#a fade and a little fringe can go a long way i get it but please..... please

[ynwa4eva]

like look at this. you could tell me it is the same guy and they just photoshopped him to be in there twice for some reason and I would 100% believe you.

Heeeelp 😭😭 they all got the EXACT same fringe as well its unbelievable

[breannasfluff]

Warriors is brushing Wind’s hair. The young hero has snarled it into a nest of tangles and the captain grumbles at every snag of the brush. Wind, for his part, is getting twitchy and keeps trying to pull away.

“Stop moving! You’re making it worse!”

“You’re pulling too hard!”

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t have so many tangles! What did you do, tie knots in it?”

Wind crosses his arms and glares at the ground. “Just haven’t gotten to it in a bit.”

Wild watches them. The situation is slowly raising the vague familiarity of Before. If he concentrates, maybe he can bring it into focus…

“Ow!” Wind jerks away and swipes the brush from Warriors. “That’s enough! I’ll do it myself.”

Warriors throws up his hands. “Good luck on the tangles in the back.” He grumbles all the way to his bags. “And give me my brush back when you’re done. Clean!”

“I know, I’m not a little kid!” Wind glares at the brush, possibly considering throwing it at the captain. Then he starts yanking at tangles.

Wind makes it a grand total of a minute before he gives up. Wild winces with second-hand pain; he’s knotted his hair on more than one occasion.

Taking a chance, he gets up and joins Wind. “Mind if I try? I’ve got some experience with tangles.”

Maybe it’s because the offer comes from shared experience, but Wind passes over the brush. “Might need to cut a tangle out at this rate.”

Not if Wild can help it. Wind’s hair is wavy like it’s perpetually drenched in sea spray even away from the ocean. Settling down behind Wind, Wild starts at the bottom of his hair and carefully pulls the brush through a small section.

The familiarity is back, pulsing stronger. He doesn’t chase it this time, just lets his eyes slide half shut and focus on Wind’s hair. When he gets to a tangle, his fingers instinctively tighten above it so he can pull the brush against it without pulling hair.

“This okay?” he checks as he works on a knot.

Wind almost nods, then stops as it pulls his hair. “Whatever you’re doing doesn’t hurt.”

“—doesn’t hurt!”

Wind is gone; the Chain is gone. Wild—no, Link hums as he brushes his sister’s hair. It’s full of tangles and twigs after a stint chasing cuccos through the bushes.

“You start from the bottom,” Link explains to her. “And work through the tangles in sections. It helps if you hold the chunk so you don’t pull hair out.”

She huffs in his lap. “You’re better at it than Papa. He tugs too hard.”

Link runs a hand through a finished section of hair. It’s silky soft, falling smoothly above her shoulders. The long fringes on either side of her face are his favorite to braid. Sometimes he’ll sneak flowers into the braids if he can find them.

“I wish you were home to brush my hair more often.”

The master sword is a looming presence, even away from the castle.

Link plants a kiss on her head and keeps working. “I’ll brush it every day if you like, but you have to promise to stop letting cuccos nest in your hair!”

“I didn’t let them nest—”

Wild blinks and Wind’s hair, a different shade of blond, stares back at him. How long was he lost in the memory? Already the details are fading, but a few things stick. The feel of his sister’s hair in his hands. Flowers in braids.

He still doesn’t know her name.

Wild drops the brush to wrap his arms around Wind, who startles at the sudden movement. It’s not Wind Wild imagines, but his sister. If he squeezes tight enough, maybe he can send all his love to wherever she is.

The sailor’s soft voice brings him back to the moment. “Did you remember something? About your sister?”

He nods into Wind’s shoulder. “Brushing her hair,” he whispers.

“Well, if you’re half as good as you are now, she’s a lucky girl.”

Wild holds on for one more moment before letting go and picking up the brush. “Sorry. You—she—” How to explain this mess of feelings? Wind isn’t a replacement for his sister and he doesn’t want the sailor to think that’s his only use. It’s just, having someone smaller to care for and hold, every once and a while, fills a need Wild barely understands.

“Sorry,” he finally says, giving up. The brush continues its motion through Wind’s hair.

The sailor kicks his feet, letting the toes of his boots bounce off each other. “I do Aryll’s hair for her a lot. She’s got these clips with seashells on them she likes to wear. Sometimes she’ll put one in my hair, too.”

Wild hums to show he’s listening and carefully separates another tangle. He’s already made progress; one side of Wind’s hair no longer has snags when he runs his fingers through it.

“One time she found all these ribbons and begged me to put them in her hair. It was way too many, so I ended up braiding it into a crown for her to wear.”

Another pass of the brush. “Wind?”

“What’s up?”

“You’re a good big brother. You know that, right?”

The sailor is quiet and when he speaks, his voice quivers slightly. “Yeah. I’m lucky to have her.”

“Thank you for letting me help with your hair.”

Wind tips his head back, making Wild pull back as well so he doesn’t yank a tangle. “Anytime. That’s what brothers are for, right?”

His answering grin is slow, but no less bright. “Brothers.” When he starts brushing again, the hum in his throat feels natural.

Read the rest here!

[seoksgrl]

a little party never killed nobody, 1 : bts rich!bts x rich!reader

tws: implied smut, oral (m receiving)

m.list next

Taehyung always likes it when you make a show of wiping your smudged lipstick after blowing him in the boy’s toilets. Missing class is a small, insignificant price to pay when your boyfriend gives you that signature smirk that seems to light a fire between your legs. He loves the way your private university uniform clings to your ass when you kneel down in front of him, and he makes no attempt to quell his harsh gasps and deep groans whenever he hits deep at the back of your throat. His fist in your hair and his dark eyes watching you beneath a fringe of blonde hair is all you need to put the extra effort into pleasing him. Skipping lectures has become your favourite activity lately. 

“Jesus, baby,” He grunts, catching his breath as his hand drops from where he’d been gripping your hair with white-knuckle force, your scalp aching almost as much as the spot between your legs. His cheeks are flushed with relief, and his hair stuck to his temple, a little damp from the moisture gathered there, “You’re so good to me,”

A sharp, fleeting pinprick of panic runs through you before you push it to the back of your mind, the smile that had momentarily slipped from your face replaced with a pout, playing the perfect part of the good girl that your boyfriend finds so irresistible. 

“Get up here so I can have a taste of that sweet - “

“Are you two done fucking in there? I gotta take a dump,” A familiar, unwelcome voice as you yelping, hardly unaccustomed to being caught in compromising positions by your friends, but still startled by it. With a roll of your eyes, you stand, adjusting your skirt and now-uncomfortable underwear. 

“Fuck off, Yoongi,” 

“Don't be a bitch just cause you didn’t get off,” He calls through the stall door, and Taehyung just manages to finish zipping up his slacks when you flip the latch and open it to find your black-haired cousin smirking at you, “While I’d love to let my uncle’s goody two shoes daughter deep throat her boyfriend on the bathroom floor, I ate something nasty from the cafeteria and I need the two of you to vacate the area,”

With a hand on your waist and a middle finger planted in Yoongi’s dumbass face, the two of you leave the boy’s toilets and step into the empty corridor. It’s no more than two seconds before you feel your boyfriend’s fingers trail along the back of your thigh, dipping barely underneath the hem of your skirt, barely long enough to pass the campus’ uniform policy.

“I can take care of you here, classes don’t switch over for another fifteen minutes,” You feel rather than see Taehyung’s grin on the back of your neck and sigh, wishing you could do nothing more than to give into his tempting touch. 

Turning to face him, Tae’s hand moves to rest on your hip, his eyes glassy and relaxed from either the pills you caught him taking just before he swiped you out of the line for your class, or from his recent orgasm. Either way, he looks sexy as hell, and hard to resist, “If my pain in the ass cousin hadn’t totally killed the mood, I’d be more than happy to take you up on your offer,” you press a kiss to his lips, his hand tightening it’s hold on your hip, fingers pressing into your skin, just bordering on painful, but it only makes you throb deep below your belly button, “but I have an assignment I need to finish, seen as there's no point in me going to class now,”

“You really wanna spend your free period hunched over a book when you could be bent over a table?”

His words send a shiver running through you, but you have to stick to your guns. If you fail to get this assignment done, your professor will be on your ass about it all weekend. And you need to let loose at the cabin, “Hmm, very tempting, but I can't,”

“You're no fun,” He grins down at you, leaning in to kiss you anyway, softer than before now the haze of lust was beginning to fade. 

Walking you to the locker, you grab a few of your things, taking the quiet moment between classes to admire the silence of the boarding school you’ve spent the last two years. Coming from wealthy parents with more money than time when it came down to raising their children, you were a tender fourteen years old when your parents enrolled you at boarding school, so you’ve become accustomed to living in dorms and walking through the academic halls of whatever old building you move onto next. Shipped off with a tiny pink suitcase, you settled in quicker than expected once you met your friends, your cousin Yoongi introducing you to his circle soon after your arrival. Together with him and the rest of your friendship group forged at that first boarding school, you moved to Silver Oak University. Being members of the richest families in the country, your circle of nine has stuck together through the years, founding your own little club born out of popularity and, of course, money. 

Money makes the world go round, and despite your intelligence, you’re more than aware of the fact that your life will be comfortable no matter how you spent your time on campus. Whether it be pissing away your grades and allowance like Jeongguk and Jimin, or powering through your studies in business or economics like Namjoon, you have the luxury of freedom. However, you choose to meet in the middle; keeping your grades high enough so you don't engage your parents in rare, stale conversations about your future, and letting loose when you need to. Dabbling in illicit activities comes with your place in society, and your hierarchy on campus. You and Taehyung are somewhat of a popular couple, and with that popularity comes pressure. 

And rich people only have a few vices when it comes to releasing pressure: gambling, drugs and sex. And, you have indulged in all three during your time on campus. 

“I have class,” Taehyung murmurs into the back of your neck, his hands spanning the space of your waist, “I’ll see you later,”

Spinning around, books in hand, you grin up at him, noses bumping briefly before your lips find each other again. The familiar rush of feet in the corridors came just as Taehyung groans and presses you back into the lockers with a thud, forced to pull back as the corridors start to fill up. “I’ll see you at lunch, baby,” 

Taehyung nods, his hand softly swatting your behind before he pulls away and begins walking towards his class. You watch him, eyes locked on his back before they drift towards another figure in the corridor. Your smile falls from your lips, landing as a heavy lump in your gut, and you nod a greeting towards Hoseok before you turn around to lock your belongings back up and shuffling through the crowd towards the library. 

Watching your back, Hoseok sighs in frustration and runs a hand through his hair, smiling at Taehyung as he stops to talk to him.

The lodge owned by your family was the scene of many parties during your time at boarding school and, now, at university. An hour long drive from the campus, and over three hours away from your parents, it’s a great place to take part in the debauchery and mayhem that often follows your group of friends. 

When the parties escalate, crowds of classmates and socialites from neighbouring cities coming to join the fun, the remote location means nobody calls the cops. Though you’re secure in the fact that Jimin’s mother is secretly fucking the chief of police, preventing them from actually accepting any complaints that come their way, unless - as Jimin had put it the first time - the chief wants his wife to find out. Not above casual manipulation in order to get what you want, the group often takes advantage of your status and the collective wealth of your families. 

Decked out in the latest gadgets, stocked floor to ceiling with beer and alcohol, the get together is ready to begin - though tonight, it’s a quiet get together with friends. Being that the nine of you are rarely seen apart and that you happen to be the most popular people on campus, many other students at the school yearn to be a part of your little group. For years, Jimin and Taehyung had been at the centre of finding impressionable students who were eager to be included, and you would all put them through ridiculous initiations until they inevitably backed out and left. It always remains the nine of you - and you’re pretty confident in the fact that things will never change, hence why you allow the latest recruit to be brought to the lodge. 

“He’s a junior,” Your best friend Mina informs you, perched on the counter in the kitchen where you begin fixing yourself a drink, “Cute, excitable. Depending on what the guys decide to do with him, maybe he could be a refreshing addition,”

“Now, you know full well that kid will be screaming for the hills within an hour,” You snort, pouring yourself a shot of tequila alongside your rum and coke, “This is Jimin and Tae we’re talking about. They like to have their fun,”

Mina shrugs, oddly quiet about the whole situation. Your week has been too rough to care, however, and you throw your head back as the liquor scorches a path down your throat. You wince, slamming the shot glass on the marble counter and popping a slice of lemon in your mouth.

“Here are my girls,” Jimin’s voice bellows as he enters the room, his arms outstretched and a grin on his face as he walks towards the two of you. With Mina looking a little awkward as Jimin approaches, once more you ponder on what had happened between them. Jimin and Mina always had a little thing going on between them - Jimin always called them fuck buddies, but the way Mina has been acting since her trip to France makes you wonder if she’d caught feelings along the way.

After wrapping her in a hug, he walks over to you, orange hair bright as a flame, “Ready to ruin this kid’s life?”

“He’s a baby,” You chuckle, slapping Jimin on the chest before burrowing into his familiar embrace, “Don’t go too hard on him. He probably won’t even stick around,”

“Not if he’s smart,” Taehyung enters soon after, brandishing a bag which is promptly settled on the counter. His sly smirk finds you, along with a wink, and you preen under his attention while he unpacks a few of his essentials; aka, as many drugs as he could sneak out before his dad saw him.

Taehyung is the only one of the group not born into money - his father had become a politician when he was a toddler, quickly smashing through the polls and making it into a pretty high-ranking role in government. If his only child was caught with illicit substances, his career would be trashed. Along with what little exists of Taehyung’s father-son relationship. 

Jimin, on the other hand, is just like you. His parents are wealthy socialites; years of good breeding and multiple high-profile connections means your friend is currently heir to a multi-million dollar empire. Not that he acts like it; Jimin is currently on his way to fucking every person in the country, likely the world, if his mile high activities are any indication. You’ve lost count of how many air stewardesses he’s seduced within a two hour flight home and back. According to him, it’s the only reason he doesn’t use the family jet. 

Despite their different backgrounds, Jimin and Taehyung are the closest of the friend group, and take major roles in planning most of the parties and get-togethers held at the lodge. They’re also usually the cause for things getting rowdy - they like to party, just like any other guy their age. It's just that they have the money to take things a step further. 

“How long until the others arrive?” Mina asks, and Taehyung glances at her, and then you, before replying.

“Hobi and Joon are just pulling up outside. Jeongguk is on his way with Seokjin,”

Your chest tightens a little, though you shake it off, smiling at Taehyung who’s had his eyes fixed on you this whole time. The look in his eye tells you he intends to finish what the two of you started earlier today sooner rather than later. Sipping at your drink, you meet his heated gaze with one of your own, moments away from walking over and suggesting the two of you head to your room when four broad figures turn into the kitchen. 

“What’s up fuckers? Let’s get this shit started,” Jeongguk hoots and hollers, pulling the cork off what you can only assume is some expensive-as-shit tequila and tipping the bottle to his lips as Joon and Seokjin follow close behind. The last person to enter the room speaks, and you let your eyes fall on Hoseok, his eyes finding yours before quickly looking away. Once more, guilt flames in your gut and you swallow a hearty mouthful of rum and coke before he speaks to Tae. 

“Goes without saying that Kook started partying way before the rest of us,”

Mina laughs, her shoulder bumping Jimin’s before she moves slightly closer to you instead, “Did you even go to class today?”

Jeongguk scoffs, setting his bottle down on the counter to rummage in the pocket of his leather jacket, “Fuck no. I needed to procure the goods for tonight,” he finishes his reply by brandishing a small bag of white powder, the guys cheering in a chorus of laughter and spilled alcohol. He saunters over to Mina, pouring a little of the powder on the back of his hand, “Eat up, pretty girl,”

Mina giggles, leaning forward to sniff up the coke from Kook’s hand, and you can’t help but let curiosity get the better of you, glancing over at Jimin as his jaw clenches slightly, his fingers gripping the neck of his bottle of beer before he takes a long swig. 

Hoseok approaches, keeping a wide bearth from you before he’s forced within your space by Jeongguk jostling Mina around in a playful dance. His arm brushes your stomach and he flinches like you burnt him, “Sorry,” he murmurs, unable to look at you, and for good reason, because you can’t look at him either. You step aside, allowing him to fix a drink as you walk to Taehyung.

Your hand smooths over his back, “Hey, baby,”

His dark eyes flick over to you, and he stares for a second or two before he smiles. His pupils are wide, dilated and glassy, so you know he’s already taken something, “Hey, how was class?”

“Boring,” You lean in close, your teeth grazing his ear as you speak, “spent my whole business seminar wondering how many times you’re gonna make me come tonight,”

He huffs a harsh laugh, his body turning so he can lay his large hands on either side of your waist, “Oh, you have no fucking idea, baby,”

He drops his face into the crook of your neck, his teeth biting the sensitive skin there, hard enough to have a sharp shock of lust racing through the pit of your stomach. You smile, head lolling a little before you open your eyes to find Hoseok watching the two of you over his drink. You swallow hard, turning away and pulling free from Taehyung’s embrace. He frowns slightly, a bemused smile on his lips, but you kiss him before he can ask questions. By the time you’re done, he’s high on you just as much as whatever pill he popped. 

Seokjin and Namjoon join in with the rest of you, making themselves a few drinks and doing a couple lines of the high quality coke Jeongguk brought. You settle for a joint for now as Yoongi emerges from upstairs, one already rolled for you. You like the soft high that marijuana can give you, and knowing your plans with Tae later, you don’t like fucking when you’re too far gone. Tae, however, loves it, and you know he gets extra mean and nasty with you once he’s popped a couple pills. The thought makes you shiver. 

Jeongguk pauses the chatter that’s fallen amongst the group, a wicked smile on his face, and you already know what he’s about to say before he speaks, lifting his phone to show the screen to you all. On the camera, it shows the entrance to the cabin, and you spot a nervous looking kid standing in front of the gate. 

“The sacrifice has arrived,”

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[blossomwritesthings]

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 & 𝐢𝐜𝐞

pairing: changbin x fem!reader (afab)

genre: sick!fic. idol!changbin. hurt/comfort. angst. fluff. slightly suggestive. reader pov. established relationship.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. mild thematic elements. reader gets hurt while at the gym. changbin wants to help her. :( angst with fluff included. pet names (affectionately). slightly suggestive towards the end, spicy things fade into black. brief mentions of changbin fantasizing about reader while they're at the gym.

word count: 2.1k

summary: you never expected to find yourself in the gym late at night with your boyfriend changbin. but then again, you never expected that you'd get injured either.

a/n: lmao I said I was gonna write this like, 2 months ago, but here I am... I got sidetracked with other projects sksk 💀 I literally cannot resist the urge to not make things with changbin sexual even just a LITTLE bit, he's like... so hot to me??? 🥵 anyways- STREAM 5 STAR BITCHES, THE QUEEN IS ALMOST HERE!!!

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). © ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

When you agreed to start working out with your boyfriend Changbin, you didn’t expect him to take your words so seriously. 

 But there you were, sitting at a machine at the gym that was made to target your biceps. You were lifting thirty pounds, much to Changbin’s delight. 

 He was standing beside you, clapping his hands gleefully and spurring you on as you finished your third set of the night. “You got this, babe! I knew you could do thirty!” He exclaimed happily as soon as you were finished. 

