#also one save had twisting vines by a bed

[transkingcobra]

Aradin came into camp and broke the hookah pipe, that bitch

[youmarin]

Light Shower | JJ Maybank (Tangled AU!)

A/N: Hello, it's been forever since I post any writing in here. I wrote this on April of last year and was thinking about it almost a year later. Funny, right? It's an idea I really liked and maybe someone else already had it but this is my version. :D The title I picked comes from the song "Light Shower" by Melanie Martinez (most of my fics have song names hehe). Also very odd how this song is so fitting (at least I see it like that). Won't entertain you more, hope you enjoy this little piece.

Word count: idk, it's short tho

warnings: mentions of abuse (nothing explicit)

"Once upon a time, a sun drop fell from the sky.”  Her son gave her his undivided attention, bright blue eyes on her as she started to tell him a new bedtime story. “It had been the topic of conversation around town for a long time and everyone went around searching for it.”

 He interrupted her, curious, “How, wait, why did a sun drop fall from the sky? What do you do with it?” 

“Um, well, everyone wanted it because this sundrop had healing properties, and could make you stay young forever.”  

“Like the Fountain of Youth?” he exclaimed, excited. Her little boy loved treasures and adventures. 

“Like the Fountain of Youth.” she confirmed. “You wanna know why the little sundrop fell here from the sky?” he nodded frantically. “It fell because the heavens wanted it to hurt a little less down here on Earth. It was meant to be treasured and shared so we could keep those we love safe.” 

“Did the people find it?” 

“It wasn’t meant to be hidden in the first place, it was in plain sight. But someone greedy and selfish had kept it from the rest. Now, if someone comes across it and recognizes it, it could save it and make it shine for everyone again, because after all this time its light could be dwindling and at any given moment it could give up” She heard her husband yell at her, asking what was taking her so long. So before he came into their son’s room, she hurried to finish the story and tuck him into bed.  “Goodnight, my sundrop.” She smiled, ruffling his long blonde hair affectionately and kissed his forehead. He smiled at what his mom just called him. 

JJ kept thinking about the story, and thought that if he could find the real thing, things would become better at home. So, determined, he swore he would. 

One summer day, he had gone out to play. He had stopped at the Château to get his friend John B but he wasn’t home, probably his dad had taken him out on their boat. So, he made his way to the beach alone and played in the sand. 

As he kept walking along the coast, making figures in the sand with a stick he had found, he heard someone singing. Looking around, his mouth fell open in surprise, the stick falling from his grip. 

It was a little girl, around his age. She was sitting on her legs in the sand, holding a small wounded bird in her hands. As she sang, her long hair started to glow as bright as the sun, and as she finished her little song, the bird flew away, making her laugh happily. The magical glow of her hair dimmed considerably, leaving it a shiny blonde. 

She had just healed a bird. Her hair. Sunlight. His mom’s story. It was real. He found the sundrop. “I found it!” he exclaimed victorious. The girl turned around, scared. She knew she shouldn’t have gone outside. She saw the little boy looking at her, a big smile on his face as he made his way towards her and she screamed, hurrying to get up and with one last look at the boy she ran off. “Wait! Where are you going?! Don’t leave, please!” JJ ran after her. 

As they ran, they started to drift away from the beach and in between a lot of trees and weeds. They dodged the lowest branches and leaped to avoid fallen trees, big rocks and getting their feet tangled in the vines. “Hey, wait!” He tried once more, getting closer to her, but he was so focused on reaching her, he forgot about his surroundings and tripped with some rocks, twisting his ankle. He whined in pain, and she heard him starting to cry. Daring to look back, she saw him on the ground, both hands made into fists as he roughly wiped his tears away. The girl debated  whether she should keep going and make it safely back home or if she should head back and help him. 

Out of his tear blurred vision, he saw someone crouch beside him. She wiped his tears away and he stared in awe at the girl as he stopped crying. He saw the worry in her big dark eyes and without a word, she helped him get his foot out from between the rocks. He cried out again, tears gathering in his eyes as he saw his ankle turning the wrong way and blood coming out of his scratched skin. “It hurts.” 

She nodded and hurried up to rid him out of pain. Her hair started glowing again as she began to sing, holding his scuffed hands. JJ’s eyes widened, looking clearer than ever as her glow reflected on him, tears gone and only their trail left, replaced by pure amazement. And in just a moment the pain was gone. 

He blinked, looking down on him and seeing that in fact, all his injuries were gone, even the older ones. “Woooah.” He smiled happily and stood up, wiggling his previously injured leg. “Thanks.”  He saw she was already walking away. “Please don’t go.” He tried following her again, being more careful this time. He grabbed her wrist. She turned to him and JJ saw he had scared her. “I’m sorry. That was stupid.” 

“Don’t hurt me.” she grabbed her wrist right as he let go of her.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He shook his head. “Wait, is someone hurting you?” Thinking back to his mom’s story, she should be hidden away by the bad guy. 

“You’re not going to hurt me?” She said, stranged. He shook his head no again. Squinting her eyes, she moved closer to him. She placed her hands on his cheeks, and looked him over, making JJ confused. Getting even closer, she looked him right in the eyes, and so did JJ. She suddenly stepped back and opened his mouth. JJ started to laugh and tried to talk, “Wa- a- -uh doin’?” 

“You don’t have fangs, or claws.” She stated the obvious, stepping back. 

“Of course not! What are you talking about?” He had just seen a girl with healing light from the sun so he thought she maybe was onto something, “Wait, do vampires exist too? Wait, werewolves?”  That would be cool. A little scary too, he thought. She didn’t answer him but she looked like she was thinking about something. Seeming to reach a conclusion, she glanced at him once more before starting to run away, again. But the little boy didn’t seem like he was going to give up. He chased after for a while and so she chose she better hide before going any further. 

The sky was turning gray and thunder rumbled in the air. Soon after, it was pouring rain. JJ kept looking around, calling out for her, but the rain pelting down barely let him see anything in between all the foliage. So he turned and went back the way he had come. 

When he got back home, he was drenched, shivering and tired. But he was so excited to tell his mom what he saw, he didn’t really care at that moment. Things could really get better, and he wasn't afraid now. “Mommy!” He ran towards the front door, opening it. He dashed straight to his parents’ bedroom, not seeing her in the kitchen nor in the living room. He opened the door. “Mommy, I found it!” His smile faltered and his steps came to a halt when he saw his dad sitting on the bed; the room was a mess, things thrown and broken all over the place while he sat there, with a bottle more than half empty in his hand. 

He was too late. 

[eeclare]

Bob’s Burgers bedrooms

I downloaded Toca Life World and made the Belcher’s bedrooms with my own little twists to them. I reimagined some of it and I hope you guys like it!

Starting off with Tina:

Some classic horse paraphernalia (I imagine the brown horse is Chariot from the equestranauts)

I put walkie talkies in all the Belcher kids’ bedrooms because I like to imagine that they communicate with each other past their bedtime

Tina would 100% have those glow in the dark stars on her walls all throughout high school. Change my mind

I think she would have bought into that vines on the walls trend that was all over Tik tok for a while. She thinks they look classy

I also added a lil cameo of the cat treats that Tina and Gene eat in that one episode lol I headcannon that they still snack on them from time to time

There’s also a box of chocolates and a little teddy bear holding a heart, I just think that she either received them from someone (Zeke, J-Ju, whoever you want) or she’s saving them to give to someone else

Shoutout to the composition notebook on her desk for her erotic friendfiction

And because this is a headcannon for teenaged Tina’s bedroom, I gave her a mirror and some fancy looking moisturizer. I don’t think she wears much makeup (if any at all) but I do think she takes skincare VERY seriously

Gene:

Gene’s room is MESSY

Like I love him but he’s a total slob

I think that he would have some of those LED lights, but only because Louise wanted them first but her room was too small for the whole roll

Like in Tina’s room, I gave him the cat food to snack on

I also think that Gene is a sweaty boy and therefore has a fan on 24/7

Burger and ketchup plushies!

So. Many. Snacks.

I gave him a kiddie radio and a regular boombox as well as a synthesizer (I couldn’t find any keyboards that’s my bad)

He also has a walkie talkie so he can “walkie and talkie with his favourite sisters”

I also added a music score!

The posters are kinda miscellaneous, they didn’t have any music based ones but I think that “bulko” character would be one that Gene is rlly into

Ofc I added a baseball in there as well. I think that even though he never excelled at the sport and isn’t a sport person in general, he still just likes to have the ball around. Maybe as a stim toy maybe not who knows

Louise:

Louise was my favourite room to put together! I just find that she and I have/had similar rooms growing up and I just relate to her on that level

I gave her the loft bed with the desk underneath because obviously. She has one. But I chose this one specifically because I think that it’s very her.

I think she added the caution tape because it’s “the next best thing besides barbed wire”

And ofc the stickers to add some ✨personality✨

Louise got really into the LED craze of 2020 and hence, got some for Christmas or something like that

But her room *cough* closet *cough* is too teeny tiny for the full roll so she had to share the rest of it with Gene

I added horror movie posters next to her bed because there are SO many instances in the show where she just talks about horror films and I think she gets REALLY into them when she gets older

She still uses crayons. Sue her

Ofc I also gave her a walkie talkie. She’s literally the reason the Belcher kids have them in the first place

The one poster in a frame reminds me of that one onion poster she has in her room in the show. I still don’t understand the significance of the poster but I think it deserves to be added

The green frog on her bed is supposed to represent Kuchi Kopi

And all the other weird looking toys are her collectables!

And I have to address the lady bug in the room. I think that she got that as a lil baby and just grew so emotionally attached to it that she can’t bear to get rid of it. She rides it around the apartment when she’s bored

I also tried to imitate her spiral carpet and even though there is no spiral I think the colour is spot on

Bob and Linda:

Linda 100% made all of the design choices in their bedroom

Ik that canonically they don’t have a window but shhhhhh

I think that they would have two carpets because Linda always complains that her feet get cold when she’s getting ready in the mornings

And she let Bob pick the colour of it (the red one)

Linda found that tapestry at a flea market and “Isn’t it just DARLING Bobby”

BUT it smelled like cigarettes for sooooo long she almost got rid of it

Almost.

Linda is a candle gurly. If she goes to the store and sees a candle she HAS to have it, especially if it smells good

She also got rlly into the holistic medicine industry for a while, hence the salt lamp

She thinks it looks fancy and rustic at the same time

Bob picked out the framed picture and he’s so proud of himself

“Did you know that IM the one that picked that? And now it’s hanging in our room”

They have white sheets because Linda likes to feel like she’s in a hotel

Bob actually is an avid reader. Well, mostly.

He reads but he doesn’t really READ, you know?

But he always tries to read a little before bed so he keeps his current books on his nightstand (at least since the events of the episode where he and Linda sleep apart)

Those are my headcannons for the Blecher bedrooms! I’m thinking of doing an MLP version too but we’ll see. I’ve also been thinking of doing a Mr. Frond and Gayle bedroom because in my mind they stay together forever lol who knows

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 18

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 18 - This Venerable One has Begged You Before

Tianwen has a deadly killing move. The name was very simple, just one word: "Wind". Once activated, no piece of armor in the surrounding area could withstand it.

Mo Ran was naturally acquainted with the power of "Wind". He also knew Chu Wanning's strength so there was no need to worry. He glanced at the pale man whose robe was dyed red with blood. He threw away the rest of his talismans to buy Chu Wanning some time, then flew away to the edge of the fight. He grabbed Shi Mei with one hand, Madam Chen with the other, and took two unconscious people, hiding a far distance away.

Chu Wanning endured the severe pain and reluctantly moved his other. Suddenly, Tianwen burst out with a dazzling golden light, and Chu Wanning violently jerked it back.

The Master of Ceremonies Ghost went berserk. It jumped up and rushed towards Chu Wanning with a distorted face.

Chu Wanning's robe waved like a flame in a violent wind, billowing and flying. His eyebrows were furious, half of his shoulders soaked in blood. He quickly raised his hand, Tianwen's golden light became more and more intense then it took off by Chu Wanning's flying spin.

The willow vine stretched for several tens of feet and whirled into a golden spiral. Like a whirlpool, it engulfed the surrounding ghosts, dead bodies, golden children, and the roaring and twisting Master of Ceremonies Ghost into the center of "Wind". The fierce image that was created by Tianwen was then shattered in an instant!!!

"Wind" smashed and destroyed. Not even the surrounding grass and trees, being ripped up from the ground, were spared.

The huge storm centered around Chu Wanning let out a dazzling golden light. The sky grew dark, covered by flying sand and rocks. Whether it was a coffin or the dead, they were like grass fluttering in the wind.

She was sucked in and was cut up by the rapidly spinning Tianwen.

Sliced into tens of thousands pieces of debris. . .

When everything calmed down, there was no grass around Chu Wanning, a desolate and empty wasteland.

Other than him standing alone in his bright, auspicious clothes that resembled a blooming red lotus and a begonia blossom, there was only a ground covered in crushed white bones, and the horrible hissing of Tianwen's golden light.

From this point of view, Chu Wanning did the world a favour pumping out so many disciples.

Based on his performance today, if he wanted to, even if every disciple on Life-Death Peak were defeated, it wasn't impossible for him to keep fighting. . .

The golden light faded away.

Tianwen turned into flickering dots like stars, blending into Chu Wanning's palm.

He breathed a deep breath and frowned. Enduring the sharp pain in his shoulder, he slowly walked towards his disciples in the distance.

"How's Shi Mei?"

Coming to their side, Chu Wanning pushed through and asked.

The ink burned down to look at the unconscious beauty in his arms. He still wasn't awake, his breathing was weak, and his cheeks felt cold to the touch. This scene was too familiar, it was a nightmare that Mo Ran couldn't get rid of.

As Shi Mei was lying in his arms like this, as time went on, he wasn't breathing anymore. . .

Chu Wanning placed his hands on Madam Chen's and Shi Mei's necks. He mumbled out: "Hmm? How could the poisoning be so deep?"

Mo Ran's head snapped up: "Poison? Didn't you say they were okay? Didn't you say that they were just being compelled?"

Chu Wanning frowned: "The Master of Ceremonies Ghost relied on the fragrance powder to compel them. That was a kind of poison. I thought it was only superficial, but I didn't expect the poison to be this severe."

". . ."

"Send them back to Chen's house first." Chu Wanning said, "It's not difficult to expel the poison. It's fine as long as they don't die."

His voice was cold and unwavering. Although Chu Wanning normally spoke like this, at this moment, it really made people feel like he was uncaring and downplaying things.

Mo Ran was brought back to that year of heavy snow. He was knelt in the snow and in his arms was Shi Mei whose life was slipping away. With tears on his face, he hoarsely begged Chu Wanning to turn his head, look at his disciple, and pleaded for him to raise his hand to save his disciple's life.

But what did Chu Wanning say back then?

It was also in such a light and calm tone of voice.

Just like that, rejecting Mo Ran the one time he knelt down and begged.

In the heavy snow, the person in his arms gradually became as cold as the snow falling on his shoulders and eyelashes.

That day, Chu Wanning killed two disciples with his own hands.

One was Shi Mingjing, who he could have saved but didn't.

One was Mo Weiyu, kneeling in the snow mourning the death of his heart.

There was a sudden panic in his heart, a brutality, a snake-like flow of resentment, rage and viciousness.

There was a moment when he suddenly wanted to rise up and strangle Chu Wanning. Wanted to shed his kind and pleasant disguise, revealing the hideousness of a malevolent ghost. Like a fierce ghost from a previous life, it viciously tore into him, questioning him and demanding his life.

He claimed the lives of the two helpless disciples in that snowfield.

But when his eyes flicked up, they suddenly fell on Chu Wanning's blood-covered shoulder.

The beast's anger was suddenly cut off.

He didn't say another word, just stared at Chu Wanning's face with poorly-masked hateful eyes. Chu Wanning didn't notice. After a while, he lowered his head again and stared at Shi Mei's haggard face.

His mind gradually went blank.

If something happened to Shi Mei this time, then. . .

"Cough cough cough!!"

The person in his arms abruptly coughed. Mo Ran was stunned and his heart trembled. . . Shi Mei slowly opened his eyes, and his voice was extremely hoarse and weak.

"A-. . . Ran. . .?"

"Yes! It's me!" In his ecstasy, the haze disappeared. Mo Ran's eyes widened. The palms of his hands were pressed against Shi Mei's cool cheeks, and his shining eyes trembled. "Shi Mei, how do you feel? Does anything hurt? "

Shi Mei smiled lightly, his eyebrows still. He turned his head, and looked around: ". . . How are we here. . . How did I faint. . . Ah! Shizun. . . cough cough, this disciple is incompetent. . . this disciple. . ."

"Don't talk," Chu Wanning said.

He gave Shi Mei a pill: "Since you're awake, take this poison dispersing pill. Don't swallow it right away."

Shi Mei took the medicine then was suddenly taken aback, his colourless face appearing even more transparent: "Shizun, how did you get hurt? You're covered in blood. . ."

Chu Wanning still had that faint, calm, irritating voice: "It's nothing."

He got up and glanced at Mo Ran.

"You, find a way to bring both of them back to the Chen's residence."

When Shi Mei woke up, the gloom that was deep in his heart suddenly vanished. He nodded quickly: "Okay!"

"I'll go first. I have something to ask the Chen family."

Chu Wanning said and turned to leave. Facing the vast darkness of the night, the fields covered in decay, he finally couldn't supress a twitch in his eyebrow, revealing a painful expression.

The entire shoulder was pierced by five fingers, the tendons and veins were torn apart, and the Master of Ceremonies Ghost's claws even pierced the bones deep in his flesh and blood. No matter how he pretended to endure it calmly, no matter how he tried to stave the bleeding, he was still be a human being.

It still hurt. . .

But so what if it hurts.

He walked forward one foot after another, the hem of the wedding dress flying around.

For so many years, people respected and feared him, but no one has dared stand by his side. No one cares about him. He has long been used to it.

Yuheng of the Night Sky, the Beidou Immortal.

No one liked him. No one cared whether he lived or died, whether he was sick or suffering.

He seemed to be born without the need for the support of others, no need to rely on anyone, no need for company.

So there was no need to shout out in pain, and crying was even more unnecessary. Just go and dress the wounds, cut off all the festering flesh around the tear and apply ointment on it.

It didn't matter if no one cared about him.

Anyway, that's how he came to be alone. He's survived all these years. He can take care of himself.

When he came to the door of the Chen residence, before he entered the courtyard, he heard an ear-piercing scream.

Chu Wanning didn't care about aggravating his wound and immediately rushed in - only to see the old lady Chen with a disheveled hair, her eyes closed, but chasing her son and husband all over the house, only ignoring the young daughter of the Chen family. She stood beside her in panic, huddled tightly, shaking.

Seeing Chu Wanning enter, Mr. Chen and his eldest son screamed and rushed towards him: "Dao Master! Dao Master, help!"

Chu Wanning held them back. He glanced at Madam Chen's closed eyes, and said angrily: "Didn't I tell you to watch her and keep her from falling asleep?!"

"I can't help it! My wife is unwell. She usually goes to bed early. After you left, she was still holding out at first, then she fell asleep, and then she started to go crazy! She started screaming. . . yelling. . ."

Mr. Chen shivered and ducked behind Chu Wanning. He didn't notice that he was actually wearing an auspicious outfit, nor did he notice the hideous wound on Chu Wanning's shoulder.

Chu Wanning frowned and said: "What was she yelling?"

Before Mr. Chen spoke, the mad woman rushed over with her teeth bared, screaming mournfully. It was actually the voice of a young woman—

"Spineless liar! Pathetically fickle! I want you to pay with your lives! I want you all to die!"

Chu Wanning: ". . . This evil spirit stoops low." He turned back and sternly shouted at Mr. Chen, "Does this voice sound familiar?"

Mr. Chen’s mouth was trembling. He rolled his eyes and swallowed nervously: “I don’t know, I don't recognize it, I don’t know! Please help! Please help!

Just then, Madam Chen rushed over. Chu Wanning raised his uninjured arm, pointing at the sky above Madam Chen, and a lightning bolt slammed down, trapping Madam Chen within a barrier.

Chu Wanning turned his head with an icy gaze: "You really don't know?"

Mr. Chen repeated: "I really don't know! I really don't know!"

Chu Wanning didn't say anything else. He whipped out Tianwen and bound old lady Chen in the barrier.

He should have tied up the rest of the family outside, it would be more convenient and easier to gauge the situation, but Chu Wanning had his own rules of conduct. It wasn't easy using Tianwen to interrogate abnormal individuals. So he abandoned the soft approach and instead questioned the ghost in Madam Chen's body.

Interrogating ghosts wasn't the same as interrogating people.

When Tianwen interrogated people, they couldn't fight it and would speak.

When Tianwen interrogated ghosts, it would form a boundary where only Chu Wanning and the ghost would exist. Ghosts would regain their original appearance in the boundary and pass on their message to Chu Wanning.

A flame ignited on Tianwen. It snaked along the vine, burning from his end straight to old lady Chen.

The old lady let out a scream, and suddenly began to twitch. The original scarlet flame on the willow vine instantly turned into a blue ghost fire and burned back to Chu Wanning's side.

Chu Wanning closed his eyes. The fire burned up the willow vine onto his palm, but the ghost fire couldn't hurt him. It just burned all the way along his arm, down his chest, and then went out.

". . ."

The Chen family looked at the scene in horror. They didn't know what Chu Wanning was doing.

Chu Wanning's eyelashes trembled lightly, his eyes still closed, but a white light gradually appeared in front of his eyes. Immediately afterwards, he saw a small, white, jade-like foot step out of the light, and a girl about seventeen or eighteen years old appeared in his field of vision.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[slightlycrunchy]

I know I already sent you one, but if you’re looking for more, I wouldn’t be sad if you wrote ♕: Holding hands with Dadmight…

Haha, canon is my plaything and will not contain me! Also, sorry Kris, this is angst XD But there are some soft bits ;)

Dadmight post Sports Fest, featuring some self-doubt

The sunset pierces through the room with its oranges and reds, reflecting off of the floor and the chrome equipment tucked in various places around the infirmary. It sears into Toshinori’s eyes even as his back is turned to it but he hardly notices, instead staring blankly at a space in the mid distance, unseeing and blank as his fingers trace the new, unfamiliar patterns beneath his touch. A bump here, a smooth ripple there.

