#and that you get to pick when to whip out the symbolism to best effect

[britcision]

And by the way, if this seems incredibly overwhelming and makes creating seem like a very intimidating and arduous process, allow me to reassure you

I have been writing for 20 years

I have over a million words on AO3 and beat NaNoWriMo

I know of which I speak

There is nothing wrong with deciding when and where you want to put your intentional symbolism, with where you set scene and tone and mood with care and intentionality, and where you don’t

Sometimes you’re going to put hours of thought in and carefully select symbols, and change out the curtains to perfectly fit your mood

And sometimes you’re going to look at the curtains that are already there and say “yeah those’ll work”, because the thing that makes the highlights highlights and the deep moments more impactful is contrast

If every single scene is deep and intentional and intricately described it will feel flat

Sprinkling little drops of foreshadowing through is about as satisfying as it gets when payoff time comes and people lose their fucking minds, but on the whole… not all your scenes are made to be Oscar bait

Some are just going to be bridging, or rising action, or getting you through from one dramatic scene to the next in a way that actually makes sense and doesn’t feel rushed, and it will not matter if you choose precise and intricate symbols or not

And frankly, not all art needs to be deep and complex and heavily symbolic to be worthwhile

Sometimes the curtains are blue because you needed a colour to finish the description and blue is one of them

Sometimes you’re writing crack, or fluff, or making a silly little piece to make people laugh, and you will not get Bad Marks At Art for not making it deeply symbolic (you can if you like tho)

The person who gets to decide if the colours in your work are symbolic and meaningful is you, and “no they’re not” is an acceptable answer

People might read deeper meaning into it anyway and ascribe subconscious symbology like they said above and that sounds incredibly cool and I’d really be fascinated by what that said about any of my stuff

You can’t stop them from doing this but you don’t have to care or worry about it because trying to control any readers’ interpretation is a losing battle and stressing over people somehow reading it wrong will keep you from writing at all

The thing that matters is that you, the artist, make the choice about how shallow or deep the meaning has to be behind your decisions

When you want deep impact you reach into the symbolism bucket, and hooboy it is so much cooler if you can lightly sprinkle hints and foreshadowing back through everything that came before

Maybe there’s one pop of blue in every panel, something tiny like a beetle, then a flower, and the pop of blue gets bigger and bigger as you build to the climax and the blue curtains surround your character in a melancholy that seems almost inevitable

Maybe you just needed to finish colouring the panel and blue fit the colour scheme in a way that doesn’t detract from the parts which are important

Not every choice needs an essay or a deeper meaning, but if none of your choices have that meaning there’s a limit to the depth your story can reach… and that’s fine as long as it’s what you want

Create silly, meaningless art just because it brings you joy

Splash blue around because it looks pretty with green and purple, or contrasts with orange (reinvent SasuNaru)

It is very possible to paralyze yourself by overanalyzing your work

I’d sure as hell never have written as much as I have if I worried about every piece of scenery…

But then again my process tends to look less like “decide to create a piece of art and make a plan and a structure and think about appropriate symbols” and more like being temporarily and violently possessed by characters and three hours later there’s a 15k story about it

I don’t even do the “decide to create art” step half the time, it just happens, and I have created things which have brought others and myself a lot of joy like that

(This makes my homebrew world building very exciting)

The most irritating comment in this whole discussion I ever saw is “if the colour doesn’t matter don’t describe it”, but that’s a personal pet peeve because I physically cannot visualize and believe you me describing things so that positioning stays relative and action makes sense is a skill and the balance is a bitch

And I genuinely do not know how much I need to describe a scene for all y’all folks that do visualize, so that’s my latest learning adventure

(Like. When do you need to know how many chairs are in a room? Does the size of the bed matter before the character falls into it? If the room is dark and the characters can’t see shit when do I tell the audience? I can’t see shit why do you have to?)

I think the thing about "The curtains were just blue" thinking is that, when you consume a lot of art and never make any, you tend to view it as something that just arose from nothing fully formed. Like, you're aware that someone wrote it and/or drew it or shot it, but you're not really aware of the sheer number of choices you have to make when you're creating something out of nothing.

Like, I grew up loving movies and TV and watching making of documentaries, but when I eventually went to film school I was still kind of overwhelmed by how you have to make a decision about EVERY SINGLE THING that's on the screen and if you or someone else working with you doesn't think about the choice that they're making when they make that decision, your movie is gonna be shit.