 You used the towel that was wrapped around your neck to dab at the sweat that was trickling down the side of your cheeks. Staring up at him, you flashed a playful grin. “Yeah, but I can do a lot more than that.” 

 “Woah there,” Changbin started, placing a hand on your damp shoulder. “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves… You just started a few weeks ago, I’m not about to have you get injured under my watch.” 

 You rolled your eyes at him as you took a long drag from your ice-cold water bottle. “Please- I’m a lot more competent than you think, baby.” Your eyes darted around the gym’s weight room. Since it was so late in the night, it was pretty clear of patrons. Changbin liked to go so late at night because it was quiet and allowed him to focus on his workouts without being distracted by others. That, and because his busy schedule with Stray Kids didn’t allow him to hit the gym until late into the evening. 

 “I never said you weren’t competent, darling,” Changbin muttered, just as he leaned down and pressed a sweet kiss to the top of your head. “Just that you have to take these things slowly- building up endurance takes a while, yeah?” 

 You pulled away from his form, noticing the way that his midnight-black fringe stuck to his sweaty forehead. If you were being entirely honest, you hadn’t been that interested in the working out part when you agreed to attend the gym with your boyfriend. For the most part, you were going because you wanted to get a glimpse of who he was at his core - Changbin had been engrossed in the gym setting for so many years - and long before you even knew him. He had always been quite obsessed with working out, so you wanted to learn more about that particular side of him. 

 Also, it helped that he looked super hot while working out… 

 Drenched in sweat, 

 Muscles straining, 

 Breath coming out ragged and- 

As soon as your mind started to wander to such darker parts of your psyche, you quickly snapped yourself out of your daze. There was no point in pondering over such things while out in the open - especially for Changbin to see. You wanted him to think that you were attending the gym purely to get fitter, not to ogle him up and down all night. 

 That’s when a genius idea came into the forefront of your mind. 

 You could tell Changbin was very proud of your willingness to push yourself in your workouts. But you wanted to show him that you could do more than just that. 

 So when he had his back turned to you, as he was busy preparing another set of weights on his barbell, you took to your machine again, raising the weight substantially. You had never tried lifting more than thirty pounds, but you didn’t think fifty would be that much of a difference. 

 You wanted to make Changbin proud. You wanted him to applaud you for your strength and drive. 

 Sucking in a deep breath between your clenched teeth, you began your next set. Immediately, you felt the extra pounds. But at first, it didn’t seem too difficult for you to handle. 

 As you counted down the numbers in your set, you began to feel the strain of the weight as you began to struggle to pull the machine up with either of your hands. It wasn’t until you neared the end of your set, muscles completely fatigued, that a sharp pain shot out from your right bicep, coursing down the entire length of your arm. 

 Crying out in distress, you dropped the weights, doubling over and holding onto your arm for dear life. The discomfort was agonizing, beginning to overtake your mind in an instant in a haze of cloudiness. 

 It wasn’t until a thick hand was landing on one of your shoulders, shaking you out of your trance of misery that you peered up to see a wide-eyed Changbin. 

 “B-Baby, what happened?” He asked frantically, gaze searching your face that was crumpled up in hurt. Then his focus landed on the machine you were on, and the weight that you had set for yourself. Immediately, his eyes narrowed as he turned his attention back to you. “Sweetheart, did you try to lift more than you’ve trained for?” 

 The embarrassment was beginning to mix in with the pain, growing inside your stomach and reaching up the column of your neck until the heat of it pulled in your cheeks. You moved your head away from him entirely, your heart racing against your ribcage from the burning feeling that was swimming through the veins of your right arm. 

 When you didn’t answer him, you felt a hand fit underneath your jaw, warm fingers gently clutching at your chin and forcing your gaze back on him. “Answer me, baby. Did you go against my rules?” He had already told you time and time again not to push yourself, and not to raise the weight too much before your muscles were fully prepared to take on more strain. But, of course, the one time you didn't listen to him, you got hurt. 

 Tears were already pushing up and out of the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision in a mist of despair and embarrassment, “I’m sorry, Bin- I didn’t-” You began to cry out, but were quickly cut off by Changbin moving around you to take a look at your arm. 

 Your palm was still clamped around your bicep, but he managed to slowly pry it off, taking a long look at everything. After a few moments, he was sighing deeply and shaking his head in disappointment, rising from the crouching position he had previously taken. “It looks like you pulled a muscle in your bicep.” 

 Then he was helping you out of the machine’s plastic-lined chair, fitting a muscular arm around your waist and holding you close to him as he began to make his way through the empty gym. 

 “Where are we going?” You asked, panic catching in your neck and forming a lump in your throat as your mind raced with a million different thoughts. “I’m not going to the hospital-”

 “I’m not taking you to the hospital, Y/N. I’m taking you home.” Changbin replied, voice gruff and low as he picked up the two duffle bags that you guys always brought along with you to your workouts. You took a quick peek at his face as he slowly shuffled the two of you out of the gym and to his car. 

 And he did not look happy. 

 In fact, he looked royally pissed off. 

An hour later, you were laying atop your soft downy mattress, with Changbin at your side, pressing an ice pack to your arm. He had made you dinner as soon as you got home, which consisted of some scrambled eggs and a piece of raspberry-jammed toast before he forced you to take a few pills of ibuprofen to help with the swelling and discomfort. 

 “I can ice my injury, Bin.” You mumbled in a quiet voice. The tv in your bedroom was on, flashing brightly as some random game show was playing so late at night. The volume was turned down low, the soft buzz of it dancing around the room. 

 Other than that, no other sound could be heard. 

 Changbin had been relatively silent ever since your accident in the gym. 

 It was like he was stewing. 

 The anger building up inside of him. 

And just the sight alone, of him sitting there next to you on the bed, helping you with the ice pack, caused your stomach to turn anxiously. 

 When he didn’t stop assisting you, you took matters into your own hands by grabbing the pack out of his hold and using one of your palms to hold it close to your arm. Your other hand was busy finding Changbin’s hand, fingers slotting between fingers and squeezing there. 

 That made him look up at you, leveling those dark, stormy eyes your way.

 “Please, don’t be mad at me… I-I just wanted to make you proud, show you how much I’m capable of.” You said, squeezing his hand again and offering him a tiny, reassuring smile. 

 At that, his expression instantly melted. The furrowed brows and thinly pressed lips turned into warm eyes and flushed cheeks. “Baby- I’m not mad at you.” He whispered, leaning into your form and giving your lips a gentle kiss. “I’m angry at myself… for walking away from you and allowing you to handle the lifting on your own when I know that you’re still so new to these kinds of things.” 

 You frowned at him, giving him another peck on the mouth before moving away slightly. “But, this isn’t your fault, babe. I was the one who decided to increase the weight. It’s entirely on me that I pulled a muscle.” 

 Changbin offered you a grimace, shaking his head slowly before his mouth was moving and he gave the tip of your nose a delicate kiss. “Let’s just say that the fault was both of ours, yeah?” He gave either of your cheeks soft pecks, lips feeling like the touch of a faerie’s wing against your skin. “And I never want you to think that you have to prove yourself to me, princess. You’re wonderful and beautiful just the way you are right now… and no amount of weight you can lift is going to change that.” 

 You nuzzled into his warm neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and aftershave on his flesh. With light fingers carding into his hair, you gazed up at him with a racing heart and reddened cheeks as you said, “But… I’m not just going to the gym to learn how to lift, Binnie.” 

 “Oh? I thought you wanted to learn from the grand master of the gym?” He asked, wiggling his dark brows playfully as a grin began to spread across his perfect, rosy lips. 

 Reaching out, you traced a finger around the line of his mouth, reveling in the way that he shivered against you from the intimate contact. “No… I’m also there to see you,” you mused in a quiet voice, eyes meeting his as you tilted in close to him. Not enough that you were kissing yet, but that you could feel his warm breath fan against your face at the nearness. “To watch you in your true element, and… to witness how fucking sexy you are when you’re working out.” 

 Already, a wide, devilish smirk was spreading across his mouth, as Changbin’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you ever closer to his body that seemed to constantly radiate a familiar, comforting kind of heat. “Well, I’ll have you know that you’re also incredibly hot when you’re in the gym… all breathless and flushed,” his voice faded off into a low growl, as his fingers dug into the skin at your hips. Mouth hovering just over yours, lips coming close to yours once more. “And so many times I’ll get a glimpse of you in those tight little workout outfits that you like to wear and I just- I want to forget about all of my routines and plans, and just bend you over right then and there and-”

 You were silencing him with a passionate kiss in the next instant, loving the way that he all but moaned into your mouth from the fierceness of your touch. Your lips moved against each other’s perfectly, as Changbin hauled you over himself so that you were comfortably seated in his lap.  

 When you yanked away from the kiss to catch your breath, mind running with a million different swarthy thoughts, you flashed him a sly grin. “Well, at least my arm is the only thing that’s strained…” Your words faded off, as one of Changbin’s thick hands fit behind your neck, drawing you back to him. 

 Back to his mouth and his familiar taste. 

 Back to the familiarity of his strong arms wrapped around your hips, keeping you near as he began to work your troubles away - as he began to help you forget all about your pain from the injury. 

 Because just then, all you could focus on was him. And his beautiful, shining face just below you, and the way that he held you, and the way that his body felt against you. 

 And it was all so perfect and comforting. 

 And definitely a lot better than a fucking ice pack. 

Fin.

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��ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

[faggotmox]

Show You How To Do This

Fandom: All Elite Wrestling (AEW) Rating: Explicit Characters: Jon Moxley, Claudio Castagnoli, (background) Bryan Danielson, Wheeler Yuta, Blackpool Combat Club, BCC Relationships: Jon Moxley/Claudio Castagnoli, background BCC Polycule Summary: Claudio shaves Mox's head before their match in Mexico. Word Count: 1,847 Writer's Notes: Shout out to @di0brando for proof reading/editing. You're the best. Yes, I know Yuta wasn't there but I pretend the whole BCC travels together like a weird version of Stark Tower in Marvel.

-> link to ao3

Show You How To Do This

"Damn it." Mox grunted as he dropped the clippers in his hand again, hunched over the hotel bathroom sink.

"You know," Claudio spoke up from the door that was supposed to be closed. "I could always help with that."

"Hey!" Mox glared at the reflection of his teammate. "I told everyone to stay the fuck out."

"I know." Claudio nodded along. "I got Bryan and Yuta to go for a run."

"You did?" Mox glanced behind the large man in his doorway.

"Yes, I did." Claudio crossed his arms over his chest. "Will you let me help you now?"

It wasn't that Mox was an insecure person, he didn't think his guys would suddenly think he was ugly without the little hair he kept. Mostly Mox just didn't like to change his appearance, and finally committing to the bald look was a pretty big change for him. Even if there wasn’t much hair left to remove. Mox knew he was sexy with or without hair, he just needed some time to adjust before everyone else got to see. He was the same with his tattoos as well, never telling people he was getting one and just letting himself adjust to it before the world got to have their opinion.

"…Sure." Mox let his shoulders slump. "It's the mirror. I can't figure out what way to go, you know?"

"Trust me, I know." Claudio smiled as he came further into the bathroom, letting the door close behind him despite being alone in the hotel. "Thank you for allowing me to help you."

"I should've just asked. I wanted to, but…" Mox gave a shrug.

"You do not like the change, I can understand that. You've never been keen on changing how you look." Claudio reiterated the thoughts that had flown through Mox's mind just moments before.

"You want me to sit or something?" Mox motioned to the closed toilet or the edge of the bath.

"No, it's alright. I'm tall enough." Claudio grinned at the annoyed look that got him. "I want to show you how to do this as well."

"Cool. Thanks." Mox smiled just a little into the mirror at Claudio.

It wasn't going to be a long process. Claudio started by explaining how the clippers worked before taking off all of Mox's fringe and then smoothing out the short fade. More hair fell away than Mox really expected as Claudio showed him which direction to run the clippers for the cleanest cut. The easy way Claudio fell into showing him made Mox feel more comfortable, more at ease. The large man had that effect on him more often than not.

The last of the length was cut away so Mox only had peach fuzz left.

"I'll get you an electric razor like mine to make this part easier, but…" Claudio couldn't help laughing at the fact Mox just had a safety razor. "You would have nicked yourself, darling."

"Shut up." Mox turned red. "I already did." He pointed to a little cut at the edge near his ear where he had clearly just tried and failed.

"Here. We'll use this instead." Claudio pulled out his dopp kit from near the sink to get out his straight razor and shaving cream.

"Have you been planning this?" Mox narrowed his eyes at the razor. "You don't cut your beard with a razor and you use the fancy waterproof one on your head in the shower."

"I may have noticed some things and decided to carry these around in case you asked for my help." Claudio at least looked abashed by being caught.

"Uh-huh." Mox turned to look directly up at Claudio. "You've been thinking about shaving me?"

"I-- you--" Claudio got flustered and had to look away.

"Is this the same reason why you talked Bryan and Wheeler into letting you groom their beards before shows, and do Bryan's braids?" Mox pressed himself slightly closer, even though there wasn't enough room.

"I simply know what I'm doing, and want to help." Claudio was turning a little red as Mox put his hand on the back of the larger man's neck.

"You always just wanna help, big guy." Mox's voice dropped slightly and Claudio pushed him up against the counter. "I think it's pretty hot when you do that shit."

"Jon…" Claudio sighed as he leaned into the other, his lips ghosting over Mox's ear as he tried to compose himself a little. "We need to finish."

"Think you can wait that long, Swiss?" Mox nipped at the underside of the chiseled jaw of Claudio.

"Stop trying to distract me." Claudio groaned as he worked to spin Mox back around.

"Fine, fine. Hurry up." Mox grumbled as he let himself be turned.

The shaving cream was applied lightly over Mox's head. The sensual feeling was a surprise to Mox. Maybe this was why Bryan and Yuta always seemed centered after Claudio groomed them. A shiver ran through Mox as he thought of it like that. Claudio was grooming them. The way Claudio made a lot of their gear, or at the very least tailored it, or how he always cooked for them, and helped them train. There was always a service Claudio provided them with an expert level of awareness.

"So, you always known you had a grooming fetish?" Mox held still but laughed at the incredulous look that earned him.

"Have you always known you were a brat?" Claudio shot back much to Mox's glee.

"Yeah, actually." Mox looked even more smug now as Claudio cleared the back of his head with slow, gentle, efficient strokes of the razor.

"Can you be patient for a few more minutes while I finish?" Claudio rolled his eyes as he moved onto the sides.

"Yes, daddy, I can." Mox's voice dripped sweet sarcasm.

"You're impossible."

The rest didn't take long. A few clean sweeps over the top. A couple touch ups. They were done. Mox blinked at himself in the mirror, reaching up to touch his scalp. It wasn't bad, he realized. It looked nice thanks to Claudio's careful touch. Mox had been terrified of obliterating part of his beard. There weren't any rough patches either. He let out a huge sigh of relief that he didn't realize he was holding in.

"You look good, Jon." Claudio smiled, leaning down to kiss the top of Mox's now-bald head.

"Thanks to you. I'd have missed patches and cut myself." Mox grinned as he rubbed along the side.

"You'll learn." Claudio nudged him.

"Maybe, but I'd rather you do it." Mox smiled at the excitement that got from Claudio.

"You're very sweet sometimes." Claudio took Mox by the hand and pulled him towards the shower. "I know you must be itchy."

"Fuck yeah, I'm itchy." Mox groaned dramatically as Claudio turned the shower on.

"Let's get you cleaned off." Claudio agreed.

They made quick work of what little clothes they had on before popping into the shower. Claudio was quick to press Mox up against the wall as the warm water cascaded down their bodies. The soft little moans Mox always made when he was being manhandled turned into full blown groans as Claudio worked two fingers into him. Thankfully, they kept a stash of lube in the shower. Claudio's teeth found the webbing of Mox's shoulder and neck and decided to leave some marks there. A claim of sorts.

"Fuck, fuck. Claudio, I swear to god, if you're teasing me--" Mox grunted as he pushed on the wall to add more pressure against Claudio's fingers.

"I'm not." Claudio mumbled against his skin as a third finger slipped in to make Mox howl. "Shh, relax."

"Can't fuckin' relax when you just spent thirty minutes grooming me and shit." Mox sighed again as Claudio slipped three fingers in and out of him. "God damn. That feels so fucking good, man."

"Jon." Claudio's warning tone, like he might snap if Mox kept it up. So of course Mox kept it up.

"You're fucking sexy as hell standing over me, shaving me and making sure I look good." Mox grinned to himself as he felt Claudio move his leg, making him put a foot up on the corner edge of the shower. "Fuck yeah."

"If you ever want your chest hair gone again…" Claudio wrapped an arm around Mox to run his fingers through said chest hair as the other hand lined himself up with Mox's hole and started to push in.

"Fuck!" Mox yelled out as he felt himself being filled.

There was almost no way to shut Mox up when he was really into something unless you gagged him. Considering it was the middle of the day in their hotel, Claudio decided not to care much, and started to thrust into the smaller man with a lot more force. The increased volume from Mox only spurred Claudio on, his thrusts staying annoyingly in rhythm when Mox tried to get him to speed up.

"Stay still." Claudio growled. "You'll slip."

"Fuck me harder then!" Mox had both hands trying to grip onto the unforgiving wall, face pressed against the cool tile as he was thoroughly fucked.

Claudio shifted his stance, using the tub walls to brace against as he focused on harder, more direct thrusts that made Mox go insane. The man was practically melting in Claudio's arms. They were both so close. Claudio could feel the urgent squeeze of Mox's inner walls. One of Mox's hands was grabbed and shoved between the wall and his body, signaling for him to start jerking himself off while Claudio held them up.

"Fuck, yes, keep going! That's it." Mox cried out and threw his head back as he came all over the shower wall with only a few tugs.

Claudio stilled, cursing to himself in his own language as he rode out Mox's orgasm with him. If he kept going he knew he'd come too, and he knew Mox loved being fucked after he got his. As Mox went boneless, Claudio shifted them to face the wall with the shower head, he pushed at Mox's shoulders until he bent over with his hands braced on the wall.

"Wider." Claudio pushed the other's legs apart until they were against the walls of the tub. "There. Hold on."

"To fuckin' what?"

Instead of answering, Claudio gripped Mox's hips and started to amp back up to a rough pace. The low whine from Mox set Claudio on edge as he sped up his thrusts. There was no holding back anymore as Claudio got closer and Mox got louder. Claudio finally came with a heavy moan, fully bottomed out in Mox, spilling into him as they both gasped heavy breathes.

"Fuck." Mox felt himself being pulled up to standing as the water ran down his front.

"Fuck." Claudio mumbled in agreement as he came down slowly. "Okay, we should actually wash up before the others get back.”

"Jeez. Give a guy a minute." Mox grunted as he found his footing in the shower.

"You never need a minute." Claudio scoffed.

[nostalgicamerica]

True story:

Back some time ago - several lifetimes ago, it seems - I managed to scrape by and graduate high school and had the summer to kill before starting college in the fall.

Instead of finding a job and earning a few bucks like my more responsible classmates, I decided I would do a little traveling and see a bit of the world.  That sounds more romantic than it should when you consider my reluctance to exchange labor for legal tender, and the meager state of my finances.

One Friday morning, I stuffed a few articles of clothing in a backpack, raided my parent’s pantry for items that could be eaten without a heat source, and wouldn’t weigh me down too much, walked out to Highway 41 and stuck out my thumb heading south.