New, pink skin.

Toshinori feels sick.

He can’t stop replaying the battle in his head, can’t forget the look of determination and passion that had almost turned to anger on Izuku’s face.

“It’s your quirk Todoroki! Not his!”

Toshinori doesn’t exactly know the meaning behind those words, or why so much pain seemed to scrape from Izuku’s throat, but Toshinori is sure of one thing.

He is scared for this boy.

The look of purple and torn flesh won’t exit from his thoughts, instead growing into black figures, twisting like vines and sinking into older memories, equally as horrifying but clearer now in this new light:

Izuku, breaking his body during his entrance exam, shattering his limbs at the USJ, even the smaller fracture of his finger that first day of school. The day Aizawa hadn’t been so sure that this boy was cut out for the task ahead of him.

Toshinori feels shame bubble up within him...because right now, he doesn’t know if his fellow teacher had been wrong.

Toshinori physically shakes his head, blinking back into awareness. No. No he will not think this way. He has never met a boy so willing to put everything aside to be a hero, never met a human so prepared to give his all.

But that's just it, he thinks.

Izuku will give his all.

Toshinori could perhaps explain away the entrance exam, the boy absolutely unprepared for the surge of power that would course through him, and really that was Toshinori’s fault. He has apologized for it many times, and none of it will ever be enough, but then…

The pattern sets itself, really.

A boy who took a training exercise too far and broke his arm, taking an explosion to the face, all to beat a school rival and win an inconsequential ‘battle’; the USJ, breaking multiple limbs all in his crushing need to save everyone around him, uncaring for himself in the meantime.

And now a Sports Festival fight meant to showcase one’s abilities and test one’s mettle against friends--one of three chances to do so, which seems to also be something the boy has forgotten--taken to the point of…

This.

Toshinori looks down from where he sits beside the unconscious boy lying on the bed, Izuku’s chest rising and falling in deep sleep. Recovery Girl had healed him but at the cost of everything he had, and Toshinori will be surprised if he wakes in time to go home. Inko is on her way as he sits here and thinks, really thinks about this boy’s--a boy he cares about, a boy he has come to see as his--trajectory.

Toshinori grimaces at one of his own memories: he had told the boy to show himself, to proudly declare ‘I am here!’. He put yet another burden on Izuku’s shoulders and expected him to carry it, all with a pat on the back and a shining smile… What else has he done to encourage this boy's path to destruction? For that is what this is.

If Izuku keeps going like this, he won’t be a hero. He’ll be dead.

Toshinori shudders and clasps the hand in his palm just a little tighter, but not enough to hurt. He looks down at the fingers that are so small compared to his own, the new network of pain that scratches through skin like crooked lines on a map. Izuku is too young to have such markers of pain...too young to have the mindset he does, soaked in desperation and need as if he is the only hero capable of doing the job he so wishes to do.

Toshinori has failed this boy, miserably.

As the sun sets further behind him, the room darkening in increments of shadow, Toshinori resolves within himself to stop this. The road ahead of his boy is fraught with danger but Toshinori will soothe it; he will straighten and soften it, he will pave smoother surfaces and place better signs.

Toshinori will be better. And as he kisses the top of Izuku’s hand, indulging in such a show of affection, he knows he will succeed.

Izuku deserves it, after all.

[eloquentornot]

The Rock, the mega base, is not the Entity, though it is similar. It will have many themes, styles from various points in history, all connected by vines across small islands floating high into the sky. From what we see built today, the first section is a mixture of two different historical styles, and the first floating island, the nether portal, bears striking resemblance to a shattered crescent moon.

Hmm... Different parts of history connected, built one at a time, such that the style of the base... “Evolves” over time? (Probably not actually a reference, but you never know.)

The oxidised copper dome of the structure ages in an instant, the surface seemingly damaged by patches of Warped materials...

Mumbo Jumbo has returned! He did not appear to have come from the Rift, and the image of his face is no longer there... Hold on. The back of his head is once again styled to resemble Grian’s, as it was in the days when he had eaten his soul... But that state of affairs surely reverted between seasons, as all such massive changes must, did it not? And, as Grian points out twice, his name is now Mumbo, not Mumbo Jumbo. ...Perhaps a change in presentation is perfectly innocent, he has been away for quite some time! And, as one of Grian’s best friends, he has chosen to build his mega base as close as possible! Which just so happens to be directly over the Rift. What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

It could have been an ordinary ending to an episode, but Grian’s wings broke. He stumbled down the one hole in his bridge, falling so far down to his beacon that he was sure he would die. But he survived, to his great surprise and shock. We could hear a strange sound from the Rift, as he turned to face it. He didn’t say it, but it was clear what he had realised: it saved him. The Rift chose to keep Grian alive. It is fair to infer that strange things are coming...

But the strangest part yet of what we have watched today, may or may not be relevant. To end his odd outro, Grian ate a cookie. An Elven Surprise, created by Scar, the surprise being a brief blindness effect. But in the darkness, Scar’s voice echoes, strange references to a dreamlike world of memories, past lives...

Earlier, Scar also featured, along with Mumbo, in what we presumed to be an unrelated bit. What strange things he said, affecting that Grian’s life somehow.

Scar is also someone who has pointed out how Mumbo’s name is now changed. It could just be that the three are close friends so it makes sense that these two are the first to notice. And yet, I cannot help but suspect... Scar has subtly (or not so subtly) emphasised his strange bed, many times. The bed made of Warped materials. At first I assumed the twisting vines around his base were for elven decoration, but now I wonder if his strange elven magic might somehow be connected to all this. It was probably in the void between seasons that his transformation took place, after all, and that was presumably also where the Entity first contacted Grian... I had begun to worry that the Warped plants might be spreading out from Grian’s starter house towards Scar’s, but equally it could somehow be the other way...?

(...I know. There are amethyst crystals in Scar’s tree, too. But it can’t be the Nothing. It just can’t be. It is something different, something new. It has to be. I honestly don’t think it has anything to do with that bunch of troublemaking, angst-or-whatever-eating Watchers, either. But I might be wrong.)

[nachosforfree]

hrrn hrrn fanfiction me gusta

ao3 link

The two players the young pigman had approached were so nice to him. They cooed at him, one crouching down to hand him a gold ingot, the other remarked something in a strange language. They placed a boat in front of him, and he curiously got in. The players grinned and started pushing the boat. He looked around, wondering where he was being taken. They soon arrived at a large, purple portal.

The players were speaking in the strange language, and one held up a name tag. The pigman looked down at his gold ingot, rubbing it and smiling at the shiny surface. He jumped as the name tag was pinned to the back of his shirt, giving a small squeal that the players seem to delight in. They pushed his boat through the portal and he shut his eyes at how bright the purple was.

When he tried to open them, he was only further pained by something large and bright far into the sky. It was brighter than lava, and hurt his eyes badly. He rubbed at them and squealed again. He heard the players utter things to each other, before they began to push the boat again.

He used the gold ingot to shield his eyes, and the players cooed again, finding it to be the cutest thing despite the fact he was in pain.

Soon they pushed him through a forest, the large trees shielding him further. He looked around with curiosity, the trees here were nothing like the ones in the nether. They were brown in the trunk and their leaves were green, the ones in his home were red or blue.

One player groaned out a complaint, and the other scolded them. He wished he could understand them, but whatever language they spoke wasn’t at all what the pigmen back home did.

Soon, he was pushed to a large archway, a small city beyond it. One player cheered, pulling their arms away from the boat to rub their tired muscles. They spoke to the other, before dashing off into the city. They soon returned, a man now following.

He stared in awe at the man, who had black, glistening wings that folded behind his back. His brow was shadowed by a striped hat on his head, but his blue eyes seemed to glow even so. The player who led him here gestured at the young pigman, speaking quickly. The man nodded and walked over.

He took hold of the pigman’s collar, and remarked something, presumably about the name they’d given him.

He said something else to the players and they both smiled before saluting him and running off into the city together. The young pigman was lifted out of the boat and held in the man’s arms, and the man smiled at him. He was carried into the city, glancing over the man’s shoulders at the forest and boat behind them.

As the man walked, the pigman couldn’t decide where to put his eyes. Everything was so new and interesting. There were so many different mobs and types of players. Some players even looked like mobs. Some looked like him, pigmen, but they also spoke in the strange language. They would catch his eye and smile brightly.

He felt safe here. It was strange.

They entered a building, and the man put the pigman on his own hooves. He crouched down to be at eye level with him, the kind smile still on his face.

He spoke perfectly in the pigman’s language, “Hello there, Techno-Blade.”

The pigman tilted his head, “Technoblade?”

“That’s the name those players gave you, I hope you like it. You can always change it if you’d like.”

The piglin looked at the floor for a moment, contemplating the name. It seemed much cooler than the one his parents had given him. The thought of his parents made a spike of sadness go through his heart. Yeah, a new name sounded good.

“It’s cool.”

The man laughed, and stuck out his hand, “I’m Philza. Philza Minecraft.”

Technoblade wrapped his small hand around Philza’s, shaking it.

Philza stood up again and a player approached them, speaking in the language from before. Phil cleared his throat before responding, motioning to Technoblade. The player nodded and smiled down at him, reaching out their hand for him to take. He did, and they led him to a small room filled with twisting vines and warped fungus. There was a blue bed in the corner.

They said something before patting his head and leaving the room, shutting the door behind him. He stood still in front of the door, not exactly sure what to do next. He turned and walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. It was big, big like the one he’d had in his home.

He missed it. He missed his big house, and his family, and the small crown he had to wear when his parents had guests over, and the plastic sword he would swing around and get scolded for hitting the house workers with. Before he knew it, tears were falling down his face, and he sniffled, trying to wipe them away. Everything had been okay until the people living under his parents had gotten angry, storming their house and cornering them.

His sniffles turned to loud sobs as the images of his parents lying bloodied burned his mind. Blood for the Blood God, the people had chanted, some raising their swords at Techno, ready to finish him off and leave the entire family dead. He screamed and ran faster than he had ever run before, dodging past other pigmen’s legs. Some of them smelled of slowly rotting flesh, and the scent mixed with blood made him gag.

The thought of it now made him gag again. He lurched forwards and emptied his stomach onto the floor, hiccuping and sobbing as he retched.

“Oh shit.” He heard from the door.

He tried to apologize through gasps but couldn’t get the words out.

Words were shouted down the hall and then there was a shadow over him, arms reaching out to try and grab him. He screamed and threw himself back against the corner. The shadow over him cursed and stepped back.

“It’s okay, Technoblade, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Someone else entered the room, holding something in their hands, they knelt down near where Techno had vomited and began to clean it up. They didn’t talk.

The first person reached out again, slower this time. Techno could barely breathe. He slashed his claws at their arm and they flinched. Blood dripped down from where he’d scratched, and that only filled his mind with more panic.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood for the God.

For the Blood God.

Blood for the Blood God.

The phrase repeated itself over and over in his mind, drowning out any other thoughts he could have, slashing and clawing at his brain. His head throbbed, he felt like he would throw up again.

The person backed away, giving up on physically consoling him.

“Technoblade, look at me.”

He could barely hear the words over the chanting, but he forced himself to keep his eyes open, his red ones meeting glowing blue ones.

“Breathe.”

He listened, gasping a few times before trying to force his breaths to settle into something calmer. It was barely an improvement, still certainly not getting a good, stable amount of air in, but it was progress.

“Good, good, keep breathing. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Safe, that’s what he had felt when being brought here. He remembered safety. It felt so far away right now. Safety was in the arms of people larger than him, in smiles and head-pats and hugs that squeezed his bones. The thought of being touched was sickening right now, but he desperately craved it.

The person who had cleaned up his mess quietly stood and exited the room, not wanting to cause the young pigman any more distress by staying.

Soon, Techno’s mind cleared enough to realize that the person standing before him was Philza. He felt more tears fill his eyes, and he stuttered out an “I’m sorry”.

“It’s okay. Are you okay if I come closer?”

He nodded, and Phil gently sat down on the edge of the bed, still keeping his distance a little. His arm was still bleeding, and Techno tried desperately to keep his eyes away from the sight.

“What happened?”

“I- I just, I was…” Techno hiccuped, bringing his hands up to rub at his eyes. “My mom and dad are dead! They died and I didn’t save them at all!”

“Oh…” Phil muttered, a look of concern in his shaded eyes. “I’m so sorry to hear that, but Technoblade, I doubt that it was your job to save them. Sometimes things just...happen. Young boys like you shouldn’t be held responsible.”

Techno sniffled, looking up at the man through his hands, “But…”

Phil scooted closer, “No buts about it. Whatever happened, it isn’t your fault.”

Techno dropped his hands into his lap, looking away silently.

They sat in silence for a few heavy moments, before Phil spoke, “Do you want to go get some water? You probably need it right now.”

“Water?”

Phil paused, realizing that due to his nether origins, techno had likely never seen water before.

“It’s a type of drink, to keep you from getting thirsty.”

“Oh… okay.”

Phil stood and held out his hand for the pigman to take. He stared at it for a few seconds before grabbing it and hopping off of the bed.

They walked through the building together, Techno seeing that there were many other rooms like his, some also having pigmen in them.

“Why are there so many pigmen here?”

“There’s a rot going around the nether,” Phil explained, “We want to get enough pigmen away from it as possible. It’s dangerous.”

Techno shuddered, remembering the smell of the rotting pigmen who’d attacked his family, “Oh…”

Phil stopped at a door, and opened it to reveal a large kitchen. He pulled Techno inside and gestured to a bench for him to sit on. As Techno sat, Phil picked up a glass bottle and filled it with water from a cauldron. He handed it to Techno and filled another one up for himself.

Techno took a sip and hummed, feeling the liquid cool his now aching throat. He took a big breath before chugging the rest of the bottle, hearing Phil laugh as he did.

“Yeah, that’s about what I expected,” The man chuckled.

“It’s really good.”

Phil nodded and sipped his own, “What do you all drink in the nether, anyway?”

“Mostly milk from hoglins.” Techno answered, watching Phil grimace at the idea.

“Oh.”

Techno glanced back and forth between his empty bottle and Philza’s face.

“You can get more, if you want. We’ve got plenty.”

Techno awkwardly sunk into himself for a moment, before standing up, walking over to the cauldron and dipping his bottle into it. He filled it to the top and drank.

He sat back down on the bench, drooping his head back and closing his eyes, tired from all the crying and panicking he’d done.

He was lifted into Phil’s arms, but didn’t resist this time, and was carried off to his room. Phil laid him in his bed.

“I’ll wake you for supper later,” The man promised softly as he turned and exited the room.

Techno watched him close the door before burying himself under the blankets and shutting his eyes, swallowing and thinking about the nice tastelessness of the water as he drifted off.

[the-scribe-and-her-scribbles]

iwcb | chapter 9. hospitality pt. 2

it will come back | fae!prussia x reader| chapter 9

it will come back Masterlist and Summary

word count: 7452

chapter warnings: Violence against Alfred and Matthew (I’m sorry but Gilbert thinks they’ve had it coming), a Mimic being used as a close-range projectile (rip Lukas but you actually had it coming) 

tagging: @jtownraindancer​, @redrosesociety1​, @xxruinaxx​

author’s note!!!!: This chapter marks the OFFICIAL half way point! Their are only 8 chapters left after this one! Thank you to everyone who’s read, commented, reblogged, and saved this story! You are the reason I am so excited to write! Without further ado, I give you...

chapter 9. hospitality pt 2

Vash grabs Gilbert by the back of his shirt and drags him inside. 

“You!” He points. “Did he put you up to this?” 

Your eyes widen and you can’t do anything but nod. 

“Hey!”

“Shut up, Gilbert! I told you this was a bad idea.”

“Come with me,” he says sternly, dragging Gilbert away by the back of his shirt. 

You follow him up the stone path towards the large manor that sits up the hill. A garden spreads out across the front garden. While the fall weather should have reduced the garden to a sad shrivelled state, the lush vines and shrubs that made up the wall that protects the manor also fill their beds with lush greens. Even some late-blooming flowers are still holding strong against the cold. 

You reach the solid stone steps of the great house, and Vash knocks firmly on the door. The sound spreads out, echoing around you. You can feel the vibrations in your feet. Without touching the entrance, the double doors push in, opening up to let you in by themselves. He drags you through the beautiful main hall of the manor and to one of the main rooms, pushing the double doors open and shoving the two of you inside. You land on the expensive green carpet and look up.

Sitting on a couch with a book nestled in her lap, is a beautiful woman dressed in green, looking at the both of you with an eyebrow raised. She looks mostly human, except for piercing green eyes, and long pointy ears. 

“Gilbert.”

“Hello, Elizabeta,” Gilbert says stiffly.  

“Certainly, you are old enough to know that sneaking into someone’s home is rude.” She says. Her body is supernaturally still, apart from the arms that set her book onto a side table.

“It may have slipped my mind.” 

Her eyes harden and her face twists into a sour purse. “I am so furious with you.”

“Oh, not this. I just got back,” Gilbert groans. 

“Exactly! After being gone for 75 years! Locked in a library even my charms couldn’t break! You were an idiot. I can’t believe one being could be as hard-headed and! And!” 

“Darling?” A voice calls. “Are you alright?”

The door swings open and a man wearing slim black pants and a crisp purple suit jacket stands in the door. Out from his brown hair, two rams horns stick out. 

He looks at Gilbert in shock. 

“Roderich!” Gilbert calls. “You stupid aristocrat! You’re still here? I would have thought she’d have kicked you out by now?” Gilbert says first. 

“Oh shut up, you heathen.” The well-dressed man bites out. 

You don’t know what to say, but being caught in the middle of this exchange is making you increasingly uncomfortable. The brunette ignores the argument that’s breaking out between Gilbert. 

"This is my husband," she introduces, then looks at you expectantly. 

“Hi,” you mumble. “I’m the one that broke him out of magic jail.”

“I figured, dear,” She says kindly, before scowling at Gilbert once more. “And I can’t believe you would force this poor thing to break into my house for you!”

“Vash wouldn’t have let us in! He’s still pissed at me”

“He’s right, I wouldn’t of. ” The blond man standing above you mutters. 

“And we’ve been running from two of Arthur’s men for a day now! There wasn’t much time to grovel,” Gilbert bites out. 

From your bag, a mewl sounds out. Your face heats up when everyone looks at you. Slowly, you reach into the bag and pull out your new travelling companion, your mimic. Roderich looks horrified in the way that any aristocrat would, Eliza wears a look of quiet shock, but Vash shares his shock verbally. 

“What the fuck?” 

“Her name is Muffin,” you say, “And she’s very sweet.” Muffin lets out a growl that contradicts the statement. 

“That things not staying here!” Vash sputters

“I already tried to get her to leave it behind, it’s not going to work.” Gilbert defends you. 

“Quiet, you too!” Elizabeta scolds. “I think we can make an exception for one mimic. Now tell me about the shit-show you’ve cast yourselves into.”

Gilbert goes on to explain what’s happened to the two of you the past four days. About the library and how you got out, how the two of you passed through the village and got attacked, that you found Ludwig at his cabin, and that now, you were helping him find his magic items to destroy the library. 

Eliza was very interested in the fact that you’d fallen into Gilbert’s prison by accident and if Arthur and Lukas had made it into the wandering woods yet.

“Ludwig and I guessed that we have time before they can organize and get here,” Gilbert says to her. She nods, emerald green eyes sharply staring into the fireplace of the sitting room. 

“We won’t be here long,” Gilbert says. “Only for the night.” 

Elizabeta looks at him, and you can tell that despite how much of an asshole he is to her and her husband, they are close friends. “You can stay all long as you need” 

“And you should definitely have a bath.” Roderich cringes. “You’re both filthy.”

“Jee, thanks.” You say.

“What my husband means is that the two of you are welcome to anything while you stay here,” Elizabeta says. 

“A healing potion would also be nice,” Gilbert says. You look at him quizzically. “For your head,” he reminds you. “And all the other bumps and bruises you got.” 

If you were being honest with yourself, you’d forgotten about that, but you defiantly wouldn’t complain. The side of your body that you landed on has been aching since you fell on in during the Wild Magic surge, and your headache has returned. 

Eliza nods and looks at you. “I think I’ll have something for you.”

Vash lets go of the two of you after Elizabeta orders it and leaves to do whatever the knight of an estate tends to. Eliza gets up from her seat and motions for you and Gilbert to come with her. With Roderich accompanying you (and continuing to exchange sly remarks with Gilbert out of his wife’s earshot), she takes you through the rest of the house. The walls are a dark green colour with rich, dark wood floors and ornate lamplights. There’s a grand staircase that leads you up to the second level. 

Roderich turns down a hallway, leading Gilbert away from you. You look at him, only slightly worried about splitting up. He gives you a nod and waves gently as he turns down the hallway. You’ll be fine, I’ll see you soon.

Not an end,

But the start of all things

That are left to do

You follow Elizabeta down another corridor of the large house. At the chance to look out through one of the tall windows, you see the grounds of Roderich and Elizabeta’s estate. Beautiful gardens and fields stretch out to reach a tall shrub wall. Strange, because from the outside of the wall, the property didn’t seem so large. 

You turn into a room, a guest suite probably, and Eliza has you sit down. You plop down on the floral-patterned couch, your hands, which like the rest of you are covered in grime, are kept on your lap so that you don’t dirty anything. 

Eliza walks through a door in the room and you hear the sound of running water. So the Unseen World has plumbing, you think to yourself. Eliza exits the bathroom and waves a hand in the air. The tinkle of bells sounds out, clear and coming from no area in particular. Without delay, the door opens and a head pokes in. 

A little girl, no older than 10, with fair skin and straw blond hair littered with white flowers, speaks up. 

“You called?”

“Yes, Lilly. Would you go get my potions bag from my room, please?”

The little girl nods and disappears.

“You know magic.” You say.

Eliza nods. “I taught Gilbert some of what he knows.” 

Eliza leads you into the bathroom, where the claw-footed bathtub waits, filled with water. She leaves to let you get in. 

Slowly, you peel off your layers. After two days of trekking through the forest, you’re body aches. You pull your chemise off over your head, and when you look at you’re body in the mirror of the bathroom, you cringe. All down the one side of you, you’re littered with bruises from when you were slammed into the ground by a wild magic surge. You cringe as you trace your fingers over the discoloured splotches. 