If you're shooting a movie, the curtains are never "just blue" because you have to go buy the curtains! Even if you're gonna shoot on location in a real house, you have to choose the house and if they have curtains, you might still have to change them because you're trying to stick within a certain color palette or your character wouldn't have those curtains or maybe you're doing a period piece and those curtains hadn't been invented yet or maybe they have Pikachu on them and you can't afford the rights to Pikachu, what are you, made of money? And most importantly, you want to make sure that the curtains evoke the feeling that you're trying to convey to the viewer. Because if you don't do that, then they'll detract from the experience and make your movie shitty. You don't get to opt out of any choices.

And prose is even worse! Because at least in live action film you're usually more limited in your options. But in prose (or animation or comics), your only limit is your imagination, but all those same decisions still have to be made and they're still just as important.

And that's what makes art great! Everything is infused with meaning because everything was a choice that a person made.

[hiskillingjar]

Could we get some aftercare with Strade? (Like him patching up mc and being all sweet and gentle after a torture session and mc is confused and doesn’t know how to process it)

i wrote this like five years ago and abandoned it so thanks for making me pick this back up.

2500+ words, literal follow up of strade's route in btd. it is what it is

*CLICK*

The heavy collar was fastened around your neck before you had the chance to say anything, and already, you could feel the heavy weight of it, both physically and symbolically.

He had claimed you. He owned you.

He controlled whether you lived or died, which was entirely dependent on whether you entertained him…or not. “Come on, buddy.” Amid your silence, Strade stood to his feet and dusted his hands off on his trousers, before he offered a hand out to you. “You must be exhausted. Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”

An almost kind smile came to his face (his handsome face, still handsome in spite of everything he had done to you for the last three days) and he didn’t even seem that annoyed when you hesitated to reach out for him. 

In fact, he was remarkably patient, given the situation.

You blinked wide, scared eyes at who was now, effectively, your captor, half expecting yourself to burst into tears at the shallow display of kindness. 

You anticipated him whipping a knife out as soon as you reached out for him, anticipated him laughing cruelly at you for being so gullible, so trusting. 

You anticipated him continuing the brutal torture that you had survived for three days before this, until your brain broke and your body splintered into bloody shards in his hands.

But he didn’t.

He just waited for you. 

All without a snarky word or a raised eyebrow.

Maybe if others had been so patient and kind with you before this, you wouldn’t have been in this situation.

Ironic, really.

After another long moment, you eventually reached out for him and took his hand. 

“There you go,” Strade muttered softly as your hand slipped into his own. “Not so bad, is it?”

He hauled you onto your shaking feet with surprising ease, demonstrating his intimidating strength (demonstrating how you wouldn’t have won if you tried to fight back against him). 

You hadn’t used your legs in a couple of days and the searing pain still coursing through your body quickly fired up again, causing you to stumble with a weak cry and a whimper.

Falling into his arms.

In another universe, the act of him catching you would have been charming. Romantic almost.

It seemed twisted to consider it romantic now.

“Woah, easy there!” He exclaimed with a little chuckle, and not a mean one either. He attempted to support your shaking body the best he could, draping one of your arms around his shoulder, his free arm drifting downward to wrap around your shuddering waist. “Guess I should have known you’d have trouble walking right away. Sorry about that.”

He apologised and it almost made you laugh (almost made you throw up). 

Because he’s not apologising for kidnapping you, for torturing you, for putting a fucking drill through your foot, for fucking raping you while you were near comatose. 

He was just apologising for thinking you’d be able to walk properly after all of that.

His seemingly genuine kindness was enough to make your muscles clench, your stomach ache, your heart pound in your chest.

It made your head spin.

You couldn’t seem to reconcile these two very different sides of him. It couldn’t be the same man, could it?

He was apologising. Did he even know what he was apologising for?

“I’ll help you up the stairs, alright?” He offered, and you nodded quickly, not sure what else to do. “Then we’ll figure a place to put you for the time being, while I assess the new, ah, new living situation. Okay?”

“Okay,” You mumbled weakly, as he hauled you upwards (pulling you towards his cocked hip) and helped you up the wooden steps, doing his best to put as little strain on your injured foot as possible. 

It almost felt nice to be treated so gently, so patiently, to be the vulnerable one for a change, and let someone else, someone stronger, someone older, take care of the situation…even if that meant being vulnerable to someone like Strade.

He led you up the stairs of the basement, past the heavy, locked door, and into a...totally normal-looking hallway.

You almost scoffed, it was so normal (barring the lack of pictures on the wall, or any modicum of personality in what little you could see of what must have been his house) as he reached back to close and lock the door behind him.

"Hm?" He looked towards you with a raised eyebrow. You hadn't realised that you had, in fact, scoffed out loud.  He didn’t seem rushed or tense, though, not like he was dealing with a hostage. 

In fact, he seemed quite calm.

"...Nice place." You murmured, averting your eyes.