At the time I was sure I made a dashing figure.  Long hair, faded blue jeans, and my older brother’s tan leather jacket with fringes on the sleeves and the hem.  In retrospect, and as much as it pains me to say it today, I am pretty sure I looked like a scrawny granola-eating hippy.  

To those not familiar with the practice, I can assure you that hitchhiking is not at all glamorous, but on my limited budget it was the only way I was going to get out of town.  Most rides were to the next town eight miles down the road, or to the driver’s turnoff four miles yonder.  It was dusty, I got rained on, chased by stray dogs, and rousted by overly ambitious sheriff’s deputies.  

I am declining to regale you with some of the reprobates who picked me up.  Suffice it to say, if you are considering taking up hitchhiking, take my advice and just don’t do it. 

The ETA I set for myself was tossed after the first day.

I was headed to South Dakota to see Mt. Rushmore, and if things went well, I planned to swing down into northwest Wyoming to see Devil’s Tower.

I never made it to Devil’s Tower, and my fleeting glimpse of the presidents carved into the Black Hills was obscured by one of the worst rainstorms I have ever experienced, before or since.

Dejected, I crossed the highway and stuck out my thumb for home.

Some days later found me ambling up a street in southern Minnesota.  It was hot and humid, and, save for the almost daily rainstorms, I hadn’t bathed in weeks (my stench was so rancid stray dogs ceased chasing me), and my pilfered food had long run out.

All I could think of was home.  My nascent yearning for freedom was countered by the continuous rumbling in my stomach.

Then, like some sort of surreal dream, four little fuzzy raccoons crossed the road in front of me.  Mama wasn’t anywhere in sight.  The softball-sized little ringtails alerted to me and, undoubtedly doing what mama taught them, they climbed a tree on the side of the road.

Their training must have been cut short, because the tree they climbed was a bush not much taller than me.  Now, if I had been normal, I’d have sauntered on up the road in hopes that mama raccoon would put in an appearance, but my entire boyhood had been filled with dreams of having a raccoon for a pet and I did the natural thing.

I untied the leather jacket from around my waist and draped it over the raccoons intending to carry them in it until I could find something more practical with which to ferry them.  What happened next forever changed my perception that raccoons are cute and loveable.

Those four little bandits shredded my brother’s jacket lining in seconds and started in on the leather.  They hissed and spit and I think they used straight razors to significantly lengthen the fringes.  One or more evacuated his or her bowels.  I could swear they were swearing at me before escaping the coat and bush for a larger tree nearby.  I think the little bastards fuzzy vandals even stole my pack of cigarettes.  

Somewhat wiser, I gave up on the idea of a four-legged bandit for a pet and resumed my travels toward home.  The entire rest of my trip I hoped that mama made it back to her babies, to teach them a little respect and discipline, if nothing else.     

When I finally made it back home I told my brother that I had been mugged outside Pierre, and had put up a good fight.  His eyes were full of skepticism and I could tell he didn’t believe me because a.) I was about a buck ten and couldn’t fight to save my life, and b.) it was the inside of his jacket that had taken most of the damage, and a mugging couldn’t explain all the fecal matter in one of the inside pockets.

[nerice]

elden ring sote bingo let's fucking GO!!

dawn of the final 24 hours before my life gets eaten. details under th cut >>

the eclipse

what the fuck were they doing at castle sol what was the point !! "the sun has not been swallowed your companion remains soulless" how was this supposed to connect to/help resurrect godwyn. may we find out when it happens!!

scythe fixes

my partner contributed this one it seems 2 be a vry specific gripe towards scythe builds that i do not understand bc i run my game with two toothpick daggers and refuse to upgrade vigor lmao

death swamp

i think it wld be funny. do it miyazaki

malenia's severed arm/oath ring

WHAT IF WE. FOUND IT >:) no idea why it'd be in the realm of shadow but i wanna pick up specifically the oath ring fr item description lore juice so bad :3

messmer blasphemy arsenal

why is he running around talking abt those unworthy of gold when he's fully stacked w/ anti erdtree insignia!! battle trophies? just to flex? let us know!!

butterfly trio

fringe theory that i don't subscribe to that the trio statue in the haligtree is *not* prodigy twins + godwyn but instead twins + messmer, on account of cape & the fact that they all get butterfly items (nascent for miquella, aeonian for malenia, and smoldering for - presumably - messmer bc of his fire theming) don't rly care for it but am curious abt the butterfly symbolism nd if it will show up

lake of rot expansion

THIS HAS BEEN BOTHERING ME SINCE I FOUND IT. why is that upper portion there, completely inaccesible, with the other end suspiciously faded out!!!! no other part of the giant ass world map has smth like this LET US GO THERE!! blue dancer portal i believe in u

marika's dad

that guy in the painting. who's a talking corpse pulling a sword out of his fucked up body later in the trailer, LOREDROP US

age of rot

easy. malenia resurrection phase three full ending truther. yes i realize this wld be the worst possible fate for her i love dying and despair

sleep swamp

we kind of saw it in the trailer. might not be an actual inflicting-the-effect soup location but again i think it'd be funny!!

godwyn's resurrection (mermaid boss)

with or without connection to whatever the eclipse is. there's no way they're not gonna use that huge disgusting model of him from the deeproot depths 2 fuck us up. miquella can save him but he cannot save him tm :)!

messmer destined death user

every possible evil flame theory under the sun has been floated for him nd which shade of fire it is he's actually wielding. i think he's camp destined death for juice nd (possible) melina connection

gloam-eyed queen is marika's sibling/twin

my fav little pet theory!! assuming the guy in the painting is marika's dad and assuming (spicily) that the woman in the painting isn't actually her but another numen / empyrean / possibly sibling / most likely 2 be the gloam eyed queen aka whoever marika has slain at the beginning of the sote story trailer when she claims godhood. i just think this game loves sibling beef too much 2 not go there. conversely i don't think melina is the gloam-eyed queen but i do think there's a connection/possible inheritance avenue w.

malenia death consequences

THE ONLY THING I REALLY CARE ABT FOR THIS DLC it cannot be a 10/10 without this, indulge meeeeee pwease she's a fkcin optional boss and the entire reason for miquella's quest. it has to matter COME ON !!!! idc if it's a lot to code and account for u built this house

melina/messmer siblings

melina is the odd one out whose parentage is so far unconfirmed. nd there are no only children in this game. so w/ the addition of messmer > obv conclusion that might still be fully off lol

miquella anti-griffith path

yes ive seen the theories. yes ive read berserk. yes it makes sense and the parallels are off the charts. when i first found the bewitching branch nd the lore bits abt miquella/st trina i also sent my partner a long essay abt the parallels. miquella the beloved defender of the weak, (+ there is LITERALLY AN ECLIPSE HE TRIED TO CAUSE) however all the "miquella is evil" theories are supremely boring sorry. playing it straight wld be such a waste. u meet miquella nd he turns out to be a mastermind manipulator who used dream control and charm and even malenia was tricked etc etc IT'S BORING gtfo

boss w/ 3rd phase

haven't had that yet. bonus points if i get my resurrected malenia insect body horror for this (wldnt even count bc it's not a consequtive phase) but a girl can dream uwu

final boss fight @ the vagina tree roots

sorry for the uninitiated. but yeah this wld be a dope final boss location and either way i wanna go there!!!!! give us pussy

outer god of sleep

this shot in the story trailer. "abandoning his fate" can be interpreted either way, abandoning (unalloyed) gold for existence as st trina OR WHAT I'M PUSHING. him even abandoning his fate as empyrean i.e. godhood since power in this game always comes at the price of outer gods whispering in ur ear nd i want!! an outer god of sleep !! to have been that for miquella. sleep was his destined path like rot was for malenia, and he wants no part of it >:3

torrent's origins

this is a filler square u_u but also i'm genuinely curious if we will get more lore abt him. it's confirmed miquella was riding torrent when he set out, and the torrent we have now is a spectral steed, first seen with melina and then gifted to us by ranni in disguise so like. how do we get from a to b to c d e f here chat !!!!

blue dancer lore

ANOTHER 10/10 REQUIREMENT. ive made my case and it's a strong one. ik all of the malenia content wishes are copium at best but getting vicarious lore on this one is extremely feasible imo

age of unalloyed gold

there's no way we aren't getting a miquella themed ending right. riiiight??

full melina lore

TRULY THE MOST ENIGMATIC CHARACTER there's a billion theories (geq being the strongest one) i don't even care what her specific lore details are gonna be but it'll be so interesting if any of it gets elaborated on !!

all new npcs fucking die

they're such a merry band in the story trailer :) wld be a shame if something happened to them :))))))))

[puddingvalkyrie]

The Midnight Oil Café

(Working title)

The girl walked in and looked around. It was pretty cosy in here;  bright, patterned curtains, chunky wooden furniture. Every table had a little vase of flowers and a candle. The light would fade soon, and she was surprised the café was open this late.

  “Sorry to come in so close to closing time,” she apologised. “How long do I have? I don’t want to get in your way...”

  “All night,” came the answer. The barista turned around and leaned on the counter. He flicked a strand of his curly, black fringe out of his dark brown eyes. “We’re open ‘til dawn.” He flashed her a smile. “What’ll it be?”

  “How much is your cheapest drink?” the girl asked. She looked around for a menu. There was a blackboard propped up on the counter, but it had no prices.

  “Oh, it doesn’t work like that,” the man gave her another smile, this time showing his teeth. They were pointed. “We give you a drink, you give us a drink.” He leaned on the counter with both elbows, chin in both hands. “How about it?”

  “Uh...”

  “NO. No!” came a loud objection from a room behind the counter. A woman wrapped in colourful shawls with a cloud of chestnut hair tied in a high ponytail emerged with her hands on her hips. “We said we’re not doing that!”

  “But the customers expect it!” the barista complained, standing back up.

  “Don’t be fooled,” the woman addressed the girl. She took the man’s chin in one hand while she pointed at him with the other. “He’s not a suave, sexy vampire, he’s a DISASTER.”

  “I can relate...” the girl said, before she could stop herself. “To the disaster part, at least...”

  “It’s free,” the woman said. “IF you want to become a blood donor, great, we’re looking. If you don’t, you don’t. The two things are unconnected. What’ll it be?”

  “It’s... It’s really free?”

  “100%.”

  “I’ll just take a mudleaf infusion please.”

  “You got any special dietary requirements?” the woman asked. “Allergies?”

  “No. Um, I’ve had mudleaf before... no issues.”

  The girl sat in a corner. The sun was setting. She’d known this place had vampires, but this wasn’t how they usually worked... They were supposed to fly around at night and if you had a thing for vampires or whatever possessed people to become donors, you stood on your balcony in the evening. As far as she was aware, they didn’t bring tea and crumpets to the occasion. Bit hard to carry, when you’re a bat.

  “There you go, honey.” The woman put down a mug brimming with tea and slid over a plate. “Sorry if you don’t like eggs. Or garlic. Or parsley. Or butter.”

  “I didn’t order food,” the girl protested.

  “You look like you need it.” The woman lit the candle, then walked away.

The girl looked at the gently steaming egg, drowning in green-flecked butter. It would go cold pretty quickly. Pessimism fought hunger, and hunger won. The egg was delicious. The place was open all night, huh? This corner had a sofa, and it had plenty blankets draped over it... would they notice if she slept? Wait. Maybe that was the plan. Get customers sleepy and...

  “You can sleep there if you want,” the barista told her, making her jump. “I’ll keep an eye on your stuff.”

  “I don’t, um, I don’t have any ‘stuff’.”  She shifted uncomfortably. “Can I... can I maybe wash dishes or, or something?” Maybe it was better to stay awake. Keep busy.

  “Are you looking for a job?” the man asked.

  “Yes,” the girl replied, an idea occuring. She’d meant to go further, but... they wouldn’t look for her here, surely? The job would be at night, she wouldn’t have to risk being seen. Was she really far enough away, though? She could stay a few days and then leave. “Just for a, a week, maybe?”

The two vampires shared a look. “What’s your name, honey?” asked the woman.

  “Amara,” she replied.

  “This is Taran and I’m Divina,” the woman replied. “If it means anything to you, he’s a Le Fanu and I’m a Stollenheim.”

 “Oh. Um." It rang a distant bell. There were only a few vampire families, and fewer successful ones. Their names came up in the paper occasionally. Not that she paid attention to world news. What did it matter to her? She did wish she’d paid a little more attention. “...Not really, no.”

  “No?” Taran scratched his head. “I suppose no news is good news.”

  “There’s not much to do right now, so if you want, you can sleep for a few hours,” Divina told her. “You need a place to stay?”

  “Yes, but... I’ll figure it out later.”

  “Like I said, you can sleep there,” Taran said. “We’re kind of expecting it. For people to need to sleep.”

  “This is new to us, too,” Divina explained, seeing Amara’s confusion.

  “We only just opened and no-one’s ever done this before. That we know of,” Taran added.

  “Why?” Amara asked. “Why a café?”

  “Balcony trawling’s not my style.” Taran wrinkled his nose.

  “We actually met balcony trawling,” Divina continued. “We’d both had a bad night, and after some bickering and venting...”

  “Why does EVERYONE expect a relationship?!” Taran exploded. “I just want to be friends! I need at least three active donors and I am NOT polyamorous! I’m not anything-amorous!”

  “I keep telling you, if you insist on doing the suave vampire act, people will think you’re hitting on them,” Divina told him.

“I’m not hitting on them, I’m just being, you know, cool?” Taran replied. “I’m a cool guy.”

  Divina laughed. “You are. But you have to stop doing that, hun. If you want the romantic advances to stop.”

  “Why didn’t, er, why didn’t you like it?” Amara asked Divina. “The balcony... balcony... patrolling?”

  “Similar reasons,” Divina replied. “Plus I just feel like there’s a better way. I need blood to live, others need food, why not do something about it?”

   “So, uh, the pay...” If she was going to do this, she better do it right.

  “We’ll give you room and board,” Divina replied. “Plus, say, 3 Crowns a day spending money? How’s that?”

 Amara blinked. She couldn’t possibly have heard that right. “For washing dishes a few hours a night?”

 “I’m sure you’ll be doing more than that,” Divina said.

  “Like?” Amara tried not to squeak.

  “Like getting us fresh ingredients, baking, serving customers,” Divina clarified. “I’ll write you up a contract. It’s quiet, so I can do it now.”

  “Nothing blood related, right?” Amara asked.

  “Oh, we can’t afford paid blood donors, honey,” Divina told her. “You gotta be royalty or near as damn it for that.”

  “Okay then,” Amara agreed. “Sorry I just... I already had one bad contract.”

  “Is that what you’re running from?” Taran asked.

  Amara hunched up. “I don’t want to talk about it. I want to pretend it doesn’t exist.”

  “What were we even talking about?” replied Taran obediently. “Divina?”

  “You were going to show Amara the kitchen and where we keep everything and what’s on the menu and everything else our new star employee needs to know,” Divina prompted.

  “I thought I was the star employee.” He pouted at her.

  “The nice thing about stars is, there’s more than one,” Divina pointed out.

   He held up a finger. “Ah, then I shall aim to be the moon, my dear Divina.”

  “This is exactly what I’m talking about.” She smiled and shook her head.

  “Follow me, follow me, follow the kitchen wizard.” Taran beckoned to Amara.

  “He’s never used a stove in his life, don’t listen to him,” Divina remarked.

  “Do you want me to show her the kitchen, or don’t you?” Taran shot back.

  “Yes, yes, go ahead,” Divina replied. “Work should be fun. I, meanwhile, shall be writing the contract.”

  “Sounds super fun. I am so jealous.” Taran replied.

  “The equipment doesn’t look that different than the kitchen at... at my old place,” Amara remarked, ducking under Taran’s arm and eyeing the place critically. It was a lot smaller, barely bigger than a domestic kitchen. “Can you really serve customers with this?”

  “We’re not exactly expecting a lot of customers,” Taran explained. “Not at first, anyway. I guess we’ll just adapt as we go along?”

  “Yeah...”

  “You worked in a kitchen before then?” he asked.

  “Y-yeah.”

  “It doesn’t exist, gotcha.” He drummed his fingers on his cheek. “What’s your favourite kind of cake, Amara?”

  “Um... ginger. The housekeeper used to make us this delicious apple and ginger cake, before, before she...”

  “Sorry, sorry.” Taran scratched his head. “Non-kitchen question. Uh. Favourite... drink? No. Favourite animal?”

  “We weren’t allowed pets,”-Taran winced-“but I loved to go to the woods and listen to the birds sing.”

  “Birds, huh?” His face lit up. “Then check this out!” It was as though she blinked, but Taran was gone and a little nightingale stood in his place. The bird fluttered up to the table and sang. The delightful warbling echoed around the whole kitchen.

  Another blink, and Taran was sat on the edge of the table.

  “We don’t do the bat thing in my family,” Taran explained. “Gran likes birds. I’m really sorry though, I really think that’s all I got before we have to talk about kitchens again.”

  “It’s alright.” Amara steeled herself. “I shouldn’t ask for a job in a kitchen if I don’t want to think about kitchens. So. Where’s the pantry? I saw sponge cake on the menu, but I don’t see any. I’ll make one. That’s, that’s alright isn’t it?”

  “You’re very observant,” Taran complimented her. “Go ahead. I’m sure Divina will be happy. We didn’t want to make much today while we gauge how much business we’re gonna have, so we’re deliberately low on non-drink items.”

 “And DONE,” Divina announced some minutes later, waving a piece of parchment triumphantly at the doorway.

  Taran nodded to Amara. “Go and look. I’ll finish this. It just needs to go in the oven until it’s golden brown, right?”

  It was a fair contract. Good, even? Suspiciously good. Room, board, 3 Crowns a day pocket money, all as Divina had said. She could leave any time without notice, and she would work no more than six hours a day, though she was required to be on call for longer than that; the time the cafe was open and a little before that. Of course the main catch was that the café was open late into the night. It opened at 8pn and closed at 2bn.

  She hesitated as she held the quill above the line. They wouldn’t find her here if she worked at night. Right? Room and board. Spending money. Not that she’d be spending it. She’d be saving it for an emergency. A different emergency, that is. She was already in an emergency. She could leave any time. She could leave ANY TIME. Her hand shook as she signed, giving her a wobbly signature.

  Taran emerged from the kitchen.

  “Divina. Divina, I have a newfound passion for baking.” He gestured to the finished cake on the table. “Why have I never tried baking before? It smells amazing. It looks amazing. I get to decorate it." He bit his lip. “I wanna make more cakes, Divina.”

  “We’ve got enough cake so I’m going to need you to find a newfound passion for soup,” Divina replied.

  “Will do.” Taran gave her a three fingered salute. “Newfound passion for soup in three, two... now!” He turned on his heel and disappeared back into the kitchen.

  “Do you need to sleep?” Divina asked Amara.

  “Should I not stay awake? To adjust my sleeping pattern?” Amara asked back.

  “Hmm. Yes, but... maybe not all at once? Go take a little nap. I’ll wake you in an hour or so.”

