensive.

Remus looked innocent, with his round glasses and thin frame but that was by no means accurate. Most of the marauders successful schemes were planned by him, and he could be clever when he wanted to. He got his ideas from books, and Y/N had the vague thought that he was not studying for his runes exam, and doing something much more cynical.

“ Keep talking,” he urged, grabbing her other foot, and using the heel of his palm to dig into the heel of her foot.

“ James might kill me with Quiddich, and Lilly and Marlene have been fighting again, which means I’m back to baby sitting them like were back in grade school- Remus!”

His fingers had worked their way up to the smooth skin on her calf, she rose suddenly and brought her knees together. Remus had never seen someone so intensely beautiful. The way her cheeks flushed with a violent red and her the way her hair splayed around her, slightly frizzy and unkept from laying on it so long. Her bottom lip was trapped in her top teeth, as she blinked desperately at Sirus, with an expression somewhere between confusion and desperation.

“ What the hell?”

“ I’m just rubbing you feet,” he shrugged curtly.

“ No, you’re doing that on purpose!”

“ What?” he shrugged, giving Y/N a devilish smirk, that he somehow made slightly charming.

“ Making me… making me want you,” she whispered as if it was some horrific secret. She was by no means a virgin, but rather shy in aspects of insisting sex, and preferred when Remus took the lead, even when she was undeniably horny and wanted Remus in ways that would be concerning to most if she voiced them outloud, she would keep her head down, and hoped Remus would understand what her looks meant from across rooms or the simple tugging on his sleeves.

“ Want me?” he asked, pretending to be confused.

He read in a book somewhere about eurageros zones, and wanted to see if what he read was accurate. Turns out it was because Remus could read the desperation all over her face, like she was begging to be fucked. They hadn’t had sex in weeks, neither of them having the time, and Remus had the time, and now he had an erection.

“ Because it sounds like need someone to treat you well,” he suggested. Y/N’s eyes went wide before she nodded. Remus narrowed his eyes and nodded as well.

[katsukikitten]

Look I've just been obsessed with him okay. Probs hella out of character and I'm too shy to be the only one in his tag

"Zodel! Zo! Look what I brought!" Your cute excited voice echoes around the dingy hideout as your boss stands with his back to you looking over something 'important'. He's busy you know this but he's always fucking busy.

And he should never be too busy for you.

"I said look." Voice turning dangerous. Slowly his dark eyes glance over his shoulder. His handsome face ever neutral, cold even, as he blinks slowly.

Watches you toss a body at his feet gaining his attention enough that he turns around fully. Eyes sharp as he squats down with his hands dangling between his powerful thighs as he studies the cleaner's body for a moment before he stands back upright.

"I wanted him alive." Zodel's voice is even and smooth, a hint of disappointment, eyes flickering up from the scared face to you. If anyone else had brought this boy he would have cloaked himself in a half deadly shadow and collected another body for to feed the core. Instead he looks at you with his dead eyes and slowblink, "And the jinki?"

"I paused for dramatic effect." You giggle, bringing your hands from behind your back sharp claws wrapped around a small yarn winder. Dramatically changing it's shape to a large staff before slamming the base into the ground, "He called it Tokushin."

Zodel looks unpleased, apathetic but it does nothing to deter your little show and tell.

Slamming the base again for thick rope to reach out far and wide, sure to avoid netting your boss before you twist the staff roughly making a net filled with the other vandals.

"See like a spider." You giggle, it slides down his throat like honey, "And if you twist and twist and twist eventually it can dice them up!"

Smiling wide as Jabber, Noerde, and Bundus struggle in the tight strings.

"The more they struggle the more it hurts them. Isn't this such a great treasure?" You aren't asking Zodel, far from, you're too busy looking up at your latest victims in the jinki you looted from the dead janitor, having wanted it since you first laid your greedy eyes on it.

"You stupid bitch, wind it tighter so I can cum." Jabber shudders as he squirms, sharp claw pinned to his body awkwardly making it impossible to poison himself to make this little experience even better. The rope cuts into his skin and he groans too loudly.

"You should try to fight without all of these little tricks girl. Be a warrior." Noerde hisses, long hair wrapped around herself as tight as the rope unable to discharge a deadly shock without her comb that she tightly grips in her hands. All the while Bundus stays silent and unmoving waiting for your little demonstration to be over.

"Is this all you've brought me?" There's that damn bored even tone. It strikes a nerve that has your hand gripping around the pole tighter. The wood groaning in your grip before you wind the rope tightly until everyone is wrapped around the pole before launching it at Zodel. He doesn't move, doesn't even flinch when it lands right between his feet and through the previous owner's body.

"I don't see anybody fucking else with anything!" You growl, temper flaring because he doesn't appreciate the treasure you've brought him. The food for the core and your chest is heaving.

"Release them." Eyes darker now, voice rougher as he holds your defying gaze.

"No." You snarl, crossing your arms as you glare up at him. You weren't releasing those useless vandals, they weren't a raider like you! To be a raider you actually had to fucking bring home something.

Isn't that what boss wanted? Information? Bodies? Jinki?

He moves faster than you can blink, half of his body shrouded in shadow as he grabs at your jaw roughly. Black fingers digging into your soft cheeks as he comes closer to your face to make sure you'd hear him this time.

"Release. Them." It takes another moment of silence and his grip to begin to bruise your pretty face before you finally obey. The rope disappears and the jinki clatters onto the ground as a small wooden yarn winder once more.

He doesn't even need to give his command to Kutohni to warp the other three vandals away to leave you alone with an angry Zodel. Black eyes boring into yours before they start to scan your face, your skin, and it's only then does he notice the rope burns and scabbed over cuts.

A particularly nasty one on your throat, jerking your jaw in his grip to better see the injury as you glare up at him from the corner of your eye. Leaning closer to your throat before he presses his lips gently to the bruised skin above the open wound. Slowly the shroud around him retreats back into the black coat he wears before he's palming the back of your head.

Pulling you into the safety of his chest, his jacket as he wraps the old fabric around you waiting for you to latch onto his torso like normally did.

"You fought hard for these treasures." He lets his hand follow the curve of your skull as he speaks, voice almost soft making your stomach flutter with excitement especially when he adds, "You did well princess."

You snap up to look at him as if you hadn't heard him correctly, rarely ever giving you praise let alone the nickname you've asked him, and only him, to call you.

Eyes darting between his before they fall to his soft lips and for a moment you swear you see the corner of his mouth twitch up.

[aaknopf]

In the prologue to Spectral Evidence, Pulitzer winner Gregory Pardlo’s new collection, he writes, “This book is about the legal means by which fear is used to rationalize the persecution of people imagined to be in league with the possessed of supernatural forces. This book argues that the logic used to rationalize the prosecution of witches is the same logic that rationalizes vigilantism and police street justice.” He goes on to consider that both Black men and white women are “similarly pressed into service as both muse and monster in the Western cultural imagination,” while, at their ghostly intersection, the patriarchy is haunted by “the omnipresent but rarely named” Black woman. 

One iconic example, brought forth in these shimmering poems of the self as shaped by (and shaping) American history, is Tituba, the only woman of color to be accused in the Salem witch trials.

Occult

Zero your scales to the burden of a lash, Dear Justice, but let Tituba clumsy the Magistrates’ minds with a wag of her wizened index. A flight risk near forests of the Wampanoag where Christians savaged Queen Weetamoo’s corpse, what else might Tituba, nonwhite and woman, haunt but a margin of error? She’s a catbird’s song trapped in the chimney. She’s egg whites in water, she is the tumescence of smoke. Dear Mami Wata, let Tituba prove to be the stone that splits the stream of their vision. Let her renounce sight and be unseen. Let her cough ground coral in the shedding of a pewter moon, that she, of all the innocents, should live. Dear Three-headed Hecate, replace her, the unthought thought, with wax, twigs, horse hair and straw. Let her not appear as a witness. Nor as evidence. As with the talking dog, let her be the hoodoo that speaks through their mirrors. Let a hang-thread skein of yarn ghost the floorboards tempting a red cat—his familiars, the devil and his counsel, the canary. Let her conjure the man in black they fear who charms pilgrims on the road to paradise, disguised as a harmless birdwatcher. Dear Nemesis, let her feed the court a few names from his register—a taste of her truth, her mise en abyme, her one hell that calls forth another. With no standing on her own behalf, let her sit in judgment. Let this power invested of gavel and oath help her give birth through her mouth like a god.

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Spectral Evidence by Gregory Pardlo.

Browse other books by Gregory Pardlo and follow him on Twitter @pardlo.

Click here for a special NYPL recording of Imani Perry and Gregory Pardlo in conversation about Spectral Evidence. 

Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

[nyxnightshade7656]

Hooked

I'm not dead, I swear, things have been insane irl. Here's what I guess would be the first chapter of something that was NOT meant to be a multichapter thing. But, ya know. I have no self control and here we are.

She looked around the hallway to make sure she was alone and would have ample time to accomplish her goal. When she saw that the coast was clear, she made a mad dash for her target. She very carefully shut the door behind her before she spotted her target. Storm’s bed. With no fanfare, she placed a handmade, crocheted, stuffed kitten on Storm’s bed. The yarn it was made out of was soft and fluffy, as well as easily washable and durable. She had picked out colors to reflect Storm’s X-Man uniform but had given the stuffed kitten bright blue eyes to match Storm’s.

Once the precious cargo was delivered, she darted from the scene of the crime. She hid in the library for a while, before she made her way to the common area. As she crossed the threshold from the hallway into the room proper, she paused.

“It seems I have been graced by our reverse thief as well.” Storm’s voice was full of warmth and amusement. It made her heart flutter with joy and a smidge of pride.

“Oh? What did you get?” Instead of answering, Storm held up the little kitten that had been stealthily delivered.

“Someone is puttin’ an awful lotta effort into this, ain’t they? Jean gets a phoenix, Logan got a wolf, Cyclops got a labrador, Hank got an owl, Kurt got a racoon, I got a tiger, and the professor got an elephant. Why ain’t they tryin’ ta take credit for this?” Rogue’s voice sounded both appreciative and annoyed. Clearly, Rogue didn’t like not knowing who was sneaking the handmade gifts into their rooms.

She was just starting to think that she should make herself scarce; not trusting herself to not give away her little secret, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She nearly jumped out of her skin in surprise, a startled squawk escaping her without her permission. She whirled around, only to be greeted by fuchsia and blue chest armor. She gulped and looked up, up, up to see the mirth-filled red-on-black-eyes of one “Gambit”, or Remy LeBeau.

“Whatchu up ta, Chere? Sneakin’ ‘round like ya t’ink y’a’int ‘sposed to be here.” His tone was teasing, but his question, she could tell by the emotions rolling off him, was very genuine. She flailed, hands flying as she tried to deny, without words, that she was sneaking around. In her enthusiastic pantomiming, that could best be described as ‘frantic, spastic vertical seizing’, she tripped over her own feet in a spectacular display of clumsiness. There was a cacophony of noise, she didn’t see what was happening since she had closed her eyes the instant she’d started to fall; and then suddenly she felt something warm wrap around her wrist. Then she was yanked into something hard and warm.

“Woah dere, Petit, wassamattah, ol’ Gambit scare ya? Didn’ mean to, ya know ol’ Gambit’s harmless.”

Harmless. Yeah, sure. Tell that to her rapidly beating heart and her near full-body blush that had to be redder than Jean’s hair. Just as she was about to try and charade her way out of an explanation, Storm came to her rescue, “Now, Gambit, stop teasing the poor child.” Gambit gently released her, but not before making sure her feet were solidly planted on the ground. As soon as she was released, she squeaked, and bolted. She could hear the others calling for her, but she just ran to her room.