You climb into the bathtub, the soapy water is hot against your sore muscles and you sink in up the top of your head. You run your fingers through your hair. Carefully, you feel the bruise at the back of your head. It doesn’t hurt as much as it did the first night you got it, but it’s still tender. You scrub yourself clean with the soap and washcloth left on the edge of the tub until all the sweat and grime rinses off of you. 

You step out of the tub and wrap yourself with a towel, and leave the bathroom to region Eliza who’s waiting. She helps you into fresh clothes and sends the muted blue dress you’ve been wearing for the past 4 days to be washed. For now, you wear some of Elizabeta’s clothes. You’re given a new chemise, a clean petticoat and a lavender wool dress with long wide sleeves. Eliza laces up the dress at the back for you.

“You’ve seemed to have acquired quite the collection of bruises,” she remarks as she finishes. 

“Well, Gilbert seems to attract a lot of trouble. But I’m sure you know that.” 

“I do,” Eliza says. “Even when we were younger he was even more of a magnet for it.”

You watch her as she sorts through her potions bag. Her green eyes flicker to you, studying you carefully like she sees something about you that you don’t. 

“Me and my husband, have known him for many years, long before he started his war with the courts of Albion and the North Isles.”

She speaks softly. She tells you how she and Roderich met Gilbert when he came to her for a charm or spell so long ago, and the way she speaks, who she chooses her words, and skirts around them with her tone itches at a spot in your brain. 

“Ms. Eliza, I know that fae can’t lie, but they can omit details. What’s wrong.” 

“I’ve taken this time to warn you,” she says softly. “About Mr. Beilschmidt.”

“You’re warning me about your friend?”

“Gilbert is my friend, but that doesn’t mean the same thing as it does to humans. He’s a great leader and a loyal brother. But he’s fae, not human. Our kind has a different philosophy when it comes to morality. Gilbert is a warrior, he is violent and dangerous.”

“Why are you telling me this?” you ask. 

“Because I think that for your safety, it is important for you to know that," she says. 

“While I haven’t known Gilbert as long as you or your mate has, I know he’s not good by human standards.” You study the brunette woman, watch her emerald green eyes regard you, so soft and serious, and try to understand why she’s telling you this.

“Are you saying he will hurt me?” You ask Eliza, a sick feeling rising in your throat. You think of that night in the back alley when Gilbert had killed those fae men. Remember the burning colour of his eyes surrounded by pitch black and the snarl that stretched across his face like a scar. 

“No,” Elizabeta says, and it’s a small comfort. “Gilbert likes you, and he needs you to be free. But for a human who wants to get home, a fae taking a liking to you is a problem.” 

You still don’t quite understand, and Eliza can tell, so she carries on. “The Unseen World and the fae that live in it reflect off of each other. We affect one another. I’m sure you’ve seen some of the human things that unseen folk like to collect.”

You remember Basil and the Jane Austen novel that sat on a bookshelf with other rare copies of human books. 

“Fae love collecting things, shiny things, pretty things, rare things. We feel especially drawn to the things from beyond the Great Veil. It’s why you humans know of our unsavoury habit to spirit away the things that catch our eye, to play tricks and cause trouble in your world.” 

Your grandmother’s stories ring in your head. Picture books of tiny winged creatures playing tricks on villagers and stealing household objects. Scenes of far more malicious fair folk stealing children. 

Elizabeta continues. “This is mirrored by the Unseen world as well. Its magic can affect some humans in certain ways. Being stuck in the fae realm can feel strange if you don’t belong here.” 

You take a deep breath and your eyes, wide and unsure meet her enchanting green ones. 

“Do you feel it?” Elizabeta says to you. “The lulling, the comforting pull?”

You nod. You can. That unnerving feeling that tells every fibre of you that you don’t belong in the fae realm but that you could. If you wanted, you could. You’d just need to stay, the humming tells you. Let yourself fall in love with the faerie glamour. Swallow this world and its magic like the sickly sweet juice of spirit berries.

Stay!

“I do,” you whisper. You’re scared. The feeling thrums just behind your heart, soft, persistent, but not quite overwhelming. 

She nods.

(You remember what Basil had said to you that morning in their shop. Basil had been right, that no matter how human you were, the Unseen World would try to make your stay. You know they were right the moment you walked down those stairs. Gilbert stood there about to fight what might keep him from you and you felt it. The pull, the unnerving realization that you were glad he was there.)

“What do I do?” 

“Remember why you’re here,” She says. “You’re helping Gilbert only so you can get home. You know in your mind that that’s what’s best for you, but your heart is weak to my world’s magic, and it will try to convince you to stay.” Eliza’s face is stern. “You must follow your head, not your heart.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t imagine how jarring this is for you,” She says. 

“No, thank you.” You say. You knew that as convincing as the arrogant frat guy persona was, Gilbert was far too cunning for you to fully trust, as distressing as that is. It was a comfort to know that someone else was informing you of what to look out for. 

Elizabeta grabs a small potion bottle from her bag. Her hand glows slightly as she shakes it before uncorking it and handing it to you. The liquid inside is a clear, honey yellow and feels slightly warm in your palm. 

“Drink this.” She says. “It’s a healing potion, but I should tell you that it tastes awful.”

And it does. While it’s a watery consistency that’s easy to swallow, it’s terribly bitter. Eliza gives you a glass of water which you take to wash down the horrid aftertaste. 

“If you head back down to the main floor, Lily will show you where you can get something to eat. I’m sure you’re very hungry.” You nod and stand up.

“Thank you, Elizabeta,” you say, as you watch one of the scrapes on your palm slowly close over. She nods, regal as ever, and sends you on your way.

***

After you leave, Elizabeta remains in the room, folding towels and putting away her potions kit. The door creeks and she looks up. 

“I thought you’d had left already,” she says. 

In the doorway stands Gilbert, leaning against the wall. His eyes, as sharp and red as ever, are trained on her. 

“What did you tell her.” 

Eliza takes a deep breath. “I didn’t tell her anything. I only warned her. She deserves that, at least” 

Gilbert narrows his eyes but leaves it at that. There’s no biting remark or threat. The white-haired man turns to leave. 

“If she asks where I am, tell her I’m still cleaning myself up.” 

Don’t let it in

With no intention to keep it

Jesus Christ, don’t be kind to it

Honey, don’t feed it

It will come back. 

Gilbert leaves through the servants' door at the back of the manor. Vash opens up a hole in the shrubbery wall at the back of the property and Gilbert steps through it. He nods at the knight, the once captain of his guard and kind-of friend. 

“Don’t die,” Vash says plainly, and closes the opening after him. So much for sentiment, it seems. 

Gilbert treks off towards the forest. The afternoon sky is covered in bitter-grey clouds with a breeze that cuts against the side of Gilbert’s face. He reaches the trees and slinks into the brush. As he enters, he listens to the growing silence of his woods around him. There’s no birds song, no chattering or chirping. Gilbert rests his hand on the sword that hangs at his side. His other clenches into a fist, feeling the leather of his glove stretch over his knuckles. 

Off to the side, he hears the crunch of leaves and whips around. He reaches out a gloved hand and sends a fireball hurtling towards his target. 

Alfred manages to duck and roll out of the way, giving Gilbert time to unsheathe his sword. 

“You’re back for round two, I see.” 

Matthew steps out from behind a tree. “And you didn’t bring your pet.”

“Well, she wouldn’t be too pleased to witness me kill you two, so I decided to leave her out of it this time.” He says, an arrogant smirk stretching across his face.

(Fae aren’t like humans in the way that they experience emotions. They love to the point of insanity and they hate until the world burns. Gilbert knows both of those feelings very well. 

He remembers what he was like before his crusade. He remembers being a young fae, grieving the loss of his home and parents and unsure how to process that in any way other than anger. 

Ancients, he was angry. Gilbert has wanted to leave his grandfather’s home the first chance he got to hunt down the men that raided his village, and his grandfather knew it. Gerald had seen that fire and gave him a sword, something to channel it into. 

It had worked, at least for a while. Gilbert eventually learned all he could from his grandfather and left home to put his skills to use. He was mostly a sword for hire, chasing down monsters and escorting caravans (which was how he met Roderich and Elizabeta). He slew the occasional Manticore or Basilisk until he was strong enough to hunt down the man that took everything from him. 

Of course, Gilbert’s revenge against Captain Gramercy was short-lived, that fire that burned in him wouldn’t calm down.) 

Lightning crackles in the woods as Gilbert dodges a spell that Matthew sends for him. He dips under Alfred’s blade, coming up behind and kicking his leg in. He reaches a hand up and his leather glove burns with orange runes. The next spell that Matthew tried to conjure in his hand dies out before it can even be released.

From behind, Alfred charges again. Gilbert blocks but can’t move in time to avoid the head-but that Alfred delivers. It seems the boy is catching on. Gilbert can feel the magic that pools in the area around him. Like the string in a piano, a magic surge is released, and this Gilbert can smell smoke in the air. He disengages from Alfred with just enough time to dive out of the way. In the ten-foot area where he was just standing, fire engulfs the forest in the sweltering heat. 

(Gilbert’s rage was his fuel and his folly. He often forgot it. The heat that coursed through him, the red that burned in his eyes blinded him.)

When Gilbert picks himself up again, the two brothers are on the other side of the burnt-out forest. Matthew pulled Alfred away from the blast in the last seconds. Gilbert breaths heavily, his eyes burn into Matthews. 

“That’s enough, boys.” A voice calls out. From the shadows, steps Arthur, wearing far more practical travelling clothes and a cutlass that hangs at his side. “You’ve done enough,” the high fae says. 

Alfred grabs Matthew and pulls him away. The two young men are quite beat up. With bruises on their faces and blood tricking down the sides of their heads, Gilbert knows that the two brothers wouldn’t have lasted much longer

“Have you come to finally finish this, or will these children continue to do your dirty work?”

“Oh, that is tempting,” Arthur grins. “But I’m getting quite tired. Lukas and I just arrived in the Woods and they’ve managed to distract you long enough.” Arthur says, gesturing to the two brothers. 

They’ve managed to distract you. From what? Gilbert had known that Lukas and Arthur would be making their way to the Wandering Woods to reunite with Vladimir, but what didn’t he know? What wasn’t he seeing? 

“How long do you think you’ve been out here? Thirty, forty minutes? That quite a bit of time to leave her alone.”

Lukas and Arthur should be in the Wandering Woods. If Arthur was here in front of him, then where was Lukas Bondevic?

“It’s too bad you won’t get back to her in time!” Arthur says. His face is mangled with a smug grin. His green eyes shift into those of a cunning viper.

Gilbert realizes what he means. “Shit.”

Gilbert doesn’t deal Arthur one final blow. He doesn’t say something witty or confident. There’s no ‘this isn’t over’ to level at his opponent.

Gilbert turns and runs.

He tears through the trees and runs out of the forest towards the vined wall of Eldenstien Manor. He reaches the gate, and to his left, on the ground is a dusting of frost with footsteps leading through it, into the thick shrubs. 

He’s too late.

My peace has always depended,

On all the ashes in may wake

Lily leads you through Eldenstien Manor, stopping by the small library to grab a book for yourself before taking you to the kitchen for a snack. Your guide is very talkative and very curious about you. When you had something to eat, and Lily had asked enough questions to satisfy her, she brought you to one of the guest bedrooms on the second floor. Lily leaves you to set your bag and winter coat on the coat stand and relax until later. 

(Well, technically she was told to by her older brother. You think that if the little blond girl with flowers growing out of her hair had it her way, she’d be dragging you off to play in her room, but Vash was very insistent that she let you relax for a bit.) 

You sit on your bed flicking through the book you snagged earlier. Goosebumps raise on your skin and you shiver. You wrap a blanket at the foot of your bed around yourself, but the temperature keeps dropping. 

You stand up and walk to the fireplace. You stick your hands towards the flame and rub them together. Why is it so cold all of a sudden? The fire doesn’t seem to be helping. 

As soon as you notice this, the fire is snuffed out. You gasp in surprise and take a step back. White puffs of your breath fan out in the frigid air. You turn and walk across the room. The wooden floors are slowly being covered with frost and as you reach for the door handle, it’s covered in ice as well. You try to twist it open, but it doesn’t budge. You attempt to pull it open but it’s stuck. The frost begins to sting your fingers and you release your hold on the doorknob. 

“So this is who all the fuss is about.”

You whip yourself around to face a stranger that has appeared in your room. 

“Who the fuck are you?”

A man, not particularly tall or broad, stands a few paces away, in front of the window. He’s as pale as snow, with an unhealthy purple tinge to his lips, and eyes as cold as the Atlantic. 

“My apologies,” he says, clearly bored. “Where are my manners? Lukas Bondevik. A pleasure.” The blond takes a deep, sarcastic bow, swishing his expensive blue cloak and silver-adorned hand. “You are a tough human to get a hold of, miss,” he says, his tone lilting. 

“You’ll have to forgive me, sir. I’ve been busy.” You watch him carefully. 

“I can imagine, with the ‘running for your life’ and all.”

“Exactly,” you say with a tight smile. “So maybe you and your friends could call off your pursuit, give Gilbert back his things so he can send me home, then I’d be available to take some calls.”

Lukas smirks and tilts his head at you. “Do you think he’ll do that?” 

“He has to, we made a deal.”

“Oh, you’re precious. You have no idea, do you?” He laughs. 

“You think you’re the only human to think they can strike a deal with the fae and make it out?” Lukas says. “Gilbert is a tyrant, a monster like all the rest of us, and you haven’t the smallest clue what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

God, you know that. You know that Gilbert isn’t a saint. The look in Basil Nakura’s eyes when they recognized him told you all you needed to know about the reputation Gilbert Beilschmidt left behind. But you lie anyway. 

“Maybe I don’t care if he’s a monster.” You take a step back, clutching Muffin closer to you, the mimic growling like an angry cat. Your coat is just to the right of you, hanging on the back of the chair along with Gilbert's dagger.

Lukas laughs, the frost spreads farther across the floor towards you. It climbs up the walls and over the windows. “You’re a human, you always care about everything.” He steps forward.“It’s what’s so charming about you.” 

Lukas’s face takes on a serious, almost soft expression. “You know what he is. You know what will happen when he’s free, why do you think so many people are committed to locking him away. Do you think he’ll stop when he has his woods? Or will he conquer all of the Unseen World? Who’s to say that even the Great Veil would stop him from coming to your home, for you?” 

You thought about this when you were in the library. What would mean for this world if he got free, what would happen? After your deal is fulfilled, will you even be safe from him? The room grows even colder, sinking itself into your bones, locking up your muscles. Your hands are so cold, they hurt when you move them towards the inside of your coat. 

“That’s why you’re going to kill me?” 

Lukas nods. “But I might not have to. He needs you so that he can win. If you come with me, I’ll protect you from him. I’ll spare you.” He steps closer. 

(You’re parents always said you were too clever for your own good. You knew what you wanted, and how to get it. No one could convince you to detour from that. Your parents would try and make deals with you as a young child. These deals were always skewed in their favour. Six-year-old you knew this and was quite offended that they would try it. 

You’re parents always said you were too clever for your own good. You believe there’s no such thing.)

Lukas stood in front of you, with some bullshit attempt at romantic softness. This Jack Frost-looking motherfucker thought that you would fall for that? Time for him to learn from that mistake. 

Muffin snarls and shifts in your arms, trying to lurch at the fae in your room. You think that Muffin should get what she wants. 

You let go of your mimic and she flies at Mr. Bondevik (which looks quite odd, because you have no idea how she can move with such speed or force when she has no legs). Lukas yells out, and you take your moment to grab Gilbert’s dagger from your coat. 

“I think it’s safe to say I won’t be accepting your offer, frosty!” 

Lukas peels Muffin off of his face, blood oozing from the marks her teeth made and when he throws her onto the bed, you stab him.

“Ah!” He yells out as the knife digs into the meat of his shoulder. “You miserable rodent! You’ll pay for that!” 

You slash at him again and he steps back. Your unwanted guest disappears in a blast of ice. The pure cold radiates out from where his form once was like a bomb, crashing into you. Ice runs through your body, so cold that it's debilitating. 

With a painful gasp, you collapse onto the ground. 

When the bitter creeps in

To bite you whole

“Vash! Open the door!” He yells. The gate swings open and he rushes in. 

His boots slam against the wood floors and Roderich comes out of a room to see what’s wrong.

“Where is she?” He yells.

“I don’t know, one of the guest bedrooms?”

“Which one?” He runs up the main staircase. 

“Gilbert, what’s going on?” Eliza comes around the hallway, dressed in a tea gown and with her hair let down.

“Bondevic is here!” He yells and tears down the hallway, not caring if she knows what he means.

Gilbert rattles the doorknob of one of the bedrooms and finds it locked. The metal of the handle is ice cold, and when he takes a step back, he notices that ice has spread out from under the door. He tries to muscle it open, but it’s frozen shut. Gilbert rips off one of his gloves and grasps the frost-covered doorknob. Through the black-soot stains on his hands, magic glows brightly like the embers of a fire, heating through the door. 

With his shoulder, he slams into the wood. The door crashes open, and Gilbert bursts into the room, Eliza and Vash following after him. 

You are in the centre of the room. You’re huddled over, holding yourself up on the end of the bed frame with one arm, the other still clutching Gilbert’s knife.

Gilbert is at you first, grabbing you by your waist and setting you on the edge of the mattress. 

His hands are stained black from his magic and he thinks for a moment that he shouldn’t touch you with them, but quickly ignores himself when you look up at him through snowflake-dusted lashes. With the back of his knuckles, he brushes away some of the frost that's formed on your eyebrow. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, roving over you.

“Just a bit chilled,” you say with a smile. “I met Mr. Bondevic, though I can’t say he was a courteous guest,” you quip through chattering teeth. Gilbert feels his lungs release the breath they’re holding. He grasps your hands and tries to rub some warmth into your cold fingers. 

“And I thought my manners were bad.”

Forget it all, 

you caught me in a moment weak

Sometimes I just can’t help myself

Sometimes I can’t help myself at all

“I thought Eldenstien Manor had wards to protect it,” Gilbert says. Everyone sits around the large, dining room table for dinner.

“It does,” Eliza says.

“They clearly aren’t enough.” 

“Gilbert, It’s fine, really,” you say.

“It’s not! He would have killed you.”

“I actually think he was gonna kidnap me,” you say, not noticing how Gilbert clenches his teeth when you tell him that. He really doesn’t want to think about that. “And he didn’t even get close. You should’ve seen Muffin. She did so good! Didn’t you, baby.” You coo at the mimic that sits on the table in front of you, panting and trilling as you scratch its spine. 

This doesn’t comfort Gilbert. All he can think about is him having to sail to the North Isles to steal you back from Lukas and his brothers. Gilbert supposes he owes the little monster for preventing that. 

On the other side of the table, Roderich, Eliza, Vash, and a young Lily watch with awe and confusion at the book-monster you're cuddling. 

“You’ll have to modify your plan moving forward,” Eliza says. You won’t make it to the west side of the Woods in time if Lukas and Arthur are already here.”

“That leads me to what I was going to ask. I was winding if you had a teleportation charm so that we could use the standing stones.” 

Eliza nods. “I’m confident I can make a couple.” 

“We’d need enough for 3 trips. One to the border of the West Plains, another to get to Vladimir’s Castle and the final on to get back.”

“You’ll need something to keep you off their radar for the time being as well, correct?” Eliza reached into the pocket hidden under the layers of her skirt and pulls out two charms. These will keep you reasonably hidden from tracking or scrying.”

“And I’ll make sure to strengthen our wards,” Vash says from his post. 

Gilbert nods and sits back in his chair. You’ve set Muffin back onto the ground to eat. To fight off the cold, you’ve been given a mug of hot tea to go with your dinner, as well as wine, which you seem to enjoy. Despite whatever Elizabeta has put in your tea to combat Lukas’s ice magic, your cheeks are still flushed from the cold. He should probably get you a blanket, Gilbert thinks. 

After dinner, all of you get up to retire for the evening. You thank Eliza and Roderich for the meal and scurry out off into the wall. Gilbert follows you as you make your way through the manor. The sound of his boots on the floors drowning out our light footsteps.

“Are you going to tailing me, the whole night, 007?” You ask him, turning around in the hallway. 

“It seems I have to, with what happened after I left you alone this afternoon.” 

With what happened after both times you left her alone, the voice in Gilbert’s head reminds him. Yes, how could he forget that night in the village, on the first day of your quest? The village fae that had tried to spirit you away, and then did much worse. Gilbert’s eyes flicker to the back of your head. The injury you’d suffered that night should be healed after Eliza’s potion. 

“Well you won’t need to do that for long, I’m heading right to bed.” 

You walk up the main stairway and onto the second floor, turning down the hall towards the guest bedroom. Gilbert follows you into your room, standing there looking at you. 

“What are you doing,” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Get your things, Maus. You’re not sleeping here tonight.”

“You can’t be serious.” But Gilbert is. “I have a warding charm thingy from Ms. Elizabeta. I’ll be fine”

“No, I don’t care.” 

“Gilbert, please! I haven’t slept in a proper bed since I got here.” 

“You will, you’ll just sleep in mine.”

“No.” 

“I will drag you there if I have to.”

You let out a frustrated growl and stomp your foot. 

“Don’t make me count to five,” he says with a smirk. 

“I’m bringing Muffin. And a book.”

“I’ll allow it,” he says with a teasing, pompous tone.

You gather your things and leave the room, Muffin hopping down the carpeted hall after you. Your hand brushed the rails of the second-floor banister and slowly you come to a stop. Music, the delicate sound of the piano, starts to drift up. Gilbert watches you peer down to the level below, where it’s coming from.

Below, in the main hall, set in the corner, is a beautiful upright piano, where Roderich sits and plays. Elizabeta sits beside him on the bench, their legs brushing together and slightly leaning into one another. 

Roderich’s fingers grace across the ivory keys, playing a soft melody that reverberates through the space, giving the pair of soulmates a quiet moment together. 

“They are meant for each other,” you whisper, barely audible over the piano, but Gilbert nods. 

He watches as your fingers tap on the cover of the book you’ve borrowed from the manor’s library. God, you’re an absolute nerd, he thinks to himself. As soon as there’s downtime, your nose is stuck in a book. The book is small, and thin, probably on 200 pages.