Amara stared at the ceiling of her new room. And it was genuinely her room. She’d never slept alone before. She’d always been in bunk beds and hammocks. In servants’ quarters. Or the orphanage. She doubted she’d be able to sleep, but she had walked all day. She wanted to sleep. What was this feeling? It wasn’t safety. She wouldn’t feel safe here. It wasn’t like the woods. They’d never found her in the woods. Not once. If she could’ve lived in the woods, she would have. She didn’t feel safe, but she didn’t feel threatened either. Neutral. She felt... neutral. That would do. But she also felt hungry and tired and she didn’t really know these people. Vampires, huh? They had nothing on the orphanage director. Nor the workhouse foreman, and definitely not Lord Branndil. At least vampires only wanted your blood.

  She tossed and turned, but it was no good. She went downstairs.

  “Can I buy some of the paint I saw in the kitchen?” she asked. “Black, white, brown, green? Perhaps yellow and blue? You can take it out of my wages.”

  “You don’t need to give up your wages,” Divina reassured her. “You paint too, huh? We sure got lucky. What do you want to paint?”

  “My room. It’s just so... beige.”

  Divina nodded approvingly. “It is, that. Paint away. Wait, though.” The vampire narrowed her eyes at the girl. “You eat, first. And you get another drink. If I’m right, that egg you had is all you’ve had all day.”

  “You are right.”

  “Here, sandwich.” Divina plucked a plate from the counter and thrust at Amara. “And cut yourself a slice of that cake you made.”

  Amara blinked. “Isn’t it for the customers?”

  “We have to eat too.” Divina shrugged. “Besides, what the customers don’t eat, we’ll have to eat the leftovers. Keep that in mind and don’t make too much. Speaking of which, can you check on Taran? He’s not left the kitchen since I saw you last and I didn’t want to leave the counter unmanned.”

  Amara found Taran with his nose inches from a book on the counter, with four different pots on the boil, and spices everywhere. He threw a good pinch of one herb in one pot then sprinkled a spice into another. He tasted a little of each. He added even more herbs.

  “Um. Divina said we mustn’t make too much,” Amara cautioned, her voice wobbling.

  “What? Oh. Yeah. Yeah, yeah. Try this, will you? I think it needs a little something.” Taran gestured to the first pot. I’ve been experimenting with different things but I just can’t quite get it how I want it.” Amara took a spoonful and blew on it. It tasted okay, but bland. “Try the others for me?” She tried one after the other. They all had slightly different flavour profiles but were still bland.

  “Did you ... add salt?” she asked.

  “The recipe didn’t say so, so no,” Taran admitted.

  “This recipe book is pretty old.” Amara picked it up and flipped it over. “The old ones don’t tell you to add salt, because they assumed everyone knew to do it.”

 “I’m not everyone, recipe book!” Taran stuck out his tongue at it.

  “It’s okay. Just add some now. Um, I’d also recommend adding some more onions and garlic.” Amara gave the pots a stir, bringing up the vegetables to inspect them. “It’ll probably be a mushier soup than you maybe wanted but it’ll be okay.”

  “I was going for max mush, so that’s not a problem.” Taran wiped his brow. “Big relief. I thought I’d wasted a whole day’s ingredients.”

  Amara sat and ate her sandwich. She made herself an infusion from the giant pot of clear water gently bubbling on the other side of the kitchen. She sipped the brew and let her tired eyes wander over the kitchen. Something was off.

  “How are you keeping these fires going?” she asked. “I don’t see any fuel.” There was the one under the hot water and the four little ones under the soup pots.

  “Magic,” Taran replied. “We need to find a better way if we can, though. The more magic I use, the more blood I need. I’ll go balcony trawling if I have to, but the point of this place, besides feeding people, was to NOT have to do that.”

  “How often do you have to?” she asked.

  “Once every two months, if I use barely any magic,” he answered. “More like once a month though.”

  “Oh. That’s a lot less than I though’,” Amara mused. Did she just slur a word?

  “How much did you think?” Taran asked, tilting his head to one side.

  “Every day? I don’t know. Jus’ a lo’ more.” She blinked her eyes repeatedly. Was the kitchen always blurry?

  “Only true vampires need that much,” Taran explained. “I’m a great grandson so my situation is much improved.”

  “Hmm.” Amara almost face planted into her drink.

  “Woah, maybe go to bed?” Taran suggested, diving forward to move her cup out of the way. “Don’t get a faceful of hot, scalding liquid.”

   “Couldn’ slee’,” Amara mumbled. “Can’ slee’. Maybe in th’ woodsss...” She saw Taran dart forward again before she blacked out.

Amara jerked awake. She was in bed. A strange room. Beige. So very beige. The sun was shining strongly through the open curtains. She sat up so fast her head spun. What happened? She’d run away in the night. Walked all day. All day, barely stopping. Came to a cafe. Cafe. Vampires. She’d asked for a job. Contract. Soup. Vampire making soup. She’d suddenly been incredibly sleepy. Incredibly sleepy. Vampires.

  Her hand shot to her neck. Nothing. She got up and inspected it in the small mirror hanging over the wash basin. Still nothing. She turned for the door and nearly tripped over a stack of tins. Paint. She’d asked for paint. There was a note.

  ‘I had to carry you upstairs, I hope that was okay?

  You’d fallen asleep on the table.

  It turns out SOMEONE can’t tell medicine herbs from cooking herbs and the soup got doused with sleeping nettles.

  Divina’

A second part was in different handwriting:

‘I am so sorry Amara. The offending herbs have been identified and removed from the kitchen. The offending person has been identified (it’s me) and removed from the kitchen (temporarily).

  Taran’

  “That explains that then. Hmm.” Amara stared at the note for a long time. Finally she blinked herself back to reality and turned her attention to the paint. They’d included a set of brushes and a couple of cups of clean water. Amara picked up a brush.

By the time Divina knocked on the door to check on her that evening, the walls were covered in trees.

 

----

First new thing I've written in some years! I need to edit my first draft of Zaran's book but like. I don't wanna.

This is also basically a first draft. I don't normally post things this fresh for other people to read but like... I wish to get something out there.

I know it's lacking in description especially.

[rennivere]

0.1 - failed meetings

I have Yue/G'raha Tia brain worms and I wanted to get them down before they wriggle away. This is entirely for myself, so please excuse the mess.

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

They knew each other, albeit only in passing. A proper "two ships in the night" sort of tale, one might say.

Yue certainly remembered seeing the Miqo'te, often intrigued by his mismatched eyes and the little frustrated pout that would pull on his lips as he struggled to reach a book on one of the library's higher shelves. She always wished she was a bit taller, a bit more nimble, something that would help her help him. Alas, she was neither, prompting her to simply watch him for a moment of fondness before returning to her own books.

She eventually learned his name when they shared a class together: G'raha Tia. He had stood at the front of the room after a few weeks, meek and a bit awkward as he cleared his throat, his voice fading between pitches a bit as his pubescence reared its head while he introduced himself, immediately before giving a thorough presentation on Allagan technology and aetherochemistry with the confidence of someone thrice his age. He spoke as if he had first-hand experience with the technology, proving himself early-on as a fount of knowledge on the topic.

Yue mustered up the courage to compliment him on his research not long after.

She'd never forget the way his mismatched eyes lit up with the most genuine excitement. He'd had to cut himself off from rambling, a little pink tinge spreading over his cheeks as his head dipped, hands wringing on front of him as he quietly cleared his throat before nodding in response to the young blond Au Ra boy (Yue was not 'out' at the time, mind you).

They planned to meet at the library over lunch the next day.

Yue hadn't expected to return home to learn that she was accompanying her parents on another venture to sea the next morning.

She barely had enough time to run a note to to one of the library's book keepers, insisting they give it to G'raha Tia when they saw him.

She wasn't sure if he ever received the note, or if he'd even visited the library to meet with her. She wasn't sure if he ever cared... and it would be some time before she found out.

Yue and her family returned to Sharlayan some months later, and in proper Yue fashion, she returned immediately to her studies. Alas, the class she and the ruby-haired boy had once shared had long since ended, and it would be weeks before she so much as ran into the other teen, although only briefly.

"You're back," was all he said in greeting, an almost timid smile tugging at his lips, his mismatched eyes glittering with restrained delight. Yue just smiled shyly in response, giving a small nod as she cradled a pair of books on aetheric manipulation to her chest with one hand, leaning into her crutch with another. He looked at her with a bit of intrigue and surprise, taking in the subtle changes to her appearance - the feminine fringe, the skirt to replace her slacks, the gentle pink blush across her nose and cheeks and the shimmer around her eyes. His mouth opened and closed like he wanted to comment - maybe question her, maybe compliment the change, but instead he just smiled.

"I got your note. If I'd known you'd been leaving so soon, I would've offered to meet after dinner instead," he said with a boyish grin that had Yue smiling, her head tilting to the side.

"Well... I'm still interested in learning about Allag from you, if you have time. Maybe... tomorrow, after lunch?" She suggested gingerly, a small but hopeful smile stuck to her lips - though it faded as she watched the boy's gaze drop. "Ah... I would love to... but I'm afraid now it's my turn to go on a little adventure. My guardians with the Students of Baldesion are having me join them on a... field trip of sorts. I don't know all the details yet, but... when I return I'd be happy to meet up. Then, I can tell you all the things I know, and all the new things I've learned," he suggested with a grin, shifting on his feet with gleeful anxiety.

Yue almost forgot to respond, instead just smiling for a moment as she admired the other teen's excitement.

"That sounds perfect. I'll look forward to it, G'raha,"

The boy's ears stood straight, tail twitching behind him as she said his name, and Yue had to stop herself from giggling at his expense. The Miqo'te gave a resolute nod in response, though otherwise said nothing for a moment. There were a few seconds where both just stared at each other, before G'raha let out a breath, head giving another nod.

"Right! So will I. I'm glad I ran into you again, Yos--"

"Yue," she interjected, causing the Miqo'te's eyes to widen, panic settling into his gaze as he tried to figure out if he had misremembered her name or otherwise made a horrible mistake. His mouth opened as he took in a breath, surely gearing up to rattle off apologies, but Yue just smiled, head giving a slight, reassuring shake. G'raha relaxed in response, briefly nipping at his bottom lip before swallowing, giving another nod.

"Yue, then."

Her eyes twinkled a bit with relief as she nodded in response.

"Enjoy your trip, G'raha. I'll see you when you come back."

Fate would not be quite so kind to the bookish pair, however. Before G'raha could return from his trip, Yue would be off on another of her own, and thus began the seemingly endless cycle of brief exchanges in passing between responsibilities, conflicting schedules keeping the two would-be scholars from sharing their knowledge and interests over lunch.

Even as they grew older, progressing from their teens into young adulthood, their different areas of study kept them at arms length, returning to their youth of seeing each other only in passing, catching glimpses of the other and offering a gentle wave. Yue was certain that once she'd made the decision to stay in Sharlayan full-time for her health that there would be a chance to reconnect with her childhood would-be friend, but G'raha Tia was on a seemingly endless pursuit of knowledge. It was a miracle he learned and retained anything with how quickly he seemed to flit from one place to another, always chasing after new opportunities to learn and grow and flourish. The Calamity had only seemed to spur on the Miqo'te's pursuit of knowledge.

She could hardly blame him. In fact, in many ways, she envied him and his drive.

Perhaps that was a contributing factor into her finding the courage to leave Sharlayan on her own one day, leaving behind her home and books to make for the recently formed Arcanist's Guild in Limsa Lominsa with hopes of learning more ways to cope with her physical ailments through aetheric manipulation.

She never could have guessed that the start of her adventure would be the very thing to finally bring her and a certain Miqo'te together... though it would still take many moons... and a number of life-changing discoveries and alliances along the way.

[wardenred]

Whumptember 2: "Let me do this for you"

These characters have been hanging out on the fringes of my mind for a while now, why not take them out for a walk.

Tonight, the tavern was warm and jovial. Flames crackled in the fireplace that took up most of the wall across from the doorway. A minstrel sat perched on a high stool next to it, their deft fingers teasing a soft, soothing melody out of a lute. Glass clinked against metal as a group of merchants laughed together, celebrating a deal well sealed and toasting future opportunities; some of them had discarded tankards in favor of going straight for the bottles. Two tables away, three people in noble clothes hidden under commoners' cloaks looked to be enjoying a romantic evening. At the bar, a city guard flirted relentlessly with the maid. A slightly exasperated patron clearly couldn't decide whether he wished to interfere for the sake of finally getting a drink or would rather not spoil somebody's fun. The air smelled of fresh stew and mulled wine.

Amidst all of this, even tucked away in the farthest corner, Raj found it easy to pretend like he could have some of this, too, one day. The simple joys, the simple comforts. Life. 

Just as long as he paid all his debts first and didn't die trying.

He smoothed out the map in front of him and traced the tip of his nail over the shoreline, the faded blue expanse of the Whirlpool Gulf, the smattering of small islands to the west.

"Fortune guiding me, I shouldn't be gone for longer than a month," he told Ash. "My sisters should have enough coin or that long, but if I stall, I can count on you to check up on them and see to their needs, right? I’ll pay you back, obviously."

His friend drummed their fingers over the chipped edge of the table. A deep crease settled between their pale eyebrows; a deeper one at the corner of their mouth.

"You shouldn't be doing this."

Raj swallowed a sigh. "On the contrary. It's a fantastic opportunity—"

"To get yourself killed for real this time?"

This was... needlessly dramatic. "Excuse me, are you doubting my skills?"

"No, only your sanity. Raj, you've done two jobs with the Western pirates, and frankly, it makes for two more than reasonable. And aren't you now expected to work under the same captain as the last time?" 

Raj grimaced. "Unfortunately, yes. I suppose he'll be happier to see me than I him. Still, that's a good chance to turn the tables a little bit, after all the grief the guy gave me."

"Grief." Ash's expression was unreadable.

"Well, what else would you call it?" Raj asked with a fatalistic shrug. "No, don't answer. You'll come up with all sorts of drastically tragic epithets, whereas the truth is, it was—"

Ash leaned forward so sharply Raj kind of wanted to flinch back. Of course, what he did instead was freeze and stop talking.

"If you're going to tell me it was nothing, I swear to the gods..." Ash drew a steadying breath. "I was the one who patched you up after that stint, Raj. Don't you dare tell me you were fine."

"I was, though," Raj insisted, not so much ignoring the way Ash's dark eyes narrowed as acknowledging it and saying his part anyway. "I can handle a few beatings, as long as it gets the work done and paid for. So how about you stop fretting and we keep drinking?" He reached for the jug at the center of the table and topped their glasses with gusto. "Ths is meant to be a celebration! I fought for this contract!"

"Yes, because you're a blighted fool," Ash said stiffly. Still, when Raj brought up a glass in a toast, they clinked theirs against his. Hard. So hard, in fact, that the blood-like red liquid splashed over the rims, drinks mixing together.

Raj offered an easy smile. "That's all right by me. If memory serves me right, before ascending the throne the first Astragi king, bless his spirit and all that, served as the Last Emperor's fool. Therefore, being a fool is quite the noble calling with awesome career prospects. Cheers."

Ash snatched his wrist before he could bring the glass to this lips.

"Let me do this for you. No, listen! You'll still get the money. Even the credit, should that be what you're after. Lie low here in the city, or travel to the country for a while. I've got a cover-up in the works already. Once I'm back, we'll convince the bosses you were the one who did the job."

All Raj could do was stare. There was a feverish glint in Ash's eyes, a flush to their skin that could probably be explained by all the ale they'd consumed already. This crazy idea probably boasted the same origin.

He laughed. "Now which one of us is the fool?"

Ash tightened their grip on his hand. "Please, Raj. Let me do this. The risks for me are lower, anyway. I'm not the kind of person Captain Turncoat would harbor a grudge for. I can keep my head down, lay low, pretend to be boring and unobtrusive. You know I can."

"The captain isn't the only monster aboard that ship." Raj's throat tightened when he thought about this. Ash, spending weeks in the open sea with Turncoat's crew, treated with disdain at best, because pirates hated their organization even—especially—when they agreed to work together for mutual gain? Having all possible offenses pinned on them, all possible punishments dispensed their way? No. No, and nope, and fuck this shit.

"Please, Raj."

He shook his head, wrenched his hand away, and downed half a glass in one go.

Immediately, his mind felt fuzzy. The glass cluttered out of his weakened grasp and rolled over the table surface, spilling ale everywhere. The map would be ruined if it wasn't for Ash's quick fingers, already folding it away.

Numb and with no control of his body or tongue, Raj could only slump in his chair while Ash stood, walked over, and methodically searched his pockets for the job token.

No. No, please, anything but this.

Ash bent down to plant a small kiss against his temple.

"You'll feel better in an hour, tops," they whispered. "Stay safe. See you in a month, give or take."

Their footsteps echoed away, and Raj couldn't even turn his head to watch them go. By the fireplace, the minstrel was still playing, the melody rising and falling like the tides.

You fucking idiot.

Raj didn't know if he was aiming the thought at Ash or himself.

[lesbianfreyja]

isoah is one of my favorite things ever i downloaded it to read on the plane a few days ago

I LOVE THIS THANK YOU.

as promised, some unposted excerpts under the cut. i always lowkey intended to finish this if macdennis ever went canon because i wanted to keep up the canon compliance as per my HCs. unfortunately RCG are not getting the memo, but i wrote it up through season 8 anyway. ATP i could probably continue it but im trying to stop writing fic and keep writing original content so i can quit my job and get famous 😭 you never know, i finished knocked out by the midas touch in quarantine randomly

PS this list of WIPs depresses me

And he was. The urges didn’t fade, the feelings didn’t abate. He looked at Mac and saw all the same impulses jump up inside him: He wanted to kiss him, he wanted to hear him moan, he wanted to punch him in the face. But the thin thread of fury that accompanied his Mac Feelings nowadays made them significantly easier to keep locked away in that drawer, and that counted as better in his mind. He hooked a new combination lock on it and hoped Mac was too fucking dumb to stumble on it by accident, but not so dumb that he went searching for the code.

So no, he didn’t have a perfect lid on the matter, not when the impulses jumped up in him like they did. But even though he was lacking in tamping down his urges, he could do better in other ways. He kept a little distance, started hanging out with Charlie more again. Without the danger of their semi-dating between them, it was light and easy and good, like it had been back in their early twenties. He spent a little time with Dee too, especially while she was pregnant. Mostly because she was always calling him to get him to pick shit up for her and bring it over, like pregnant suddenly equaled invalid.

The year after that, Mac got fat.

**********

“Well,” he said, “I’m going to head to b—”

“Come here,” Dennis blurted out.

Mac just stared at him. Dennis swallowed and looked back down at his fingers, picking feathers out of the blankets little by little. He didn’t look up even as he could see, from the corner of his eye, that Mac stepped into his room and shut the door behind him.

They were bathed in the dark. Dennis’s throat felt very dry, and he didn’t think it was just because of the vodka he had drunk tonight. Carefully, he set the glass down on his bedside table. Then he curled back up onto his side and laid down, facing the wall.

He felt Mac slip into bed beside him, but he didn’t move closer and they just lay there for a very long time. Side by side, in the dark. Dennis was drifting again; he wasn’t sure how long it took until he rolled over and buried his face in Mac’s chest, although he’d tell himself that it was just because Mac happened to be laying closer to him than he was expecting and he misjudged the distance.

Mac curled his arm around Dennis’s shoulder, still flat on his back. Dennis fit himself to the curve of Mac’s body, tucked against his side. A dry, unhappy noise bled out of him and he pressed even closer.