She all but slammed into the door of her room, stumbling across the threshold, and kicked  the door shut in her haste to just disappear. She had the stupidest crush on the card-slinging mutant, and it seemed like everyone but Gambit himself knew it. Kurt was relentless in his teasing of her about it, even Rogue poked at her a bit. Logan had brought it to her attention, asking her ‘Of all the mutants here, the Cajun? Really? I guess it could be worse. You could have a crush on Scott.’ To which she had thrown about twenty stuffed animals at her father in retaliation. Logan had been nice enough not to use his claws on the fluffy projectiles, though he had grumbled at her about it.

She flopped onto her bed, which honestly was more of a nest of the softest blankets she could find, a mass of about ten pillows of varying sizes, and more stuffed animals than should be able to fit in one space. Most of which were hand made. She had a guilty little secret that only her adoptive father, Logan, knew. She loved to crochet. And she loved to give gifts to people she cared about. As evidenced by the mass of stuffies on her bed and flung around her room. She also had an entire wall in her room dedicated to bookshelves. But those shelves were not filled with books. Instead, they housed her yarn collection. Logan liked to joke, privately, that she had two hobbies. Crocheting, and collecting yarn.

Originally, she had been kept away from the life of the X-Men in an effort to try and keep her safe and unknown. But being kept away from the school did not mean she was not watched. Logan had learned she’d been attacked by both anti-mutant extremists and some not so nice mutants on more than one occasion and just about lost his mind. He had single-handedly packed up her entire life and moved her into the mansion. The X-Men, to their credit, hadn’t even batted an eye and had taken her in without a second thought. Kurt, Rogue, Jean and Scott were almost like siblings, and Storm was the mother that she never had. As such, she had set about learning what animals were their favorites, or if she couldn’t figure that out, she made something that she felt represented them. Like the wise owl for Hank whom she looked up to like an Uncle. But the one person that she was struggling the most with what to make, was Remy.

She groaned into her pillow. One of them anyway, and flopped over to stare at ceiling, “I am SUCH an idiot.” She mumbled, her voice hoarse from lack of use. Her room, when no one was there, was the only time she spoke, and even then that was rare for fear of someone walking by her door. The last thing she wanted to do was accidentally charm someone with her power. The fear was very real, and had an iron grip on her. That fear was what drove her to be silent. Not even Logan got to hear her voice. She shook her head and looked around her room, before she heaved a sigh.

Nothing was going to really help in here, she knew. Thankfully, she was mostly left to her own devices, not being an ‘official’ member of the X-Men, she didn’t have to participate in the Danger Room sessions, though she had snuck in to watch a couple with the Professor. It was easy to interact with Xavier, since he was a telepath, she didn’t have to speak, or resort to her phone’s text-to-speech app. But she tried to keep even that to a minimum since she didn’t want her other mutation to potentially affect anyone hanging around in her head. She struggled living there most days as it was, no need to torture others with it.

She grabbed her phone and earbuds, threw on some flipflops, and then, in an ill-advised move, she opened her window and vaulted over the sill and onto the ground about five feet below. She put her earbuds in, turned on her Spotify to a random saved playlist, and went walking, hands in her pocket. Being raised by Logan, she knew how to track. She was shit with directions, but she could navigate fairly well with landmarks or distinct features. She had been grumpy and annoyed with the lessons growing up, but now she was grateful for them. It helped her find places to hide away from the overly loud and overwhelming mansion.

Once she was far enough away from the mansion that she couldn’t feel the oppressive feelings of the other inhabitants pressing in on her, she let out a deep sigh of relief. She loved her dad, she did; and she knew that he meant well. But she had lived alone, or only with him, for a reason. Too many people were overwhelming for her. She had learned that she and Rogue were similar, in that neither of them could turn their power off like most mutants could.

The difference between them was that Rogue’s power centered around touch. Hers affected the mind. As an Empath, she could feel other people’s emotions as if they were her own; or push her emotions into someone else and make them feel what she wanted them to. The trade off to that was that too many emotions coming from too many people could overwhelm her. Or, the more concerning option, someone’s emotions could influence her into behaving completely differently than what she normally would, because she couldn’t always tell the difference between what she was actually feeling, and what someone else’s feelings were causing her to feel.

Combine her Empathy with her secondary mutation, the Siren’s Song, and she was a walking disaster waiting to happen. Her Empathy she had been born with, but the Siren’s Song she had developed when she hit puberty. Just like her Empathy, she was unable to turn it off; as long as she made sound that required her vocal chords, her Song was active. Like the Siren’s in Greek mythology, she could charm with her voice, be it just speaking or singing, anyone and anything with the ability to hear her, or with even base instincts, would fall under her thrall. She despised it.

She rubbed her throat in remembered pain as she finally came to a stop somewhere deep in the woods surrounding the mansion. She had found this place shortly after she had been moved into the mansion, desperate to get away from the swirling chaos of emotions. This also was one of the few places that she felt that she could let her voice free. It affected the animals around her, but animals she could make sure not to hurt. Humans were considerably harder since their minds and emotions were more like webs, instead of the simple little creaks and streams that belonged to creatures that operated more on instinct than ‘intelligent’ thought processes.

She spent hours out in the forest. So long, in fact, that the sun had set and her phone and ear buds had ended up dying. She began to make her way back to the mansion, hoping that the majority of the inhabitants were sleeping. She had learned that the emotions of people sleeping were far easier to deal with. When the building came into sight, she could instantly feel the emotions coming off of everyone inside. A few seemed to still be awake, if the intensity of the emotions were to be believed.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

We bleed tonight IV

Previous chapter

a/n well I return from the dead to give you the last and final chapter of this unexpected series. What a journey it has been huh...

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Adapting to Day Court was quite a challenge. The months passed, but you felt nothing but an imposter. You knew you were safe, but no matter what you did, you just felt off. Afraid that the peace and quiet would be ripped away from you any minute. Still shivering at the sound of footsteps and at the shadows draping over corners of the room.

Helion, as much as he tried, didn't feel like a father to you. You appreciated that he never pushed it. Nor did he expect either of you to call him father. He was attentive and always showed up for all the meals. There was no forced bonding. If the conversation didn't flow, Helion never pushed it. Yet you had caught his hopeful eyes more than once. Watched him lean in and stagger back out of a hug. He yearned to have his kids back, but time had worked against him.

Helion talked endlessly about your mother. Madelain was a part of the conversation almost always, and it didn't surprise you, considering that he, Eris, and Lucien had been working on getting her out of Autumn. And back to where she always belonged: in her mate's arms. It was fascinating hearing Helion talk of her as if she were everything. As if all those years apart had done nothing but ignite more love between them. And you truly couldn't help but wonder if that's what a true bond felt like. Something that can't be ripped apart no matter what. No matter the distance. No matter the anger. Wrong choices. Pain caused. Always there. Always bounding two souls.

Your body hit a firm muscle wall, causing you to quickly draw your head up. "You're distracted, my lady", the familiar voice said, holding onto your hands to steady you. "My apologies. Head's all over…", You moved your hands quickly over your face, gathering your thoughts. Bringing yourself back to reality. The male smiled; his long black hair frown into a messy bun, and a smile painted his lips. "Could I offer you a walk through the gardens? Fresh air might help", he said gently, his hand suddenly moving to twist your curly hair around his fingers. Your face flushed crimson as you only found yourself nodding.

Arlo, one of the scholars who lived under Helion's protection made it all that much more bearable. You had been slumped in the library for over a week by then. Trying to distract yourself from all the chaos. The yarning in your soul. You would flip open a book. But the page wouldn't turn for hours. Unable to concentrate on anything but the voices in your head. "Pick a book, and I'll tell you what's troubling you", he had said then. Mother, did your heart skip a beat when you saw him for the first time? He was truly a handsome man. Strongly built. And with that mass of muscle, you would never even suspect him of being so soft. But even his moves were laced with a thread of gentleness. That softness that simply embraced you.

Arlo gave you a glimpse of what you wanted the most. Satisfied that longing for being no one again. Not a Vanserra anything but that. A chance for freedom once more. Nothing that promised the same highs or brought you the same lows. No, because he wasn't the man that you were chasing. Wasn't it the soul that your whole existence cried out for at night. Even with him moving between his legs and your back pressed against one of the statues in your father's gardens, you couldn't help but picture Azriel there, and you hated it. Hated that you couldn't escape the shadow singer.

Hated that the highs wore off faster than you would have liked. Because Arlo was so sweet, Mother knew how kind and caring he was, but the light he bore blinded you. It was too perfect. Too smooth. It made your damaged parts ache because you were nothing but an imperfection next to him. And that's what weighed on you. The darkness. The darkness that lingered, the darkness that was a part of you. A part that you couldn't rip out. It was there, and it was suffering between these perfect white walls and crystal chandeliers. Because this wasn't you. It had nothing that made you feel like yourself. It was a true state of static nothingness, and for that, you couldn't settle because it was leaving you lonely.

Night after night, Azriel woke up drenched in sweat. Night after night, he saw you. He felt you. And it drove him crazy. He could swear he saw glimpses of your days. He saw you. He saw that you weren't alone. He felt the sadness that twisted you. He felt the pleasure that your body scoured into. Brought by another male. Making Azriel roar at the pain and suffering it brought him. What a strange thing the band was! As if it too was blaming Azriel. Torturing him on its behalf. He saw you smiling, but he knew that your smile no longer belonged to him. No, it was brought by the male, whom you looked at as if the whole world turned around him. You looked at Azriel like that once, and now… Now, he wished he could just rip his heart out.

"Uncle Az, Uncle Az, you came", Nyx messily flew into his uncle's arms, wrapping himself around his neck. Azriel caught the boy quickly, pressing him closer to his chest. Managing to draw out a tight smile. The boy looked over his uncle's shoulder and asked, "Where's Aunty, Y/N?", the pang in Azriel's heart twisted. He hoped you would show up. You loved Nyx and the boy, well, he was fascinated by you. "She…", Azriel trills off. He never even thought about this. He never thought about how he was going to tell the people who didn't know about what happened. How he would cover up the fact that you were no longer together. That you weren't together because of him. Because Azriel lost control over his emotions and hurt you. He was one of those men. Not any better than Beron himself.

"Is she playing hide and seek?", Nyx twisted in Azriel's arms, "I need to go protect the cake". The boy quickly padded away, and Azriel caught Feyre's eyes from across the room. She held the shadow singer's gaze until a shien of sadness painted over them, and she shook her head. You weren't coming. The empty chair looked almost jarring. So out of place. So empty.

"Could I?", Azriel goes back to one of the first diners you all had. He had caught onto your sleepy frame. You tried to stay awake so hard, keeping eye contact with Cassian, who was so deep into the story that he was telling. Until Azriel spoke, and you instantly turned to him, "Could you what?", you asked, "Hold you.. I mean…", Azriel quickly cleared his throat, "Would you like to lean against me? This doesn't look too comfortable". And it wasn't. Your hand was going numb, and your wrist ached. You smiled up at him shyly. Back then, a part of him was sure that you would reject him. But you didn't. You leaned right into him, arms crossed over his neck, as you pulled yourself closer to Azriel's chest. Now his arms were empty. Cold and truly discussed him.

"Are you busy?", you cracked the doors to Lucien's office slightly. The hours were late, and the chance of him being asleep was high; however, the dim lights from beneath the door left you hopeful. "No, come in", his smooth voice rang out. Lucien quickly put his pen down. All of his attention was now set on you. You loved that about him so much. Well, learned to love. That when you needed him, he was there fully. It wasn't just a pinch of attention. He was there. Always ready. Always willing.