“What’s the book?” He asks quietly, sliding up beside you on the railing. 

“Just a romance novel, something light to read.” You say, nonchalant. 

The corners of Gilbert’s mouth turn up. 

“A romance novel?”

“I like romance novels, it's one of my favourite genres” you admit, turning to look at him. “Does that surprise you?”

Gilbert looks at you. His mouth is wide open in a half-gasp, half-smirk. He looks absolutely scandalized. 

“I would have thought you’d like something more gritty and profound,” Gilbert tells you, looking enthralled. He’s so enthralled that he leans down as he says it, his voice low.

“There is just as much depth and meaning in light then there is in darkness, and I already read so many philosophy books for my degree. The change of pace is nice. ” You defend yourself. 

“Huh.” 

“What about you? What’s your favourite genre?” You ask. 

“Oh, I never read that much, I didn’t have much time.” He says. “But when my mom read to me, she would read me adventures.”

“You’re mom read to you?”

Gilbert nods, thinking back to his childhood. “My mother was the one who taught me how to read and write. She read lots of stories about knights, and I thought that they were so cool.”

“Slaying dragons, saving the kingdom…”

“Exactly,” he says.

The two of you lean on the banister, listening to Roderich as he plays, the notes of the song speed up into a thrilling bridge. 

“I wanted to be like those characters. I wanted to be strong and brave, and unstoppable.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees the corner your mouth lift. “Well, you certainly are two of those things.”

“Hey!” He says lowly, leaning in to smile at you.

“But you aren’t unstoppable, Gilbert,” You remind him.

Gilbert looks at you, his red eyes glow as he watches you. Piano notes ring out in the air around the two of you. Your lips are slightly parted as you look up at him. 

“Maybe so,” he says. “But you make me feel like it.” 

So tired of trying to see behind the red in my eyes,

No better version of me I could pretend to be tonight

After being in the Unseen World for days, finally sleeping in a bed is like ascending to heaven. You take off the layers of wool dress and petticoats, leaving you in just your chemise, and climb into bed. The fireplace at the end of the room is lit, the mattress is soft, and despite the fact that Gilbert has chosen to sit in a chair beside the bed and not in front of the fire where it’s warm, you fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. 

But you don’t sleep the whole night through. And neither does Gilbert.

You wake to the sound of a struggle. You peek your head out of the covers and look through the darkness. In his chair, Gilbert twitches and struggles. His face is scrunched up and he’s muttering. ��      

“Gilbert-” you whisper, but he doesn’t wake up. You crawl out of bed, the cold air prickles your skin through your linen chemise. The warmth of the fire doesn’t seem to make it fully to that side of the room.

“Gilbert!” 

He wakes up with a start. He straightens in his chair and looks to see you, crouched in front of him. 

“Ya? Maus?” 

“Ya, it’s me. Are you okay?”

 He rubs at his face to get his bearings. “It was just a bad dream,” he says. “Why did you wake me up?” 

“Well…I didn’t want to just let you go through it like that,” you whisper. You remember the nightmares you’ve had in your life. It’s torture to be forced to witness them to their end.

 Gilberts lets out a breath. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it,” you whisper. Gilbert shivers, rubbing the sides of his arms and shifting in his seat. 

“You’re cold.” You state the obvious, but Gilbert doesn’t give some arrogant remark about it. That’s not a good sign. 

“It was always so cold there.” He says. His eyes are dark like red wine and his hair glows blue in the dark of the room. You’re confused at what he means at first, but then you get it. 

“The Library, you mean?”

Gilbert nods. “Sometimes, I feel so cold and I think that I’m still there.”

You remember that place as well. The cold of the stone floors and the cold blue light that shone down. You were only there for about an hour. You couldn’t think about what it was like to be trapped in there alone for 75 years. 

The way Gilbert looks now, solemn and almost … small in the cool darkness of your shared room makes you think of a ghost, so pale he’s almost translucent, stuck on the other side of something where no one can reach him. 

“Get in,” you say, and you hop onto your bed and scootch over. You fold back the thick comforter and Gilbert looks at you have two heads. 

“Get in the bed, Gilbert, before I change my mind,” you try to joke, but it comes out far softer than you meant. 

(You think of what Elizabeta told you, about following your head and not your heart. To not trust Gilbert and to certainly not get attached to him, but you’re tired and scared, and the horrifying thing about being reliant on the albino fae for your safety is that despite what you’re very reasonable mind tells you, you sort of trust Gilbert, and you might even be starting to like him. 

So sue you, maybe just this once, you want to follow your heart, and feel a little bit of safety, and warmth, with a man that might also need just that.)

“Take off your boots, please.” You whisper as Gilbert gets up from his chair. He kicks his boots off somewhere and pulls his shirt up and over his head, throwing it to the floor as well. He lifts his knee onto the mattress and looks at you. He’s checking to make sure you’re still okay. You nod, and he crawls all the way into bed.

You lay down and nestle yourself into the mattress, pulling your blankets up to your chin. 

“Thank you.”

You look to the man who lays next to you. The moonlight that comes in through the window casts the white sheets and pillows in a soft blue glow, and Gilbert’s eyes are soft, free of their clever, deceitful shine. 

“I haven’t said that to you. If I’m honest sometimes I forget, you know, to thank people when they help me, my hammers aren’t the best,” he rambles, his voice quiet and raspy. “But truly, thank you for helping me, Maus.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Gilbert. I’m just doing this to get home.” You say.

“See, you say that but…” He turns over to you. “You’ve done so much more than anyone else would have, it goes beyond self-serving. You’re so …good” He struggles to get the words out. 

“I know that you don’t really trust me, or even like me, but you’re still so kind to me. Someone else might have resented me, so thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you whisper into to dark of the room. 

Soon, the both of you fall back asleep. It’s peaceful and calm, in the safety of white linen and heavy blankets, no nightmares can reach you. 

I wake, at the first cringe of morning

And my heart's already sinned

Author’s Notes

This chapter was quite the thing to get through, but it was so satisfying to finish. This is the longest chapter I’ve ever written, which is wild. Like I said at the beginning, this marks the halfway point of this story! 

I was really excited to write about Elizabeta. It was so fun to adapt her to this AU. I love her character so much as this no-nonsense, badass who’s still in touch with her femininity, and really wanted to write her like that here. 

 Also, I think that Eliza and Roderich’s relationship is so sweet, and wanted to explore it just a bit. Sadly They won’t make much of an appearance, but maybe we’ll see them again later.

I have around eight more chapters left of this story, and the entire plot has been planned out (this was done before I even published the first chapter) so there will be an ending, but I'll try not and say too much about by plans for Gilbert and the reader. 

The next chapter will be ready for late December? But don’t quote me on that, I’m busy getting my Illustration application for school ready and need some time to focus on making art for that, but that does mean that I might have some official it will come back art? (If I think it’s any good)

A huge thanks to everyone who reads, likes, reblogs and comments. I love hearing from everyone, and I will try my best to respond. Have a great day!

Quotes (in order)

1. Wasteland, Baby! By Hozier

2. It Will Come Back by Hozier

3. Arsonist’s Lullaby by Hozier

4. Cold by The Oh Hellos

5. Allies or Enemies by The Crane Wives

6. Jackie and Wilson by Hozier

7. Someone New by Hozier

[vminity21]

sweet on you | ksj

Pairing: baker!seokjin x female!reader

Word Count: 3,087

Genre: fluff, absolute fluff on the valentine’s day

Warning(s): other than i have the biggest sweet tooth whether it is for seokjin or a colossal of desserts but you have been warned otherwise none; Rated: pg

Summary: after every excuse you take to visit your favorite local bakery to see your favorite employee, in a sweet surprise, you learn that the baker happens to share an immense crush on you as you do him.

Credits to: @suhdays​ once again for creating the cover! Happy Valentines day!

Seokjin kneads at the dough of what is to become the toastiest of baguettes while flour paints his arms, and his gloved hands grow achy from the continuous batches. Special orders flow numerously as the holidays inch closer, and with Valentine’s day approaching its turn, it has been long hours of consistently baking and recreating desserts for the hopeless romantics. Inwardly he knows he is guilty of such fondness for a face haunts every crevice of his mind even in the odd hours of the evening when he tosses and turns in his sleep.

The ring of the door signals another customer prompting Seokjin to slip off his current gloves to exchange for new ones, lifting his head to see none other than who makes his heart leap every single time- you. Smiling brightly in his direction, he gulps before putting on his confident face. “Welcome back! I’m glad to see the macarons didn’t scare you away,” he chuckles while you press fingertips of pure chagrin to your forehead.

“I consumed all thirty of them and I’m not sure if I should be ashamed or proud, but I surprisingly survived,”

Quiet murmurs of customers are sporadic throughout the space, yet their wandering eyes remain on the décor of the bakery, hardly noticing the sparks glimmering between you and your favorite worker. “Whoa,” Seokjin bellows, “And, I’m not sure if I should applaud you or tell you to beware. Sugar can be brutal,”

“Well, with your recipes, I’d say it’s worth the risk.” It’s a subtle flirt, yet the flattery in Seokjin’s eyes melt your heart.

“What can I get for you today?” Seokjin’s covered palms press against the freshly sanitized glass as he stares at you contently. Every chance you get, you enter this very bakery in the hopes of seeing Kim Seokjin, and every chance you get, you take home another treat that you save for your cheat day after a long week of work. Out of every local bakery, you have yet to find one that tops the way Seokjin bakes. He has a knack for ingredients and everything you have tried has been sent straight from the pearly gates of Heaven. But you are also convinced that Seokjin was God sent too because when you first discovered this place, you did not expect the immediate spark when you locked with his kind, umber eyes.

Hearts must have danced in elegant spirals around your frame while you witnessed the light movement of his hair when he turned in what seemed in slow motion to face you- plump, pink lips spread into a warm smile, teeth whiter than the whites of your eyeballs, his skin was clearer than the windows, and the way your mouth watered at the sight of his broad shoulders- you are not sure if you even breathed for a straight minute. He welcomed you with kindness and surprisingly tolerated your indecisiveness on what to purchase, but inwardly you were trying all you could to remain in his presence because something about him reveled serenity. And you wanted every part of it.

Seeing Seokjin sparked slumbers of exuberant pink paths prodding beneath your dancing shoes that are clacking in the direction of the delightful smell of marshmellows where sky tower lollipops align the world with their colorful swirls glistening beneath the brightly lit sky without a sign of melting. Vines of licorice would twist along chocolate trunks with branches growing gummy-like leaves matching the scrumptious hues of your surroundings. Rainbows of hard candies trickled along the ground to decorate the view prompting the compulsion to sink your teeth into every delicacy especially when your eyes would cast upon the pastel colors of macarons- flavors of creams protruding between the slices. You would barely miss his silhouette exploring amongst a bed of gumdrops that sat a far distance from an enormous peppermint pinwheel breezing against stalks of blue and pink clouds of cotton candy.

Visions of prancing gummy bears decorate a mountain of frozen ice cream while gingerbread men scope the milky river to avoid being caught by the currents desperate to travel the terrain as you longed to with the man lost in this wonderland of a universe. Oreo crumbs trail on either side of the stream, the smell of chocolate wafts in your direction while you continue the journey. Humming to yourself, your adventure is to endeavor the red velvet island- cream cheese frosting fluffing in an appearance of frames of pictures of more delights as well as smeared professionally into an imagined ceiling. The deep red, walls caked firmly with countless desserts poised in different areas of the domain tempted tourists passing by into taking a bite of their delectable treats.

Nearing the entrance, you would pause, recognizing him pirouetting throughout the greenery resembling grass but is edible as everything made in this dream you are infatuated by. When the pang of something grasps your attention, you searched your eyes along the sky- not noticing anything right away and when you returned your glance to where you found him, he disappeared. Halted in curiosity, you gasp at the tap on your shoulder. Crescent eyes beaming while he brushes his fingers along your gleaming lips, and that’s when your fantasy would wonder the feel of his kiss. The taste of strawberries encompassed your tongue once you would lean into him, but when something else nickered your frame, you pulled away. In awe, you observe minuscule, circular sprinkles shower the two of you in surprise. They tangle within your hair while boisterous laughter escapes both of you simultaneously- palms rising above your head while you spin, attempting to catch them as they rain. Shuffling the sprinklings within your hands, you are in love with the resilient colors brightening the atmosphere as it heightened the happiness.

The dream that has become your most cherished- golden pinecones stick to floating silvery cotton where chocolate cupcakes with thick swirls of white icing blend with red, glistening ornaments- the aroma of fresh pastries with shiny, red jelly are enticed with powdered sugar; thistles of brush dangling above while you whirl around at the enchanting view. Polka dots beautify the walls imaging fondant icing while slithers of whipped cream dazzle the rest of the desserts present. It doesn’t take long before an existence melts behind you, wrapping his arms around your frame, plopping his chin onto your shoulder. It’s the sweetness of his countenance, the plush kiss he places on the corner of your jaw; the delicate aura you are scared can magically disappear; the delicious taste of his kiss when he twirls you to capture your lips, pinning you against another wall reflecting swirls of cinnamon, fingers pressing into your waist while your hands grip his plumy tufts in desperation for more. Sprinkles clang numerously within the walls miraculously not needing a sky to downpour; lips locked and lost in time, it finalizes the fantasy where you wake up with a dazed smile.

“Please tell me you’re not contemplating macarons again,” Seokjin’s voice breaks through the cloud of thoughts bringing you back to reality while you awkwardly suppress the burn of a blush flooding your chest. “I purposely withheld your favorite flavors in hopes of you trying something new.”

“Oh, you brute, I should have known!” You laugh, seeing his shoulders shake in response to his teasing toward you, “So new? Like, new new or never had before new? I um… You know, I was actually planning on trying something new today,” you do not mean to lie, but you kind of lie.

“You had every intention on getting your usuals, and I have bamboozled you.”

“Alright, sir, two can play at this game because I can always go to Hoseok’s bakery-”

“Okay now you’re just being cruel!” Seokjin’s laugh is your favorite sound as he chuckles. Hoseok is his competition but also his best friend, and he is aware that Hoseok has been gaining much success with the recent opening of his bakery, but of course your heart belongs with Seokjin and his glorious, scrumptious delicacies warm and inviting within the glass casings.

“It is called revenge, and I shall prevail.” You wink.

Shaking his head, he quiets but only enough before he lifts his gaze to yours once again, “Speaking of anything new, I think I may have something in mind that you might like actually. I’m preparing to add another dessert to the menu, but I need someone to taste test to make sure it’s good enough to sell to the general public. Would you like to be the judge?” Seokjin leans off the glass casing still smiling at you while your eyebrows shoot up in excitement.

“Hm,” you release a purposeful ponder, “When are you wanting to showcase?”

“How about on Valentine’s day itself? I will be closing the shop early and you can come by after hours. Besides, I don’t really have anything else to do, and when I get bored, I bake.”

Boldly, you tilt your head, a knowing smile budding on your lips, “Are you asking me on a date, Seokjin?”

“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t.” Your heart flutters in reaction to his tender grin that follows his words. You have dreamed for countless months to win this man’s affections and here you are, about to experience your first date with him on Valentine’s day of all days.

“Well, I guess I will see you this weekend,” you muse, “I have high expectations for whatever you create, Seokjin.” Turning on a heel, you shift ever so slightly to throw him a chirpy shrug. Outwardly, it is all a show of composure though your inner self is screaming in joyous bursts mirroring the fireworks going off beneath his chest.

When Valentine’s day comes, Seokjin goes all out in early hours of the morning before the shop opens, red streams curl from the walls where he carefully tapes them- red, pink, and white balloons hover along the ceiling to bring more colors and the very second, he closes for the day, he will paint the floor with a myriad of rose petals while candles flicker upon the tables sporadically. He wants to prove to you that he has been waiting for this moment for a long time and he will celebrate you every day if you let him. A bundle of dark red roses lay hidden in his office as well as a heart shaped box of what one would assume is the typical fill of chocolates, but nay, it is holding the surprise of your favorite macaron flavors, just to add to the dessert that he is elated to make. He begins his swift trek to the kitchen, collecting all the ingredients and sprawling them along the counter in preparation before the crowd sets in. And when they do, he serves the happy couples with all smiles, looking forward to whenever he gets to see you.

When the hour comes for the bakery to close, he rushes to finish up the pastry, pouring melted chocolate as the completing touch. “Perfect,” he whispers, protecting the sweets with a lid to maintain the heat. A soft knock on the door makes his heart skip a beat as he briefly flings his apron on the counter, dusting off any crumb excess off his clothes and ruffling his hair before throwing a mint in his mouth. Releasing a slow exhale, he smiles, “Operation, win her heart.”

Sauntering to the entrance, he pauses in awe. Your hair is styled flawlessly while the red, shimmery dress clings to your figure complimenting a pair of high heels. Makeup covers your face in an exceptional amount where the color of your eyes shine, once you see him- mouth ajar, eyes widening in reaction, he robotically opens the door to invite you in. The smell of roses and small hints of lemon reach your nostrils calming the anxiety quivering within your fingertips. Seokjin looks so handsome as he always does, the black turtleneck hugging his torso while the tan slacks hang slightly loose against his long legs. “You look amazing,” you murmur, him shaking his head to bring himself back to the present.

“I can say the exact same to you. You look… God, you look-”

“Proper? Trim? Elegant? …Alluring-”

“All of the above,” he says breathlessly, “But you always look so beautiful,”

Blushing at his compliment, it is hard for you to stay serious sometimes especially when you are nervous, so your eyes scan the décor of the building, “I love what you’ve done with the place,” you step forward with the click of a heel, noticing the rose petals glinting upon the mahogany colored floor.

“I was hoping you would say that.” he clears his throat, “But here, have a seat, I have the dessert ready as well as a few other surprises,” he skids a chair out for you as you descend in shock. Other surprises? He disappears but only for a few minutes before he confidently returns with a lidded case covering whatever it is, he has made just for you. His other hand hides behind his back as he effortlessly places the tray upon the table. “And walla,” he smirks, lifting the lid as your eyes enlarge at the golden brown pastries pressing against a truffle of cream, some protruding delicately on the sides as melted chocolate trickles from the pastry and onto the plate. The sight is so tasty, and you can feel your mouth watering as the smell of the treat becomes prevalent.

“What is this?” You say in uttermost anticipation as he chuckles at your readiness.

“Profiteroles,” he replies, “They are one of my absolute favorites, and I have been wanting to make them for some time but haven’t until now.”

“Try one with me,” you break eye contact with the mesmerizing profiteroles to stare into the chocolate of Seokjin’s eyes, “But after you reveal what is behind your back.”

When a hearty laugh brushes past his widened smile, you are beyond yourself when he gradually brings into your line of vision, a bundle of roses and a heart shaped box, “You are not allowed to open the box until you eat a profiterole though,” Seokjin playfully demands, “So until then, I will protect this box at all costs.”

“I promise I will not touch until you say so. You have my word,” you raise your hands in defense to add to your statement. Seokjin sits across from you, settling the gifts next to the plate. Soft music reverberates suddenly to drown the silence as you feel your heart flying- you are certain that no one has ever done anything as sweet as this for you.

“Are you ready?” He says, scooting the plate closer to you.

“Very ready,” reaching carefully, you grab the treat, knowing very well that you want to devour it whole, and when you do, the cream mingled with the chocolate melts on your tongue deliciously as you close your eyes hazy. “Oh, my word,” you breathe, wanting another one immediately. “This is delicious! You have met every expectation! Jin, customers are going to love these!” The nickname flew from your mouth so naturally and instead of verbally responding, Seokjin chortling a high pitch laugh, leans forward, reaching his thumb to swipe a spot of chocolate from the corner of your mouth. The gesture is so sweet, you can’t help but gaze at him as he returns his hand back to lay on the table. “Have you tried one yet?” You speak softly. “You should. You’re phenomenal.”

He swats the air, “I’ll have one later. Your opinion matters to me the most anyways,”

“You?” Speechless, your eyes flit between his, nothing but admiration falls from his stare. “How do you do it? How do you make my mind drift to the happiest of places? I swear you just- I can’t- it doesn’t matter where I am, I am not happy until I see you.”

Reaching across the table, he leans forward, intertwining his fingers with yours as cliché as a movie, but this is the only movie you are willing to watch where the fairytale of him is connecting with you. “That’s why I always made sure your usuals were made as soon as I arrived. I didn’t want to disappoint nor have you betray me for Hoseok. Plus, he prefers coconut macaroons, not macarons.”

“The distinction between how they are actually pronounced. Thank you for clarifying,” there is nobody that has made you laugh as much as he has. “In all seriousness though, I don’t think I’ve ever had anything to look forward to until I found you.”

“And I couldn’t focus unless I knew who you were and if I was going to see you again. That’s why I always made conversation no matter how small until time gave me enough courage to finally ask you to be here.”  

“Well, I am very glad that you asked.” Smiles linger while eyes remain connected. He has the most eloquent, gentle manly charm and you hope he will end up being your eventual forever one day.

“Come here,” In one flawless swoop, Seokjin reaches for the arm of your chair, sliding it closer to where your legs touch. Surprised laughter serenades his ears once the chair is paused, but the nearness of him sends tingles along your skin. A faint scent of cologne grips to his clothes igniting the further desire building from the crave on your lips. He leans in, you meeting halfway to close the gap in the softest brush of his kiss. Sunlight exposes through the windows to illuminate in response to the magic happening right now in this moment. Linking your arms behind his neck, he wraps his around you, tugging you closer, deepening the kiss- getting so lost in you that nothing else outside of this bakery matters- only you matter.

Feeling his smile within his kiss, you pull away but still close enough to feel his breath swiping your chin, you giggle, “So what’s in the box?”

“I guess you’ll have to see,” he presses a quick, giddy kiss. You squeezing him once ecstatically.

“Okay, but first, let me get some more sugar.” You move your palms to squish his cheeks to where his lips pucker. “I don’t know about you, but I like it brutal.” And with that, you kiss him again, letting destiny complete its story on a day you never dreamed would mean so much.

[succulentsunrise]

Hm how about prompt 26 with Grey x Gauche please Sun 🥺💕? Thank you so much~!

26 from this prompt list! Thank you 🥰 hope you like it!! It references some events that happened in the manga, so if you haven't read up to chapter 266, beware of spoilers!