Dennis hated sharing beds with Mac. He slept too long and he always rolled onto Dennis in the night until he was half-suffocating with his weight. Mac wheezed, and he’d developed sleep apnea, too. It kept Dennis up all night because it was impossible to sleep with that much shifting and noise. Mac was too warm and it made Dennis sweat in the night, he always needed a shower or two the next day. Mac was too big and Dennis hated to touch him. Mac was Mac, and Dennis hated him for that, too.

It was so fucking scary to be around Mac, sometimes. Pressed head to toe with him in bed, all of those feelings were amplified and thrown back at him. Dennis was a little tipsy and that just made things worse, because all the thoughts he usually pushed the fringes of his head were swimming up to greet him, and he loathed to look them in the eye. Mac might die of a million different things, and Dennis could name all of the top ten most likely killers without any hesitation. Mac would die one day, and Dennis was sure it was going to be long before he himself did — and that future was both tangible enough to touch and so very foggy. He had absolutely no idea who he would be, after Mac. Because After Mac there lived a Dennis who was less tense and worried all the time, and who had time to destress at the end of the day without all his personal space being eaten up from morning until night. Dennis didn’t want to meet that version of himself, ever. How unhappy he would be, he thought. Even more than he was now.

Mac pressed his cheek in against Dennis’s hair, and Dennis’s fingertips bit into the skin showing off above the waistband of Mac’s boxers. His too-tight shirt was riding up, and why he couldn’t wear clothes that fit right when he bought them new was a whole other mystery to unravel.

Dennis’s fingers crept higher. Mac’s breath barely hitched when Dennis’s hand slipped up underneath his shirt, palm coming to rest over his warm, flushed chest. Mac’s heart was still beating, underneath all the layers of skin and bone and fat. Dennis closed his eyes.

Mac’s arm tightened around him, just barely. Dennis breathed out and tried to sleep.

Lines got blurred. Was he just stroking his hair, touching his back, watching him that closely as a friend? Getting matching t-shirts and going out for Mexican food and trying to score drugs to get high together as roommates? Ever since Mac had accused him of not acting normal around him, the thought worried at the back of his brain like it was chewing quietly away at his sanity. A nagging, persistent headache.

“I don’t love you,” Dennis said bitterly to his bedroom ceiling, punch drunk on glue with Charlie and Mac’s hand on his back and lots and lots of tequila. The room never stopped spinning, not even when he closed his eyes.

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

But Dennis was afraid. Because Mac was getting careless in his age, giving in to his impulses more and more, and losing control — all his fat proved that — and if he started to slip up from the careful charade they were always putting on for one another nowadays, Dennis didn’t know what he’d do. If anything, the fact of the charade itself, all the careful distance they had and how things still hadn’t gone back to how it was before that fucking play of Charlie’s, was enough to prove that Mac still wanted him on some level. If Mac kept on the path he was going on, Dennis didn’t see what would stop him from trying something and making a move, and he knew he couldn’t do that shit with him again. He was so fucking tired.

Sometimes, he was glad he’d pretended for so long to have a thick skin even when it wasn’t true, because it made it a hell of a lot easier to grow one now that he needed it. Because he was going to stop them from hurtling down this fucking path at any cost. He was too exhausted, and pissed off, and bitter to do it all again. If Mac’s arms were getting tired of holding up the wall between them, then goddamn it, Dennis would just have to do it himself.

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

And then Mac grabbed his shoulders and tried to kiss him.

Every other time before that was suddenly on a reel, going through and through his head. Mac and Dennis high on the thrill of performing and kissing, the first time, in the apartment after Charlie’s dumb play (Mac and Dennis obsessing about it, later, back in their separate rooms with time to think it over. Looking at each other for a month after that with that same glint in their eyes and not doing a fucking thing about it, then giving in with zeal and absolutely no self-control). Mac and Dennis hurried and surreal, getting into character to sell houses. Mac and Dennis fumbling off their clothes, working Dennis out of a thong after their merchandising plans worked too well on each other. Mac and Dennis angry in the bar bathroom, furious that Dennis had kicked him out and that Mac had gone so willingly and it had all gone to shit anyway.

And then nothing, a long and severe drought, until this moment when Mac leaned in and Dennis reared away, staring. His heart fucking pounding in his chest.

Mac didn’t seem fazed at all, for all it must have taken him to pluck up the courage in the first place. Maybe he had expected this. Maybe he had been thinking about it for a while and then he had done it and he didn’t care about the outcome, he was just thrilled to have gone through with trying at all. His bravery, a good enough reward.

Dennis didn’t know. Numbly, he let Charlie wrap his arm around his shoulders.

“He just tried to kiss me,” Dennis said. His head felt blank. His head was spinning.

“Yeah, he did a little bit.”

Charlie pulled Dennis along and he felt, as he felt too often nowadays, in control of nothing. Not even his own mind.

It didn’t come up again for one day. Twenty-four whole hours for Mac to think that things were fine, and for Dennis to think that things couldn’t get any worse.

It was supposed to make things better, it was supposed to solve it.

Dennis found him in the back of the bar, messing around with something on the computer. He stopped when Dennis came in, and looked up at him.

“What’s up?” Mac asked, but idly, like he didn’t sense the impending storm that was coming.

Dennis just stood there in the doorway, staring at him furiously. God, he felt hot all over. Sometimes — a lot of the time, actually — he really goddamn hated him.

Mac raised his eyebrows when Dennis continued to just stand there, looking at him and breathing hard and going steadily redder in the face. Then, like he wasn’t afraid of him at all, Mac turned back to the computer and started tapping away at the keyboard again. Whatever he was cooking up must have been really important.

Being ignored finally snapped him out of it. He strode forward until he could lean over the desk, and he grabbed both of Mac’s wrists and pinned them hard down to the desk.

“Ow!”

Mac looked up at him for real finally. His eyes were wide and innocent. So fucking goddamn clueless. Jesus Christ.

Dennis ducked his face close.

“What the fuck, man?” he hissed.

“What the fuck me?” Mac struggled to free his hands and managed to shake off Dennis’s grip on him. Dennis stood up and put his hands on his hips, watching him. “What the fuck you! What are you doing, dude? You just come in here and start attacking me—”

Oh. Maybe it wasn’t hate making him run hot after all. Or at least not only that.

***********

“That’s bullshit! You go home with chicks all the time, dude,” Mac said, pointing accusatorily at him. Dennis wanted to bite back that he hadn’t done that in a while, but somehow saying that wouldn’t feel any more like winning than letting Mac believe this did. Besides, they were in the middle of the goddamn street and he didn’t feel like arguing the point in front of a busy burger joint. “So sometimes I get drunk and think you’re a chick or something, so what? That doesn’t mean anything about me, you know, or about us—”

This fight was not new. If fights could go stale, then this one would have hit its expiration date at least six times over.

Mac, in late October: “Bro, I am the straightest dude you will ever meet. Yeah, I’ve seen your balls, but I mean like — Who hasn’t seen your balls? I think all of Philadelphia has seen your balls. They look weird and besides, you had your mouth on mine last.”

Mac, early December: “I am not spending Christmas with you because it’s a romantic holiday, Dennis. We used to go skiing, yeah, but that’s when your parents were paying for all of our shit. It was purely a financial decision — and besides, I deserved that! High school blew, dude, of course I’m gonna jump on a chance to go to the Poconos if some rich schmuck offers.” (Mac spent Christmas curled up on Dennis’s lap in front of their favorite holiday movies from their childhood, drinking hot chocolate with too many marshmallows and letting Dennis lick the taste of whipped cream out of his mouth, the same exact way that he had a few Christmases before.)

Mac, January first: “My New Year’s resolution is to finally get a girlfriend. It’s time I spread my seed and preserve my legacy.”

Mac, now: “—we are not a fucking couple!”

“I never said that we were!” Dennis shouted back, and goddamn it. He hadn’t wanted to get pulled back into this stupid fucking conversation in the first place, but here he was. Just like always. “I just said that it’s fucking annoying for you to ditch our dinner plans just because some girl implied that she might be willing to suck your dick later!”

“And if you had your way, I would never get my dick sucked ever again.”

Mac crossed his arms. Dennis rolled his eyes, reaching out to shove at him.

“Don’t be fucking dramatic,” he said. “I don’t care who’s sucking your dick. If a blowjob is a good enough reason to ditch me, then whatever. I’ll suck your goddamn dick later if it’s that important to you.”

He didn’t even mean it, which was the stupid thing. Yeah, he probably was going to end up blowing Mac later, or at least jerking him off or something, because that’s what tended to happen when they went out to nice dinners and got drunk on good wine. That’s what happened when Dennis dropped a ton of money reserving a table, and then even more on whatever lobster or steak Mac felt like shoving multiple pounds of down his throat. That’s what happened every fucking month.

Now, it wasn’t looking so much like that’s how their night was going to go, which was just fine with him anyway.

“Are you gay, dude?” Mac hissed, scandalized. “Are you like, gay for me?”

“What?” Dennis said. “No, I’m not gay for you, you fucking idiot. I like women. I didn’t mean I’d blow you later, I just meant—”

He had to start watching his mouth. Mac wouldn’t get a joke about Dennis blowing him if it came down from Heaven on a beautiful woman’s shoulders wearing a big sign around her neck that read: I mean this as heterosexually as I possibly can! Dennis could say that he wanted to watch Mac bleed out in a vat of boiling water, and Mac would probably take it better than a joke about Dennis going down on him.

“Well…Well, good,” Mac said shakily. He dragged a hand over his face. “I don’t want to star in your weird homo dreams.”

“I don’t have weird homo dreams about you!” Dennis hissed, leaning in toward him so that they could lower their voices as they argued. People passing by were beginning to stare. “I just—”

“But you want to bang me?”

“Holy shit, that’s not what this is about!” Dennis said. “Can’t you be normal about this for five fucking seconds? I didn’t mean it, okay? I’m not going to go anywhere near your dick, I promise you! I just already put down a lot of money on this table and canceling this close to the reservation is another thirty bucks, already, Jesus Christ—”

“Fine, whatever,” Mac spat, holding up his hands. “I’ll cancel my date and go to fucking dinner with you. God.”

“Great,” said Dennis furiously. “Fantastic. I can’t wait.”

He backed off, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets instead and scowling at the sidewalk. Sometimes winning arguments with Mac felt a lot like losing them.

“Great,” Mac echoed.

Dennis scuffed at the ground with the toe of his shoe for a long while. He refused to look at him, but he could still hear it a few moments later when Mac sighed.

“I guess we should go home, then,” said Mac in a low, pissed off voice. “I have to get dressed now or whatever.”

“Whatever,” Dennis said.

They set off down the street toward their apartment, several inches of space between them the whole entire time. Dennis curled his hands into fists by his sides and tried to remember how to breathe.

*********

Dennis left Philly because he thought that’s what he wanted to do. He came back because he knew it’s what he needed to do. It wasn’t a choice any more than it had been to pull Mac into his lease, any more than that small and tentative thing with Charlie had been, any more than having his twin sister always around. It needed to happen so the long monotony of days could hit a bump and find another path to trundle down for a while.

**********

>in s13

There was rot within him like a dead tooth. He didn’t know how far down it stretched, and he didn’t know where the heart of it was rooted. He didn’t know when it had sunk into him or why or how many tendrils it had spread out to touch every other aspect of himself, turning them rotten and ugly and just as dead, but it was there. It wasn’t a question of healing so much as it was one of turning back time.

He didn’t know where the ugly parts began, or even where they ended. What was making him so tense and frantic and close to exploding all the time? He could make a list of the things that made him angry, but he’d never know the reasons. His dad; Mac, touching him; Dee looking at him like she thought she knew him; Charlie acting like his brain was half as developed as Dennis’s, or like he could provide any coherent analysis on Dennis’s mental state; a dusty bottle of medication on the bathroom shelf; recently, sex; eating too much, or not eating enough; his own reflection. There was nowhere he could find that would fix that trapped, clawing feeling. Nothing he could do to start to make it go away.

“Dennis?” He looked up into Mac’s open, curious face. “I said there’s a Rocky marathon on TV.”

How do you unrot a tooth? Easy. You pull it out and replace the space with filling. And when the porcelain, or the gold, or the amalgam, or the booze and women and sleepless nights don’t work? You tear out the whole tooth and put in a new one. How do you unrot a person?

Mac was looking up at him, worrying his lower lip in his mouth. Dennis looked at him for a long while before he swiped his hand over his face and sighed.

“I’m going to bed,” he said tonelessly.

He felt Mac staring after him, his expression unreadable when it never had been before, long after he shut his door between them.

[motorclit]

I am gonna do something I've never done before.

I'm going to let my hair grow out some and rock the kind of chelsea cut where it's a little long in the back. I'm also going to try and embrace my natural hair color (so dark brown it kinda passes for black).

With the way my hair is now, I'll leave the faded red in. As it grows out (especially with the bangs), I'll trim it to keep the fringe.

I've actually got several grey hairs and my goal later in life is to accumulate enough grey hairs so that way I will never ever have to bleach my hair in order to get green or purple hair.

Anytime I've tried getting a cool-toned color to stay in my hair, it always fails. My hair accepts ONLY warm tones. Nothing else.

Another reason I'm embracing my natural hair color is because hair due can be expensive, especially if it fades too quick or something.

I'm not gonna let it get TOO LONG in the back, but we'll see how this goes. I've never been able to cope with long hair and my hair is super curly/wavy in dumb ways that short hair can be difficult to have, too.

I miss having a mohawk, but bed-head makes the fuck-up permanent until I shower again and I don't always have the time or energy for that before having to go anywhere.

I also can't style my hair because not only do I lack the dexterity, but my hair will not obey the strongest gels or hairspray. Ever.

So far, I haven't had too much of a problem with some variants of the chelsea cut. So I guess I'm gonna stick with it.

[luminarot]

Fragile hope plants its roots in the heart of a dreamer, long-dormant and decayed, now one with the earth; it grows leaves when the stranger hesitates, budding anticipation as they search their surroundings for the whisper. Already, it's an improvement to be heard like this, but when the stranger actually answers? When they not only hear him, but ask so kindly for his name?

Well, it's like the dawn has finally touched his face.

"Really? You can?" Patrick exclaims, floating a little higher in his excitement. "Far out!" He's grinning so wide his cheeks ache, the world glowing brighter around the shape of what he used to be — but still, they keep looking through him, searching the forest for something that he's not. "My name's Patrick Robbins, but you can call me whatever floats your cosmic boat, y'know? Patch, Artie, little robin... it's all groovy." Really, they can call him anything; as long as they keep talking, Patrick's happy to go with the flow.

"I like your flowers. What's your name?"

Almost as soon as he asks, the stranger’s eyes finally settle; squinting at first, then sharp in focus, staring straight at him like he's still made up of flesh and bone. ( or at least, he thinks, as close as it can get. ) His brows shoot upward, disappearing beneath shaggy fringe as he holds his breath — but the stranger doesn’t look like they’re afraid at all. They’re smiling, tilting their head at him before they go back to their quiet foraging like they haven’t just seen a ghost.

Patrick nearly falls over in his haste to join them. “No fooling,” he breathes, laughing as he stumbles. “This is, like, unreal!” He can’t stop grinning, joy bubbling up and bursting in his cheeks; someone can see him, finally, finally, and they’re not like anyone he’s ever met. He wants to know everything, to speak and listen instead of just observe — and he doesn’t want to waste a single second. ( He always was curious. Maybe loneliness has made him the insatiable sort. )

The question of his character makes him stop short, crouched nearby with his hands raised lazily in the air. “Peace and love, man, all good vibes.” He taps the buttons pinned to his jacket, pretending he can still feel a racing heart beneath. “But, like… the campers really dig scary stories.”

He can’t touch the mushrooms, or the pretty petals dotted through the leaves, but he admires them all the same. Or at least, he does until the stranger stands again, and he follows them to their feet — eager and full of too much energy, floating just a few inches above solid ground. Strangely enough, in the next second, he falters: glazing over as he turns away, something troubled and distant at his fingertips. “I’m having a bad trip,” he answers, then smiles anyway. The whole of him seems to flicker, as if fighting not to fade. “What about you?”

And just like that, all the excitement floods back to him, curiosity bringing back from the dead what life could not. He’s never met anyone who dressed like them before, and even their tattoos look way different than those he’s glimpsed in his travels — so he has to ask, much in the same way, forever eager to hear another story. “You don’t look like a camper.”

Francis freezes mid-step, their hand still hovering over a cluster of mushrooms. The light catching on their rings flickers as they turn, dark eyes scanning the forest for the source of the voice. The rustling of leaves and the faint snap of twigs seem louder now, more deliberate, as if the woods themselves are holding their breath.

The sunlight filters through the trees in patches, painting the ground with gold and shadow. Francis adjusts the satchel at their hip, its strap digging into the fabric of their trousers. They feel the weight of the mushrooms they’ve already collected, but now, there’s a different weight in the air.

"Yeah, I hear you," Francis calls out, their voice even but tinged with curiosity. They straighten, their coiled hair tied high and tight catching the stray light. The delicate white flowers they’d plucked earlier are tucked into the strap of their bag, their stark contrast against the deep black of their outfit almost laughable now. “ Who am I talking to? ”

They feel a chill, not entirely unpleasant, but definitely out of place in the warm afternoon. Their boots crunch against the underbrush as they pivot, scanning the horizon for... something. Anything. Their muscles tense.

Then they see him—sort of. Patrick's outline comes into focus slowly, like a watercolor bleeding into canvas. His outfit is colorful, strange, and so at odds with the muted tones of the forest floor that Francis raises a curious brow. It wasn't uncommon for Francis to be able to be in tune with nature. Spirits were sort of the same thing in that respect.

“Well, this is new,” Francis says, tilting their head, the ribbon in their hair tossing slightly. They smile, the corners of their mouth lifting in a way that’s more intrigued than afraid.

“So, you a friendly spirit, or am I about to end up in some grim urban legend? ” They crouch back down, plucking another mushroom and slipping it into their satchel. Despite the nuanced accent they carried in their voice, they water down the Spanish in their voice.

Francis stands again, hands on their hips, their jewelry catching the faint rays of sunlight. “So, what’s your story ?”

[haadeswrites]

Elysium

god this fic took forever i’m so sorry!! but hey, first fic on the new blog! <33 also y’all should really thank @iwaasfairy who listened to me complain about this fic for a solid month, she’s the reason it got finished

Cult leader Oikawa Tooru x female reader

tw: indoctrination, extremely dubious consent, blood, yandere themes, religious themes, minor character death, implied abuse & drug use, mild smut, nsfw

The island itself is breathtaking

Pristine beaches with gleaming white sand, vast swathes of lush, green rainforest and waterfalls that cascade into shimmering pools of crystal clear water. Untouched, undisturbed; a paradise. At least, that’s how Ryuji had described it. 

Paradise, but only in the sense that a gingerbread cottage in the middle of the woods is paradise to a lost and hungry child. 

He hadn’t been wrong. Bare feet sink into soft, white sand as you climb from the boat - the warmth just toeing the line between pleasant and burning. Gentle waves ebb and flow behind you, and there’s a light breeze that kisses your skin, the taste of seasalt carrying in the wind. Home, it seems to sing.

A laugh sounds somewhere in the distance, yet the only other figure on the beach is a man walking steadily towards you. He smiles when he sees you’ve noticed him; friendly, non-threatening. It’s a far cry from the swarming welcoming committee you’d been dreading, and you wonder if that’s somehow intentional as well. 