"You should be sleeping, missy", Lucien stated, the corner of his lips tilting upward as you frowned. "Oh, don't you start parenting me around", you padded towards his chair, opting for the little ottoman that stood close by. "What's keeping you up?", the velvet sound of Lucien's voice pierced the silence once more. Your sad eyes hurt him too deeply. Hesitation filled your senses. You didn't talk much about the past. It felt as if it had all been blurred out and painted over. And you hoped you had managed to paint over your emotions, but Lucien leaned in to read you. And within a couple of months, you were an open book to him.

"Do you miss Velaris?", your voice was almost a whisper. Lucien knew that tonight would be hard. Hence, he too opted not to go to Nyx's birthday. Leaving you here seemed wrong. And he knew that no one else around the palace would understand the sorrows within you. "Not necessarily…", the fireling trailed off; however, you quickly specified, "You miss Elain?". Lucien froze for a second before a deep sigh left his lips. "I feel too sober for this kind of conversation", you chuckled. Yet it wasn't a happy chuckle; it carried worries and sadness. The almost bitter one left a tingling loneliness. "I miss her, yes. But not seeing her makes it easier in a way," Lucien replied. His eyes were now as distant as yours as he watched ahead of himself. Without a doubt he pictured Elain.

The silence surrounded you two. Draping the mystery of the unknown all over the office, you two let the pain you hid come back to the surface. However, the next words made you stagger, "Do you think of him?" It was almost funny how no one spoke Azriel's name around the place. It was always him—the man, that guy. Helion left him out of the court meetings that were held there. A part of you was thankful for that. Until you started missing his eyes. Hoping to see them. Hoping for at least a glimpse. Because your mind was so torn.

That was the man who showed you love first. Who saw you first. Who empowered you first. He gave you a voice when no one else listened. He made you his everything. And freefalling with him was the best thing that had happened to you. But then he was the one who ripped through your happiness. Stomped on it and shredded it to pieces. You tried to justify it. You did. And it was true, that Beron was to blame. He was the one who planted the seed of doubt, but…

"There are a lot of what-ifs in my head", you admitted, pulling your legs closer to your chest. Letting your dress pool all around you, "I try to drown them out but…", "The nagging voice doesn't stop?", you only nodded your head. His shoulder sank slightly because he understood. Lucien understood.

"It was like that with Jesminda", your eyes instantly grew wide, "You don't have to", you reassured him. Knowing full well the tragedy of the story. The loss. The pain. That twisted it. "It happened long ago; it's okay", Lucien smiled sadly, running his fingers through his hair. Allowing himself a moment of silence. "We had this one big fight, and we cut it all off. I said many things that I regretted, and so did she", you watched how his expression turned sadder with every word that he spoke. "I ended up not seeing her for months; pride was too big. Until I felt like I was going insane because all I could think of was her", and you did know because that was how you felt. Because it felt as if there was a growing ocean between you. One that spread and got deeper with every passing moment. And a part of you wanted it to grow, but then there was that small version of you that cupped the water with your raw hands, trying to make the void smaller.

"But that's how you know it's love", Your eyes shot up to look at Lucien, who had been watching you this whole time. You bit the inside of your cheek as the memory surfaced.

"Why are you being so sweet?", your fingers pushed through Azriel's messy hair, "Because I love you." Azriel watched you for a heartbeat. Your hopeful eyes had been glazed with a shine that glimmered in the morning sun. As if his words had just broken a curse. As if you had never imagined anyone saying those words to you. "I love you. All of you. Had for a while now", Azriel admitted right as your arms and legs wrapped around his strong torso, bringing him closer to you.

Your eyes welled up with tears, and you quickly turned your face to the side. Hating the fact that you were crying once again, "It sucks though…", you shook your head, brushing your fingers under your eyes quickly, "Because I'm starting to think that's not enough".

The wind rippled through your hair, and the skirt of your dress fluttered behind you. The sky was pitch black. The darkness soothed the pain, and the cool nibbles of wind made you feel more alive than ever before. The sound of the fast stream beneath you chimed more like a lullaby. With hands wrapped around you, let yourself feel the sorely missed sense of belonging. There was no light; only nightfall surrounds you.

Yet your eyes seem to have opened up on their own. And there it was. The image you feared the most. One you had never pictured before, and yet it resembled the worst fear in your life. Your heart skips a beat. Right there in front of you, stood the figure you could've identified no matter where you were. Either in the brightly lit room or the darkest corners of the Earth. You wouldn't need to see it to know. All you would have to do was feel.

"No", you said under your breath. The male stood at the edge of the cliff, shoulder-slumped, his head hanging low. He was done. He was simply done. There was no sense of life about him. A shell of a soul that has given up on everything. "Don't you dare", you said a bit louder, trying to cross the distance between the two of you. The hills now seemed impossible to cross. All the sharp edges seemed to intensify. Your hands slipped alongside your feet no matter what you did; no matter how hard you tried to crawl toward him, you simply couldn't.

"Azriel, don't you dare jump", you shouted at the top of your lungs, screeching as you watched him step closer and closer. Merciless waves crashed beneath him. He was muttering something under his breath, something so distant, and it felt impossible that you could hear him, but he was calling your name and muttering as a prayer, as a cry for help. You did the same, calling and calling to him, hoping to catch his attention. His eyes filled up with tears, as helplessness tore through you, and then he jumped. That was it; he was falling, and you couldn't do anything. The most painful scream escaped your lips as you washed his body and submerged it in the cold water.

"Azriel, Azriel", you roared, falling to your knees. "Azriel", your body jolted upward. Your hands clenched the sheets beneath your body, body soaked in sweat. Your breaths were shallow. They didn't seem to want it to linger in your lungs. And then you were up. Pulling the first thing over your body. You could feel your heart pumping in your throat. Those same angry tears were now streaming down your cheeks. You stilled for a moment. Closing your eyes and clenching your fist, you felt the now familiar sense of darkness surround you. You didn't know where to go. But you trusted your heart to get you where you needed to be.

"Azriel", you muttered your mantra as the spinning stopped. The familiar scent filled your senses, subsiding your anxiety, yet you knew that you were not going to rest until you saw him. "Y/N?", it was more of a question than anything else as he stepped out of the shadows as if you were just yet another of his hallucinations. Afraid to step any closer because he might just chase you away.

Here he stood. The male you haven't seen in months. He wasn't drowning. He wasn't at the bottom of Sidra. He hadn't jumped. You let out a shaky breath. "You…", you muttered, stepping closer to Azriel, eyes still lingering all around his frame. "You jumped…" Azriel frowned; equally as much concern now laced his features. "Jumped?" You nodded your head, still fighting for air. "I saw… you…", Azriel's hands pulled you closer to him. And his warmth poured into you. The shouting in your head died down. It's all settled. "It's just a bad dream, a nightmare", he said softly, pressing his lips to the crown of your head.

You pulled away ever so slightly so you could see him. Look at him. Watch him say, "Your eyes…", you almost gasped when you noticed the dark circles beneath them and the slightly red tinge all around. "Sleep is not on my side as of lately", he chuckled slightly, but you could feel the pain there. That same pain that you've been sharing for months now. Had he been aware all this time? Had he looked after himself at all? "Don't cry, please, love", Azriel gently wiped away the tears that you didn't even know were streaming down your cheeks once more, "I caused you enough pain". Yet you shook your head at his words, reaching up to cup his face, the need to pull him closer awakening inside you. A need to feel him almost like your skin.

"Azriel, I've been thinking…", but you never got to finish as Azriel stepped back, pulling you away from his embrace. Yet still clasping your hands, he whispered, "Don't…", and you could hear the shaking in his voice, "Don't forgive me". A sob slips past your lips as you watch him. Watched as Azriel fought the sting in his eyes. How he tried to steady himself but failed. "Truth be told, you are the best thing that ever happened to me. I don't think I was alive until you came into my life", he continued, now allowing his thoughts to flow. Followed by the touch that stung him. Because he knew it was one of the last. That he couldn't bask in it. That he couldn't let himself enjoy the warmth of your skin. Because you would fade away eventually.

"And mother, did I fear every day that you would disappear. That I would have to find out what living without you feels like", a cry slipped past his lips. "Az…", you muttered, biting your wobbly lip, but he shook his head. "I just want you to know a few things", the shadow singer cupped your cheek, and you leaned into it. Lean into the touch that your body has been craving this whole time. "I'm sorry; I'm so sorry for what I did, and believe me. Even on my dying bed, I'll be cursing myself for it", he muttered, pressing his forehead to yours as your nails dug into his shoulders, "And I love you. I love you so much". You didn't trust your words, so you never gave him an answer. And he never got to know that a small part of you forgave him. That in the future, your paths may cross, and maybe just maybe love will be the only emotion there. That it was now. That your heart beats for him and him only.

And no, this love wasn't perfect. But neither were you two. Perfect wasn't a thing that could exist in this world. Perfection belonged in museums and exhibitions but not in day-to-day life. And maybe letting yourself bleed for the night in each other's arms was better than not bleeding at all. And maybe ripping that golden thread from each other's souls was the best thing you could've done for one another that night.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

All acotar writing taglist: @brekkershadowsinger @cityofidek @baebeepeach @lucyysthings @hideing @urfavbrunettebish @historygeekqueen @marina468 @courtofjurdan @bubybubsters

[quietblueriver]

fingers crossed for your writing! prompt for you: mask

Hi!! Thank you so much for the prompt and the crossed fingers. Very happy to be writing Avatrice again. Here’s a short, soft thing and a play on both mask and masc that’s hopefully not too far off the mark. 💜💜💜

Ava leans against the doorway and watches as Beatrice stares at a black t-shirt that she assumes came from the basket of clean clothes beside the bed, lips pulled down at the corners, a few locks of newly shorn hair falling over her forehead with the angle. Ava wants to tuck it back, run her own thumbs over the buzzed sides in that way that makes Beatrice close her eyes and breathe a little deeper.

“Hey,” she says more quietly than she normally would, smiling gently as Bea’s attention snaps to her, body visibly tightening in the moment it takes for her to assess Ava’s threat level. Once a soldier and all that.

“Sorry to surprise you.” She sticks out a socked foot and wiggles it, thick pink and purple stripes on display. “Got a comfy assist with my stealth game. Camila was not joking with this yarn.”

The tension leaves Bea’s body as she lifts her left leg from where it hangs over the side of the bed to wiggle back with her own pair, a more muted blue and gray sticking out from the bottom of gray sweatpants. She doesn’t say anything, but she puts the shirt down and shifts on the bed, tucking socked feet criss-cross underneath her knees and creating a space that Ava fills happily, crossing her own legs so that their thighs are pressed together.

“You good?”

“Yes,” Beatrice offers quickly before she catches herself, shrugging a shoulder at Ava with a small smile. “Mostly,” she amends, and Ava indulges her earlier impulse and presses Bea’s hair back from her forehead before running her thumb over the clipped hair just above her ear. As she’d hoped, she gets fluttering eyes and a content sigh.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Brown eyes blink open and she runs a hand through her hair before turning her head to face the mirror that hangs from their closet door. Ava’s eyes follow, and they meet in the glass, Ava leaning over to rest her chin on Bea’s shoulder.

“‘Sup, handsome?” Her breath tickles Bea’s cheek and she rolls her eyes even as she smiles that smile she saves for Ava, a little bit of pink in her cheeks.

Her eyes drift and Ava presses a kiss to her cheek before settling back and giving her some space.

“I look like my uncle.”

Ava stops fiddling with their duvet, brings her eyes slowly back to Beatrice in the mirror. She’s waiting for her, lips turned up just slightly and eyes soft, and she dips her head a little to let Ava know it’s okay to keep looking, to keep checking.