(also yes, if the title sounds familiar, it is a reference to that 😉)

Pairing: Grey x Gauche Note: SFW, fluff with small bits of hurt. ———————————————————

Truth Untold

Act 1 -

I feel like I can do anything with him, Grey thought as Gauche was carrying her on his back. To anyone else it would have looked like Gauche was carrying his double. Grey was still maintaining her disguise as him. Her heart was still racing from the battle’s success. She was in a kind of a high - even her twisted ankle didn’t feel that bad at that very moment. She and Gauche had defeated a member of the Eye of the Midnight Sun together! If her squadmate had been the type to get excited, Grey would have probably high-fived him in no time. Gauche wasn’t like that, however. He was serious and stern.

Gauche was dependable.

Soon after that, the two of them walked into a trap. It was almost laughable, if they weren’t in lethal danger! They had simply walked towards Charmy, who had been sleeping...and now they were captured. Grey panicked easily - she knew this too well. The vines that had wrapped around both of them were not even that tight, but she didn’t know what to do to slip out of them. They were sucking their magic away. She struggled uselessly against them, the previous high giving way to pure fear.

Then, that calm voice whispered to Grey.

When her mind retreated to jumble and fear, Gauche’s voice brought to her what she needed: direction. Her body obeyed before her mind even figured out what Gauche’s plan was. She trusted his plan fully. She trusted him. It wasn’t for naught - her magic and his cunning freed them from the trap. Grey landed to the ground with a small pained noise, as her twisted ankle complained about the rough landing.

Gauche’s calm voice addressed her. Grey turned to look at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was to the side, one hand scratching the back of his neck. She hadn’t seen him do that very often. He didn’t compliment people often - perhaps that’s why. She had only seen that kind of sincerity in his eyes when he spoke of his little sister. Even if he only complimented her magic, Gauche was encouraging her. It made Grey feel rather fuzzy inside, enough to make her cheeks turn a little warm. She hadn’t expected that from Gauche of all people. She was about to smile, but something else caught her attention - smoke was coming out of her. Her disguise, her magic, was coming undone! In an instant that same old panic overwhelmed her - she wasn’t ready for Gauche to see her! What if he recognized her! She hadn’t prepared for that: it wasn’t a scenario she had practised and played out in her head yet! As the handsome features she had worn turned into her own round face, Grey hid behind her hands. She could feel her cheeks redden with embarrassment, and the knowledge made it worse. A nervous noise left her before she could stop it, only increasing her embarrassment. If only she could control this reaction!

Gauche’s and Charmy’s voices reached Grey’s ears, but she could barely concentrate on them. She peeked from between her fingers, noticing that Gauche wasn’t even looking. That eased her beating heart a little - but not much. Charmy’s clear voice came closer, trying to calm her down. It was sweet, but all Grey wanted to do was to disappear. To be someone else. If she only had mana.

At least Gauche wasn’t looking. That was a relief! - and yet - somehow - disappointing?

No, it was definitely a relief.

Act 2 -

I wonder what he thinks of me, Grey thought. The three of them were gathered around a table: Grey, Gauche and Gordon. The others were on missions or visiting the town. They had originally just eaten together, but thanks to Gordon, they were now pondering whether to play something together. Gauche had tried to withdraw as always, but they had managed to convince him to stay for one game. Grey was glad he had decided to stay. She liked to think part of it was because of her, but that was what had made her wonder in the first place - Gauche saw her as weird, right? Well, it was no good thinking about it right now. If she got embarrassed, she’d just enforce that view! How Grey wished that she could control that in any way, but that was not how it worked. She got so easily anxious...

Gordon brought cards and they began playing. It was easy enough of a game to get into. It distracted Grey from her thoughts. The objective was to get all the cards to oneself by keeping a lookout for a specific type of a card, and when it would appear, by slapping the accumulating card pile. Whoever managed to slap the pile first would get them all. Gauche was very good at it - he had excellent reflexes and a competitive playstyle. Gordon was much slower, taking his time to enjoy the game. Grey felt a little too anxious to make such quick movements. She wasn’t always sure it was the right card, and as she hesitated, Gauche managed to slap it. It went so poorly for her, that she lost all her cards. She only had one round to save herself and that was only if she managed to get a slap out. While being out of the game would be in some way a relief, Grey had to admit she was having fun. She liked watching how confidently Gauche played and how his eyes followed the way the two of them placed the cards into the pile on their turns. She didn’t want the game to be over yet. So Grey steeled herself, readying herself to best Gauche: she would get the next slap! She watched like a hawk for the next card. A round passed, another one - her hand was twitching from anticipation. She had noticed Gauche’s gaze on her. He had noticed her concentration, but there was something else as well. No, Grey shook her head, she had to keep her attention on the cards! As she thought that, Gordon placed a card on the pile. The card. Quick as lightning, Grey extended her hand, noticing that Gauche was doing the same. Their hands struck the card almost at the same time, slapping on top of each other. She could feel his strong hand on hers, more gentle than she expected - and perhaps because of that, Grey anxiously jumped up from her chair and withdrew her hand. Realizing what she had done brought red warmth to her cheeks. She quickly hid her face with her hands, not wanting the others to see that she had gotten embarrassed. She was ashamed of it. She barely managed to get words out, mumbling something about getting scared.

Grey heard Gauche let out a ‘tsk’ noise, and the chair moved. She peeked from behind her fingers to see Gauche standing up. His face was turned away from her, but she could feel the negative aura around him. He was clearly done with the game. She had done this, hadn’t she? The guilt tied her stomach in knots. She watched as Gauche began walking upstairs, looking at his own hand briefly. The one she had touched. Grey sat down to the floor and hugged her knees. Her feelings for Gauche were clear: she wanted to be close to him and she wanted him to like her. Yet, everytime, she managed to ruin it somehow. Maybe there was nothing there. Maybe even with all her knowledge gathered from observing people, maybe she was wrong this time. Maybe Gauche just tried to support her, and she was making it more than it was.

The thought gnawed at Grey’s heart.

Act 3 -

I want him to see me, Grey thought as she sat by the white bed. She felt very tired and hopeless. Gauche had gotten seriously injured in the last fight. She had healed him - according to the court healer, Owen, completely. She didn’t know what to think about that. She didn’t want to think about it. So many terrible things had happened. Even their Captain was gone - no, taken - and a lot of the members were dealing with in their own ways. Grey sighed, her gaze on Gauche. He was bound to wake up any moment now. She hoped it was true. She wanted at least someone to stay by her side. She felt a small twinge of anxiousness at the prospect of Gauche remembering what she had said to him when she had healed the wound - look at me, she had said - and moved her gaze away from him. It was true, though. He had been by her side and supported her. It was easier to do things when someone confirmed what her anxiety doubted. Gauche was the calm harbour in the sea of emotions. Even if he couldn’t erase the embarrassment or anxiety itself, he helped alleviate it. He helped deal with it.

The rustle of sheets caught Grey’s attention. Gauche had woken up. He was sitting upright, looking around him. He seemed ready to go. Grey looked at him quietly, her heart catching onto her throat. He swung his legs to the side and rose up. As he turned to leave, Grey took a light hold of his hand, nervousness beating in her chest. She watched as his gaze turned to her, surprised perhaps, angry - the storm was raging inside him this time.

“Stay,” Grey asked, looking up to him from her chair.

Gauche looked at the delicate hold of his hand. Silence fell as he simply stood there.

Two heartbeats drummed as one.

Slowly, Gauche sat down back at the bed, never breaking the gentle hold of his hand. They looked at each other. Grey could see they were both uncertain. They were both waiting, expecting - wondering. Determination built up inside of her. Yes, she wanted him to see her. Grey stood up, her gaze strangely steady. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears. It thrummed wildly.

Gauche's hold was a little stronger, as if gently pulling Grey towards him. She took a step and gently leaned forward, one hand raising to his jaw. The surprise on his face made her stomach twist and hands sweat, but then his gaze dropped lower - to her lips. Grey closed her eyes and kissed him. It was a clumsy, light meeting of lips, bringing great warmth to her face. She flushed completely red. She would have likely withdrawn, if Gauche's hand wouldn't have moved behind her neck and pulled her closer - the next kiss being as clumsy as the first one, but even better. Grey didn't want to move away from him anymore.

They had found happiness in each other's arms.

[sebsunset]

Creation, Both Haunted and Holy - CHAPTER 2!

I’ve been working on this thing for weeks straight, to make it as amazing as possible!

As always, I am dragging @muffinlance‘s AUs into my work

this is the angsty one :) yUP, the year-old au!

and don’t worry, i have another one in progress... also using a muffinlance- inspired au- one of the more obscure ones, i think!

Mother Hama is. Suspiciously nice to write, and very angsty

TRIGGERS: Graphic-ish descriptions of wounds and child abuse! Please beware, my dudes! Things will get better soon, but this is really really bad right now!

LINK: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25578904

OR, READ HERE :) 

In the moon’s light, an urutau-vulture screeches out its song, pure and eerie grief ringing out in the wind.

And that’s how Zuko’s mind briefly comes back to reality.

Awareness fading in and out with each breath he wheezes through.

With wakefulness, comes the purest of agonies. A mouth open, voice too hoarse to scream out for help.

The hot pain, all over him, the memories tugging at his head, the memories of-

The burning. A cleanse that felt so dirty, like-

Oh, the sheer smell of it-

Of him.

The smell of cooked meat is his.

He wheezes out a cough, remembers the time Mom had no servants to help her, and had asked Azula to light up the fire for them to cook.

He tries thrashing about, to get a good view.

Mom ought to be around there, around somewhere.

(Even if it’s been so long since she was last around.)

She must be there, somewhere he can’t see, maybe in the blurry shade of the trees. She will bring a bucket and cool water, and she will hold him and-

“W-Where’s mom?” he tries asking, to nothing, to no one.

But only one of his ears hear it, the raspy, damaged sound that he can hardly recognize as his own voice.

He tries to ask again, words broken, tear tracks he can only feel in one cheek.

The burning pain he struggles to breathe over.

He doesn’t know what happened, but he can’t move. Can’t do anything, nothing but begging for it to go away.

“Where?” his voice comes out, finally.

The pain in his throat finally registers with the blabbered words, and suddenly he feels like he’s been screaming for all too long.

I’m sorry, Larva, says the feeling of hands on him. I’m so sorry it came to this.

Ghostly hands that don’t quite hurt when they touch his left side.

There is no shadow to hold him, though.

He can’t remember what happened, but the questions come to his mind nonetheless.

Why does it hurt so much? Why is his arm numb, why can’t-

Go to sleep. I’ll keep you safe, little Vessel.

The voice is soft, warm.

And, as the moon sings her song, his brief moment of awareness fades off.

Only one eye closing, as he breathes out again.

Painful, laboral.

His last thought is that he hates it.

The tone in the voice.

It’s all too-

.

.

.

-

It’s in the way the moon sings, as the boy’s skin peels off.

It’s in the way he doesn’t let any infection set in.

Scabbing away as the days pass, as Vaatu tries to heal him.

But there’s a reason the two of them were together. Glued, some might say.

Possessed, united fully.

He is part of Zuko, he is his mind and he is confined, locked away from seeking any further help. Not while the boy is that hurt, not while he can’t be awake and alive on his own.

Were it not a tragedy of occasion, his tendency to lock himself in the tiniest confides would be quite entertaining to watch.

Maybe, were it not happening to him, of all creatures.

Truly, he has been reduced to cowering on corners, to being not much more than a shadow.

Was it selfish, to wish for freedom when he had given it up to save his Vessel?

The two of them had done it.

An Avatar State of their own volition.

A sacrilege against the nature of a human body, a way to twist and bend their souls, braided together into a necklace of rope.

He doesn’t want to tell his boy what happened.

What the two of them had done.

He was too young to know what their purpose really was.

What would happen next, once he managed to get Zuko awake for more than a few minutes, enough time for them to scavenge, to do anything?

But keeping him awake, at that moment, would be nothing short of insane.

Yes, he must change. But this is too painful. Vaatu can feel the pulsing, the infection begging to seep in, to eat away at their flesh.

The way the dead limb hangs limply, charred black. The way the damaged leg attracts flies, like a plate of fruit slathered in honey, only kept away by him.

Blisters that look like they could open into eyes, watch the world for them all.

And so, Vaatu brushes off the sickness, scares away the vermin.

Lets his presence seep through, for nothing can keep him from affecting the world, not even being tied so deeply to his vessel.

The woods grow around them, thick foliage, colorful flowers in the vines.

No other spirit to bless or curse them.

Just the lonesome pocket of the world to which Vaatu and his Vessel have gone.

He is the eye of the shadow, the chaos that lurks deep in that tiny, undisturbed piece of the world.

He is a warning to the creatures.

He warns the world to stay away, lest it feel his disruption. His returning strength, his effect on the world around them finally taking place again.

Now that they are united, he can see that they could easily become unstoppable.

Rotting limbs thrown into any position, blackened flesh still smelling like it's been cooked.

The way it all brews in the two of them is nauseating.

The sickness is in the bursts of consciousness, when the one eye that can close opens up, blurry from tears.

When his head faces up and he sobs, lonesome and in pain.

Vaatu tries keeping the pain at bay, even if just by lulling him to bed.

Their vengeance is yet to be completed.

Disaster will strike again, he will make sure of it.

He tries telling, he tries consoling.

We will come back, he says. Rest for now, their fate is incoming.

But he is just a voice in his head, the feeling of a ghost-limb that can't really pull back hair, brush away feverish sweat.

Even if their Vessel is growing more powerful, Vaatu feels as weak as he can be.

But, as consciousness slips away again, he can’t help but notice the way the world is shifting around them.

The way the rabbit-mice has started chasing the otter-fox.

It is a victory, but it feels wrong.

-

Unsteady feet, weight put all into one as Zuko drags himself up.

The pain is hot and hard, it almost drives away the overwhelming hunger.

He didn’t think it could get that bad.

It could be worse, Vaatu says, but his voice still sounds angry.

Maybe not at him, but angry nonetheless.

(Angry like-)

When coherency slips away from his mind, when the pain is too much, as each of his slow, measured hops grows more and more exhaustive, he feels something in him beg for destruction.

But he won’t.

In the same way that Vaatu won’t bring him food, in the same way he will stay quiet, never saying a word of what happened to him.

Zuko wants to proclaim that he isn’t forgiven, but for the moment, his focus is on the steps.

Barely more than hops, as his one useful hand hangs onto trees.

Bare feet, grass scratching up against the angry, still-bleeding skin.

The question is pressing, rubbing against the back of his mind, as he cries out and whines, intense pain barely dimmed.

How is he alive?

All firebenders are taught about the sheer power of their fire, about the great deeds and prowesses they can achieve.

About how much damage they can inflict upon their enemies, when they chose not to end their suffering.

It should be infected.

I am trying not to let that happen, Vaatu whispers in his head, like it's a secret, like saying it out loud will destroy their chances of it getting any better.

 He isn’t moving in the shadow.

“The left side feels green.” he says, barely noticing he’s speaking at all.

Sunlight streams in through the gaps in the foliage. The moon is going to rise up soon, and the world is orange and it all feels green.

Find help, the voice instructs. You need someone to help you.

“First, food.” he argues, hearing the rumbling of his stomach. “I mean- Where there is food, there are people.”

You make a surprisingly decent point, he says, and there ought to be some farmhouses around here.

Zuko shudders.

People watched back there, people saw his shame burned into skin, his last rite of passage.

His whining sounds pitiful to his own head, but he can’t make his mouth shut up.

Involuntary sounds, flinches and shudders, as he drifts through.

Tall grass scraping against his wound, every touch sending new jolts of it.

The gentle breeze, the falling petals of flowers, blown away by the wind.

All so gentle. The kind pulsing of the world’s fiery heart, a piece of peace in the battlefield of its little nations.

And all so, so very painful.

Maybe this tells more than it shows, but pain is hard to show through words, hard to show through barely coherent thoughts, by the mind of a child who had never been through such great agony before.

A bad leg that can’t sustain his weight much longer.

Tiny complaints amidst panting.

He feels like he is the only source of noise. The world is eerily still.

Holding its breath.

Zuko shudders, tree bark scraping at tiny hands.

He looks down on himself.

A foot half-blackened. White and violent red, all blistered and-

Cooked. Broken.

Zuko doesn’t look at his left arm.

He is all too broken, all too destroyed by the time he’s been through.

You aren’t, says the voice.

Scabs that peel away too easily, like they were never meant to form.

Droplets of blood calling for any animal. He is prey, and the world is so, so very much now.

The disorganization of the world doesn’t manage to feel quite right, quite how it should be.

Like someone’s disrupted it before, like they’ve re-organized the world into something it shouldn’t be.

Something hangs in the air, hidden but never overshadowed by the smell of his tracks.

Yes, deliberate.

They’re onto something, he realizes.

A pike of wood, somewhere from which a scarecrow once stood.

“A garden.” he says. “I think we’ve found a garden.”

Purring at the back of his head, his blurry eye half-focusing around him.

A bush at the entrance.

Calling to him.

Food.

It has to be food.

Overtaken by hunger, he can only see them.

The rest of the garden is just carrots, little beets and a cabbage or two.

Nothing that looks that sweet.

And so, Zuko drops down, hisses in pain and twitches about, before grabbing a handful of berries in his one hand.

Vaatu takes a minute too long to realize they’re the kind used to make rat poison.

-

Her abode is a humble one.

A tiny inn she’s set up, rooms rarely occupied.

Of course, she has other places for travelers to sleep in.

It’s her lair, made of damp wood, of floorboards that creak comfortably under her old feet. Of roofs that leak, of the smell of a harmless old person.

She has a thousand little closets, a million nooks and crannies.

Hidden memorabilia, memories she’s carved back up for herself.

All wheatered by rain and by soot, but kept clean and tidy, far away from the fire.

She didn’t have many clients, but she had more than enough time to tend to the ones she had.

And so she did, for a time.

She kept herself satisfied, working towards her goals day in and out.

Followed through with a routine, day in and day out. Cooked plenty for herself, made sure she had the energy to follow through with her tasks.

That night, she can feel the full moon.

A welcome presence above her, making the world pulse with her divinity.

She has blessed the woman with her presence, and so, that night, she will go…

Watch the moon.

It’s a nice way to talk about the indulgence in her favourite of all things.

When she can make the world malleable around her, when she can dance and sing, pulling at the strings that bind the world together.

She smiles, feels it pull at her eyes.

That night will be formidable, she thinks

With finality, she treks along.

Yet, she doesn’t feel alone.

How can she, when the full moon rises, making the world finally feel alive again?

 The leaves crackling under her feet as she strides, the roots and branches snapping under her like she is a mighty beast.

Remainders of the sun’s warmth slowly seeping out, Tui taking her rightful place in the throne of the sky.

Her court of stars, rising slow and steady in its march.

And the world is silent around her. She knows it ought to be gawking at her, the last of her kind.

“Oh?” comes out of her mouth, before she can even stop herself.

An ear strained out.

“What is that…” she tsk-s in amusement, looks around with a half-absent mind.

Just what poor creature dares it, to choke in her garden, to foam over the leaves of her poison, to die in Hama’s territory?

-

Wakefulness comes slowly.

 His brow furrows in confusion, only half his vision able to focus.

But he doesn’t need to.

All Zuko sees is darkness.

He shivers, suddenly hit with the sheer cold of the room.

It's eerie.

He doesn’t know where he is.

He lashes out, trashes about.

His feet burn. Tied together with rope.

There are no windows, the space cramped. The sickeningly sweet smell of mold, the only sound meeting his ears, his own panting.

Like a piece of bread that’s been left hanging around for all too long.

Something is wrong.

It’s in the way his tongue feels garbled when he tries to talk, it’s in the way he can’t quite move.

It’s in the involuntary twitching of a dead limb, that he can’t stop, even when it hurts.

He can’t sit up, wouldn’t even if the dizziness would let him.

Vessel, are you okay? comes to his head.

Why didn’t you stop me, he tries asking. Where are we? Why are we here?

There are no little hands in the shadows, no feeling of a ghost hand touching him.

But the pain is dulled, pushed back.

Cloaked.

“Where am I?” he looks around. “Va-Voice, where are we?”

Someone brought us here, Larva. Get up,  I’m curious.

“Then move on your own.” he spits. “I’m tied up. Stupid.”

Regret makes him shake his head, but Vaatu is too old to hold up a grudge.

I can’t. We are united now, Larva. We are one in the same, and wherever you go, I go too.

“Chained?” he remembers. Like he is. Stuck, chained.

Chained. But fret not, my Larva, for stagnation will not come back to us. For now, though, you shall recover your energies.

A groan, as he lifts his hand, swipes a bug from his brow.

You sound like Uncle goes unsaid, but leaves the taste of bile on his mouth nonetheless.

Shudders, head shakes. The feeling of strands of patchy hair brushing against his shoulder.

He may not be alone, but there's no armor, no protection.

Zuko shivers, suddenly cold.

A part of him would give anything for that surge of power, for the feeling of the elements at his will, ready to be summoned up, to be harnessed and used as he deems fit.

For anything that can protect him, even with the collateral damage.

He can’t do anything, but he struggles to turn to his side nonetheless, to crawl out of the pile of rags that was his bed.

He can’t get up, so he drags his body along, pulls it slowly.

A trail of blood from his left side, scraped against the floorboards.

Dragged by his hand, whining and growling.

He can’t untie himself, no matter how much he tries.

Some kind of different knot - intricate, woven tight.

Vaatu guides him slowly, words that barely register to his mind.

Nausea, the feeling of ants crawling at the tips of his fingers as he drags himself to the door.

Get to the door - away from the fabric, it burns too easily - and then you can burn through the rope.

And suddenly, he wants to scream.

“I’m not burning myself. Shut up!” he plops onto his right side, drool pooling at the left corner of his mouth.

Beyond his control.

You know how to control the heat. It wouldn’t hurt. It's like pulling a bandage.

“Shut up.” he tries screaming, but his voice comes off hoarse.

… I apologize. I understand your fear, Vessel.

“I’m not forgiving you.”

I won’t let you stagnate for long, but feel free to stand your ground for a few more days.

“I’ll give you a week.” A bit of snark, that comes off soft.