"Ah, if you say so." He chuckled, pocketing a set of keys and placing his arm back around your waist, before pulling you into his side once again. "It's a means to an end. Something that makes me look...mm, normal, you know?"

You didn't know. But you nodded your head all the same.

He didn't continue his line of thought as he led you up the second set of stairs, bare feet comforted by soft, grey carpet that was getting slowly dotted with blood from your punctured foot.

You didn't feel bad about it in the slightest.

You were relieved when he opened the door to, again, a normal-looking and plain bathroom and led you both inside, locking the door behind him and approaching the large tub. “A friend of mine says that a bath is the best way to feel better,” He said, adjusting the handle of the spout and putting his palm underneath the running water, checking the temperature. “They’re not for me, personally, but it’ll probably feel nice for you, right?”

“Mm,” You hummed, biting your lip, settling down on the closed toilet lid and holding yourself tight.

Your relief was finally starting to settle in, but, conversely, the adrenaline was wearing off, and you were beginning to feel the full, sharp extent of your injuries. Tears threatened to stream down your cheeks, and he seemed to pick up on that.

He looked at you then, amused in spite of your pain, his golden eyes crinkling fondly.

"This may sound a little intrusive," He apologised, his voice gentler, softer. "But, can I..?"

"Huh?" You looked up. 

He'd never concerned himself with not being intrusive before. Why now?

“Let me help you get undressed,” He said, taking a step closer towards you with an easy, laidback smile, the kind of smile that immediately won you over and settled you in the bar. “You’re probably too weak to do it yourself right now…right?”

You gave him an uneasy look, half expecting him to do something...expected.

"Relax," He insisted, as he reached down to untie the strings of your stained jogging shorts (why had you left your apartment in those?), his voice and touch unnervingly soft and gentle, handling you with far more patience than you were used to. "I won't hurt you more than I already have."

“For some reason, I doubt that,” You mumbled grouchily as your shorts slid down, just about grazing your cuts enough to sting.

“So cruel to me, liebling,” He asked, his voice tinged with playfulness and even a small hint of fake outrage. “Do you have any faith in your captor at all?”

“None.” 

You tried not to make eye contact with him as he tucked his strong hands beneath your (blood) stained top and pulled it off, letting it fall to your still-shifting feet and revealing your ratty sports bra. 

“Hmph,” He huffed dramatically, as if your reply had genuinely offended him. “You don’t have to be so cold.”

With a soft laugh (clearly, he wasn’t that upset with how stand-off-ish you were being), he pulled the bra off without much struggle (your arms were in no state to do any fighting anyway). 

You shivered, feeling the sudden cool air on your chest, enough to make your nipples swell.

He didn’t say anything about that, but he did look a little smug as his eyes drifted up and down your body. 

“Underwear off, then,” He then said, giving you a pleased look. “I’ll be a gentleman and leave that to you.”

You hesitated for a second before reaching for the straps of your panties, pulling them down your marred thighs and letting them fall to your feet too.

Strangely, he seemed far less interested the more you undressed, though.

“Huh…not a bad body,” He commented placidly like he was commenting on something mundane or dull. You almost scoffed again as you crossed your arms (and he let you do it). “You do look a little pale, though,” He added with a slight tilt of his head, his voice softening once again as he turned back to the bath and pushed the tap down to a stop. “I guess the blood loss is normal in your case…” “I guess so,” You replied with a little sigh, covering yourself more tightly with your arms while he dragged a hand through the hot water.

"Lie down into the bath," He instructed a little sternly after standing up straight again and wiping his damp hands down his front, his tone suddenly more authoritative. "I'll get you cleaned up."

Your legs felt like they were about to give out from under you as he spoke, but you didn't even attempt to argue with him. You just did as he said.

The water was much hotter than you expected, hot enough that steam was emitting in short wisps from the surface, making you immediately inhale with subdued pain (never mind how the hot water felt on your open wounds). 

You quickly sank down into the tub, though. settled by the heat and the comforting warmth of it, like a blanket on your aching limbs, quicksand on your shoulders. It felt…safe, in a perverse kind of way.

You were growing used to perversion, though.

“Ah, you looked like you needed that,” Strade said after a few silent minutes, and when you looked up, you saw that he was stripping off himself. “Move up.”

"Mm!" You let out a little squeak of surprise as he stepped into the tub behind you, his warm body, his tank skin pressed to yours. “H-Hey, come on, I just wanted to relax!”

"So, relax," He said lightheartedly, with the kind of commanding tone you were starting to get used to. He was going to have his way, no matter what you said, so better to just…let it be.

The bath was more than big enough for the two of you (you could only guess how much it must have cost him), but a self-conscious gnaw on your brain forced you to try and appear as small as possible against his broad chest. 