And she does, eyes tracking the movement of Bea’s chest and the twitch of her toes where they’re pressed under her knee, a flash of soft blue wool.

“Jacob. His name was Jacob. He was…” The shift in her expression as she searches for the words she needs brings her lips to a pout, but her tone isn’t sad or angry when she finds what she’s looking for. “I wanted very badly to be like him, when I was small. He laughed a lot, and he was very smart but he didn’t…he didn’t use it to make me feel small. He was silly with me, in a very intentional way. Always sought me out and asked me questions and told me jokes that…well, you would have liked them.” Ava sticks her tongue out at her and Bea looks a little proud and a lot fond. “Exactly. I didn’t know what to do with that, but I liked it.” She pulls at the silver chain around her neck, the ghost of a prayer. “He died when I was eight. A car accident. I think…looking back on his funeral and the people who were there, I think maybe he was…like me.” Her jaw clenches, determined, and Ava loves her as she says, voice firm, “Gay. I think he was gay.”

Ava moves a hand to the small of Bea’s back, and Bea puts a hand on her knee, skin warm through the fabric of Ava’s leggings.

“It…as far as I know it was a surprise to my father. Uncle Jacob always brought dates to the big Christmas party and to all of the family events, beautiful women that were funny like he was and talked to me like they cared what I had to say but also like I was still a child, like I was only expected to be a child. One of them snuck me extra cake when my mother wasn’t looking, but when she winked at me, suddenly I couldn’t eat anything else.”

She’s blushing a little, and Ava presses her lips to the cotton covering her shoulder, smiling into it.

“Uh-huh.”

The blush deepens, and Ava smothers the rest of her grin against Bea, grasping and squeezing at her forearm to encourage her to keep talking.

She does, smile dimming a little as she says, “They were there at the service, those women, but so were a lot of other people I’d never seen before, all in a big group together.” Her fingers move against the fabric of her sweats, tug at her black tee, the twin to the one discarded a few minutes ago. “They were in the back of the line to greet us, at the wake, and my father was so…” Fingers run with agitation through already mussed hair. “He was so rude to them, Ava. Gritting his teeth and saying nothing when they offered condolences and shaking hands hard enough that he made people wince. I went to the bathroom and heard two of them talking about how it wasn’t any wonder ‘Jay’ lived like he did. I’d never heard anyone call him Jay before, and I didn’t know what they meant, but I knew better than to ask my parents.”

She swallows and Ava covers the hand on her knee with her own, quiet because she’s not sure if Bea is finished and she is trying her very best these days to give Bea the same space that Bea gives her to say what she wants to say. Even if it makes Ava squirm with the desire to comfort, to fill the silence.

“We left the wake as soon as we could without it being socially unacceptable to the people my parents cared about. My father was so angry on the ride home that my mom was afraid to talk to him, and…” The shaky breath makes Ava so fiercely protective that the halo starts humming under her skin. “After he pulled me into the car, I made myself as small as I could. He went into his study and slammed the door when we got home. They never talked about Uncle Jacob again. It was like he died twice.”

“Bea.” Her hand moves to rest between shoulder blades, presses in in comfort. “I’m so sorry.”

Beatrice smiles at her in the mirror before breaking their connection to turn and kiss her. The angle is a little awkward, their bodies having twisted over the course of the conversation, so she moves to fix it, adjusting so her knees are pressed to Bea’s thigh and making her hands at home on the sides of her neck. When Beatrice pulls back, she backs herself against the headboard and lifts an arm, and Ava’s chest is tight with affection as she moves into the space and settles, hand gripping the front of Bea’s shirt a little possessively. They’ve had this now for months, this bed and this apartment and this time together without world-ending bullshit, but she’s still not used to the luxury of it, of open, unapologetic affection, of Bea’s heartbeat steady under her ear, of time stretching out instead of bearing down.

“It surprised me, when I looked into the mirror and saw him.” Her voice is quieter like this, and Ava feels her words as she says them, cheek pressed against her chest. “In a good way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Fingers run through her hair and Ava lets her eyes close. “I wish I could have known him. I wish he could have known me.”

Ava nods against her. “Me too. He sounds way better than the rest of your family, not that that’s a high bar.” The words slip out thoughtlessly but she doesn’t want to retract them. They’re past pretending Ava wouldn’t halo blast Bea’s parents into the nearest body of water on sight and mostly past Bea feeling guilty for wanting her to. “I’m sorry you didn’t have him for longer.”

“Mmm.” It’s a little absent. A beat. “I used to be a nun.”

Ava opens her eyes at that, pushes up a little to raise an eyebrow at Beatrice.

“Oh yeah? I didn’t know.”

Beatrice pokes her in the ribs and she giggles as she settles back down.

“Yes, thank you.” Her voice softens, quiets. “I understand him. Or I think I do. Why Uncle Jay lived the way that he did.”

Ava splays her hand across Bea’s ribs.

“You used to be a nun.”

“Yes.” Lips touch her hairline. “I am glad that I’m not anymore.”

Ava presses her own lips against the body underneath her. “Me too.” She traces a pattern on Bea’s ribs. “I think he would be proud of you. Of who you are. Of how brave you are.”

Her body moves with Beatrice’s exhale. “I think he would have liked you.”

Ava pulls her chin up to rest against Bea’s sternum and grins her best roguish grin. “Well, I’m very charming.”

Her stomach swoops at the look Bea gives her, adoration undisguised and voice earnest. “Yes. You are. You’re wonderful.”

The kiss is short but sure, leaving Ava a little breathless. Affection thrums in her veins, and she pulls and pushes at Bea’s body until they’re reversed, Bea’s head pillowed on her chest and Ava’s fingers running through short hair, scratching at the nape of her neck. She runs her fingers under the silver chain and turns her head to watch their reflection. Bea’s eyes are closed, her breath slowing, and Ava takes the opportunity to look at her, sees for a moment Sister Beatrice as she was when Ava met her, ashamed and hiding so much of herself, desperately trying to be what everyone wanted and needed her to be.

Her heart breaks a little, for little Beatrice who became Sister Beatrice and for a man she never met. She blinks away the specters in the mirror and sees Bea again, soft and sleepy and brave, and presses a kiss of gratitude to her head.

[moon-is-a-cryptid]

Lavender and honey

⭐️pairing: Bakugou katsuki x F!Reader

⭐️CW: fluffy, mentions of pregnancy, Soft katsuki

⭐️Type and A/N: adult au!, reader is katsukis little stay-at-home wife, and I'm making the reader an Alt-style housewife because this is lowkey self-indulgent. Has dark style, tattoos and piercings all that jazz because I rarely see people with body mods and alternative styles in fics and I'm angy about it.

Katsuki sits in his car with his eyes closed, he was exhausted after the Villian chase that had played out until 1 in the morning. way past his own bedtime. Opening his eyes he slides out of his car, making his way to the door "shes probably asleep already" he mumbled to himself as he unlocked the door and shuffled in still in his hero uniform.

His duffle bag hits the floor as he shuffles out of his shoes and furrows his eyebrows. All of the lights are off except for the one spewing from the kitchen doorway into the living room, the house smelled of fresh lavender and sweet honey. The Knitting basket full of differing yarns of blacks, white and greys sat on the coffee table next to the scarf you had been working on for him since winter was approaching soon, donning the signature style of his high school skull shirt. The house is neatly decorated with your signature style, he had given you free rein of the house decor when you two decide you would be a stay-at-home wife. he was stewing with his eyes closed in the living room, the relaxing smell of the lavender-honey mix slowly taking away the stress of his work day when a little nudge to his leg makes his eyes open ever so slightly. looking down to be greeted by Yin, the black cat you had brought home after convincing Katsuki you needed a little friend to share your days with. the slender cat looked up at Katsuki with his orange eyes letting out a soft chatter before leaping in the direction of the kitchen, beckoning Katsuki to follow him.

Shuffling his way through the living room to follow his little leader, and hearing the softly played Metal song from your speaker on the counter. He leans against the sleek black door frame to see you in front of the stove pulling out a loaf of bread, donning an apron covered in flour paired with some leggings and a black maternity tank top that showed off your sleeved out arms, the fading greys and blacks that flow from your wrist to the back piece that is barely visible. the apron almost hid your growing belly. your hair tied back into a bun showing off the piercings that line your ears, lining up in chains and rings that lead down to a small gauge in your lobe, along with a little gauntlet tattoo behind your ear you had gotten prior to your relationship for your favourite Hero. Flour also had dusted over your face the snakebites in your lip that were usually little black and orange spikes had been switched out to orange and black rings instead, the eyebrow and bridge piercing switched from spikes to studs as well.

He watches as you pull the loaf from the oven and turn towards him, you jump, the loaf almost slipping from your oven mitts. " Suki! I didn't hear you come in!" you let out setting the pan on the spiderweb-looking pot holder that had been set out in preparation so as to not scorn the countertop. A tired smile plays across his face as Yin chitters up at you asking for pets. "Yin seems to be happy that you're home!" you pat the cat's head leaving traces of flour behind. " You seem to have a fun time baking, but why are you still awake?" Katsuki Questions nodding to the flour on Yin's head, you can see how tired Katsuki is in his crimson eyes, he was hoping to just change and crawl into bed but it seemed you had other plans. "the flour bag kinda exploded when I went to open it" letting out a small giggle you place your hand on the back of your neck, a small blush creeping onto your cheeks "I couldn't sleep because it felt like the little man was kicking my lungs," you began to ramble placing your hands on your belly. "and I was thinking really hard about how my grandma used to bake all kinds of things and remembered I have her lavender honey bread recipe!" you beamed up at him, though you were indeed tired, the pregnancy being a major factor as to why, Katsuki shook his head at your energy. "I'm so happy that you're home safe"

"Eat your bread quickly 'm tired sweets" He gruffed pulling you into a hug spreading flour onto his uniform and kissing your forehead. melting into his touch you lay your head on his chest the feeling of how tired you were settling in. You slowly start to sway to the music that had changed from the once aggressive song to Lonely day by a system of a down. Katsuki started to sway as you both softly hum to the music. forgetting that it was nearly 2 in the morning at this point, forgetting the bread that Yin was picking at on the counter and basking in each other's presence. Katsuki closed his eyes, finally able to feel fully at home with you in his arms.

"And if you go, I wanna go with you And if you die, I wanna die with you"

Katsuki's Taglist🏷️: @meggsngrits

Masterlist📃

[danzaloreley]

Calm Storm

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x harpy!Reader

Summary: Secret hideouts

Warning: None

A storm was to pass through, the sky was darkened by the second. There weren’t any chirping birds early in the morning and that pleased the pigtailed girl waking up. A silent bliss interrupted by Enid’s screaming at the top of her lungs. Wednesday sat up in alert looking for an intruder only to see her girlfriend cackling as she perched on top of the blonde’s headboard.

“What are you doing?!” Enid shrieked while throwing pillows at the harpy. “I’m just waiting for my sweetheart. We gonna have a day for just us.” “Never call me that again.” the dark hair girl grimaced and stood up to get ready. “How long have you been there? Whyyy Y/N?” “Hour and a half give or take. Thing has been tickling your foot, but all that managed to do was make you growl. And Wednesday is never fazed so” the afformentioned hand scurried off to Wednesday’s bed. “Thing, you betrayed me.” the blonde put a hand to her chest and gawked with faux indignation.

“If you’re through with Enid’s morning torment I would ask that you wait for me out by the gates, mon cher.” the harpy turned to her lover and swiftly left with a beaming smile, not before stealing a kiss from her.