As the boat pushes back out to sea he comes to a stop before you, “I’m Makki,” he says, pushing the fringe of his hair back and giving you a not-so-subtle once over. Whatever he sees must meet approval, because his grin only widens, “Welcome to the Commune.”

Ryuji wasn’t wrong; the island is a beautiful, deadly thing.

—

You’d never heard of the Commune before the phone call. 

And maybe that shouldn’t be so surprising. You’ll be the first to admit you’re hardly an expert, but from what you do know, groups like the Commune – cults – don’t spring up out of thin air and start broadcasting their mistreatment and systematic abuse. 

They’re not the kind of people that have sweet old ladies clutching their pearls and mothers shepherding their children away – at least, not in the beginning. Not entirely. They’re not out to recruit extremists to further their cause, they choose to prey on the vulnerable, the lost and the disillusioned. Those easily manipulated. You suspect that’s why when you google the Commune, all you find is a website for what essentially looks like a long term luxury wellness retreat.

‘The Commune is about healing and harmony, about returning to nature, supporting one another to forge a brighter, more holistic future together… a self-sufficient community living apart from technology and other evils of modern society.’ 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you scroll through. There’s a whisper of philosophical teachings woven throughout, a page dedicated to their founder, Oikawa Tooru – smiling handsomely in every single picture, because what would a burgeoning cult be without a charismatic leader – but there’s not enough.

So here you are, on an island hundreds of miles away from home living amongst strangers; because Ryuji wouldn’t have sounded so terrified if this was just some alternate, free-loving bunch of hippies.

And even with all that he’d told you, everything you thought you’d be prepared for, the Commune is like nothing you could’ve imagined. 

Makki introduces you to Asuka, a woman only a few years older than yourself, dark haired and stunningly beautiful, and winks as he tells her to take you under her wing. She smiles brightly, eyes twinkling, and pulls you into a heartfelt hug – as if you’ve known each other your whole lives.

“We’re so glad you’re here!” she beams.

You’d like to hate her. 

It feels like you're supposed to, sometimes; when she gets that dreamy look in her eyes and starts talking about Oikawa and the Commune and how lucky everyone here on the island is. Yet there’s something about her – the genuine warmth she emanates maybe, or the kindness in her eyes – that makes it difficult for you not to like her.

“You should come to the gathering tomorrow,” she hums idly one afternoon, maybe a week or so after your arrival. The two of you are sitting on the edge of the pier, legs dangling down into the water, tangled fishing nets to be repaired strewn between you.

“I always go,” you reply.

She laughs, fixing you with a knowing look, “And sit right at the very back, all but running off the moment we finish?” 

And your traitorous heart skips a beat. 

“It’s okay to take things slowly,” she says. “We understand that being a part of the Commune is a big change from the life you knew, and that not everybody is able to see what we see and embrace those changes.” 

Asuka sets down the knot she’s working through and reaches for your hand, a gentle smile on her face, “But you shouldn’t be afraid. You’re meant to be here, I can feel it. You just need to stop fighting against it; surrender yourself to us, to the island, and everything’ll make sense, I promise.”

It’s dangerous territory. One wrong word could set off alarm bells, yet you can’t help pressing just a little.

“Do you ever miss it, then? Life outside the Commune?” 

Your family. Friends. The life you left behind before you came here to be brainwashed like all of the others.

“Why would I?” she answers without missing a beat, and it’s hard to ignore the bitter flicker of disappointment you feel at her answer. “The island provides for us, we don’t have to spend our days selling off tiny pieces of ourselves just to make ends meet. It’s paradise here, and we have Oikawa to thank for that. Why would I ever want to go back?”

Silence falls between you as you struggle to think of something to say to salvage the situation. Yet Asuka isn’t even looking at you, instead staring out at the water with a strangely pensive expression. 

“Did you know I was married once?” The words seemingly out of the blue, you can only shake your head. For a moment, she doesn’t reply, watching as the waves rise and crash offshore. And then;

“I was young, eighteen or so, fresh out of high school and he was a small town cop.” Her eyes flicker to yours, and your heart clenches at the sadness and pain echoing there. “I thought he was a good man, once upon a time.”

A chord strikes deep, your chest tightening involuntarily at her words. It’s not the same, of course it’s not the same, and yet… 

No. You stop the errant thought in its tracks. Groups like the Commune prey on the vulnerable, you know this. People like Ryuji, like Asuka, like–

Her fingers squeeze around yours, pulling you back to the present. “Come to the gathering tomorrow. Listen to Oikawa, it’ll help.”

—

She doesn’t give you a choice in the matter – dragging you by the hand to sit right at the front of the gathered crowd that very night.

Oikawa’s handsomer up close; tall and dark haired with pretty eyes and long, sweeping lashes that frame delicate cheekbones, it’s not hard for you to see how a man like him has amassed such an impassioned following. 

Once he starts actually speaking, however, you realise that his good looks and charming smile are just the tip of the iceberg. Oikawa’s utterly captivating as he preaches about the cycle of life and death and the paradise that awaits his faithful. Passionate and engaging, he speaks like he truly believes every word of the lies he’s spreading. 

And Asuka, her friends, the others gathered, they eat up every word like it’s gospel truth, resounding cheers and thunderous applause deafening around you. In the midst of the rapturous din, Oikawa’s eyes flit to yours.

Slowly, he smiles – a dazzling grin that makes your stomach flip – and everything; Asuka, the noise, the others swarming around you, it all fades away.

For one electrifying heartbeat, you’re frozen in place. Just you and Oikawa, trapped in the pull of each other��s gaze.

—

You can’t forget the reason you came.

But it’s… difficult, in a way you struggle to understand. You only have one purpose for being here, one goal; find Ryuji and bring him home. 

And yet, some days it’s like there’s a fog in your mind, and you have to focus to remember why you’re here at all. You catch yourself laughing with Asuka and her friends, the days passing by in a blur of endless, easy distractions. 

It barely feels like work when you’re sitting under the shade of the trees, eating the fruits you’ve picked by hand – ripe and sweet, unlike anything you’ve ever tasted – diving off waterfalls into the crystalline water and meandering down the shore collecting seashells. Even when you are working, mending clothes or cooking with the others, it fills you with a sense of contentment you can’t quite explain. 

Like you’re a part of something bigger. Like you’re doing something that matters.

Ryuji becomes a distant thought. A whisper in the back of your head, a niggling in your gut, easily brushed aside and ignored until there’s a moment of quiet. In the dead of night, the balmy summer night’s breeze kissing your bare skin, you lie awake, lost in memories of the last time you’d seen him. 

Fists angrily pounding at your door, the yelling that gave way to sobs and the hoarse, desperate pleas that followed. Ryuji’s face; pupils blown wide and eyes rimmed in red, darting restlessly around as he held you too tight and begged–

Rolling over in bed, you gaze out your window at the star flecked sky, the shadows of the forest that lie at your doorstep, and wonder what it is that scares you more; that you’ve lost track of the days you’ve been here, and saving Ryuji is starting to feel like an afterthought, or that you could so easily forget all of it, find a place here in the Commune and be happy.

‘The island, it–it fucks with your head.’

Ryuji’d told you that, and you’d brushed it off as paranoia. You need to find him. Find him and get the hell outta dodge.

You can deal with the fallout later.

—

Kiyoshi. 

He’d mentioned the name a few times amidst his rambling – a friend of his on the island. You’re annoyed with yourself for not thinking of it sooner, however much like Ryuji himself, trying to focus and remember the name is like wading through thick mud.

Once you do, though, finding him amongst the hundred and fifty or so inhabitants is the easy part. 

There’s no strict division between genders within the Commune, however Kyoshi, despite his somewhat lean stature, is among the builders of the island and his path doesn’t often cross with yours. 

From Asuka you find out that he’s been a part of the Commune for years now, before even she joined, and that he mostly sticks to himself, though you’ve seen him chatting quietly to a few of the other men, a perpetually angry looking blonde in particular.

It’s the last part that piques her interest, “Why’re you so curious, anyway?” she asks, her face lighting up as a sudden thought occurs. “Do you want me to introduce you two? To be honest, I didn’t think he’d be your type, if you’re interested, though…”

Cheeks aflame, you’re quick to shut her down. “No, no, nothing like that. I’ve just… seen him around and we’ve never really spoken, I guess.”

A lame excuse, though mercifully she lets the subject drop without too much prodding.

Therein, of course, lies the problem. Walking up to Kyoshi and casually trying to drop Ryuji into the conversation without raising red flags is risky, but what other options do you have? You’ve already spent too much time on this island.

Although, maybe Asuka has the right idea. 

While you hadn’t been lying when you said you weren’t interested in Kyoshi in that way, nobody else knew that. Who would really look twice at the shy newbie striking up a conversation with the quiet, easygoing man? He wasn’t unattractive per se, and from the brief interactions you’d seen of him, he seemed kind enough.

You have enough patience (barely) to wait for dusk the following night. There’s a celebration, something about the full moon and a blessing on the island and the Commune– you hadn’t really been paying attention when Oikawa had spoken about it. Still, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. With the fire pits crackling, and the dancing and music and the sweet honey wine flowing freely, nobody will be paying too much attention to what you’ll be doing. Hopefully, the alcohol will also serve to lower Kiyoshi’s guard, and perhaps if you’re really, really lucky, loosen his tongue as well. 

Of course, you’re not banking on him telling you exactly where Ryu is or what happened to him– and that’s assuming he actually knows – but at this point you’ll take anything over the nothing you currently have. A tiny slip up, that’s all you’re asking for. 

As the sun descends beyond the horizon, you play your role well, laughing and chatting amongst friends, sipping carefully at the cup of wine in your hand as you wait for an opening. And perhaps it’s your nerves working against you, but you find that it’s not just Kiyoshi your attention is drawn to. 

Up on the shore, away from the rabble, Oikawa lounges back with a cup of the same honeyed wine you’re pretending to drink. For the most part he seems deep in conversation with Iwaizumi, his right hand, but every once in a while he glances up, letting his gaze roam over the crowd of his followers.

Every inch a king and his general.

And it would seem benevolent, if not for the strange smile he wears – the one that widens when his eyes catch yours.

Swallowing tightly, you force yourself not to dwell on it, to ignore the odd sensation curling in your gut and the way your skin prickles under his attention. Now is not the time to lose focus.

Pushing all thoughts of Oikawa aside, you subtly scan the beach once more, only to find that Kiyoshi’s moved, sitting now on a piece of old driftwood near the bonfire. Alone for the first time tonight. 

Your legs are moving before the thought even fully registers. 

“Do you mind if I sit?” you ask, gesturing to the empty space on the log beside him. 

Kiyoshi smiles, the laugh lines at corners of his eyes crinkling pleasantly, and shakes his head, “Not at all.”

“Thanks.”

Taking another sip of your wine, you will your shoulders to relax, your racing pulse to slow. This has to seem natural, and so you force yourself to hold your tongue, let your head loll back and breathe deep, soaking it all in. You can hear the others in the distance, the music and the dancing, the happy laughter and shouts that beckon – you want to go join them. Even your blood seems to hum, a call of something other pulsing through your veins.

But you pay it no mind. There are more important things to worry about tonight. 

Indeed, steel blue eyes have been appraising you curiously for a while now. “This is your first Lunar blessing, isn’t it?” Kiyoshi asks after a moment.

You nod, humming in agreement. Less than a month; you’ve been here less than a month. Is that a good thing?

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

A harmless enough question, and again you nod your head. “Yeah, it’s…” you pause, searching for words that won’t sound hollow. “It’s paradise. I feel like I need to pinch myself just to make sure it’s real.”

He smiles gently. “But?” he probes.

Grimly, you wonder whether Kiyoshi’s usually this perceptive, or if you’re just a really terrible actor. In a way, you suppose it really doesn’t make a difference; you’ve come too far to turn back now – at least not without raising suspicion. 

So you lie with a truth, and pray that it works.

“I had a friend I was supposed to meet here,” you confess quietly, gazing not at him but the crackling flames of the bonfire, the burning embers carried off into the night. “He was the one who said I should come, but now I’m here and he’s not and every time I catch myself enjoying this–”

“You feel guilty,” he surmises, cutting you off. “Because he’s not here to enjoy it with you.”

Wordlessly, you nod – and maybe it isn’t so much of an act when your eyes begin to glisten, your smile wavering. 

Kiyoshi’s silent for a moment, and you take another sip of the honey wine to hide your nerves. “You shouldn’t, you know,” he says eventually. “Feel guilty, I mean. You belong here, with the Commune. You’re happy here. Paradise… isn’t for everybody.”

He doesn’t say it to be cruel, more like he’s simply stating a fact, and somehow that makes it all the more unnerving. And it’s nothing you haven’t listened to Oikawa preach about time and time again. The Commune is for the devoted, the faithful – the lucky few – and you’ve never thought too hard about what he’d meant by that.

The Commune’s small, maybe a hundred and fifty or so people on the island. There’d been no initiation, no test of faith or trial period you’d had to pass when you arrived – at least, none that you’d been aware of. You simply stepped off the boat and they’d welcomed you with open arms. 

An uneasy sensation settles into your gut, goosebumps prickling at your skin despite the heat of the midsummer night. 

That… doesn’t make sense. It can’t. Absolute control’s too important in groups like this, they couldn’t just let anyone–

Kiyoshi speaks again, his calm voice pulling you from your thoughts. “What was his name?” 

You blink at him slowly – stupidly. “Sorry?”

“Your friend,” he clarifies. “What was his name?”

“Oh, um- Ryuji.”

Kiyoshi’s brow furrows in thought for a moment, but he merely shakes his head, “Doesn’t ring a bell, but like I said, not everyone who arrives stays with us for long.”

He looks you right in the eye as he says it.

You don’t understand the cold, foreboding that seeps through your veins, because he’s lying. He has to be. 

Ryuji was here. They were friends, Ryu’d told you that–

Why did you think this stupid plan would work anyway? That he’d tell you anything, much less the truth when this whole fucked up island is full of liars and those too indoctrinated to know the difference?

“You alright?” he asks when abruptly, you shoot to your feet beside him.

And it takes every ounce of willpower you have left to force an easy smile to your lips, raising your cup just a fraction, “Yeah, just gonna go get a refill. Thanks for the talk, Kiyoshi.”

Whether he notices that your wine’s barely touched or not, you don’t care – not as you turn on your heel without another word and head back up the beach. 

Your head is pounding, your body trembling – you don’t hear the call of your name until a hand reaches out and grasps at your wrist, spinning you around.

Asuka greets you with a wide grin, Makki and a tall, broad shouldered man you think is called Mattsun standing either side of her – the former’s arm slung casually over her shoulder. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you,” she says. “Come on, we’re gonna go swimming, it’s so pretty out there!”

You glance out towards the ocean. Moonlight bathes the inky blue water, light shimmering off the rippling tide; some of the others are already out there, splashing amongst the waves. 

“Clothing optional, of course,” Makki laughs, and Asuka tugs on your wrist once more. 

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

But you shake your head, slowly pulling your hand from her grip, “I’m not feeling great, I think I’m gonna head back.”

Asuka frowns, concern marring her pretty features. “Are you okay? Do you need us to call Mizo–”

“No,” you say, cutting her off. Healer Mizoguchi is the last person you need to see right now. “I just– I just need to go lie down for a bit. You guys go have fun – enjoy the blessing, I’ll be fine.”

Makki and Asuka share a fleeting look, but it’s Mattsun who interjects before either one of them can speak, “I’ll walk you back, then.”

Your stomach churns. It doesn’t sound like a suggestion.

And the smart thing to do would be to accept his help; the walk from the beach to your villa isn’t far, and while you’re not as familiar with Mattsun as you are with Makki or Asuka, it’s not like he’s going to hurt you or anything, but–

“Really– you don’t need to, it’s fine,” you smile weakly, shuffling back as he reaches to offer you his arm. “Go swim, I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Mattsun shrugs easily enough, falling back into line with the other two – yet there’s something in the way he grins and holds your gaze for a beat longer. A glimmer of amusement, as if there’s some joke you're not a part of. “I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.”

The heat that floods your cheeks clashes uncomfortably with the cloying heaviness in your stomach, but somehow you manage to stutter out one last goodbye before turning back to scamper off in the direction of your room.

–But not to lie down.

There’s not a cloud in the sky, and the full moon’s bright. No need for a torch, not unless you decide to venture into the heart of the forest.

You’ve been a fool. Kiyoshi, Asuka, Makki, Mattsun; you can’t trust any of them to help you, even unwittingly. Ryuji’s here on the island – somewhere – and every second that slips away, every second that you allow yourself to forget puts him in further danger.

And so you cling to your discomfort, ground yourself in it. The prickling sensation at the back of your neck, the tightness in your chest as you slip past your villa, keeping low and quiet – they’re a reminder that there is something insidious here on the island, that you have to get out.

You and Ryuji.

He’s here. Away from the others, kept under lock and key as punishment, or maybe being forced to undergo whatever kind of glorified brainwashing they’ve got going on, but here. You need to be smart about this, because while you don’t intend to stop until you find him, tonight will be your best shot – while everyone’s distracted down on the beach. 

For the first time in a long time, it feels like you have a clear head. 

Creeping through the underbrush, you steer clear of the well trod pathways that lead towards habitation. You’ve been there, and to the docks, and the river. 

If they’re still keeping him here (and they are, you refuse to entertain the possibility that it could be otherwise) then it’s not somewhere out in the open. A bird cries out in the distance shattering the calm of the night, and you flinch – but it only serves as another reminder that your time tonight is limited; you cannot afford to delay. You wrack your brain, trying to dredge up memories of the last few weeks, surely you must have seen something–

“Lost?”

The single word, spoken in a deep, gruff voice has your blood running cold.

Slowly, you turn. 

Iwa stands behind you in the thicket, his face utterly impassive. Briefly, you contemplate whether it’s worth trying to bluff your way out of this, but Iwa’s eyes narrow, flashing in the dim light and you think better of it.

A sigh escapes you, your shoulders deflating. “Where is he– Ryuji?” you ask; a whisper rather than a demand.

Iwa’s expression gives nothing away. Did he know, or have you handed him the smoking gun of a crime that’d fallen through the cracks? Does it even matter anymore? You’re just–

You’re tired. 

Exhausted. In the space of a few moments all of that shining determination and resolve; it fled, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. This has to end, you can’t keep fighting against them forever. You can’t keep drowning in this guilt, feeling torn every second that you spend here on this stupid island. You just want to find Ryuji and go home.

… Right?

A tense beat passes as Iwa appraises you, and then; “Come with me.”

The hand he places on your shoulder doesn’t give you much choice. His grip isn’t what you’d describe as gentle, yet he’s careful enough to make sure you don’t trip or stumble as he marches you north. 

In the thick of the forest away from the beach, it’s eerily quiet. Every twig that snaps underfoot, every ragged breath you draw; it feels too loud. Out of place amongst the stillness of the midsummer night. 

And isn’t it ironic, that for the first time since you set foot in this paradise, you feel like you’re trespassing?

A bead of sweat trickles down from your temple and your mind unwittingly drifts back to Mattsun and Makki. Are they still swimming with Asuka? Probably, you reason. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly how long it’s been since you left them on the beach, but surely no more than an hour.