A dry chuckle that breaks through the darkness.

He rolls his eyes, but can’t bring a smile up. He knows it would hurt. It would sting on his face, it would pull at the burns.

He reaches the door, struggles onto his knees, pulls at the handle.

Rattled, shaken, pulled and pushed with the feeblest of strengths.

Breaths growing quicker, as the weight of what he had done sets onto his shoulders.

Oh, what he did-

You should’ve eaten your vegetables, comes out as a light-hearted attempt, falling so very short.

“Shut up.” he wants to yell, because he’s locked in a strange home and oh Agni-

It’s dawning on him, slowly and steadily, just what he did.

Just what happened.

He hurt them.

(He did much worse.)

Falls to the floor. Looks at his one hand.

Now only one. Covered with little burns, old marks of his failures set onto his wrists. Little reminders of hands that were once there.

His breath, puffing out as smoke in the dark, cold room.

And suddenly, tears are falling down onto his hand.

(Father did that.)

No voice to comfort him. Nothing but the oppressiveness of his lonesome state.

Zuko wants to drown in tears, but his left eye refuses to cry, his bony body refuses to shake with sobs just yet.

So he just shrinks in there, holds himself close through the pain, pretends someone else is there to hold him.

"W-why?" He asks, feeling only half of his mouth move.

Words coming out garbled, blabbered through tears.

No answer comes, and he feels all alone.

He is a big boy, he wants to remind himself.

A big boy indeed, and that's why he cries and cries and cries, ignoring how the hollow place of the moon is soon filled by Agni’s eye.

-

The walks back home tend to be a less than exciting ordeal.

Oh, of course there's glee. Catharsis, even.

But lately, there’s some more than that. There’s the weight of the years on her shoulders, the soreness on her legs, the ache engraved deep into her bones.

That’s the vengeance of her people, of the men and women slain, torn down from the inside, overtaken by insanity.

She was meant to do it. It was why the art had come to her, it was why she had mastered it.

To bring down the rain of vengeance.

Nonetheless, that particular walk was made through with a quicker step, with a less vengeful head.

She had spent so long hurting, and the ones who hurt were the ones who learned how to heal the best.

She knew where to make it ache, and she had studied plenty of how to heal before.

(Kanna and her, studying scrolls that would be burned less than a day later, until late at the night.

Listening to the tribe's men sing and dance around the campfire, laughing and betting. Rolling their eyes, t hey healed eachother with little kisses by the moonlight, as Hama listened to Tui's song, to the calling of the full moon.

And with her friend's mittened hand in hers, she closed her eyes and felt the warm pulse of a world suddenly coming to life.

In the night's light, the cold wind whipping against their warm bodies, they danced together.

A dance that would soon turn into brisk movements, into desperate jabs.

But, at the moment and to that very day, the times before were painted with a rose-tinted glass.)

What mattered was that she had a patient, someone hurt as badly as she once was.

A son of ash and soot, a child with an eye burned open, blinded but still moving.

A child whose mere existence, whose life was astounding to her. How could that little thing keep going, how could he crawl to her and lay by her grassbed?

A little creature that proved her either insane or lucky enough to have a spirit in her hands.

He was going to be useful, she had decided when she found him foaming at the mouth, turning and twisting, rubbing dirt all over the open wound.

She’d cleaned him up, she had left him a nice little room, for an ashmaker that had yet to pay her back.

He would be grateful, that was certain.

And she’d seen first hand, how gratitude could destroy a man. Break down his flesh, make him bow and worship like a dog.

(She'd stood, suspended in her cell, watching an affair below.

The guard with bright yellow eyes, a glint like that of golden daggers, pointed towards her favorite prisoner.

A young woman, barely more than a girl.

She was from a neighboring tribe. Beautiful button nose and plump lips, bowing down low, foreign words slipping off her tongue.

She was meant to sing to the moon and the sea, but she sung their tribe’s songs upon anyone’s request. Danced as well as she could, tied up in chains.

A slap to the back of her head, something in the dirty ashmaker's speech.

A correction, two apologies delivered in a low bow.

Forgiveness in the form of a plump bowl of jook and not much else.)

Her garden blooms around her.

What little use she could make of the soil there. Little plants, poisonous berries. Nothing too beautiful or lavish. She was just a humble old woman, afterall.

She’d been nice, asked around the village. Seeds, some tools. She was sweet and defenseless, and nobody ever dared suspect her to her face.

The village had never been a tribe.

And the house she lived in had always been just that. A house. Some might stretch it and call it a lair.

Not quite a home, as much as she tries to keep it cold, to make it feel like one when she closed her eyes, and look like one when she dared open them up.

That place is still a land of fire. Lava below her, the sun all too hot, not a single break in his wicked reign.

She misses the polar winters. They’d always been so good for weeding out the weak and the fiery alike.

Perhaps her glasses are tinted blue, contrasting all too sharply against the blood-red of that place.

But the point still stands in her mind. That place is no real home.

It doesn't have the foundations to be one.

It doesn't have the people to make it one.

There’s no Kana or Panuk or any of the children running about. There is no tribe to embrace her, no new stories to tell around the campfire. No dealings with the neighbors, and no polar-bear sled dogs to lead to the market every month.

There’s only the oppressive loneliness of a single person lost in the sea of snakes.

But for now, she can rejoice in the luxury of a new toy. One that can be mended, sewn and filled up with the truth. A child of ash, all hers.

(Malleable as the water she’d once sculpted into ice.)

Slow footsteps, steady smile. A bit of excitement, despite the bits of a lazy cat in her demeanor.

The doors of the inn, all open and empty.

Until the locked closet.

It’s their smallest room. It’s perfect for someone that small, that frail.

A plant left in a pot too big will soon spread, grow out of control.

If he grows up well enough, if his leaves twist and bend and his roots stretch out as he tries to reach the sun, she will put him on a leash.

Hama had been wanting something to keep her entertained.

-

He sobs and heaves and nearly vomits once or twice.

Snot and bile, no comfort, no caress.

Not a word amidst the fit. Nothing that he can hear, nothing that can make itself noted in his mind.

His body hurts, but there is no infection to take him away, to lend him a hand.

He can’t think straight. Repulse fills his throat whenever he thinks of himself, whenever he opens his eye for enough time to truly see himself.

And he can’t do this, he thinks.

Like any child does, he slips into a spiral, falls down and down.

Thoughts swirling in his head, screams that his throat can't force out.

Until something breaks through, snaps him out of it.

The sound of a door creaking open.

A tiny stream of the morning’s light drifts into the room, so gentle yet so bright, revealing dust that doesn’t quite form bunnies and mold growing on the walls of a cramped closet.

The decrepit coldness is suddenly accentuated, with the gentle warmth that hits his back.

He shudders, suddenly, as the light is taken away.

When he turns, a figure stands, back-lit in the doorway.

Old and hunched, his blurry eyes barely able to focus on anything but her kind smile.

He turns to her, ready to question why she left his legs tied up, why she locked him there, how long he'd been alone, what she wants to do now-

“Are- Are you-” he tries stuttering out a question, but suddenly, he realizes he doesn’t know just what he wants to ask.

She comes closer, looks down upon him.

“Bow down and ask, young one.” she says, gently. “Be respectful of this old woman, won’t you?”

Vaatu growls at the back of his head, and, for a second, he forgets that his friend is simply locked inside his mind, with no real effect on the world once they’re not alone.

So, he breathes in deep, pretends there’s nothing wrong inside him.

And drops down in a rigit bow, so the kind woman won’t burn him.

“I am Hama. Who are you?” a cane pokes his burnt side, the arm that’s no longer there.

Deep breath. He knows who he is, and so will she.

“I’m Zuko. Son of-”

“Nobody.” she says. The harsh word startles him, slipped in such a gentle voice. “Not anymore. Not after what happened to you.”

He tries again.

“Zuko, son of P-”

A poke from the cane, right in a blister. He flinches and hisses, unable to stop himself.

“You are a son of nobody.” she says, her voice sweet as the smell of moldy grain. “After all that must’ve happened to you, it’s better as that. Poor thing.”

That silence lasts for a few seconds, before her voice returns, kinder, to his sight of nothing but fetid floorboards.

 “Now, young one, tell me, what have they done to you?”

He won’t say. He won’t speak out again.

Not when Vaatu hisses, pure in his anger, taking over his head.

“Don’t you think you owe me that, after all I’ve helped you with?” a cane pokes his head, gently thumping against his skull. No real intention for pain, not on his bad side.

He gulps down something.

A single tear hits his lip, salty against the bitterness in his mouth.

Why does he cry? Why do the tears betray his mind, why does his gut feel so raw?

“I- I was burned.” he says.

“That I can see.” she says, gently. “Now come on, darling. I must know your affliction to heal you.”

“I was burned and banished.” he says. Words spilling out dirty and fetid and spat out like falling teeth.

But he tells no more. Hopefully, she won't see any tales of spirits, any curses or blessings to destroy.

(What if she wants to cleanse him, too?)

“Oh, dear.” she says, voice perfect in compassion.

Be careful, Vessel, Vaatu says in his head. His voice no longer a hiss, just a thought at the back of his mind. Do not trust her. Do not.

“That is very unfortunate.” she says. “Then, you aren’t Zuko, are you? As a banished boy, you have no name.”

“I- I still have my honor.” is the only defense he can give her.

And she laughs.

It would be warm, infectious as any other disease, were it not happening at that moment, when he felt raw and when his vulnerability was so easy to turn into anger.

“I am Hama, and you are Nobody.”

This is the point where the scene should end. Here, it should all fade away to silence, to maybe a sob or two, a twitch or whine at his own discomfort, until he is instructed to get up.

But please, remember just who we are talking about.

Nothing ends when or how it should, down here.

“B-But-” he tries stammering out, his heart thundering in his chest. His voice can’t come out as a scream, but it tries.

Maybe, a part of him thinks, his voice will be heard then.

She pokes him again, straight at the ribs.

“Nobody.” she says. “Nobody, with that attitude.”

If only she knew, he wanted to say.

Be nobody, Vaatu whispers, locked inside his head.

Zuko wants to fight. He wants to bite and gnash and destroy, to bend and twist and fall upon that state again, that state that made him-

“Not nobody,” he says. “I- I’ll prove to you. I’m not nobody. I swear on my honor.”

He can feel her smile.

“Son of nobody, then.” she says. “But make good on that promise, please.”

Hissing in his head, he looks up.

Tap, straight at a hollowed-out cheek.

“Stay down.” she says. “The light might hurt your eyes, so keep down low, son. I’ll get you something to eat.”

-

[yespolkadotkitty]

Catfish for Dinner

A dark!Catfish piece inspired by @pajamasecrets​ ‘ HCs here (and thank you for the beta!!). This will be a series of one-shots like my Hummingbird and Nightingale ‘verses.

My Asian OC has been tasked with infiltrating a dangerous weapons cartel undercover.

Warnings: Violence, insinuations of violence, and insinuations of rape.

Catfish for dinner, the note read. I stuffed it in my mouth, chewed, and swallowed without tasting. If anyone were to discover that Maria the cook had been passing messages to me…. my stomach whirled at the thought of what might happen to her.

What the note meant, I had no clue. I only had to stay alive until I found out.

Later that day, the buzz of a small plane interrupted a make-out session I was enduring with one of Cerrino’s lackeys. I didn’t dare look up; I continued moaning as if his mouth was a gift from God (it wasn’t).

The pilot of the little Cessna 172 appeared at dinner. The staff served their usual smorgasbord of mediterranean fish, steak, and vine leaves, with copious amounts of wine.

Cerrino stood and gestured widely. “Ah, at last, our new pilot,” he announced. “May he live longer than Nikolai.”

I swallowed, the wine like dust in my mouth, as I recalled the end Nikolai had met. Unsavoury was a severe understatement.

The stranger stood on the steps leading up to the big table, silent. A ballcap that read standard oil company was tugged low on his head, hiding his eyes. I got the impression of a strong jaw, scruffy at the edges, and broad shoulders. He wore a faded red button down and dirty jeans atop aged hiking boots.

“Meet Catfish,” Cerrino drawled, toasting with his glass. A little wine sloshed down out of the glass and on to one of the cartel lackey’s heads. He did not react; he knew better. “Before you sit at my table, I need to know you are loyal.”

Without preamble, he pulled a Glock 19 from his waistband and tossed it to Catfish. The tanned man caught it and checked the cartridge.

Cerrino yanked up the lackey he’d spilled wine on by the collar. The man’s dyed blond hair was streaked with red from the alcohol, a twisted sort of foreboding. “Kill him.”

The lackey started trembling.

My gaze was riveted on Catfish. He lifted his head and I caught his gaze for a fraction of a second - big soulful brown eyes that looked very, very tired.

He pulled the trigger. His hand didn’t shake. Not once.

A couple of lackeys came to clean up what was left of their colleague. Cerrino sat back down and stuffed a vine leaf in his mouth like he wasn’t covered in blood spatter.

Catfish had made a clean kill - a single headshot. But my stomach still rebelled. I covered it by taking a tiny sip of wine, holding the liquid in my mouth, and trying not to vomit.

“Come, sit.” Cerrino gestured to the space between me and another girl, also Chinese, her inky black hair pulled into a high ponytail. Cerrino and his fellow arms dealers seemed to have a thing for Asian girls. Not that I could complain. It was the reason I’d been able to infiltrate them, wasn’t it?

Catfish slid the pistol into the back of his waistband and moved over to our side of the table on silent feet, despite his rangy, muscular form. He wasn’t big, but lean and lithe. Dark hair curled out from under his ballcap. As he pulled out a chair and sat, I glimpsed a smattering of grey in the patchy scruff clinging to his jawline. His scent reached me, motor oil and clean sweat and just a kiss of thyme. A combination that could quickly become addictive, if a girl wasn’t careful.

One of the staff moved to pour him wine. He didn’t react.

I clenched my free hand on my thigh, nervous. Was this who Maria’s note had meant, and if so, was he going to say something?

“The house is yours,” Cerrino said across the table through a mouthful of oily fish. A little grease ran down his chin; he didn’t bother to swipe it away. “As are the girls. Any you like; I am generous to those who... remain loyal to me.”

The unspoken subtext in his words were crystal clear.

Catfish sipped his wine. His gaze darted to me and then to Abigail, the girl on his other side. She smiled at him nervously. Newer than me, she’d cried the day before yesterday and narrowly escaped a beating for it.

Abigail - not her real name, I suspected - met my gaze behind Catfish’s back, and shook her head minutely. She’d been a virgin when she’d arrived here-- I knew.

I hadn’t even breathed a syllable about my real intentions here to anyone. Even Maria, on agency payroll, wasn’t a hundred percent sure who I was-- only that I was important and that she was to feed me whatever information came her way.

Resolutely, I winked at Abigail. I would make advances on the man between us to save her from having to bed him. I let my gaze rake over him. Tall, rangy. Mid forties, perhaps? Those big dark eyes would be nice to look into while I pretended to enjoy myself. Over the last six months I’d become very good at pretending. 

If I didn’t get out soon, the line between pretense and reality would blur even further.

Abigail’s face deflated in relief and she went back to picking at her food.

“What’s the matter?” Cerrino asked, his wine glass full again. “Those two not to your liking?”

I looked up and around the room. I had become used to this debauchery at dinner. Several of Cerrino’s inner circle had girls on their laps who fed them tidbits of food. Sometimes they fed  us girls, either with their hands or directly from their mouths. That was my least favourite.

Cerrino’s right hand man, Addison, sat to his left, his tongue so far down a girl’s throat that he could easily have been examining her tonsils. I hated kissing Addison.

I’d been surprised an hour earlier when Abigail and I had been seated together, no man between us. Now I knew why.

Catfish set his wine down and drummed his finger on the table. If I was reading him right, he had no wish to dally with either of us, but I knew Cerrino when he was drunk. He liked everyone under the cartel’s influence to fall in with him; share his vices, be equally complicit.

“Kiss me,” I hissed.

Catfish’s dark brow winged up.

“Not Abigail,” I murmured, smiling through it as I leaned into him. “Me. Abigail is scared.”

If he understood what I meant, he didn’t show it. Instead, he gave me an almost imperceptible nod, and then pushed his chair back and tugged me on to his lap. I perched on his thigh as his arm came tight around my waist and he lifted his face for a kiss. I couldn’t read the emotion in his bottomless brown eyes--if indeed any emotion was present--but I’d rather it was me than Abigail, so I lowered my head and met his mouth.

He kissed me hard, licking into my mouth right away. He tasted of red wine and just a shiver of mint, and the scruff on his top lip tickled my skin. At any moment, I expected his free hand to come up and grope me, somewhere, anywhere, but he only kissed me, nipping my bottom lip as he ended the contact.

Cerrino had sat down to eat again, apparently satisfied. I knew what would happen now. I would have to go to this man’s room tonight. I would be at his mercy. 

Dinner continued. Catfish held me on his lap, saying nothing, and I wondered if I would ever hear his voice. I kept replaying the moment he’d shot the lackey in my mind, like taking a life was nothing to him. If that was so, he truly belonged among these terrifying men.

I tried to eat. Catfish didn’t comment as I forced down a few bites of vine leaves and fish. The food was delicious as usual, spiced and savoury, and I gulped water. For his part, Catfish seemed to listen to the conversations between the men and Cerrino. His face seemed relaxed, but I could feel the tension coiled in his long, lean body as he sat beneath me.

I peeked over his shoulder. The Glock sat there, just a few inches from my arm around his neck. 

Abigail saw the path of my gaze and shook her head minutely.

I could do it, though. I knew I could.

I just needed a distraction. Was I planning on shooting anyone right now? No. Of course not. But a gun, stashed somewhere in my tiny little room, that’d be something worth having. Even if it had only that one bullet in it. I could surely steal the correct ammunition from somewhere in this Godforsaken pleasure pit.

Humming as if I was having a grand time, I trailed my hand up Catfish’s chest, toying with the open neck of his button-down shirt. He didn’t outwardly react, but I saw a muscle in his cheek tic. I’ve got you, I thought, my fingers slipping over the hollow in his throat, as the palm of my other hand slowly descended down his back.

“Dancing with the devil, honey?” he asked, and the endearment was not said as such.

In that moment I realised two things: one - his face might be nice, but his voice, that husky-edged, kiss of Texas drawl, was made for absolute sin - and two, Catfish was a guy I wouldn’t be able to win over as easily as most of the one-brain-cell lackeys here.

“Just getting a taste of what’s to come tonight,” I lied, sweetly.

Catfish snorted. I noticed he’d barely touched his wine. Either he, like me, was here on false pretences, or, even more dangerously, he was one of them, but without the usual vices of women or alcohol to dull the edge of his more unsavoury appetites.

Which one it was, I would find out soon enough.

******

 Part 2: Off the Deep End

Tagging: @emmy-dandiliom918​ @spacegayofficial​ @thirstworldproblemss @cinewhore @poenariuniverse​ @keeper0fthestars​ @scarlettvonsass​ @casually-introverted​ @knittingqueen13​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @10-96dispatcher @buckstaposition​ @agirllovespasta​ @songsformonkeys​  kiizhikehn-cedar

[w1ngfanchu]

Idk, enjoy this crackfic! Happy birthday Otto!!! Chusi don’t look, tw blood, caps, death, cursing, religion/god/heaven/hell mention, fire mention

Wing pulled his raven dark hair into a messy bun, and gazed at his dark brown orbs in the mirror. He could see them sparkle in the reflection. He heard a knock at the door.

“come in!” he cried, with a deep, husky voice. His father, cypher, walked in and sat on his bed.

“Hello son” he said, his voice grave and unfamiliar due to the years Wing had gone without hearing it, “I have some news.” Wing sat down beside his father. “Wing, I am eloping with your friend Nigel’s dad, Mr Darkdoom. I do not want him to see the family disappointment so I am sending you away to live with your aunt. Pack your things, you have 10 minutes.” With that he left, and wing could see his glassy orbs stained with tears that glistened like raindrops.

“HOW COULD YOU” he shouted at the closed door, but there was no response. Packing his things, he reflected on where he would go, as mother gothel, who shared his ebony black hair, lived in Italy. Nobody knew her real name, though some suspected it was Maria.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Wing ran downstairs, tears flying out of his dark sight balls. When it opened there she was, Mother Gothel.

“hello nephew, get in the car.” He listened and sat, his movements seemingly uncontrollable. The drive to the airport was silent. Wing could see a picture of God, and his inhuman face, on the window, and it felt as if it was staring into his dark soul. For Wing wasn’t like other people, as instead of makeup and talking about politics, he studied deities and myths. The car stopped. They got on a plane and flew to Italy.

When Wing woke up, he was in a strange room. He was scared. The door opened and Mother Gothel came inside. “Nephew dearest, I have…business to attend to. While I am gone I have sent for someone to keep you company. He is from another powerful family as I do not want you interacting with the wrong sort. Get changed and breakfast is downstairs.” She left, and he felt so small in such a big room.

Wing went downstairs after getting changed, and started spreading ruby or blood red jam with a surprisingly sharp knife that glistened like jewels on some snow white bread when the doorbell rang. He went to open it, and when he did, he dropped the knife in shock. The creature at the door had spiky white hair, beautiful in the light of the sun, and the face of a weasel on an otherwise human body, which was wearing a black jumpsuit. Lightning fast, Wing watched the creature snap his fingers and saw the knife now hovering just above his left foot.

“Hi. You must be Wing. I can already tell you are special, as you seem to be able to observe my true form.” His voice was beautiful, and the sound was heaven in Wing’s ears. “My name is Ottoious Britain Lucy Number One Weasel the third, but you may call me Otto Weasel.” Otto Weasel. The name was as beautiful as the boy himself.

“nice to meet you” wing stammered, feeling his cheeks grow hot. “thank you for saving me” Wing saw Otto smile and his cheeks grew hotter. Otto Weasel’s blue orbs twinkled like the sun reflecting in the sea, only prettier. Otto Weasel was walking inside and setting down a giant bat and a suitcase. Wing felt his heart beat faster at the thought of this amazing person-weasel? Person living in the same house as him. He felt blessed to even be in the same room as him now.

They spent the day in the mansion, Otto Weasel doing things no human should be able to do. He would summon snacks and riches seemingly out of nowhere, and would toss Wing up so high but catch him every time. He made flowers grow from the marble floors, thick vines filled with grapes, which tasted almost sweeter than the sound of Otto Weasel’s voice when he laughed. When Mother Gothel came home, they ate and went to bed.