Wednesday saw the growing smirk on her roommate. “Stop it.”

The howling of the wind and swaying of branches brought peace as you both walked. You had led Wednesday deep into the woods, the trees becoming thicker, large roots protruding from the ground. The canopy obscured most of the sky plunging into darkness. Both stopped infront of a giant tree before you turned around holding the girl’s hand.

“Is this where you have planned my demise, uccello rapace?” Wednesday had her usual stoic expression, but there was a soft smile on the edge of her lips.

“If I was to come up with a way, I would hope to think of something better then a murder in the woods. Pretty basic.” your hand held her by the back of the neck while the other held her close to you around her waist. A wicked grin on your face before-

Whoosh

Without warning you flew to the top of a strong sturdy branch. Wednesday’s hair tussled and angry look your way. “You should consider yourself lucky I’m not strangling you right now.” you walked her back carefully to the trunk with a sultry look. “You know that I’m not against it one bit. Getting down would be hard though and to think I was sharing my hideaway.” she tilted her head asking for elaboration while you put on the enchanted ring to make the wings meld and just shoved the trunk behind her forcefully.

There was a carved hole and inside lay a nest. It was arranged with hay, twigs, yarn, ribbons and on the edges vertebraes and skulls of a menagerie of small creatures adorned it. There were blankets and pillows for their comfort and scattered black feathers. Some books, and crumpled paper in a corner.

“It’s not much, but this is where I go when I’m overwhelmed. I enjoy the solitude in it.” the smaller woman sat cross legged and took it all in. Her love’s sanctum and she was sharing it so willingly. “Cozy. How long did it take to carve in?” You secured the entrance as the rain picked up.

“Hm. Well, I spent every day here last year. Safe and unaware of the going-ons of a certain little detective.” you quipped sitting down beside her.

“I’m glad that you were not involved.”

Only a few words that moved your heart immensely. The way her gaze fixated on you, the softness that was reserved for you alone. “If any harm comes to you in a such a way again, know that I will destroy Jericho without remorse.”

There were so many emotions swirling together, but the most prominent the devotion and love for one another. Wednesday slowly straddled the girl’s hips without breaking eye contact. The movements were slow, tentative as she leaned to capture your lips.

Wednesday Addams was feared for the destruction and coldness same as the storm. Wednesday Addams was not soft, vulnerable or delicate, but as the stormed raged outside, she became it all for you.

[aquilathefighter]

Fluffbruary 24: Needle

Find all my @fluffbruary ficlets on AO3 here!

Fandom: The Sandman (2022)

Relationship: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

To put it simply, getting used to mortal clothes was a pain for Dream. For all his life, his clothes were dreamstuff, as much a part of him as any other part of his manifestation. There was no difference between the fabric of his jacket and his skin. All one unified being.

Since his retirement, he no longer has the power to summon clothes with a thought. When he first moved in with Hob, he dragged him to department store after department store, trying on itchy denim and polyester that brought him to tears in the changing room.

At first Hob didn’t understand. Why was he so upset at clothes? Hob never had any problems; anything was better than the rough materials he wore once upon a time.

When they finally arrived home, Dream explained how painful all the different fabrics and textures were to his newly human skin.

“For so long, my clothing was part of me. I find most textures… unappealing to my skin. It brings me close to…” Dream trailed off, searching his memory for the appropriate word. “Close to a meltdown, I believe.”

“Ah, I understand now. It’s a sensory issue. Come to think of it, I’ve got a colleague who’s mentioned the same type of thing. Let me shoot her a text and see if she’s got any ideas, alright?”

Dream nodded his head minutely, then buried himself in the soft blanket on their bed. Underneath, he’s cloaked in Hob’s clothes, soft and worn from years of use. The t-shirt he’s borrowed is a gaudy yellow, the smiley face screen-print virtually gone. He tore the tag out after Hob told him it was his now. It’s too big for his frame, the sleeves hitting his elbows and the hem covering most of his thighs. He prefers not to wear trousers when he can. The material irritates the sensitive skin of his legs, and they feel too restrictive on his body. It would be nice to have his own clothes, though.

Hob came back into the room, holding two cups of tea. Dream poked an arm out of the blanket, grateful to accept the beverage. Hob sat on the edge of the bed next to him.

“Okay, she messaged me back a list of fabrics that are generally approved for folks with your same issues. I see two options: one, we go back to the shops and look at every single tag until we find the right material, or two, we head to the fabric store, and you pick out what you like. I’ll make you some clothes. I do know how to sew, did a stint as a tailor once.”

Dream stared at Hob, deciding. The store-bought clothing would perhaps mean less labor, but more time spent out in public with loud strangers, bad music over tinny speakers, and the relentless buzz of fluorescent lighting. On the other hand, he’d have more control over the homemade clothes, no itchy tags and clothing perfectly fit to his specifications. But he doesn’t like making Hob do so much work, the man is busy enough as it is.

“I should prefer the clothing you would make me, beloved. If it is not too much.”

Hob wrapped an arm around him, squeezing Dream to his shoulder. Dream dropped his head to rest against Hob’s comforting warmth.

“Of course it’s not too much, Dream. I wouldn’t have offered it if I didn’t want to do it.” He pressed a kiss to Dream’s hair. “I want to do these things for you because I love you. I want you to have clothes that don’t make you want to put your head through a wall. And you don’t owe me anything in return, remember that.”

Dream nodded, trying to make himself believe it as hard as it is.

☆ ☆ ☆ 

They returned from the fabric store with several bags’ worth of fabric. All of it black, per Dream’s preference. They spread the cuts on the floor, sorting jersey from fleece, bamboo from linen. Piled alongside the material are skeins of yarn, lovely thin-weighted cashmere that Hob will knit into comfortable cardigans and seamless socks.

Dream has chosen several patterns that were to his preferences. Looser fits and elastic waists so he didn’t need to deal with the discomfort of buttons and zippers pressing against bare skin.

“It is a comfort that I will have much control over the fit of these garments,” Dream said when they were done organizing their haul.

“Glad to hear it, dove. I’ll have you try stuff on a bunch before it’s done. Hope that isn’t too annoying,” Hob chuckled, used to the complaints of clients.

“How could I find such a labor of love an annoyance?”

Hob blushed. “Dream, you can’t just say stuff like that. How-how am I supposed to work in these conditions,” he laughed.

“I will assure you that I will provide many breaks,” Dream said as he scooted closer to Hob on the couch. Hob relented to his advances, planting a kiss on his lips.

“Insatiable creature. I do want to get started on this tonight, so back off, foul tempter!” He nudged Dream as he hopped off the couch. “Hmm, shall we begin with this pattern?” he asked, holding up the package for a simple v neck shirt. Dream hummed in approval.

“Hop up, I gotta measure you. And be good, mister.”

Dream stood, staying still and patient as Hob manipulated the measuring tape about his body. Hob scribbled it all down in a fresh notebook that was to live next to the sewing table, which Hob had eagerly set up earlier in the day.

“All done! Why don’t you order us some take away while I get started cutting out the pattern?”

☆ ☆ ☆ 

While Dream headed down to meet the delivery driver outside, Hob began to set up the sewing machine. A fresh needle, new black thread loaded in the bobbin, the room awash in bright light so he could see in front of him. Hob had missed sewing with the machine. He would sew by hand on occasion, mending tears and quickly patching tears in his jeans, but the purr of the sewing machine was a different animal entirely. He been so excited when the first machines came out, you could make a new garment exponentially faster than ever before! People took it for granted these days. Hob preferred a simpler machine with just a few stitch settings, but still had an electric motor. He’s a man of modernity, after all.

Dream returned with the bag of food, tantalizing smells wafting through the door. Hob lifted up the presser foot and pulled the garment away from the machine, snipping the tails of thread with his tiny scissors. He held it up for Dream’s inspection.

“What do you think so far? I’ve only done one side and I’ve done the seam allowance as tiny as I can go.”

“Your skillset holds no bounds, Hob.” He gave a tiny smile, the kind that’s only for Hob’s eyes.

“High praise,” Hob grinned. “Now, what’d you get me?” He wiggles his fingers as he moves toward the table.

☆ ☆ ☆ 

Dream has become used to the rattling of the needle, up and down and up and down, interspersed by Hob humming or scolding the garment for not behaving or yelping when his thumb catches the end of a pin. The background noise is soothing as he goes about his day, reading or preparing a snack for Hob or working on his own projects. He’d expected it to be grating, like most machinery. But the sewing machine is not a screeching brake or rumbling jackhammer. It is a friend, a kindred spirit, another family member in the little home he and Hob have built for themselves. He is not jealous when it takes Hob’s attention, because Hob loves him. He is certain of this. And as his wardrobe has grown, he has felt the love in every stitch, every dart in his jackets, the neatly trimmed seams that don’t irritate his skin. Hob enjoyed creating these for him with nothing expected in return. Hob was pleased when he stopped insisting on doing something for him after every finished garment was handed over. He believed relationships were always an exchange until Hob. Until his labors of love and the friendly hum of a Singer.

[dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd]

Crack A Smile and Cut Your Mouth

Ledger!Joker Origin Story

Chapter Eleven - I'll Take A Quiet Life

Warnings: None

Chapter Summary: Jack's daily life as a shell shocked former soldier, struggling to function.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading guys! We're down to five chapters left ☺ Btw this is several months later. At this point Jack has been in Gotham for almost a year.

Taglist: @alittlesmartcookie @furisodespirit

If you would like to be added to the taglist please let me know! <3

< Previous - Next >

Nestled comfortably underneath his covers and clinging to his pillow, Jack slept peacefully. His curly hair was sprawled out on the sheets going in different directions. He wore a dark sweatshirt, his boxers, and purple socks.

All that could be heard was the quiet hum of air passing through the vent on the ceiling above and his soft breathing. Such blissful sleep was a rare occurrence so he treasured every minute that he could get it. 

Sunlight peeked in through the curtains and streaked across his face, shining on the bridge of his nose and highlighting his freckles. The light hitting his eye brought him out of the comforting embrace of sleep and woke him up.

He sat up groggily and rubbed his eyes, his messy hair falling over them. With a yawn, he climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth while he was there, proud of himself that he remembered to do it. 

Jack decided to skip his usual morning workout and instead walked into the kitchen to make breakfast. He opened the refrigerator and scanned the shelves for something to eat, eventually choosing sausage and two eggs. He cut out two patties from the sausage roll and put them on a frying pan on the stove, turning it on and adjusting the heat.

While he waited on that to cook, he cracked the two eggs into a bowl and whisked them with a fork. Once the sausage was done, he used the same pan to cook the eggs and scrambled them, adding in some black pepper.

He moved the food to the table once it was done and grabbed some juice from the fridge. He didn’t bother with a cup because he would obviously be the only one drinking it so he just drank straight out of the container. Yet another sign of his growing carelessness. 

As he ate, he glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall from across the table and noticed some writing on the current date.

Oh shit, rent’s due today.

Shaking his head, Jack finished up his breakfast and put the used dishes in the sink. He went back to his bedroom to change his clothes so he could go downstairs to pay the rent. He had to get a grip. Whatever this spell in his life was, it was causing him to forget the most basic of tasks and he normally wasn’t forgetful at all. Maybe it was the military man in him but he liked being timely and getting things accomplished.

After he threw on something halfway decent, he grabbed an envelope filled with cash out from his junk drawer and his keys. He left his apartment and locked the door behind him, taking the stairs so he could avoid people. Once he was downstairs, he approached the landlady’s office and knocked on the door.

“Mrs. Vernon?” Jack called out, shocked at his own voice which was slightly hoarse from disuse. 