And strangely, like water drawn from the depths of a well, an image comes to mind; the four of you standing in the waves, you perched atop Mattsun’s shoulders, screaming and giggling in delight as Asuka tries to knock you down again, two sets of eyes watching from the shore… 

You should have stayed on the beach.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“You can ask,” he replies drily – humouring you, you suppose.

Your lips quirk upwards for the briefest of moments. “What happens on the Lunar blessing? Asuka, the others– no one told me what it was.” 

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer you immediately, but you feel his fingers reflexively tighten on your shoulder. Likely it wasn’t the question he was expecting; surely there were others that you could have asked – but you don’t really want the answers to those.

If you’re being led like a lamb to proverbial slaughter, what good would it do you to know it? 

And yet as the seconds pass and no answer seems forthcoming from your captor, you resign yourself to the fact that your curiosity will remain unsated. You don’t even know what prompted you to ask in the first place; knowing Oikawa it’s probably some grand, meaningless spectacle. Pretty, hollow words spoken only to–

A heavy sigh draws you from your thoughts, and you falter in your step, almost tripping over your own feet in the process. Iwa’s quick to right you, urging you forward with a less than gentle nudge. “Walk straight,” he grunts, yet it lacks any true heat. Anticipation flutters through your veins, and he mutters a soft curse behind you. “Fine. It… it’s an exchange.” 

An exchange? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Your eyebrows draw together, mouth opening to press the matter, but Iwa beats you to the punch.

“You’ll find out for yourself soon enough, now shut up.”

You have no response to that, so you do.

—

The two of you walk in silence for what feels like hours. Eventually, the terrain becomes steeper, the worn path you’re treading twisting and winding, and you realise you must be close to the mountains at the heart of the island. 

As your breath comes in heavy pants, your legs beginning to ache, you can’t help but be lost in the beauty of it all.

The flora’s different here, unlike any you’ve seen before. Flowers bursting from the bark of towering trees, blooms of vibrant hues; reds and purples and soft, baby pinks. Even the vines at your feet curl amongst pretty white buds that gleam invitingly under the moonlight. Your jaw falls open as you gaze around in wonderment. 

You forget why you’re walking, where it is that you’re heading. Iwa’s grip relaxes as a quiet gasp escapes you, and he doesn’t stop you when you stray from the path to take a closer look. You can’t resist reaching out to touch the silken petals, leaning in to smell their perfume. Soft and light and sweet, your eyes flutter shut, a smile creeping across your visage. 

It reminds you of home. Not your actual home – the rundown, tiny shoebox apartment you gave up before you came here – but something deeper.

Home, like the long summer days spent playing in your parents’ backyard. Home, like afternoons curled up by the window, watching the rain come down in sheets outside. 

Home, like the comfort of arms wrapped around you; two hearts beating in sync.

“C’mon,” Iwa interrupts after a minute or so, his voice a touch less gruff. “We’re almost there.”

Dazed, you find yourself nodding, allowing him to guide you back to the path. This time, he doesn’t grab you by the shoulder, seemingly content enough to walk by your side. 

True to his word, it’s only another few minutes before you see it; a wooden villa, four times the size of your own and far, far grander, set amongst a clearing of trees on the mountainside. Confused, your eyes flicker from the villa to Iwa and back again. Gossamer curtains billow lightly in the breeze, a warm, inviting glow spilling from the open windows. Surely this cannot be where he meant to lead you… and yet he merely stands at your side, arms folded across his broad chest, watching you expectantly. 

“You gonna make me carry you up there?” he asks, not unkindly.

Swallowing tightly, you shake your head. 

Another glance, and you catch a shadow lingering by the window. Your heart skips a beat, apprehension curling in your gut as you begin to walk, every step feels less steady than the last. You’re almost glad when Iwa takes you by the arm; if only so that you have something to focus on other than the growing tightness in your chest. The villa, with its pretty flowers and airy, elegant grandeur is far from the isolated cell you’d been afraid of, yet the uncertainty of what you’re walking into eats at you all the same.

Is this where they’ve been keeping Ryu, or has he brought you here for another reason?

Nothing, however, can prepare you for what you find inside. Warm light emanates from lanterns that bathe the room, and your eyes widen as you stare around you.

Strange, gold carvings inlaid with mother of pearl decorate the thick, woodens support beams, a pot of incense burns on a table overflowing with fresh fruit. There’s a jug of the same honeyed wine you’d drank earlier in the night and two cups set on an ornate stand nearby – just within arms reach of one of the chaise lounges.

Iwa affords you little time to gape, drawing you further in. Silken tapestries hang from the walls – you’re pulled along too quickly to truly take note, but the brief glimpses you get hint at a story; a divine being cast from his home, lost and wandering.

It tugs at something buried within you, and uncomfortable, you tear your eyes away.

The two of you reach a closed door at the end of the hall, and Iwa pulls you to a stop, knocking once.

“Come,” a familiar voice calls.

You stiffen, though perhaps you should have foreseen this outcome. Who else would Iwa bring you to but to him? Distantly, you register his grip relaxing, the sound of the door sweeping open and his voice at your ear.

“Go on.”

And it’s funny, you think, how two halves of yourself can be so at odds with each other. Because while your stomach twists itself into knots, goosebumps prickling at your skin, your legs stumble forward of their own accord.

Two steps forward, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s a bedroom, that much you can deduce from the decor, but that’s not what captures your attention. Nor is it Oikawa, leaning against the bureau with a genial smile – at least not at first. 

No. In place of a back wall, there’s open space, not so much as a panel of glass obstructing the view before you. And what a view it is; from this height you can see the sprawling forest below, the coastline dotted with bonfires and the moonlit ocean shimmering beyond. Where the floorboards end, there are steps, you realise as you unwittingly inch closer, leading to a cascading spring – likely fed from the waterfall you can hear rushing nearby.

How easy it would be to brush aside your worries, you think, to shed your clothes, slip into the cool, calm water and lose yourself entirely. Even amongst all you’ve seen and experienced on the island so far, this is incomparable. 

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Oikawa murmurs, coming up behind you.

His voice startles you, yet when you turn, you find him not gazing out at the scenery but rather at you, that same strange, knowing smile curling at his lips.

“Some days, I admit, it’s hard to tear myself away,” he continues, unbothered by your stunned silence. “But even I can’t neglect my duties for too long.”

You swallow, tongue darting out to wet your lips. Confusion twists through you at the conversational tone, surely he hasn’t brought you here just to chat about the impressive views, yet there’s no hint of disapproval on his face, no indication that he’s anything less than pleased with you.

It’s unnerving to say the least, but you’ll play along with his game if that’s what Oikawa wants.

“Beautiful,” you say, though the words feel woefully inadequate even as you speak them.

He hums in agreement, something akin to pride flickers in his eyes at your assessment, “A labour of love, I suppose. But… everything you see here, everything I’ve built, it comes with a price. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry?” you stutter.

“Paradise,” he elaborates, his smile widening. “There’s no give without take. Those people down there,” he nods down at the beach, the tiny, ant-like figures still milling about, “the lost, the beaten, the abused – I gave them what they so desperately sought; a sanctuary. A life without struggle, without suffering.” He pauses for a moment, reaching forward to take your hand. You almost flinch, almost skitter across the room to put as much distance between you as you can, but you don’t–

His palm is warm as it envelops yours, a pleasant heat that seems to spread through your veins, easing your tense muscles. There’s nothing to fear from him, you’re safe with Oikawa.

“Aren’t you happy here?”

Yes.

“What about the price?” you ask instead, though it takes more concentration than it should to force the words out. 

Oikawa’s thumb sweeps along the back of your hand. “I never said it was your price to pay,” he soothes. 

There’s something wrong with that sentence, but another sharp knock at the door draws your attention before you can think too hard about it. You turn out of instinct, barely aware of the way his hand tightens fractionally around your own.  

A single finger at your jaw coaxes your attention back to him. “If you built a paradise, wouldn’t you give whatever necessary to ensure it flourished?”

Oikawa stares at you expectantly, deep brown eyes searching your face as he waits for an answer. Agreement would be the logical choice – the one he seems to want from you – but even as your lips part, the only sound that escapes is a breathless, confused noise. 

When you were a kid, maybe six or seven, your parents took you to the beach one day and you waded too far out into the water. The waves were bigger than you expected; all it took was one mistimed jump and you were dragged under.

It wasn’t for long, probably only seconds, and ultimately you were fine – but you remember those few seconds so vividly. The feeling of helplessly tumbling through the water, fighting to break the surface but not knowing which way was up. Your lungs crying out for oxygen, the disorientation and dizziness, the panic.

It feels like that now – like the floor’s dropped out from beneath you and you’re just hurtling through empty air, desperately trying to slow yourself down with nothing to grab onto.

None of this makes any sense. Your emotions are shot to pieces, too many parts of yourself being pulled in different directions and you’re not sure which ones you can trust anymore. How can you be? Oikawa’s still holding your hand, smiling at you, and you just want everything to stop for a second so you can right yourself and breathe–

The door opens.

Iwaizumi appears in your field of vision, dragging a bound, hooded figure behind him. And because this is all some big, cosmic joke, you get your wish. Both of them, actually. 

Time slows. 

Even with a burlap sack pulled over his head, you recognise the man Iwa shoves to the floor and sneers at. 

Hundreds of miles, weeks of uselessly traipsing around this fucking island, and finally– 

Finally, you’ve found Ryu.

There should be relief. Fear, considering his current state, yes, but Ryuji’s here and he’s alive and as the hood is ripped off his head Oikawa squeezes your hand and the only thing you feel is… anger.

Not a heated flash that surges through your blood. It’s slow and seething, insipid. You look at him, locked in place as empty, pleading eyes meet yours and all you can think is that all of this – everything – is his fault.

“Asuka told you why she came to me, didn’t she?” Oikawa asks.

Your brow furrows, why–why is he asking you that now, how did he even–

He slips closer behind you, letting your hand go in favour of your shoulder, his spare dragging lightly along the bare skin of your arm. “She was lost, in so much pain. The physical wounds, they heal after a while,” his voice is right in your ear, a low murmur that sends a shiver rippling down your spine.

It isn’t an unpleasant feeling.

“But the scars inside, well… sometimes those fester.”

Gagged and bound, kneeling at your feet, Ryu doesn’t even try to make a sound. 

He’s thinner than you remember. Face gaunt and bruised; there’s a half healed, mottled yellow one painted across the left side of his jaw, one eye purple and swollen. You glance at Iwa, standing stoically behind him, muscular arms folded across his chest. His work, you wonder, or others as well? You notice the tear tracks running down his face, catching the light of the lanterns, but it’s as if you’re seeing it all through a thick pane of glass. None of it reaches you, there’s nothing but that simmering, ugly feeling in your gut.

Oikawa hums, “I told you that Paradise wasn’t for everyone. It’s a haven, yes, but there are those who simply… don’t belong.”

His body’s so warm, pressed up against yours. Fingertips graze along your side, and this time you don’t bother biting back that tiny, breathless moan. Iwa briefly smirks at it, but there’s no embarrassment. Why should there be? Your eyes flit back to Ryu, bowed on the wooden floor.

Another memory resurfaces; A sharp crack and a ringing in your ears, Ryuji, eyes bloodshot and glazed, falling to his knees, clutching frantically at the leg of your pants as endless apologies spill from his lips. 

It wasn’t him. It was never him. 

“He hurt you,” Oikawa purrs. “He kept hurting you, I saw it.”

The words wash over you like waves breaking on the shore, but you find yourself nodding anyway. It was the truth, wasn’t it? A thousand tiny hurts, piled up on one another until you finally broke.

And you’d still come when he’d called.

Listened to him when he’d begged you not to hang up the phone.

“Iwa.” 

The brunet moves towards a grand chest of drawers pushed up against the western wall. An ornate dagger sits atop, strange and beautiful; the blade isn’t steel or any metal you’ve seen before, but some kind of black stone, the handle intricately carved ivory. You hadn’t even noticed it before, Oikawa’s room filled to the brim with odd trinkets and treasures, but now that you have, it’s hard to tear your eyes away.

Iwa takes it and carries it over towards the two of you, holding it with the utmost care. 

“Obsidian,” Oikawa informs you as he accepts the blade from his friend, bringing it in front of you both to show it off. “Pretty, isn’t it?” And while you can’t see his face, you can hear the smile in his tone.

He isn’t wrong though. 

Ever so carefully you reach out, the soft pads of your fingertips running along the obsidian surface, surprisingly cool to the touch. The razor sharp edges – wavy and asymmetrical, leading to a tapered point – you’re careful to avoid, almost positive you’d draw blood with the slightest touch. 

“Take it,” he urges, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. 

Obediently, you turn your hand over, your fingers wrapping around the hilt when he presses it against your palm. And as long fingers curl around yours, you idly wonder how old the dagger is – there’s not so much as a scratch on it, yet there’s something about the weapon in your hand that feels ancient. It thrums under your combined touch.

Oikawa jerks his chin at Iwa, and with a short nod and one last, lingering glance cast your way, the latter exits once again. 

Leaving you and Oikawa alone with Ryuji.

“It’s almost time,” he remarks – though time for what, you’re not entirely sure. His lips press against your hair, his arm dropping from your shoulder to your waist, drawing you flush against him. “I know why you came to me, the lies that led you here.”

Both of you turn your attention back to Ryuji at that, the bound man now shaking with the force of his muffled sobs, snot dripping from his nose. That bitter resentment rears its ugly head again, soothed only by Oikawa’s pacifying hum, his thumb now rubbing slow circles at your side. “Shh, I’m not angry – none of that matters now. You’ve found a home here, no? You want to stay on the island with me.”

You swallow, nodding your head rapidly. The thought of having to leave now, of being forced out after everything you’ve seen and felt and experienced here, you– you can’t fathom it. You don’t want to. 

Ryuji’d wrought so much damage, but even before he’d swept through your life… had you ever been happy? Were you ever truly accepted – or loved, for that matter?

You can’t go back to that life. You won’t; he’ll have to drag you kicking and screaming from the shore. The Commune is your home, this is where you belong. Here, with Oikawa.

“Good girl,” he croons, another kiss pressed to the crown of your head. You beam at the praise and Ryuji crumples a little further. “Death begets life, you understand now, don’t you?”

You glance at the obsidian dagger in your hand and then at Ryu, beaten and bruised, bowed in forced supplication before you, and nod.

His fingers tighten around yours, “Then do it.”

Leaning forward, you reach for Ryu, fingers lightly trailing down his ruined cheek, curling at his chin to coax his head upwards. He squeezes his eyes shut, pain and regret etched over every inch of his face, but he doesn’t fight you. 

Baring his throat to your dagger, Ryuji’s pleas take the shape of your name.

Muffled, thanks to the gag, but unmistakable. And for one single moment, you falter. 

This… this is wrong; for all his faults, and god knows there were plenty, Ryu didn’t des–

A wave of calm washes over you, allaying your fears, your doubts. Your breath leaves you in a heavy gust, taking with it the tension in your shoulders, and Oikawa’s voice, smooth and honeyed, reaches your ears once more, “Nothing comes without a price, doesn’t he deserve to be the one to pay it?”

With your hand still tucked inside of his, your arm moves with a will of its own; slashing with inhuman grace.

The dagger cuts deep, Ryuji’s eyes snapping open in shock as a spray of warm blood hits you both. He chokes – a horrid, wet, gurgling sound – wide, pleading eyes frantically shifting between you and Oikawa. Every beat of his failing heart sends fresh blood spurting from the gaping wound. It drenches his front, splatters across your dress, your face, crimson pooling at the wooden floorboards at his knees. His mouth falls open and shut, trying and failing to form coherent sounds and you just stand there and watch, the dagger hanging limply at your side.

It doesn’t take long; seconds at the most. 

Ryuji’s slumps to the floor, his body finally growing still as the light fades from his eyes. There’s a beat of absolute silence, and then–

Oikawa shudders behind you, a strangled, drawn out moan leaving his lips. You try to turn, but his arms lock around you, every muscle tensing, his back arching. The dagger in your hand grows hot, burning the soft skin of your palm, but with his fingers still tightly entwined with yours you can only whimper and endure it.

With a hoarse, guttural roar, a pulse of pure energy surges through the room like a shockwave. Every cell in your body lights up, electrified, buzzing; a dizzying euphoria unlike any you’ve felt before coursing through your blood. 

Across the island, voices cry out in delight, a symphony of life. The trees tremble and shake, invigorated and renewed, fresh buds bursting from the forest floor, blooming under the light of the full moon.

The harvests flourish, even the river swells in response to the call.

Death begets life, just as he promised.

And with every inch of your body alight and singing with pleasure, you can barely think much less protest (and why would you want to?) as Oikawa roughly yanks you around, hungry lips crashing against your own as his fingers pull and tear at your bloodstained dress. He wastes no time with foreplay, and you suspect only begrudgingly takes a moment to hoist you up against him and carry you to his bed.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he hauls your hips to his, sheathing his cock inside of your warm, tight cunt with one savage thrust, but you don’t care.

Not as you cling to him, fingernails raking along his shoulders as he presses your thighs further apart so he can fuck you deeper. It’s hard and rough and brutal, yet you moan for him all the same, his name a prayer swallowed up by feverish, claiming kisses.

Tonight, bathed in blood and the soft glow of moonlight, you offer your god everything.

—

“Look, look!” 

A small hand tugs at your skirt, and you glance down to find a little girl with pretty, dark curls holding up a crown of woven flowers.

“Do you like it?” she asks. 

Carefully, you take it from her, bringing it closer to examine. She watches you intently as you study it, lifting it this way and that to appraise her work, humming thoughtfully for good measure. “I think it’s beautiful work,” you tell her after a long enough pause, and you can’t help but smile at the way she lights up, preening under your praise. “Why don’t you go show your mama? I’m sure she’ll be very impressed.”

The girl nods rapidly, thanking you before skipping off in the direction of her parents. The sun’s hanging low in the sky, the fires already being readied for the night ahead. You’re not unaware of the watchful gaze that carefully monitors your every move, and the moves of anyone who ventures too close by. Soon enough, you’ll return home to the heart of the island – anticipation fluttering in your belly at the thought of what awaits you – but for now, you let your feet sink further into the sand, closing your eyes as you bask in the lingering warmth of the setting sun.

At least until the sound of your name being called draws you back to the present. Yet it’s not Iwaizumi approaching, but rather Makki, two strangers trailing along behind him. 

“Thought I’d find you here,” he grins, throwing a casual arm over your shoulders. “This is Kaneo,” he gestures to the man, “and his wife Manaka. They arrived this morning, I’ve been showing ‘em round.”

You turn to the couple, smiling sweetly as you extend a hand, “Welcome to the Commune.”

[schmerzerling]

A saccharine, pointless fix-it fic, set post-15x19. Because you deserve it.

Dean doesn’t even make it down the stairs into the bunker before he’s already praying.

Dear Jack, who art in heaven, hope you’re eating your vegetables and wearing deodorant—being a noncorporeal celestial entity is no excuse not to—and, oh, could you please bring your dad back from black goo mega hell?

It seems a little selfish at this point to pray to Jack—kid just brought back the entire human race, so he could probably use a bit of a breather, but it can’t hurt to add just a little tick to his to-do list. Besides, maybe Dean’s earned being a little selfish. Maybe it’s finally Dean’s opportunity to cash in his “whoops, I killed your mom” favor with his wayward antichrist slash omniscient deity slash son.