The next day, Otto Weasel took Wing outside, barely pushing past the vines that covered the house, and they ran through the streets of Italy, hand in unlovable hand. It took wing a minute to realise that they had started floating, legs no longer pushing the ground but the air while they ran. Looking at Otto Weasel’s glorious weasel face, his sparkling ice blue seeing balls seemed familiar.

“Otto Weasel” Wing started “Otto Weasel, can I ask you something?” Wing stammered, his stomach twisting.

“Yes” came Otto Weasel’s response, “but first I will ask you a question” Otto Weasel continued, his pale cheeks redder than rubies. “Wing, will you be my human boyfriend?” he spluttered, squeezing Wing’s hand.

“Otto Weasel, I thought you would never ask!” wing replied, also blushing. “ Of course I will go out with you. You are my entire world. Where you go, I go” Seeing Otto Weasel’s smile made all of Wing’s worries melt away, despite the fact that they were floating very high off the ground.

“Love, you have not asked your question” Came Otto Weasel’s voice. Wing suddenly felt foolish but he had to ask now.

“Are you god?” Wing asked, before turning away.

“If you want me to be” Otto Weasel replied, as he started bringing them back down to the ground.

When they went back to the mansion, Mother Gothel looked furious. Her ebony hair was pulled into a bun and her eyes held the fury of hell. She sent them both up without dinner, but they had not told her about their new relationship or dinner would not be the only thing they lost that day.

When Wing woke up, he stretched his arms which felt as heavy as lead. He went downstairs to see Otto Weasel chanting quietly under his breath.

“Good morning Otto Weasel, what are you doing?” But Otto Weasel did not stop. Wing felt himself grow tired, and collapsed onto the ground. He was dreaming, he saw bright lights, and strangers. One had blood red hair and was speaking in a Scottish accent. Another was blonde and swinging on vines, though it looked like she was flying. There were two boys, holding hands and eating cake while the one with glasses, who looked extremely like Wing’s friend Nigel, was watering a plant with red liquid. There was also an old man, standing beside a woman with swords covered in heavenly fire, and they were speaking to a man, a familiar man. His father’s new husband.

“these were my friends” Otto Weasel’s voice appeared in his head. He could see them, standing on what seemed to be a cloud bathed in blue light, and Wing could vaguely see something bright and golden in the background-

Wing was jolted upright. Otto Weasel’s expression was blank, as if nothing had happened. Wing got up and they ate breakfast in silence, which was only broken once by Wing’s quiet gasp as Otto Weasel put his hand on top of his.

After breakfast they got up and Wing went to his room to study the schoolbooks Mother Gothel had left for him to revise. Wing opened his religion studies book and saw a face similar to Otto Weasel’s but older. Wing couldn’t focus on his books, not with Otto Weasels sharp Snow White hair, his beautiful pale face, and his laughter like the bells of heaven on his mind. So Wing went to find his beloved Otto Weasel.

When he did, Otto weasel took his hand and showed him around the mansion. His heart fluttering, he could do nothing but follow as Otto weasel led him to the cinema, where they sat under the dimmed lights to watch Wing’s favourite movie, Cars 2. During the movie, Wing gave Otto Weasel a blood red rose, and they were both silent apart from the sound of their beating hearts.

And just as Mater met Finn, Wing felt the gentle press of Otto Weasel’s romantically weaselly lips upon his. Wing felt sparks fly across his body, and felt the world melt away until it was only him, Otto Weasel and the talking cars. The kiss felt like hellfire, passionate and warm, but also like the springs of heaven, comforting and calm. They broke apart after a few short minutes and watched to the end of the movie. They left holding hands, and went upstairs to study together. When Mother Gothel came home, they ate then went to bed.

The next week passed similarly. Wing and Otto Weasel’s bond strengthened and things were almost perfect. But Wing was having nightmares. The people he had seen during breakfast, the people on the cloud were yelling terrible things. They were telling him to run, run far away while he still could. Wing decided to keep these from Otto Weasel as he had been looking stressed that day, and Wing felt bad to burden him with his own problems too.

A few more days passed, and mother Gothel still did not know about their relationship. And today, Otto Weasel looked more stressed than ever. Then at breakfast, just after Mother Gothel was leaving, Otto Weasel slipped Wing a note. It read “my love, you must escape. Leave and never look back”. He felt Otto Weasels soft, once gentle hands push him towards the door, panic in Otto Weasel’s ocean blue orbs. But there was a problem. Mother Gothel was still there and had a good reason. The vibes Otto Weasel had made so long ago were now blocking the door completely, not a hint of outside could be seen.

Mother Gothel snatched the note and read it. Her face twisted into a frown, and she stared at them. She was about to speak when suddenly blue light radiated from the roof.

They heard a voice booming across the mansion “OTTOIOUS BRITAIN LUCY NUMBER ONE WEASEL THE THIRD” It cried, shaking the ground, “YOU HAVE MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE” Otto Weasel’s eyes flashed, a dangerous look on his face. “MARIA” the voice continued, “YOU KNOW WHAT YOU MUST DO”

Mother Gothel turned to Otto Weasel. “Wing. Who is he really?” She asked, not taking her eyes off Otto Weasel.

“God?” Wing whispered, flinching at the pain on Otto Weasel’s face.

“GOD?” Mother Gothel yelled “YOU THINK HE IS GOD?” Her face was contorted and she looked to be in pain. “Tell him” she cried at Otto Weasel “let him know what you really are”

Otto Weasel walked slowly towards his boyfriend. Standing on his tiptoes, he held Wing’s chin to point it down at him. “Wing I have not fully been honest with you” he started, voice cracking, “I’ve betrayed the ones I live, I’ve betrayed you.” Otto Weasel pushed a loose strand of Wing’s hair behind his ears. “I was told to do one thing. And I failed. Because I was selfish. I wanted to keep you safe, safe from Him, but in doing so, I’ve damned us all” Otto Weasel’s orbs were glistening with bushes tears, dewdrops on his rosy cheeks..

“Otto Weasel, what are you talking about?” Wing’s question came out in a fast rush of emotion. He hated the pain on his lovers face.

“Your stepfather. You may not know it, but he is an angel. He was coming to visit, but he was bringing along someone i knew would hurt you. He brought your dad. So I’ve kept them trapped in this very house, in a room you couldn’t see, to keep you safe. But now they’re free. And they want revenge.” Just as he finished Wing aww two people walk in. Darkdoom, and his father, armed with a gun. Pointed right at him.

Otto Weasel raised his arm at Cypher. Mother Gothel started towards him then stopped “Otto Weasel, you know what will happen if you hurt gods son in law”

“I do. And I don’t care. If Anyone hurts wing I will stop at nothing to get my revenge. His love is worth more than the lives of anyone in this planet and I will fuck your up if you hurt him” Wing felt himself blush, but was unable to move. He still couldn’t move when he saw his father’s hand squeeze the trigger. He couldn’t move as he saw the bullet flying at him. But he could move to look down to see red stains on his white shirt.

Otto Weasel screamed a bloodcurdling scream. The ground shook as Wing fell to the floor, helpless as the world started to burn, flames pouring from Otto Weasel’s hand, heading towards Cypher. Wing felt Otto Weasel fall next to him and cradle his face, as a portal of fire and screams opened up next to him. Mother Gothels last words came “hell is your home now Otto Weasel but I shall share it with you” with that she lunged at cypher and threw his gun at Wing.

Otto Weasel’s beautiful voice, dampened by the curse of sadness reached his ears “Wing you know what will happen if you do this” he said, as wing drowsily turned the gun upon the man who used to be his father. “I know, my love” he said, finger on the trigger, and he quietly gasped as he felt Otto Weasel’s hand cover his for the last time on Earth. “Otto Weasel I-“

“I know what I’m doing Wing. Of course I will go out with you. You are my entire world. Where you go, I go. And if that is hell, then j will gladly accept my fate, as long as you are there with me”

Together they pulled the trigger and watched as Cypher fell. The portal came closer as wing felt the world fading away, his love’s face getting farther and farther away. The red of hellfire matching the red of Otto Weasel’s blush, and Wing knew that existence without Otto Weasel was a fate worse than death.

But when Wing woke up, he was bathed in blue light, so alone in the void that is eternity.

And when Otto Weasel woke up, bathed in red light, he knew it was all for nothing. Wing was gone and he was alone, so alone in the void that is eternity.

[calbrina]

UNEXPECTED [Caliban x Reader]

SUMMARY: The reader is about to be offered as the pagan virgin sacrifice. Not if Caliban has a say in it, though.

Warnings: not really, reader has a nightmare at one point

Length: around 3300 words. I know. I'm sorry that this turned out to be such a monster! 😅

This was requested: A Caliban x reader where instead of Harvey being taken as a virgin sacrifice the reader does. Please and thanks in advance 😊

Requested by the lovely @rachelle3musicals

Also, just as a little heads up: this is the first imagine I've ever written, but I hope I did alright! Also, English is not my mother tongue, though I hope I didn't make too grave mistakes!

Have fun reading and please, tell me what you all think about this! :)

xxx

UNEXPECTED

So. This was it.

This was how you were going to die.

You’d never given that much thought to how you were going to die before – you were still in high school, after all! – but still, you’d never imagine that you’d die like this.

Being offered as a virgin sacrifice to some pagan nature God. One thing was for certain though: you wouldn’t go down without a fight.

 And so, even though you felt the fear and panic creeping in on you, freezing you from the inside, you struggled against the rough hands forcing you onwards.

You couldn’t see where they were dragging you towards, due to the fact that they’d blind-folded you, but you could still hear Roz’s, Harvey’s and Theo’s anguished, panicked screams.

This didn’t really help you, though, no, you only felt your panic intensifying.

Surely, it wasn’t really going to end like this, was it?

 Before you could form another thought – a better survival strategy, other than aimlessly struggling against your captors – the people dragging you towards Satan only knew what, stopped.

For a moment, you were too stunned about this, to think clearly, but then you realized: this was it! This was your chance to escape them!

It seemed like you’d only twitched and they were pulling at your arms again.

“Not so fast”, one of your captors grunted.

Damn it, they really were much stronger than you. You definitely would have to take that promise that you’d made to Sabrina and Roz about joining the cheer squad and practicing together with them, seriously after all of this was over.

 Though at the moment it definitely looked like worrying about cheer practice and your muscle strength would be the least of your problems, considering the fact that you were currently held captive by some crazy pagans who wanted to offer you as a virgin sacrifice to some pagan god.

One could always try with a little humor, though.

You had been stuck so deep in your own thoughts, that you hadn’t even noticed that your captors had untied the ropes that had previously bound your hands and legs together. And they’d even lifted your blindfold!

But why were Harvey, Roz and Theo screaming your name with even more panic than before? That didn’t really fit together, did it?

 You only realized that your captors were pushing you up, planning to now bind you against a tree, when it was already too late.

The tree’s vines were already twisting, stretching out towards you, pulling themselves around your arms, squeezing, so that your captors barely had to do anything anymore.

For a few, horrible moments you were too stunned to react. You couldn’t, wouldn’t believe that this was actually happening to you. Before, with the pagans dragging you along into the unknown, it had been bad enough.

But then, you’d had the slightest hope of escape left.

Now though, reality was dawning on you in form of the tree’s vines slowly, but surely squeezing out all the air out of your lungs, your life out of you.

And all you could do was cry out in pain, completely defenceless, completely hopeless.

 “Stop”, an unfamiliar voice suddenly said.

It didn’t stop. You didn’t have the strength left in you to open your eyes, you could only struggle against the tree’s unrelenting vines, whilst screaming out in anguish and fear. You were so desperate; you didn’t even notice the struggle going on underneath the tree that was draining your life out of you.

But then, something changed.

The tree stopped.

You could breathe again.

You could breathe again.

You could move again.

You hadn’t died.

 As all of these things began to dawn on you, you could hear an agitated conversation going on around you.

You opened your eyes – only to feel the need to close and then open them again, just to make sure that what you were seeing was actually happening.

Caliban.

He was right there, Caliban. Self-proclaimed asshole-prince of hell. And he was climbing up towards you.

Was he the one who had saved you? But why? Why would he do that? There we so many questions, yet now that the worst was over you felt utterly tired. And dizzy.

Everything was spinning before your eyes.

Maybe you’d really died and you were already in hell? That would explain why Caliban was there as well, at least.

 But then you suddenly felt two hands carefully touching you, pulling you out of the tree’s dead clutches.

It really was Caliban. He was there, right before you, pulling you out of the tree and lifting you up.

“What?”, you croaked.

He only gave you a Cheshire cat’s smile in return.

And the last thing you felt before the darkness fully enclosed you were his strong arms, carrying you, and his warm chest your head was rested against.

Maybe Sabrina was right – maybe hell really wasn’t so bad after all.

  xxx

  You had no idea how much time had passed when you woke up again.

To make things worse, you had no idea where you were. In a bed, sure, but you had no idea where.

Then the memories came rushing back at you. The pagans and their crazy virgin sacrifice. How they’d trapped you and your friends and in the end decided to make you their virgin sacrifice.

You didn’t want to think about those horrible moments where you had indeed been sure that you were going to die, so of course, your mind had to settle on Caliban.

Why on earth had he been there? And, what was even more intriguing to you, why had he helped you? He hadn’t needed to. There wasn’t anything he could gain by saving your life except your gratitude – which, surely he didn’t care about at all.

 Why had he helped you?

You really couldn’t wrap your head around it. You had only seen him twice before, both times very brief and both times it had seemed like he’d barely noticed you because he had been so focused on Sabrina and winning her favour.

You had your suspicions – theories, more likely – why he’d helped Roz: to impress Sabrina.

But this time, Sabrina hadn’t been there.

So why had he just saved your life? It just didn’t make sense.

 You tried to get up – you needed to find out, where you were and how much time had passed.

But you’d barely sat up when the pain hit you like a knife being twisted around in your chest. It hurt. You could barely breathe.

You couldn’t help it, you cried out in pain. Immediately you bit down hard on your lips.

But then, suddenly, Caliban was there, right at your side. It seemed like he’d just appeared out of thin air, like you’d seen him do it before.

He steadied you, slung an arm around your waist and propped you up against him whilst you gasped out in pain.

 “I take it you’re awake after all”, he said, voice tinged with irony. His warm breath fanned over your neck, but you weren’t about to get distracted by that.

“Why did you save me?”, you asked him instead, meeting his gaze. You’d intended to sound eloquent, but the only thing you could manage was a croaky, rasping voice.

“A simple ‘Thank you, Caliban, for saving my life’ would’ve been sufficient enough, Y/N, you know?”, he said.

You snorted in exasperation – your chest wasn’t thankful for it. Trying to draw breath was utter pain. Caliban caught your gaze again, you still couldn’t figure out the look in his eyes.

Surely, it wasn’t concern? No, that was ridiculous. It was Caliban, after all. Maybe the tree hadn’t only tried to snuff out your life but had also killed some of your brain cells.

Yes, that had to be it.

 “Oh c’mon, don’t pretend it was for some noble reason, we both know that that wasn’t the case, Caliban”, you said.

Whatever you’d thought you’d seen in his gaze before, it was gone, immediately. He glared at you.

“Don’t assume to know my intentions”, he growled. You could feel his voice vibrating against your back.

He still had his arm around you, you were still pressed against him.

You were still glaring at each other.

 “How are you feeling?”, he abruptly asked you.

“I – what?”, you answered, completely confused.

He rolled his eyes at you, his expression clearly telling you that he wasn’t going to repeat his question.

“Fine”, you replied, gritting your teeth, trying to smile through the pain. You didn’t know why, but you knew that you didn’t want Caliban to find out that you were still in severe pain.

“Oh really?”, he said, quirking an eyebrow at you, tone implying that he didn’t believe you at all.

 You intended to huff out in exasperation, but instead the only thing you could manage was a miserable rasping sound. This damn tree had really tried to suffocate you and if it hadn’t been for Caliban, it would surely have succeeded.

You clutched a hand to your chest, just wanting the pain to stop.

Your eyes landed on Caliban again. His gaze was fixed on you, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration.

Then – somehow, the pain became somewhat bearable. Your eyes widened in surprise.

“Your friends are all fine, by the way”, Caliban suddenly said, before you had the chance to thank him.

 The tenderness – which you most definitely had imagined – was gone from his face, back was his usual arrogant expression.

You felt utterly irritated and annoyed, both because of him. You couldn’t figure him out, you really couldn’t. That was frustrating you more than you would’ve liked to admit.

“And you’re at Theo’s uncle’s farm, in case you were wondering”, he added. He continued speaking, not even giving you the chance to say anything.

“You should get some rest, though Sabrina and I both did what we could. That tree did some serious damage to you.” He paused, and his gaze found yours again. He seemed as if he wanted to say something else, but then he just said:

“I take it that you’ll be fine on your own. There’s been someone here to check on you every few hours though, so… Anyways, I have other things to do this as well, now that you’re…”, he stopped, looking annoyed with himself.

 He slowly got up, carefully taking his arm away from your waist. You immediately felt the absence of his warm body, which had been pressed up against your back.

“Caliban…”, you began, but then you stopped too, not sure what you even wanted to say.

His gaze found yours again, and then, just like that, he was gone.

 “Aaargh”, you groaned out in annoyance, angrily glaring at your pillow as if that would somehow solve your problems.

You just couldn’t figure this guy out, seriously though. There he was, acting like an arrogant jerk the first two times you’d met him, and then he saved your life, only to be annoyed at you because you didn’t worship him afterwards.

Granted, maybe your reaction to him saving your life really hadn’t been the best. You still needed to thank him for saving your life, you realized. Though, you still wanted to know why he’d saved your life.

Damn him for acting so irritating, one second being a complete jerk and then the other second it almost seemed like he cared about you, which… surely couldn’t be true, could it? You were only an ordinary mortal, after all, most definitely not of interest to the Prince of Hell.

And, really, damn him for being so incredibly handsome. Your cheeks felt aflame, just thinking about how you’d been pressed up against him just mere moments ago.

 You pinched your nose in frustration.

Somehow you felt like what had happened with the pagans had been nothing at all compared to the conversation you’d just had with Caliban.

He was irritating you so much, it was beyond frustration.

 xxx

 You felt the tree’s vines sneaking up on you, tangling themselves around your body, and you knew: this time there would be no one there to save you.

This time, Caliban wouldn’t show up.

This time, you were truly going to die.

 “NO!”,

“Y/N, please, listen to me, it’s just a dream, please wake up, damn it!”, you could feel hands on your shoulder, trying to shake you awake.

You jerked up and your head nearly collided with Caliban’s bare chest. How had he gotten here so fast – could he possibly have known that you’d been having a nightmare?

Also, was this guy ever wearing a shirt, like at all? Not that you didn’t appreciate the view, though.

“Caliban!”, you gasped out, at the same time as he asked you:

“Y/N, are you all right?”

 “Could be better”, you said, a feeble attempt at trying to lighten up the mood. Caliban didn’t look convinced at all.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t there earlier…”, he said and it somehow sounded like he hadn’t actually intended to say this out loud at all.

“Thank you”, you said, deciding that a thank you was definitely overdue at this point. Instead of the self-satisfied, arrogant expression you’d expected, he only looked at you in confusion.

“Thank you, for saving my life. And for uh, you know…”, you gestured vaguely with your hand at the two of you.

 Your hand brushed his chest. His breath caught for a moment and your eyes met. You hadn’t realized how close you two really were.

A loose strand of hair fell in your face and you wanted to brush it away with your hand, but Caliban’s hand was there first.

You looked at each other again.

You could feel his heart beating, you hadn’t taken your hand off of his chest yet. You vaguely wondered why.

Caliban looked at you and you felt shivers going down your spine. You really couldn’t figure him out – though suddenly you weren’t so sure if that really mattered all that much anymore.

 “Y/N”, he said and you were glad that his voice sounded slightly husky and irritated, because you took that as a sign that you weren’t the only one confused in this situation.

Were you only imagining things or had you two somehow moved closer together and you just hadn’t noticed it?

Because suddenly it seemed like you just had to lean in slightly and you could’ve touched the tip of his nose. Or his lips.

Why on earth were you suddenly thinking about touching his lips? This was Caliban after all! Caliban, whom you didn’t even like – that’s what you were trying to tell yourself, at least.

 “Why did you save me?”, you asked him, voice just slightly more than a whisper. You didn’t know how you knew, but somehow you were sure you’d get an answer this time.

He sighed. His eyes captured yours again and this time, you really could’ve sworn that your breath actually stopped for a second, when you looked into his eyes.

Was it even allowed to be that beautiful, to have such wonderful eyes?, you dimly wondered.

“Y/N….”, he began, and he suddenly looked uncomfortable.

 Again, he looked at you, as if trying to figure you out, as if he was trying to solve a puzzle and you were the last missing puzzle piece to make it complete.

Caliban, Prince of Hell at a loss for words. Now, this was something you’d definitely never expected to see with your own eyes.

And, truth be told: you somehow kind of liked it that you seemed to be the reason for his speechlessness and irritation.

This suffocating, life-draining pagan tree really had gotten to some of your braincells after all, you were sure of it.

 “Y/N…”, Caliban said again, but this time, it was barely more than a whisper. Now, he seemed like he was already regretting the words he was about to say.

“Surely, you won’t believe it”, he began, voice suddenly bitter and cold, “but I like you. I didn’t save your life to impress Sabrina and to convince her of my good intentions – though, I won’t lie, that’s definitely a side-effect I don’t have anything against – I saved you because I like you.

I saved you because I couldn’t stand the thought of you dying.”

You were stunned. Truly, stunned. Speechless, for once.

You’d expected anything, really, but definitely not this.

 When your eyes met again, you didn’t only feel shivers going down your spine, no, you could also feel goose bumps building on your arms.

Damn this stupid, hot, clay Prince of Hell, who kept on irritating and frustrating you! And damn him for being so close to you…

He inhaled sharply and you could feel his breath on your skin.

“Caliban, I…”, you began, unsure of what to say.

He clearly mistook your searching for words for something else, you hadn’t even intended to hurt him with your words.