“Come in, dear!” The eccentric redhead responded. 

Jack opened the door and stepped inside. He had to really hide his reaction when he saw what Lydia was preoccupied with. She had her black cat on the desk and was measuring it. There was a pile of purple and orange yarn beside the cat so Jack assumed it was to make clothes for it. 

The landlady smiled and sat the tape measure down. “Just finishing up Sylvester’s measurements. Whatcha need?”

“Uh, rent’s due so here you go.” Jack said and handed her the envelope from his pocket. 

“Oh that’s right. Thank you, Jack. If only all my tenants were this punctual. Sometimes I have to pry it out of a few of them.” Lydia chuckled.

Jack nodded.

“Are you doing alright, Jack? I haven’t seen you out that much.”

“Yeah. I’m okay.” 

Ha. Lies. 

“If you say so. I’m here if you ever need anything. Just give me a call. Oh and you have mail by the way.”

Jack took a few steps towards the door and turned to leave. “Thanks, Mrs. Vernon.” He said over his shoulder.

He breathed a sigh of relief that the interaction was over. Another task completed. He walked to the other side of the lobby where rows of mail slots lined the wall. He found his and unlocked it. Inside it there was a check from the army he had been expecting for this month and a few envelopes of useless junk mail. He shoved them into his pocket and shut the slot back. 

He trudged back up the stairs to his apartment and got off at the third floor. Someone else that lived on the floor saw him in passing. 

“Good morning, neighbor.” She said cheerily.

“Morning.” Jack replied quietly and reached for his doorknob. 

He didn’t have any type of relationship with his neighbors and he didn’t want to, but being polite was the least he could do. Even if he didn’t feel like being sociable.

As he came in the doorway, he put the mail on the counter and the check in his wallet to cash later. Then he sat down at the kitchen table with a tired sigh. He wasn’t sure what he was gonna do today.

When you didn’t work and lived alone it was easy to get bored. It made him restless. He liked the solitude but he needed something to do or he would go stir crazy. He had to keep his hands busy anyway because it distracted him from resurfacing memories and whatnot. 

One of the main things he did to keep himself occupied was keeping a journal/sketchbook. It was a brown hardback that he found while running errands one day. He would write entries about the day's events or his thoughts. Other entries would be drawings or doodles that came to mind. Sometimes he would glue things in or make a collage. Whatever came to mind, he put to paper. 

It seemed to work well enough. It kept his mind off things for a while. That was as good as it was gonna get. Screw therapy. It probably would have worked the exact same way, only more expensive and outside his space. Talking out his feelings to a stranger would cause him even more stress. So he stuck to the journal, deciding it would be a whole lot better in the long run.

Today he glued in some random pieces of the junk mail to make a collage, rearranging some of the words to make funny sentences. He liked to do that with newspapers too. Gotham’s papers were the best for that kind of thing with all their crazy headlines and bizarre stories. 

On the back of the collage he doodled Mrs. Vernon with her cat, Slyvester. He couldn’t get that mental image out of his head of her measuring her cat so she could make tiny cat clothes. It made him chuckle a bit. 

He closed his journal and put it and the art supplies away, after spending almost two hours in it. When he said the journal kept him busy, he meant it. He left the table and went into the living room. He plopped down on the couch to take a much needed nap. 

…

That night he made grilled cheese for dinner. Something simple so he didn’t have to put in much effort but still passable as a meal. After he ate, he laid down on the couch again to unwind for the evening. On the coffee table beside him, the radio was playing some old 70s rock tunes. He closed his eyes and just listened, drowning everything else out. 

The soft tunes emitted from the radio reminded him of his younger years. His mother would play records from Led Zeppelin or The Doors while they both cleaned the house.

He smiled as he thought back on those days. The fond memories and soft music helped him to relax as he settled comfortably into the couch cushions. If he were allowed to smoke inside, he’d totally be having a cigarette right about now.

A combination of the relaxed feeling he had and his full stomach slowly lulled him to sleep. He sensed he was getting ready to drift off so he reached over and turned off the radio as his last conscious act before he succumbed to sleep. Within minutes he was out cold.

…

Several hours later Jack woke up startled from yet another nightmare. His heart pounded in his ears and he struggled to catch his breath. It was still dark outside which let him know it was still very early in the morning and not the right time to be getting up. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he sat up and scanned the room for reassurance.

You’re okay. You’re home. You’re safe.

He mentally chanted those words over and over to ground himself. Once he finally calmed down, he closed his eyes and tried his hardest to go back to sleep but he just couldn’t. After half an hour of trying, he gave up and turned on the TV to pass the time. 

At first a news channel popped up, which was discussing stocks for Gotham’s business world. Jack rolled his eyes and surfed through the channels until something decent came up. He settled on a kids channel that was playing Tom and Jerry. Nothing like childhood nostalgia to distract him from the terrible evil of the world that constantly racked his brain. 

More time passed and soon the sun crept in through the curtains, signaling to Jack that it was time to get up and go make himself something to eat. As he scoured the kitchen for food, he realized he needed to restock on groceries since he was running low on a lot of things. He outwardly groaned and facepalmed. The last thing he wanted was social interaction, especially after the rough start to the day.

He forced himself to suck it up, knowing that if he didn’t he wouldn’t have food. The best way to have a better day was to face it head on. He would be a productive member of society today. No if ands or buts about it. 

After he finished breakfast, Jack took a quick shower and got dressed. He made sure to fix his hair a little and brush his teeth. ‘Civilized’ people frowned upon the disheveled. He stuffed his keys and his wallet into his pocket and went on his way, locking up the apartment behind him.

When he was outside the building, he took a right towards the shopping center that was a few blocks down. He walked there since it would save gas. There was really no point in driving to somewhere so close. Mentally preparing himself as he approached, he entered the grocery store through the automatic door and grabbed a basket from the front, keeping his head down as he went. 

He walked through the aisles, grabbing the things that he needed and avoiding people when he could. Lately he found that the slightest things people did annoyed him. If someone got too close to him or if a group of people were in the same aisle he needed to be at, it bothered him. 

Then there were the times people actually did something to validly upset him. People had no mercy when it came to staring at him. It was bad enough that he was taller than most people and had this intimidating aura about him that tended to put others on edge.

The scar was the salt in the wound. He saw their eyes. It was unmistakable what they were looking at. They would quickly look away and pretend like they didn’t see him, as if the very sight of his gnarled face would give them a disease of some kind. 

Pssh. Civilians were so easily startled. 

Jack grabbed the last thing he needed and dropped it inside the basket, relieved that the shopping part was over. Now came the hard part. He walked back towards the front where the registers were and got in line.

While he waited, he looked over each of the items in his basket and internally read over their labels to keep himself from getting too overwhelmed. That was one of the biggest reasons he hated shopping. Sure other people were annoying but it was extremely stressful for him to be out in public. 

It was now his turn in line so he stepped up and began unloading the basket onto the conveyor belt. As always he only spoke what was necessary to the cashier but maintained a certain amount of politeness. 

The cashier finished bagging the groceries and told him the total. Jack produced his wallet from his pocket and he took out some money, handing it to the cashier. She gave him a receipt and his change, wishing him a good rest of his day.

Jack just nodded in response and grabbed the bags from the counter. He nearly made a beeline for the exit, glad to be away from that sensory overload.

While he was out he figured it would be a good idea to go ahead and cash that check he got in the mail. The bank was a few more blocks away but he didn’t mind walking. He reached the stone building a few minutes later and went inside.

He stopped at an electronic booth so he didn’t have to talk to a person. He took out some money to have as cash on hand and deposited the rest into his account.

Task two of the day completed. Now he could finally go back home.

When he got back, he unloaded the groceries and put them away. He noticed how messy his space was getting and decided to take action. Once he was done putting up groceries, he washed the dishes left in the sink and cleaned off the countertops. Then he tidied up around the living room and the table and swept the floors. The bathroom needed a touch up so he got to work on that. He also put the clothes lying on his bedroom floor in a laundry basket to be washed. By the time he was done cleaning nearly three hours had passed.

At this point it was almost dinner time and Jack was trying to figure out what to make. He pulled a box of pasta from a shelf in his pantry and decided to just wing it with some sort of pasta dish. He got the noodles started by leaving them in a pot on the stove to boil. While he waited on that he made a small salad to go with it, topping it with lots of cheese and an interesting looking dressing he found at the store. 

When the pasta finished cooking, he mixed it in with a tomato sauce he let heat up in a pan. Once that was done, he topped it with a little garlic and plenty of cheese. He moved to the table with the food and fixed himself a plate.

The first bite was heavenly, a small reward for being productive today. He ate in complete silence as usual and relished in the peace and quiet. 

Jack started to get full after a while so he saved what was left over for later and cleaned up the mess in the kitchen. He put away the supplies he used and tossed the dirty dishes in the sink.

Just as he picked up a dish to wash, the pan on top of it fell with a loud crash, making him jump back and drop the dish he was holding. 

Instantly he was brought back to the battlefield. The loud noise rang in his ears, imitating the explosions. He covered his ears with his hands and got down on his knees, curling in on himself and whimpering in pain.

No matter how hard he tried to snap out of it, the illusion wouldn’t budge. All he could do was stay there on the floor and ride it out until his brain decided to leave him alone. 

After what felt like forever, the noise and the visions eventually subsided, leaving him shook up and struggling to breath. He felt a lump form in his throat and choked over the sob he tried to keep back but couldn’t.

This attack came out of absolutely nowhere and scared him to death. Loud noises never bothered him that much before and he never thought of them as triggering. This was completely unexpected.

Jack hit his head against his hands and scolded himself. Stop crying, you whimp! It’s over now. Jeez, get a fucking grip.  He rocked back and forth, trying to calm himself and ride out the last remaining effects of the attack. 

Something had to give. This was getting ridiculous.

[lilpuffyart]

Posting this here just bc I doubt I'll finish this ever

It probably has a lot of writing mistakes and I wrote this months ago instead of sleeping so don't expect anything good :p

Forneus had a simple life. While she was traveling, she would look for food, be it fruits, vegetables or fishes. When she made her stop in her habitual spot from each realm, she would knit something. Be it toys for a few kids she would find on her journeys, or be it some piece of clothing.

And since she was just a friendly traveler, she wouldn't have many issues with each place she went, having sold items for the bishops of the old faith before, and her appearance gave the old Gods some kind of comfort for knowing she wouldn’t do anything drastic. But now, with the bishops gone and the anxiety of who would now rule each place, she sometimes found it hard to travel, especially now.

Forneus wasn't a fool, she was aware that she was aging, but the black cat had her most precious gifts back.

Her children.

When The Lamb and Narinder had brought them back to her, the old cat felt like she was dreaming, touching their faces in an attempt to be reassured that it was real, that she wasn't, yet again, dreaming they were there. Forneus felt alive again that day.

With her kittens back, however, she had to teach them all the things that her mother had taught her once.

And that was what she was doing at the moment.

"Sweetheart, you're going to hurt yourself that way", Forneus said softly to her son, Baal, who was so focused on the yarn that he attempted to turn into some kind of garment. While not looking at her, the gray kitten still paid attention to her words, moving his ears in her direction to show that.

Baal took a quick liking for knitting and sewing, something that impressed his mother. And the interest in it started just as fast, she remembered fondly. The tall cat had awakened before his brother one day, and made his way to their mother, who sat outside their comfortable caravan while knitting. Forneus was sitting comfortable there, stitching the yarn to later turn it into a sweater for one of the children. His eyes followed the object, picking every small detail and curve she was doing with the needles.

He, however, still had a long way on it.