He gets to the bottom of the stairs, tosses his bag down on the war room table, starts down the hallway toward his bedroom, and.

Oh. There’s Cas.

“It was the first thing he did,” Cas says, like he heard Dean’s prayer. He’s in the kitchen, looking consideringly between a frying pan and a recipe on his phone. From the smell of it, he could be making French toast, maybe, if French toast were black and hard and dense as a brick. “Well, after resurrecting all life on earth, I suppose.” Then Cas says, wistfully, like a proud father who’s just seen his son off to kindergarten, “I hope he’s having a good first day.”

His nose gets that—wrinkle it gets. Dean’s memorized that wrinkle. He knows that wrinkle, and yeah. That’s definitely his Cas filling his kitchen with toxic French toast smog.

“I got back early,” Cas continues, casual like he didn’t do anything more than dodge out of work at four to miss rush hour, “and I figured you and Sam would be hungry when you got home.”

Dean gapes like a fish, mouth open to gulp in toast fumes. Behind him, he hears Sam clang down the spiral stairs in the war room. When he hits the bottom step and clunks onto the concrete floor, he says, “Hey, what do you bet Chuck’s already knee deep in Naked and Afraid territory—”

He rounds the corner, sees Cas in the kitchen, and smiles like it’s his birthday. Then he looks at Dean briefly, uses two fingers under Dean’s chin to close his hanging jaw with an audible click-pop teeth-jowl combo, and flashes Dean a double thumbs up before he retreats quietly down the hallway.

Because he’s an asshole.

Cas looks up from the mess he’s making of Dean’s favorite pan and the nose wrinkle is still there, right above a sweet, wistful smile. He’s really fucking—cute. But he’s an asshole too. The absolute king of the assholes. Because the last time he saw Cas, saw Cas’s eyes, they were spilling over with tears that Dean put there, that loving Dean put there. They were wide and clear and almost reflective, so that Dean could see himself crying back, and so that Dean could see his own devastated face when he realized that Cas was saying goodbye a-fucking-gain. And the worst thing, the absolute worst thing about all that is that he’s smiling now like he was smiling then, like giving up his life for Dean makes him happy in the same way cooking Dean shitty French toast does.

Cas’s smile fades the longer Dean looks at him and doesn’t say anything, and Dean sees when the skittish uncertainty starts taking him over.

“Dean. We can—I know…” He licks his perpetually chapped lips and huffs a quick, fortifying breath. “I didn’t mean to ‘make it weird.’”

He curls his fingers around air quotes when he says it, and a feeling of nostalgic fondness swells up inside Dean so fast it hurts his chest, bursts up against his throat to produce a noise that sounds suspiciously like a whimper. He’s the same fucking Cas he’s always been, Dean realizes. He hasn’t changed, just like Dean asked him not to all that time ago. So the only explanation for the paralyzing feeling of earnest affection bubbling up his throat like top-shelf sangria vomit is—

That Dean has. That Cas hasn’t changed, but he has cast a new light on everything he’s ever done, and now Dean can plainly see that their whole history is painted over in colorful shades of I love you. Dean knew it before, he thinks. That Castiel loved him. But there’s knowing, abstractly, and then there’s seeing and hearing. There’s believing. There’s recognizing that Cas has a secret smile, just for Dean. There’s internalizing his I love you until it buoys him, until it keeps his head above water long enough to see that maybe that secret smile means exactly what he always hoped it did, because maybe he’s been worth that secret smile all along.

Dean lurches clumsily forward, promptly forgetting the two steps that lead down into the kitchen. He trips over his own feet, straight into the kitchen island, with a disastrous clatter. Every spoon and spatula and pot and pan hanging over the top of the island clatters. He can almost sense Sam listening from his bedroom, can almost hear him laughing about how Dean just went toe to toe with God, but one awkward blink of Cas’s baby blues turns him into an bumbling, lovestruck idiot.

Dean skitters around the island, straight into Cas’s space like Cas is always up in his. He says, “No, no,” desperately like that means anything, like he’s afraid Cas is going to disappear before he can make it clear. He breathes right into Cas’s mouth, sharing air like he can’t stand not to. Cas exhales softly as those fucking eyes flit worriedly over Dean’s face. He says, “Oh, Dean, you’re hurt—”

And Dean plants his lips right on Castiel’s.

It’s not much of a kiss. It’s chaste and subdued against the subtle background chime of settling pots and pans. But Cas brings up both hands to cup Dean’s cheeks, just gently, like he’s afraid of exacerbating wounds but can’t stand to let Dean pull away, either. And when Cas finally does pull back to look into Dean’s unfocussed eyes, the sense of beaming contentment that Castiel positively glows with pours directly into Dean through a long, lingering look.

It settles something tumultuous inside Dean. A quiet leaches down into his bones, nestles up against his heart like a purring kitten. And in the sudden silence of his scattered head, he can actually hear himself when he says, “I—I mean. You too. I do too. Love. You, I mean.” He almost ruins it by giving Cas his patented no-homo back pat, but he restrains himself at the last second. He finger-combs Cas’s fringe back from his wrinkled forehead instead.

He wasn’t expecting to say it, because he doesn’t say it, not even in the pathetic, fragmented way he just managed. And Cas clearly wasn’t expecting it either, because his eyes go wide like they were then and he says, “Oh,” on a gentle exhale. “Oh.”

Dean sees his own lovestruck astonishment, reflected again in Cas’s eyes.

Cas drops his hands from Dean’s face and says, all business, “Well. Good.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Dean clears his throat and steps back. Then he nods down at Castiel’s disaster toast and says, “Can I help you not burn the bunker down?” And Cas nods, slowly and fondly, and laughs because there’s no one to tell him not to. They bump shoulders while they cook and sit on the same side of the dining table while Dean eats and that’s that.

That’s all there is.

[luimagines]

First Kiss! Part 3

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

Part three will include Four, Hyrule and Wind!

Content under the cut!

Four

The night was crisp and young as you walked with Four around the forest before Wild had to eventually send out the Wolf to come and find you two if you wanted to eat anything at all.

He walked a little ways ahead of you and grinned when he came across a little tree stump with a small crack down the middle. “I found one!”

“Found what?” You tilt your head. “When you said you were going to show me something, I didn’t think it would be this? Unless it’s still something I’m not seeing yet.”

“We’re not there yet!” Four bounces on the balls of his feet like an excited kid and gestures you to come next to him frantically.

You try to hide your laughter and go do what he’s asking of you.

He’s quick to grab your hand and he takes a breath.

You raise your eyebrow and copy him.

Four looks over to you, knowing that you’re messing with him before he grins and says, “Ready?”

“Ready for what?”

Four starts chanting a spell before you can even think to stop him and your whole vision shifts and everything grows and it’s warm and sweet and there, before you is suddenly a small hut with mouse people that you’ve never seen before. With feathered tails and little hats and ponchos with acorn cups and pots and you take a minute to take it all in.

Four laughs at your struck dumb expression and ushers you forward.

“What is this place?” You ask on a breath.

Four grabs your hand and gestures with his free to the space around you. “This is a safe haven for the Minish or the Picori as they’ve been known to call themselves.”

“Wow...” You feel a bright smile on your face as you head deeper into the little village inside the tree stump.

But alas, it’s only a few seconds before Link is swarmed by the mouse peop- the Minish as they asll seem to recognize him.

“Hello Mr. Hero!”

“You’re back Link!”

“How have you been?”

“Come sit with us! Have a drink!”

“Link, it’s been awhile. Do you have any new stories to tell us?” A group of the mice- minish- you have to remind yourself again- walk up to Link and one dares to loop their around his, leaning her head on his shoulder as she says this.

Four grins and pulls himself away much to your relief. “You know it! But not right now.” Four says your name, introducing you to the people who must be his friend before saying he was going to show you around.

One minish girl pouts and goes to reach for his arm again. “But Mr. Hero~!”

“Later.” Four smiles in your direction and takes your hand for everyone to see, lacing your fingers together.

You smile a little more easily and gladly follow him through the town.

And it’s really quite lovely.

But... You would enjoy yourself more if Four didn’t have one of them come up to flirt with him every ten minutes.

You can see him begin to get uncomfortable and he’s already apologized more than once about not being able to give you his full attention and show you around like he wanted. Your heart breaks for him.

One girl though, really pushes your buttons.

It’s the same one from earlier- the one that didn’t hesitate to latch onto his arm. “Link! You’ve been here long enough already! Tell us your stories!”

“Sorry but he’s with me today.” You growled and pulled him away from her.

He lets you.

You glare at the girl who doesn’t seem all that impressed by your attitude and claim. She scoffs a little and crosses her arms. “And you are you supposed to be?”

“His lover.”

Four coughs a little next to you but doesn’t deny anything.

The picori around you all still as if you popped a balloon in a silent room. All activity stops and there’s a nervous air around everyone as they all turn their heads to look at you, Four and the small group of minish girls that backup the original.

The original blinks for a minute before smirking a little. “No you’re not.”

You feel like you’ve been slapped.

You take a step back before a calm washes over you.

She doesn’t believe you?

That’s fine.

You shrug and turn to Four who’s watching everything with intense interest.

You don’t hesitate to pick him up and pin to the wall beside you, kissing him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. Like you’ve been dying of thirst and he’s the glass of water you’ve been waiting for. Like you’re about to get heat stroke and he’s the shade to protect you. 

Four kisses you back with a smile on his lips.

Four wraps his legs around your waist and buries his hands into your hair, bringing you closer to him.

He tastes like apples and you vaguely remember the apple pie Four had managed to snag for breakfast earlier. There’s the hint of cinnamon and sweet sugar topping.

“I think they’re together.” Someone says in the background but you’re not paying attention to them any more.

You pull away from Four and rest your forehead against his. “Hey there Lover Boy, sorry about the lack of warning.”

“I am not complaining. That was hot.” He smirks and pulls you back in for another kiss.

Those who were interested in Four back away somewhat and everyone returns, with great difficulty on their part, back to what they were doing before.

Minish are terrible gossips.

But you think you can accept that the news is going to be that Four is with you now.

All those fangirls can back off, he’s yours.

Hyrule

You were in trouble for real this time.

You don’t know what it’s going to take but you think it might just be the end of the road for you.

You’re out of potions, you have no fairies, you can’t move your dominant arm and you’re ninety eight percent sure that you’re leg is broken.

To make matters worse, there’s a whole bunch of monsters nearby that you think you’re going to be unable to avoid when they find you.

Eventually.

You take a breath and try to calm down.

There’s no amount of adrenaline in the world that can help out of this one.

And you know you’re not getting any backup either.

This is it.

You can at least leave this plane of existence with a good conscious and a clear head. You can go down with dignity and you can at least you didn’t go down easy.

You just know that the next fight will be your last.

You try to sit up, ignoring how everything in your body seems to hurt, all for different reasons.

It beginning to hurt more now that the adrenaline is leaving your system and you’re getting tired.

A nap wouldn’t hurt.

Maybe the monsters will find you in your sleep and end you then. they say that’s the best to go. In your sleep.

Or (and you know this is unlikely) they’ll think you’re already dead and just leave you alone. Then you can wake up and try to go find help after you’ve rested a little while. 

It’ll be tough, but it’s possible.

Who’re you kidding?

You’re going to die.

You’re never going to see your family again.

You’re never going to tell your friends how much you appreciate them.

You’re never going to be able to tell that Traveler that you’ve fallen uselessly in love with him. 

You’re never going to see the sun again and sing and laugh and see a future family for you....

You don’t want to die.

A single tear runs down your face and you lean back against a stone wall. the corner you were in is secluded enough but not at all hidden.

You can hear the monsters come closer- they’re fighting something. The chaos is loud and thundering in the otherwise empty and quiet cave. They’re coming in your direction and you start counting the seconds.

They get closer and you see the fringes of one huge moblin take a step back to be in front of you. He’s not facing you- too busy fighting something on the other side but you’re out in the open.

You’re tired.

You take another breath and close your eyes. You hear the moblin go down and die but from what, you don’t know. You can’t even open your eyes anymore, that was how tired you were.

But then there’s a scream.

A familiar scream.

Link.

No, Hyrule. It’s Hyrule. It’s your Traveler.

He sounds horrified, pained and it’s enough to try to get you to move again.

You need to see what caused it, you need to see if he’s ok, you need to see what made him scream like that.

But you can’t.

The most you can do it flop an arm and move your head to the side.

Something lands on your side, you can feel it and if you can’t move you can speak. “Mmm...”

Ok, you guess not.

“Oh my god...” Hyrule voice breaks. He sounds like he’s crying.

Please don’t cry, you think. I’m not worth your tears. Save them for someone who matters.

“No...” He gulps and you can feel him move your head, being as gentle as he can with you. You take the biggest breath you can and try to move your head to the other side.

“You can’t die here.” He says. “I won’t let you.”

You can feel the spell he’s used so often on your friend’s fingertips, flow through you and it lessens the pain somewhat, but you know you’re too far gone. You’re too weak. You want to try to stop him from using all his magic but you can’t but at least you can die happy, knowing that he cared about you. It may not be as deep as you would have liked to take your relationship with him, but this is enough. More than enough even.

You feel him turn your head more and begin to lose consciousness.

This is ok.

You think you can go now.

Hyrule kisses you.

It’s desperate.

It’s longing- painful.

Magic flows through your whole body at an alarming rate and you think you can see a golden glow behind your eye lids that forces you to keep your eyes shut tight from the brightness of it all.

But you can move again.

You bring a hand up to your face, feeling Hyrule’s more clearly and let it rest on his jaw.

Slowly, you kiss back- half sure that this is a dream your dying brain has cooked up to make the process easier for yourself.

It’s not sweet, it’s not gentle anymore and the magic wakes you up again enough where you can feel how tight Hyrule is holding onto you.

You push him away with what little strength you managed to get back and blinked your eyes open.

The golden light fades and there’s sits in front of you, your Traveler.

He’s crying.

You blink and begin to feel more of your body again, confusion drowning you in its wake. “Link?”

Your voice is rough and you feel like you need to cough but Hyrule cuts you off and hugs you close. 

“You can’t die.” He says, gulping down the sob that threatens to break through. “I won’t let you... I promise. You’re going to be ok if it’s the last thing I do.”

Wind

“Wind!” You whisper yell and frantically wave your hand to convince to come over to you.

The boy in question grins and looks around momentarily before jogging over to where you were hidden in the bushes. “What is it?”

“Come with me.” You beam and take his hand, wasting no time in dragging him behind you. “There’s something I want to show you but only you. Wild might destroy it and I’ll never be able to get him to leave.”

“Leave where?” Wind asks in his normal volume.

You spin around and place your finger to his lips before glancing for the others again. When nothing appears to have heard the little outburst you pull away and lace your fingers together. “You’ll see!”

Wind doesn’t know what you’re talking about but the secrecy is fun for him, so he’ll place along.

You take him off the trail and take two lefts, a right then a left and Wind considers you two to be lost the second you make the last turn.

He takes a breath and looks around, each tree looking more imposing than the last but he would have no idea where to start if he were to try and go back. “I think we’re lost.”

“No way!” You snort. “This is my home. We’re almost there.”

“Your home?” Wind stands straighter.

You nod and pull away from him.

Wind goes to reach for your hand again.

You don’t notice.

You instead skip over to one of the trees and knock on it three times with your ear pressed up against the truck. You wait two seconds before nodding and take three large steps to the tree on the right and hit it with a branch Wind didn’t see next to it.

The tree shakes and a rope falls down.

You seem encouraged by this and take the rope, pulling on it with all your might which then drops a small ladder, that Wind sees is held together by ropes and connected to something at the top of the tree.

You don’t hesitate to start climbing , getting half way up before looking down and gesturing Wind to follow you.

Wind grins maniacally and follows you up the ladder faster than you would have thought he’d be capable of climbing.

You get to the top which is blocked off by a bunch of wood, but you know this place and you lift the trap door with ease and climb inside.

You get on your knees and turn around reaching your hand out to help Wind into the tree house.

He climbs in slower than you, glancing around with wide eyes, taking in everything.

There’s a small unmade bed in the corner with two stuffed animals from what he can. One is a dog and another is a bird but he doesn’t know what kind.

There’s a small bookshelf under a window that’s propped open with a small wooden board. There’s not a lot of books there, maybe seven at most but that’s more books than Wind is accustomed to seeing in one place and the rest of the space is filled is nick nacks and trinket that Wind assumes are from your adventure. And small chest next to it that must be where your clothes are if the cloth hanging out is any indication. 

There’s also a small- (toy sized) wood stove with matching metal pots and pans and a small sink on the other side of the tree house. Out of curiosity, he walks over and turns on the faucet.

It has running water.

“This is my home.” You whisper when Wind comes to stand up. “It’s little... and a little broken, if I’m being honest. I don’t have the tools to fix it but it’s mine.”

“Broken?” Wind blinks and looks around even more. There’s some rotting wood by the bed, now that he sees it and it doesn’t look like it’ll be able to hold much more weight if it continues without being replaced. It’s holding up the ceiling above your head- Wind instantly feels concerned for your safety should it collapse while you’re there, or what you’d do if it happened while you weren’t there. He’s almost sure now that there’s more that he just can’t see right now, if that was glaringly obvious off the get go.

“Some parts need fixing and replacing.” You admit. “But I didn’t build this place, I just found it and moved in, so I don’t know where I would even start. It’s not safe on the ground at night so I’m better off up here. There’s also some pipes on the roof are beginning to rust and get nasty. It collects the water from the tree leaves when it rains and keeps it in a container buried in the ground, that’s how I have running water. But it’s cracking.”

You sigh and sit on the floor, crossing your legs under you. “I’ll figure it out. Worse case scenario I’d have to leave and find a cave or something to live in but-”

“We can help you!” Wind turns to you and falls to knees in front of you. “Wild’s good at collecting materials. Twilight and Time can help build. Warrior can plan it out. Legend and Four can help with the pipes. You don’t have to lose your home.”

“The others might make fun of me for having this place.” You mutter with a small pout on your face. “But I knew you wouldn’t! That’s why I brought you up here! I may have nothing, but it’s a lot of nothing so I have enough to share.”

Wind leans into your space suddenly and places his lips on yours.

You gasp and touch them with the tips of your fingers, staring at him wide eyed and shocked.

It was just a peck, a butterflies touch, but the look on Wind’s face says something else. It’s heavy with emotion, with concern and care, and there’s a little part of you that finds it more attractive than you thought it would be.

“You won’t lose your home and I won’t let them make fun of you, I promise.” He gulps and bite his lip. “Let us help. Please.”

You blink at him and let the furious blush encompass your face entirely. You shrink a little bit away but smile. “Ok.”

Wind takes a breath and releases it a nervous but joyful laugh. “We’ll go get the others, ok? And we’ll make sure that you’re ok and safe and this whole place will be as good as new.”

You nod with a smile and Wind looks overjoyed that you agreed.

You hum and shift your weight onto your knees as well, leaning into Wind’s space, steadying yourself with a hand on his shoulder and place a delicate kiss on his lips as well. “Thank you Link.”

Wind also blushes something fierce and he begins to play with his hands in front of him, giggling and bashful. “Oh- Um- Well- I- Uh...You- You’re welcome.”