 “Go on and make your clever remark, about how this surely can’t be my real reason, because I’m the worst, isn’t this what you’re thinking right now?”, he said bitterly, not looking at you this time.

However, he still hadn’t moved away from you, your hand still lay on his chest and you two were still extremely close – so close in fact, that you only had to lean in just a little bit to kiss him.

You weren’t really sure why you’d done it, it wasn’t only because you truly couldn’t stand it to see Caliban so bitter and disappointed. No, you had to admit it to yourself, it was also because you’d wanted to kiss him.

You’d really, really wanted to kiss him.

If were you being really honest with yourself, you’d wanted to do so, since the moment you two had moved so closely together, but it was his confession that had really sparked the desire to kiss him in you.

And also – as there was no point in denying it anymore – you also liked him. Had your feelings for him started out with constant annoyance and frustration, you now felt like lighting up whenever you saw him.

 For one, terrible moment, you were utterly convinced that you’d done the wrong thing, because Caliban didn’t react, it felt like you were really kissing clay.

You were already in the motion of pulling away – and then springing up from the bed and running away from this humiliation – when suddenly, he kissed you back.

Damn.

Kissing – truly kissing Caliban – felt like the ground was being taken away from under your feet, but in a good way.

It was intoxicating.

 Where you had been unsure and not entirely convinced in your action, when you’d leaned in to kiss him, and had only lightly touched his lips with yours, there was none of that hesitation in Caliban after that initial moment.

The kiss was feverish and heated and somehow almost felt desperate. You two were surely desperate to get even closer, he put his arm around you and pressed you against him and somehow, your hand that previously been lying on his chest found its way into his hair.

You could have gone on kissing him like this forever, it just felt so right, but after some truly glorious moments Caliban broke away, breathless, but smiling.

 “That was…”, you panted, again, searching for the right words.

“Incredible?”, he suggested with a lazy grin, a hint of the usual arrogance back in his voice.

You rolled your eyes at him, which only caused him to grin even wider.

“So, you’re still a virgin, right?”, he suddenly asked, smirk only growing wider at your exasperated huff.

But then you only smirked back at him – and kissed him again.

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 51- Fallen Angel

(Sorry this is late! i got my vaccine and it mcfucking knocked me out lol)

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

The hermits return to Eremita from a restocking trip, to discover they have been raided. And one hermit has been taken. 

Warning: Capture, slight torture scene

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Eremita has become their safe haven, the last bastion for the guild. Even when the arcane guard chased them all the way to the water’s edge, no sane person would dare follow the hermits into the Ashioll sea. Which is exactly why they lived in its mysterious, misty embrace. 

They could no longer simply fly off upon the backs of sky turtles, or even teleport into the towns they frequented. Now, when the hermits absolutely had to go into public for supplies they couldn’t make or grow themselves, they sailed in on Cleo’s pirate ship. And when they had to leave, they made sure that if anyone was following them, they took a roundabout direction back to their home. It adds time, weaving between the islands and through the mists, but ensures no one can guess where they live. 

Cleo’s pirate ship beaches up onto the sand, nestling back into place as a wrecked vessel once more. The dream magic fades, revealing broken oak boards, seagrass growing through seams, and splintered masts of the ghost ship Cleo commands. Hypno blinks free from his sleep, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Already? Man, my dream was just starting to get interesting.” 

With the help of rattling skeletons, their bones held together by magical muscle and sinew, the hermits unload food, meats, fabrics, and more. Enough for months, as if they were preparing to be snowed in after a massive blizzard. Almost all the hermits were a part of the flow of supplies. 

Almost. Only three hermits stayed behind. Zedaph had an accident with his two explosive friends, and while it wasn’t the first time, Grian wanted to keep an eye on the burns in case the magic lingered. Mumbo stayed behind as well, but for very different reasons. One, he was easily recognizable. Everyone knows the multimage that Dolios wants captured alive. Him and Grian are the only two who Dolios demands be captured alive. He also was in the middle of inventing some new contraption, and was not about to leave it behind and lose all his progress. Last Cleo saw of him, he was extinguishing burning locks of hair. She wonders if he’s made any progress, or if he’s burned all his hair away at this point.

Once Impulse and Tango have unloaded their share of the shipment, they go in search of their friend. Both still feel bad for burning Zed, even if it was by accident. And they’ve all been burned at this point in all their years together. But it doesn’t mean they don’t feel bad, especially leaving Zed behind. At least they brought back a caramel apple from his favorite stall in the market, as well as fresh hay for his barn and animal friends. 

“Zed? We have a surprise for you!” Tango calls, his voice twinged with mischief, as if they plan to prank their friend rather than give him a gift. No response comes from the flat roofed barn, except the distant bleat of a sheep. Tango looks at Impulse, fiery hair remaining vertical even as his head tips to the side. “Could he be taking a nap?” 

“You know Zed and his sleep schedule, he wouldn’t interrupt it, even when he wakes up on the wrong side of the bed.” Impulse waves it off. “He probably just isn’t listening, or maybe pulling a prank of his own. Let’s go in.” 

Impulse waves Tango through the gate, careful to keep the sheep, goats, and other farm animals from getting between Tango’s feet and causing his hair to ignite the dry hay in his arms. A horse nips at the bale, but Tango keeps it well away from catching fire. He’s relieved to lighten the load he’s carrying as soon as they're inside the barn. Both mages look to the bed tucked in the corner, but no Zedaph. Tango tosses the haybale aside. “He should be resting.” 

They clamber over the piles of hay, searching every nook and cranny for Zedaph. Even his cookie stash, which they let him believe is still a secret. But Zed is nowhere within the barn he chooses to live in. 

Concern pales both Impulse and Tango’s face, and Tango’s hair reacts in kind to the revelation. “Perhaps he’s being treated by Grian?” 

Tango doesn’t answer, already following the path across the width of the island, from one shore to another. Grian’s floating cloud, the quartz tower with large archways and a glass domed roof. Perfectly built for a sky angel, his wings and speed. Not so perfect for his roommate, and all of Mumbo’s redstone machinery, his own lanky body climbing up onto the solid cloud and stairs to sleeping quarters.

The redstone workshop at the base of the building has been cleaned up, though a few vials seem to have rolled away, as if they were grabbed then subsequently dropped. But, just like the barn, no sign of Mumbo. 

But there is a sound. Echoing from the glass dome, a sniffling, stifling cry escapes from above, followed by a gasping, shuddering breath. Impulse runs up the steps as fast as possible, each bounce from stair to stair accentuated with a tiny explosion to give him more speed. Tango blazes behind, fire burning bright as the sun as energy courses through him. He notices on the way up grey streaks against the pure white quartz. 

“Zedaph?” Impulse breathes, screeching to a full stop. In the center of the room, Mumbo and Zed are huddled close, holding on tight. Their eyes wild with fear, and in Zed’s eyes he can see a shared memory. A shared trauma him, Impulse, and Tango all share. Two hermits, holding onto each other like its their last hope. 

Only two. “Where’s Grian?” 

Mumbo opens his mouth, but a strangled cry only escapes. Tears fall from both their faces, shaking like leaves. Something bad has happened to their friend. Tango slides across the floor, grabbing Zedaph and Mumbo. “What happened? Where’s Grian? Are you hurt?” 

They both shake their heads, but finally Mumbo gathers enough of his voice to speak. It’s weak, broken apart like glass shattering. “He took him.” 

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A cold, wet air fills Grian’s lungs, biting into his skin like ice on a cold morning. When he tries to open his eyes, the dull ache of his skull becomes sharp, forcing the angel to screw them closed again. Grian grimaces, trying to figure out why he has such a terrible headache. Did he hit his head in training? No, he wouldn’t have been allowed to sleep with the hermits hovering over him. Perhaps he drank too much. Once again, impossible. Grian knows what his hangover is like, and it’s not this. 

He realizes he’s definitely hanging, but not from drinking. Cold, hard metal presses flat against his wrists, suspended over his head. The iron bites into his skin, all his weight rubbing his wrists raw. 

“Good, you’re awake. I was starting to get bored waiting, though I do quite enjoy relishing in finally having my prize thirty years in the making.” The snide, even tempo of Magistrate Dolios’s voice hurts worse than any headache or wrist, and Grian finally manages to open his eyes. The cavern he finds himself in is foreign, not even remotely similar to the brick and iron dungeons where he last woke up in Dolios’s clutches. So long ago, it feels like. The Championship. At the time, he felt like he was at the top of the world. Now? Now he feels like the world was crushing him. 

Grian resists his bindings, but even when he kicks outward, his feet don’t even scrape the dank floor. He tips his head back, until the crown of his head collides with a smooth, hard material. Just at the touch, he can feel the oppressive energy of the crystal. In his vision, he sees the sharp tip of the massive gem. Each wrist is locked tight against the crystal, the nails buried deep in the crystal lattice. 

He looks around, searching for other hermits. For Mumbo, the last face he remembers before…

The memories flood in, cascading alongside the fear and panic. He remembers everything, every terrifying second. Leaving Zedaph to meet with Mumbo, he remembers the scent of marigolds on his hands, just after crushing the petals to make a paste for Zedaph’s burns. The quiet island, most of the other hermits gone. He remembers patting his pocket, the note from his best friend telling him to meet at Iskall’s place. 

But when he arrived, Mumbo was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t unusual, Mumbo tended to get distracted and be late. So he waited, plucking orange petals from his clothes, hair, and hands. He should’ve noticed the way the wind shifted, becoming cold and stale, before disappearing completely. 

He should’ve realized something was very wrong when the grey stormcloud appeared. But he didn’t. He was so focused on waiting for Mumbo, then on getting rid of the flowers in his feathers, that he didn’t see the husks crawl their way free of the ocean. At least, not until the husk of a soldier came barreling for him, empty glowing white eyes and ashen, flaky form charging with halberd drawn.  

Grian squeaked, dodging the attack. Stumbled over the writhing form of a cactus cat, the fading spines still quite sharp, he was saved by a pair of not-grey arms. 

Not grey arms draped in wine red fabric, the hems decorated in gold thread. He realized who it was immediately, and scrambled to try and get away. But Dolios’s magic kept a strong grip, vines of black twisting and tying Grian’s wings to his back, while a hazy fog had grown around them. 

He remembers the feeling of Dolios’s hands in his hair, pulling him to his feet as he struggled and fought against the vines and the fog that filled his mind. Hands clawing at his binds, even biting the magistrate at one point. He remembers the taste of blood, iron on his tongue and Dolios swearing, blasting Grian with magic. 

And the last thing he remembers, before being knocked out and torn away from his home, was Mumbo’s face. Rounding the corner, completely oblivious to the fight occurring. It was at that moment that Grian realized, when his eyes locked with Mumbo’s that it wasn’t him that sent the letter. The confusion, of seeing Grian, the surprise on his face. He was walking towards the infirmary, dropping the box  in his hand upon seeing the sight before him. 

The fear on Mumbo’s face matched Grian’s own, as he was dragged into the sea. A second later, a swift burst of sonic energy knocked him out. 

And now he’s here. Dolios saunters across the room, gathering ingredients and writing down notes. Grian swings his legs, and summons his wings to try and be free. But as soon as the blue and white feathers appear, they crumble into ash. Crushing weight sets in on his head, his shoulders, his lungs, and his magic, and the crystal he’s trapped against hums with power. “You’re quite different from the last angel I hunted. At least you fought back, but in the end they left me without the gift of their magic. This time, I’m not letting anything go to chance.” 

The magistrate sets his bowl of guts aside, approaching the crystal and Grian. His hands are clasped behind his back, shoulders straight and head held high. The weight of the oppressive dark magic doesn’t bother him. Grian’s not ready to give up just yet. He attempts to kick Dolios, but the dark mage stands mere centimeters out of reach. So Grian decides to use his words. “You’re kind of an asshole, you know that?” 

“I’ve been told that once or twice before, yes. But the rest of Lairyon loves me. And why wouldn’t they? I’ve brought prosperity to this kingdom, done more than that stupid rainbow king could ever do, and all of this because of my power.” Dolios sweeps his hands, vapors of dark magic swirling from his fingers as his fingers clench to fists

“Stolen magic. If the citizens knew, they’d hate you just as much as I do.” Grian reels back his head, and does the best he can to annoy Dolios. He spits on him. The glob of spit lands on Dolios’s cheek, the magistrate flinching, then reaching up and wiping it away. A fresh anger in his eyes. 

“And who would believe you? An outcast mercenary orphan? The last of your kind?” Dolios stoops low, plucking a husked feather from the floor. He walks back to the table, mixing the components and ingredients from his jars of death with Grian’s feather. “Your power is rare. Angelic mages are always powerful, a power I crave. You will be a wonderful addition to my collection of magic. The last of the angels to complete my set!” 

A fearful shiver ricochets down Grian’s spine. “You’re going to turn me into a husk?” 

“Oh, gods no!” Dolios laughs, so loud that it echoes off the cavern walls as he throws his head back, brown curls dancing across rich fabric. “I wouldn’t dare waste such magic to become simple energy for me and my beast. No, no. Do not fret, little bird, you will become so much more. I don’t plan to drain your energy. I plan to steal it.” 

The hunger in Dolios’s eyes as he turns, the concoction in his hand, Grian realizes what he's seen all this time in Dolios’s eyes. Hunger. A madman hellbent on taking what he sees as rightfully his.. A predator stalking his prey. And Grian was cornered, pinned. Unable to fight back, unable to fly away. Fear is replaced by terror, a sensation Grian struggles to fight back. He needs to think clearly if he hopes to survive. 

“The last angel died before my powers were…” Grian pauses, seeing the coy smile on Dolios’s face. 

“I always had a-” Dolios pauses, waving his hand nonchalantly before marking the ground around the crystal spires with dark seal. “-fascination with angelic wizards. A dear friend of mine in my youth was one. Ever since then, I knew I had to have that kind of magic in my collection. So strong, each and every one of you. With magic even the ancient ones revered. And now?” 

Dolios steps back, casting his magic circle. Rather than emitting color and light, it absorbs all color to make the pattern of his magic. He raises his hands, and two satellite crystals awaken. Darkness swirls in the lattice of the gems, mist eeking out through pores and filling the cavern with darkness. When the mist reaches the seal surrounding the crystal Grian’s chained to, the spire behind him, pressed against his back, activates. The pressure on his body, his magic becomes unbearable, breaking into pain. Like a harpoon through his chest, the dark magic takes hold. Biting down, biting in. 

And slowly, agonizingly stealing his magic. So intrinsically tied to his soul, hsi lifeforce, it feels as if his very being is being dragged from every inch of his body in contact with the crystal. He writhes to escape the painful magic, but the bonds hold firm and he struggles to catch his breath. Dolios steps back, basking with ravished delight at the scene before him. Enjoying the pain that tears at Grian’s skin, soul, and spell. “Now the magic will soon be mine.”

[luninosity]

Catching up on some @whumptober2020 prompts! Here’s a Cherik one - there had to be one, right? For the theme:

No 16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY Forced to Beg | Hallucinations | Shoot the Hostage

Warnings / tags: nothing too much, here! Hallucinations, some mention of anti-mutant sentiment, some vague allusions to Charles’ terrible family in hallucinations, happy ending (of course)

#

Charles is hallucinating. Erik knows this because the world is hallucinating: improbable pink-striped tigers walk in and out of the walls of the house, Charles Darwin’s having a casual conversation with a young woman in a flowing nineteenth-century gown—Ada Lovelace?—near the stairs, and a thunderstorm’s raging but the lightning strikes cause no damage to the floor or walls. The house they’ve built here in Genosha is in part a replica of the Xavier mansion, the familiar, the good memories; it’s in part new and improved. Right now it’s under siege.

 He holds the antidote in one hand. Hank had promised it’d work.

 Charles’ telepathy shrieks and shudders. A rocket-ship, all pulp-fiction chrome and swooping wings, manifests itself in the doorway to the kitchen. It’s not real—even Charles can’t make something out of nothing—but it looks and feels and even smells and tastes real: the billow of smoke, the rush of heat. Erik’s senses believe it, for a moment, until it vanishes.

 He runs for the stairs, dodging a particularly inquisitive tumble of vines and flowers out of some prehistoric period.

 He’s not wearing the helmet, no protection; he doesn’t bother much these days, no secrets from his other half, but Hank had wondered if it’d give him more of a shield against telepathy gone haywire. But he can’t, because he needs to reach Charles, because he’s the one who can reach Charles. Because—

 He stops as a wave of black rolls over him, heavy and billowing; he can’t see the top of the steps, the hallway. He can’t see, can’t hear.

 But he knows the home inside and out. And his own power thrums in response: reaching out to metal and magnetic fields, to the bones of this house’s construction, from the complicated whirr of infirmary machines to the knobs of the dresser drawers in Charles’ bedroom—

 He turns that way. Lets familiarity pull him on.

 He calls, Charles? There’s no answer, but the blackness feels faintly surprised, for a moment.

 The hallway’s hot. Sticky. Erik’s forehead’s warm. Charles is feverish, he knows: whatever that anti-mutant mad scientist had managed to infect him with, it’s come with delirium, pain, waves of heat and chills. Erik for a moment hates all humanity and all mad scientists; but, then, Charles would no doubt laugh and tell him not to think that way. That not all humans are bad, just as not all humans are good. All people, really: mutant and not.

 Erik would not have believed that, once.

 But he believes in Charles. And—after everything, the ways they’ve fought each other and torn each other’s hearts apart and found each other again, over and over—he knows that Charles believes in him.

 He calls Charles’ name again. A flicker of awareness pauses to look at him. Good.

 A tall dark shape or two stroll out of a doorway. A vicious flare of memory: the cruel glint in the face of Charles’ stepfather, the fists of his stepbrother. They aren’t real but Erik knows they were, once; his anger sears like electric fields, snapping and sizzling.

 No one should ever hurt Charles. Never again. Not while Erik’s here.

 Charles has saved him in every way one person can save another, has saved him and held onto hope for him and looked at him with such joy, another half of soul and self and matching love. Erik’s own love burns white-hot and fierce and unflinching. He’ll make the world new and clean and safe for Charles, if he has to; he’ll give Charles everything, up to and including surrender, a laying down of arms, if Charles asks.

 Right now Charles needs him. Even in dazed cacophonous mazes, Charles recognizes him: nothing’s tried to harm Erik. A welcome presence, not a threat.

 Some part of his instincts grumbles at this—he’s always a threat, he’s dangerous, Charles of all people ought to know—but he also knows that Charles isn’t naïve. Charles trusts Erik not because Charles believes Erik’s harmless; Charles trusts Erik because they both know Erik doesn’t want to harm him. A choice, over and over. On both sides.

 Erik, says Charles’ voice. Unfocused, dreaming, weak and disoriented. Erik…

 I’m here. He still can’t see, but that’s all right; that’s just his perceptions, the same way his shirt-sleeves twist and turn and coil into feathers and then peel away over his arms, the same way the floor drops out beneath him though he knows it’s there. Charles, he knows, doesn’t feel real to himself at the moment, doesn’t have a good grasp on the world; the projections hide reality in turn.

 He finds the bed through memory and touch. Through anchors of power and love and heat. Charles is crying softly, wreathed by flame, writhing amid sheets and tongues of fire.

 Erik steps into the fire. Walks to his side, clutching the antidote. And sinks down beside him.

 Every motion’s drenched in pain, skin melting and hair sparking. But it isn’t happening, it isn’t physical, they’re both alive somewhere back in the reality where Erik’s body’s whole and no disquieting violet wormholes keep opening up in the windows…

 The pain is agonizing, of course. It doesn’t stop. But Erik knows how to live with pain. Besides, he’ll walk through hell if it’ll bring Charles peace. I’m here. Right here. Just a moment, just one moment—

 You’re not, Charles moans. You’re not—you’re not real, this isn’t real, I can’t tell—Erik, please, please be here—

 I am. I promise you I am. This will hurt for a moment, but it will be better, Charles, I swear—

 Love you—Erik—

 I love you, Erik tells him with entire honesty, with the truth of everything he is; and does not look at the blurry mess of his own hand as he moves, as he injects Hank’s antidote, as he presses it to Charles’s skin.

 Charles screams. It does hurt—Hank had warned of that—and it’s effective but brutal, countermeasures burning the virus away, chasing it down, killing it.

 Charles screams and screams, and the world implodes: a ravine opening up in the bedroom floor and walls crumbling in, fire dropping out of the sky, a horde of ancient tortoises stampeding through the background, chess pieces tumbling over across a rug, men in suits walking in and shaking their heads as flavors of smoke and scotch and burnt sugar burst over Erik’s senses, until it all vanishes in a final all-encompassing crash of blank white brilliance that doesn’t even register as pain any longer…

 He wakes up to discover that he’s lying in Charles’ bed. He’s wrapped around Charles, in fact: clinging to the man he loves. Some medical equipment chirps and hovers: some sensors’re attached, which means Hank at least has been and gone, leaving them privacy. Charles, exhausted and drowsy, is stroking his hair. My Erik.

 Erik thinks wordless devotion at him, not bothering to move. Charles feels tender in all the senses of the word: wrung out, healing, gently touching him.

 Yes, Charles murmurs tiredly. I’m here. I’m recovering. As are you.

 I’m fine. He says it aloud for good measure: “I’m fine, Charles. I’m not hurt.”

 “Apparently we’ve both been asleep for six hours. There was some talk of moving us to the infirmary, but the bed trembled any time anyone tried.” You were hurt, though. I apologize, love. Charles means this: sincerity in weary rueful blue eyes, in the way he’s holding Erik like something precious.

 Erik recognizes that impulse: he touches Charles sometimes that way too, with an emotion like awe. Right now he takes issue with Charles’ statement about guilt. It’s not your fault! He did this to you!

 Erik—

 You did not hurt me, Charles. Not in any way I would not face, for you. “I believe I promised to keep you safe.”

 “You do.” Charles strokes his hair again, touches his cheek; Erik turns his face into the touch. Charles is his anchor, as well: the place that’s warm and softer and candlelit, the place he’d never thought he’d find again, until he had.

 Charles says lightly, but with meaning, You found me. Through it all, everything that wasn’t real…

 “I’ll always find you,” Erik tells him. “I’ll always be real.” I love you.

 “Yes,” Charles says, simple and clear and also real. “And I love you, Erik. And we should rest. Both of us. Right here, like this…” Here. Together. Yes.