“I can’t make this knot”, he huffed sadly, admitting defeat when he put the yarn and needle on the ground. “You make it seem so easy…”, the young cat sighed and brought his legs close to his chest. Baal felt bad for letting his mom down. After being away for so long, he wanted to desperately make her proud.

But he heard a soft chuckle coming from his side and Baal looked at his mother.

“Oh, sweetie, there’s no need to feel frustrated over this”, she purred softly and rested her paw over his. “You have a lot of time to learn how to do it. Take your time”.

He moved his ears a little bit and he blinked while staring at the ground. Baal was always used to memorizing and then getting things right. Unlike his master and his brother, he never had much patience for these things. He moved his tail back and forth and looked away.

“Let me help you, Baal”, Forneus said while reaching for the needles that were in her son’s paws. His soft dark eyes lighted up with the idea of his mother teaching him something that was so important to her. “First, you

“Oh, sweetie”, she meowed and brought him close to her chest. Even though he was taller than her, Forneus’ hugs always made him feel like a kitten all over again. “I’m already proud of you”.

Baal hugged his mother back, letting her warmth embrace him. He then closed his eyes for a few minutes, feeling the summer sun on his back. Baal huffed and lowered his ears.

“Still”, he murmured. “I’m going to finish this scarf for you”, the black she-cat laughed warmly at her kitten’s stubbornness.

—

Aym was different from his brother, for he liked to be on his own, away from everyone. Not that he disliked the company of his family; he loved it, but he easily felt overwhelmed around others and would wander off for a while.

It didn’t take him long to get to Pilgrim’s Passage in these walks and to take fishing as a hobby. His family needed to eat anyway, so he assumed it would be a useful hobby to have anyway.

Once a week, Aym would make his way there and sit on the small and old deck. Normally people wouldn’t bother him much there either because he was fishing or because he seemed to never like to be bothered. He never minded the company of his mother, she seemed to always understand his boundaries well and would always have a big smile and a few encouraging words to say to Aym whenever he caught something. It was contagious.

“Aym”, she called from behind him, broughting him back from his thoughts. “Did ye catch something?”, she said softly, a small basket was being held by her big paws. The sweet smell of strawberries that was coming from the basket was enough to make his mouth water.

“No”, he simply murmured. He sounded disappointed at himself and Forneus was quick to pick the hints of it.

“We could go back, my heart”, Forneus meowed softly to him, moving her basket to be held by only her left arm. “And come back tomorrow in the morning when the fishes are fresher”.

“No”, Aym inhaled and then exhaled heavily, feeling the pilgrim’s soft breeze enter and leave his lungs. “I’m going to wait longer”, he said softly and flicked his ear.

The old maine coon looked around. It wasn’t late, and the sun hadn’t even started to set yet. She figured that keeping her child company wouldn’t hurt her old body. And even if it did, she would never trade a change to stay by his side.

So she gave a tired sigh and made her way to the end of the dock and sat down next to Aym. The black cat could feel the soft and salty waves hit her feet and she found herself surprised that she wasn’t as against the feeling of it as she thought she would. It was relaxing.

“You should eat something then”, she said as she gently brought the basket close to him. The cat smiled softly at the other cat that slowly picked the basket, as if waiting for some kind of approval from his mother. Aym was careful to put it on his side

[fuwahua]

Familiar Faces

Ship: Zhongli/Childe

WC: 3677

Summary: Fluff. Zhongli picks up a doll that resembles his hubby in more ways than one!

Much Belated present for @ticklystuff for 300 followers!! Thank you for your glorious fics I love them ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

The first time Zhongli sees the doll, it hardly seems of any importance.

Granny Shan does an excellent job of filling her toy store for every child’s whimsy and merriment: her shop is always well-stocked with broad, colorful kites for the summer and hand-carved shovels and buckets for the winter snow. A collection of painted fans, glassy charms, and knitted dolls are a common sight at her stand.

It’s not that the doll is ugly, rather, it’s simple color scheme and small shape had it blending in with the bright bursts of colors and textures offered by the rest of her wares. His eyes had roamed over it as Granny Shan greeted him, gesturing to her more expensive display of clay figures and expensive shells woven into wind chimes, and it had simply faded from his mind.

The second time, however, he realized that this particular doll is quite different from the rest.

“Isn’t that one cute?” Childe’s voice warbled in his ear, bright and cheery, as hands pinched at his waistline teasingly. Zhongli flinched away from the attack, eye twitching, though he obliged to look. 

A small doll, little bigger than the palm of his hand, with exaggeratedly rounded features. A large, almost comically oversized head complete with orange felt hair and dull blue eyes embroidered onto the fabric greeted him. On closer inspection, Zhongli noticed that the doll’s chubby body was decorated with gray fabric.

His eyes trailed from the doll to Childe for a moment before he chuckled. “Ah, I see why you like it.”

“Right? Tonia would love it!”

Much to his surprise, Childe reached out not for the grey doll but instead a far more intricate one sitting besides it, with long black yarn locks and a simply fashioned silk hanfu dress. Childe grinned as he ran his hands over it, feeling the fabric. “She really liked the ones last time, and this one looks like it can handle some wear and tear.”

“That one is rather charming,” Zhongli admitted, though his eyes return to the doll he’d been staring at before. “However, wouldn’t you say this one is just as pleasing?”

His fingers closed around the dolls body to pick it up, curiously following Childe’s previous movements of pressing down on the fabric body to ascertain its quality. It felt plush, well-stuffed, and gave under his fingers with ease.

“A-Ah! W-whaha?”

“Childe?”

Zhongli nearly dropped the doll in surprise at his partners sudden shout. Childe’s shoulders scrunched up to his ears, visibly red, with one hand clamped around his mouth. Zhongli abandoned the toy to approach him, laying the back of his hand against Childe’s cheek. Warm.

“Are you alright? Perhaps we should retire to some shade,” Zhongli said. Childe took a moment before his hand dropped, though he still looked bewildered. As though somehow, within the mere two seconds Zhongli looked away, he’d been spooked by something.

Yet he felt nothing in the air. No Adeptal powers nor Abyssal presence. Zhongli frowned, then tempted to draw onto his geo power to check through the land but Childe recovered before he could.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Probably just been under the heat too long,” Childe said. He put the doll back down. “I’ll be back for that, Granny Shan! Keep it safe for me!”

She laughed at him, waving them both away. “Of course! I’ll see you both soon!”

It didn’t take long for them to retire to Wanmin for shade and food. Between an exaggerated story of Childe’s making about a debt collection gone wrong (“A hilichurls stole his mora, can you believe it!? I thought he was making it up but then I chased them down to a camp and they were just stockpiling these bags of mora in crates for some reason!”) and his own tales brought forth by the rich scent of Xiangling’s Adepti Temptation (“Have I ever told you about the origin of this soup?” “Yeah, but I’d like to hear it again.” “Of course, well…”), Zhongli found himself quickly preoccupied with other things.

Yet he finds himself at Granny Shan’s store the very next day. There, still standing in the same spot, is the familiar felt friend.

“Oh? Alone today, Zhongli?” Granny Shan greets. He hums, noncommittal; he’s long grown used to the merchant's gentle probing whenever he arrives at their stores alone. This time, however, he’d triple checked his wallet before arriving.

His hands close around the doll again as his chest squeezes tight. How could he simply dismiss the toy the first time? Indeed, the stitching of the hair and clothing is minimal, one may even say slightly childlike in its unevenness, but the colors and the detail work is charming. Cheerful and familiar.

It looks a remarkable lot like Childe.

Zhongli feels a smile pull at his lips as he affectionately pats the doll’s head. Childe seldom allows him to do so, often pulling away while whining that he’s not a child. Yet, within minutes, he’d always find his arms occupied once more with a clingy Harbinger looking for affection.

His fingers skate down the doll's body, curious. The gray top is sewn to the dolls head, meaning it cannot be removed entirely, but, similarly to Childe’s shirt, it can be opened nearly entirely to reveal flesh colored felt beneath. He pokes at the small blue heart embroidered onto the doll’s stomach. The fabric gives away easily under his finger, almost bouncing back once he retreats, and he pokes it thrice more before tucking the doll’s shirt back down.

“Oh?”

A curious noise escapes him as he stares at the doll’s face. He could have sworn that the eyes that stared up at him before were merely blank, the doll’s mouth a thin line (it had no nose, but he would not spurn Granny Shan for forgoing a simple detail on such a small piece). Now, however, the eyes appeared to almost crinkle at the ends, the mouth curved in a tiny smile.

He must have remembered wrong even if it’s hard for him to believe. How could he forget such an adorable expression?

Zhongli smiles back at the doll, completely won over by its charm. What a delightful toy.

“Granny Shan, I’ll take this one.”

-

There were few things that could sneak up on Tartaglia, eleventh of the eleven Harbingers, Her Majesty The Tsarita’s Vanguard, part-time Abyssal Herald. Those who could amounted to pretty much the other Harbingers, Her Majesty herself, and perhaps the other Archons.

But somehow, he must have been ambushed and poisoned. There was no other explanation for—

“W-waihahahahat! No, nohahahahaha not there!”

The sudden tickling sensations that would crawl up his body.

Childe slammed his hands over his mouth again as he bent over feebly to protect himself from the invisible perpetrator. Nearly an entire day in his office, forced to do paperwork by Ekaterina after she’d lectured him for half an hour straight on the overdue documentation due to the Qixing, most of which he’d been distracted.

Not even of his own doing! He could cry if not for the laughter freely flowing from his lips, yelping when the sensation drew in closer to his navel again. 

“Eeek, coohohohome ohahahahahan!”

Whoever had ambushed him clearly knew him well. Childe’s eyes scrunched up as he barely bit back a shriek as the fingers dipped into his belly button, mercilessly wriggling around despite how he clawed at his stomach to dislodge them. It was, of course, pretty much useless.

Yes, that’s right. No matter how he thrashed or protested, the feeling didn’t go away. Mostly because despite him swearing that it felt like long fingers making their way up and down his torso, every time he opened his eyes he’d find nothing. No hands, no floating fingers, and no marks on his body where nails would be.

What was the strangest possible thing, however, is that the moment he’d begin to feel overwhelmed, the tickling would stop. And it wouldn’t start up again, despite how paranoid he was about it, until he was back to being bored to death doing paperwork.

It was almost as though the weird thing harassing him knew how he felt at any given time. Only, instead of giving him a fight to distract him, it opted to tickle him instead.

“Haha… ahh… what is happening?”

Childe collapses with a groan as the sensation faded, rubbing at his stomach and, again, sees absolutely no sign of anything on his skin.

He had to have gone stir crazy. He stares at the remaining paperwork on his desk, a tower high enough to scare most men, and sighs.

Maybe Ekaterina would let him bring it home. 

-

“I’m back!”

“You’re home early.”

“What, you didn’t miss me?”

“I ached every moment we were apart,” Zhongli chuckles as Childe flushes charmingly at his words. Despite the others fondness for teasing him with such quips, he’d never quite been able to handle Zhongli returning his affection in kind. Surely he’d simply have to continue spoiling Childe until he would. “Of course I missed you.”

“You tease,” Childe accuses with no heat. He kicks off his shoes before stumbling into Zhongli’s arms, sighing happily. 

“I’ve hardly done anything.”

“That’s why you’re a tease.”

“I highly doubt—A-Ajax!” Zhongli trembles as fingers begin to prod at his side, a now familiar sensation. Childe so often loved his tickle fights and his most frequent target these days was his lover. “Stahahap!”

“I don’t know,” Childe groans, drawing out the word as though painful despite how his fingers quicken their way downward. Zhongli’s giggles kick up a pitch as he squirms, hands catching Childe’s wrists before they can descend onto his hips. “It’s been a long day and I could really use some relaxing.”

“B-by tihahahahcklihihng mehehehe?”

“Yep!”

Incorrigible. Zhongli shakes his head as Childe presses forward. Truthfully, he could simply pry off Ajax’s hands with his superior strength, but playing like this always leaves Childe in a better mood. He does hunch however as the fingers nearly make it to his hip, only to bump into something.

Childe’s fingers still, surprise written all over his face before he grins. Cute, Zhongli thinks, staring as Childe pulls half away with a raised brow.

“Huh? Are you that happy to see me or something?”

“Wha… oh! Yes, well, I am, but no. I’d almost forgotten.”

Zhongli’s tickling-induced smile melts into something softer as he removes the doll from his pocket. Its rounded face is as sweet as before and he barely resists the urge to pinch its cheek.

“I saw this doll yesterday at Granny Shan’s store and was simply enamored by it. Don’t you think Nuitaru is adorable?”

“Nu-what?” Childe echoes. He squints at the doll. “You wanted this one? Not, like, something covered in lace or embroidered with five hundred year old threads? Or, oh, the felt is imported from Fontaine and the threads from Mondstadt, right?”

Were he a lesser man, Zhongli would roll his eyes hard enough to split Liyue. Instead he accepts Childe’s poorly disguised criticism with grace while cupping his hands around the doll almost protectively. “Nuitaru. He looks like you, does he not?”

Childe does not look convinced. He sighs, angling the doll this way and that, until he swivels its face back into his view.

“Ah, I have yet to show you the magic of this toy. There is a hidden charm, you see.” Though still skeptic, Childe’s expression smoothes out in curiosity as Zhongli cradles the toy. How could he have forgotten?

Matching dull blue eyes stare up at him, one pair Childe’s and one pair Nuitaru. He lifts the shirt of the doll, ignoring Childe’s mock gasp of how scandalous, to point at the small blue heart embroidered.

“This doll has a special function to change its expression! It already is lovely,” Zhongli huffs as Childe rolls his eyes, “but it will smile if you touch this heart repeatedly. Like so.”

He brushes his finger against the blue heart, gently swiveling around the shape, just as Childe screeches in his ear.

“WahAHAHAIT! Nahahahahaha ahahahgahahain!“

“Ajax!”

Zhongli stares, dumbfounded, as Childe’s arms snap to his stomach, curling over in laughter. His love’s face is squeezed tight as he guffaws, shaking his head slightly. He nearly drops Nuitaru in surprise only to catch the doll quickly, squeezing its torso tight and securely, and Childe’s knees buckle as he collapses to the floor in his giggles.

“What is so funny? Is everything alright?” 

“Ehehehehe, it just ahahaha!” Childe’s words dissolve into laughter as Zhongli joins him on the floor, tugging him close to lay his head against his shoulder. Childe doesn’t feel warm and he certainly displayed no signs of illness when he first walked into the door. His giggling only lasts a few more seconds before it peters out.

“Ajax?” Zhongli asks again. Worry lingers in his voice. “Are you alright? Why were you laughing?”

Childe’s cheeks color attractively as his eyes turn away from Zhongli. But between the two of them, Zhongli has always had infinite more patience and it doesn’t take long for Childe to begin fidgeting in place of the silence.

“Okay, okay,” he grumbles. “Promise me you won’t laugh though.”

“Why would I?” Zhongli replies. A frown makes its way to his face, tense. “Is someone making a mockery of you? Who are they? What do they dare say—“

“No, no! Nothing so serious, jeez.” Childe interrupts, rolling his eyes. He relaxes after a moment, sighing. “It feels really silly now that you jumped straight into public harassment.”

With the hand not holding Nuitaru, Zhongli reaches up to squeeze Childe’s other hand. “Your troubles will never seem silly to me.”

There’s that familiar flustering of Childe’s face at his words. Zhongli smiles, biting back the urge to chuckle affectionately; Childe didn’t want him to laugh, after all. 

“Well, okay, it just, well, it.” How odd for Childe to stumble over his words like this. He watches his love’s face grow redder with every passing second until Childe groans miserably and covers his face entirely with both hands. “This whole day, I couldn’t focus at work.”

“Hardly surprising.”

“It wasn’t my fault today!“ Childe protests. “I tried to focus, okay, but I couldn’t because-because—“

“Because?”

Another groan, longer and most exaggerated than the last. A singular blue eye peeks out from behind his fingers to Zhongli.

“This whole day, it felt like someone was t-tickling me. Like,” Childe shakes his head, turning away. His ears are stained red with embarrassment. “I couldn’t focus at work because all of a sudden, it was like someone snuck up and just started tickling me. Like a ghost? And it was random! You never knew when it would start so I waited to find the culprit but it always stopped really quickly, okay, maybe a little too quickly, just like now, and—“

“Just like now?” Zhongli repeats. Only he and Childe were in his room and the only tickling done was at his expense at Childe’s hands.

“Yeah,” Childe says. “When you were showing your new toy, it just, I don’t know, started up again.”

His new toy… oh! In the commotion, he’d quickly forgotten Nuitaru. Well, in fairness, he’d gotten the doll mostly due to how it resembled Childe, and now that Childe was right here, he could hardly be blamed for being distracted by his love instead.

Zhongli raises Nuitaru from the floor, smoothing out its fabric, when he stills.

Thus far, he’d seen the doll share two faces. One of neutrality, with dull eyes and a thin, straight lip, and the other of joy, with crinkled eyes and a charming smile.

Right now, however, the doll’s face, previously simply a beige felt, appears almost pink. Its eyes are squeezed tight as though embarrassed and its mouth tilted in a mimicked pout.

It almost certainly resembles…

How curious. 

“Zhongli? What’re you thinking about?”

He hums. “Ajax, do you feel anything right now? Any tickling?”

Childe averts his eyes again but he does pause to consider it. After a moment, he hums. “Nope. Nothing right now.”

“Then,” Zhongli probes, “what about now?”

With the same hand holding the doll, he nudges the grey fabric back up and thumbs the blue heart. Instantaneously Childe shrieks as his face scrunches up in surprised laughter.

“Whahaehehehehe!?”

A smile splits Zhongli’s face as he watches Childe collapse against him, arms holding tight around his waist as he laughs. “What does it feel like?”

“I-it ehehehehhe tihIhihHICKLEHEHEHEES!”

He moves his fingers away from the blue heart, opting to squeeze the doll’s plush body instead. “Hmm, I suppose it does.”

“Whahahahat do you ehehehe mehehaahahahan!?”

Interestingly, Childe’s laughter softens once he moves away from the heart, though he continues squirming and giggling regardless of where Zhongli prods Nuitaru. A swipe on the doll’s sides earns him a sweet smattering of giggles, a poke on its underarms grants him a snorting protest, and back down to its tiny, stubby feet leads to an absolutely adorable sight of Childe kicking out his legs as he curls up against Zhongli in an attempt to muffle his laughter against his shirt.

He’s so close, fitting comfortably in his arms, that Zhongli can hardly resist the patch of exposed skin lingering so close to his hands. He places Nuitaru on the floor gently, eyes sparkling when he catches the doll’s smiling face once more, before curling his fingers against Childe’s sides.

“Forgive me for my curiosity—tell me, does this feel the same?”

“W-waaHahahait! ZHOHOHAHAHANGLIHIHIHI!“

Childe redoubles his squirming with effort now, pushing away at Zhongli’s probing hands; yet, much to his delight, the famed Tartaglia is truly not trying all that hard to get away. If anything, Childe begins to sag in his giggling after hardly a minute of protest, surrendering sweetly to the tickling and giggling into his ear.

“Do I resemble your ghost now?” Zhongli asks.

“N-nahahahahaha! Nahahahahat at all ehehehHahahaha!“

He stills, surprised. Not at all? Thus far it appeared perfectly that every touch on Nuitaru’s body resulted in one on Childe’s, and likewise Childe’s expressions would appear, though simplified, on Nuitaru’s. 

“Why not?” Zhongli prods, almost upset with the revelation. “What’s different between us?”

Childe squints at him through his giggles, debating, before a hand grasps at his wrist and tugs it lower. Zhongli watches himself be dragged from Childe’s exposed side to his stomach until Childe lets go, face red.

“Ahaha… the ghost always got me… here.”

Zhongli blinks, freezing entirely at the unspoken question lingering in Childe’s eyes. He’d always assumed based off Childe’s tendency to scream and protest every time he so much as retaliated during their tickle fights that Childe wasn’t the fondest of the activity. Yet now, watching Childe almost eagerly scoot closer, he was certain that he was wrong.

Childe had complained that the ghost tended to stop a little too quickly. Who was he to disappoint his lover?

“Here?” Zhongli pokes at his stomach, dragging his fingers upwards in slow, lazy circles. Childe bursts into giggles once more, high and panicked, as he instinctively tries to curl up. “Is this where the ghost tickled you?”

“Y-yehehehEhEHEHE! Sloahahahaaw down!”

“I can, if you really wish for me to.” His fingers slow to a lingering scratch, just lightly crawling along Childe’s skin, until he digs in at the curve of Childe’s waist to a shaky howl. “But I don’t think that would be very accurate to your ghost, now would it?”

Childe shakes his head, gasping and laughing. Zhongli hums as his hands wander. While Nuitaru was delightfully soft and small, there was so much more to Childe—hard-won muscles and a thin waist, the perfect amount of lower belly pudge and a, as he’s quickly discovering, particularly sensitive belly button.

The moment he hits it, Childe screeches in protest.

“OkAHAHAHAHAY! OKAHAHAHYNOKAHAHAHY!”

“Okay? Okay what?”

“ZhonhahahahaHEHEHEH! Too muHAHAHAHAHA!”

He hums as he scratches the rim of Childe’s navel a second longer, indulging in his frantic laughter, before coming to a stop. A teasing smile plays out on his face, charming, as Zhongli presses a kiss to the side of Childe’s red cheeks. “How was that? An accurate replication of the ghost?”

“Ehehehevil ghost.” Childe’s giggles slow as he takes in some much needed air, sagging against Zhongli. There’s a crinkle to his eyes, the same that he’d been admiring from Nuitaru all day, and Zhongli finds his heart squeezing tight.

“Did I go too far?” Zhongli kisses Childe again in apology, chuckling himself when Childe still laughs against his lips. An interesting sensation made no less sweet by the way their arms loops around each other.

“No,” Childe admits. “Though I sure hope you weren’t kissing your doll after torturing them.”

“That was hardly torture,” Zhongli says. He does, however, make a show of reaching over Childe to pick up Nuitaru and deliver a wet kiss to its cheeks. Much to his disappointment, unlike with the doll’s body, Childe doesn’t react to the kiss. “You don’t feel this?”

“Uh, should I?”

“It just resembles you so much. And you felt the tickling.”

“It doesn’t even look that much like me! My head is not that big.” Childe argues, faking upset. He watches Zhongli kiss the doll two more times before he ever so rudely knocks Nuitaru from his hands. Zhongli startles as Childe places his lips over his own, insistent.

When he pulls away, there’s a pout on his lips.

“Don’t kiss the doll when I’m right here.”

Ah. Zhongli feels himself grow red, cheeks hot, as Childe’s pout changes to a mischievous grin and a hand comes up to pinch his cheek. “Really? You’re getting embarrassed over that?”

He opens his mouth to retort (what could he say? That he’s so infatuated that every smile Childe sends his way has his cheeks warming, his heart squeezing?) only for Childe to kiss him again. And again, and again.

He’s so distracted he doesn’t even notice Nuitaru’s face has changed once more—to an expression smiling, pink, and so undoubtedly in love.