Curling your knees up to your chest, hunching your shoulders inwards, dipping your head down.

“Hmph, that’s cute.” He said, almost fondly and with an audible smile, slowly stroking up and down your back with a gentle touch. “You’re so tense…almost like you’re scared or something.”

His fingertips were calloused from years of physical labour (you didn’t want to think what that labour might have been) as they traced up and down the tattooed lines of ink in your skin, slow and almost curious. And, despite how frightened you might have been, you couldn’t help but lean back against him, relishing in his softness, his almost kindness, while he was still in a good mood.

"There we go," Strade said with a pleased murmur. "Perfect. Exactly like that."

Strade slipped a hand around your stomach, and rubbed the skin gently, before slowly sliding upwards, inch by inch, until his fingers were gliding against your ribs. without any kind of malicious intention, humming softly into your hair.

You don’t know what song he’s humming.

You found yourself sighing with a weird kind of pleasure, sinking further into the warm water that soothed your aching muscles, and relaxing against his soft chest. He seemed satisfied by how much you were relaxing and wrapped both arms around your middle, pressing his face into your hair and taking in a long inhale of you.

It felt nice.

Maybe you should just stop denying yourself pleasure and accept the good things he was offering.

Your body was so close to his that you could feel every part of him, the twitches in his muscles, the shifting of his arms and legs around you, the initial stirrings of arousal of his cock against your backside.

It was easy to forget that he was your captor now, and not...something else. 

An older boyfriend your mother didn’t approve of, a mentor you were growing closer and closer to, a cute stranger who picked you up at a bar for a consensual fucking.

The warm water of the bath, the steam fogging up every surface, his slick skin against yours, all made it easy to forget the world outside, the pain in your body, and the injuries that you had already sustained.

It felt like it was just you and him alone, in that tiny, enclosed space.

"Relax," He breathed softly in your ear, the warm breath from his every word tickling your neck and making you shiver. “Let me take care of you.”

“Mm…” You sighed as he rubbed his thumbs over your nipples. “That’s…ah, that’s nice.”

“Mmmhmm,” He echoed softly, the rumbling of his voice vibrating through his chest, making you shiver once more.

The heat of the water was inviting, as was his embrace. Strade drew his hands along your ribs and up your chest, squeezing and groping them lazily, sleepily, gently, his touch so soft now. 

He didn’t seem interested in hurting you anymore. 

In fact, it felt almost like the opposite...

But…

You couldn’t help but notice the swirling of crimson blood in the water.

How comforting the water had been, and yet, how much iit stung the deep wound in your foot, the cuts up your thighs and across your chest. 

How the person who had caused you such pain was so peaceful behind you, touching your body like he was scared you would break.

He had wanted to break you so badly before. Why was he now treating you so delicately?

You sighed quietly as his hand slid a little higher up, over your collarbone and...over your new collar. It wasn’t a particularly tight fit, but it was always there. 

Always a reminder. A warning.

The feel of his hand grazing against the cold metal of the collar was...odd.

Strange.

Unnerving.

He stopped for longer at the collar, his fingers slowly wrapping around it. You knew he felt your tension increase, but he did nothing to further provoke you.

Just the same, his fingers remained there, almost like he was waiting for something.

"What?" You murmured softly, your eyes locked down on your bloody foot.

"Just..." He murmured, his voice oddly husky and rough from the close, confined space you two now shared. “Happy to have you here. That’s all.” “Hm…” You hummed. “Thanks. I guess.”

[pinkpersonsblog]

Title: You Shouldn’t Have

Characters: Ram, Bheem

Summary: It's Bheem's birthday and Ram has a special gift for him. But can he give it to him or will he chicken out? Cute friendship fic.

Words: 2,324

When Ram was a teenager, he’d so cherished the people in his life that he’d jot down in his journal, in vivid detail, every joke laughed at, every complimented bestowed upon him, every minute occurrence. Entire conversations were recorded, word for word. Things others took for granted, didn’t think twice about, were what he looked forward to revisiting on a regular basis. These were memories he latched onto, as if hugging them would make them turn into warm, inviting bodies.

Make them turn into friends.

Ram sat on his bed, holding his journal in his hands, his thumb grazing over its worn edges. A relic from the past had been unearthed today, as he sat there after having considered writing in it for the first time in so long. It was Bheem’s birthday, a day he’d been looking forward to for the past month, just so he could spend it with him. Well, that, and to also hand him the gifts he’d bought for him. He’d considered simply writing about how he was looking forward to giving his friend his gifts and sharing a cup of hot chai with him. But just when he put pen to paper, he’d stopped, hand frozen in place. Something about it didn’t feel right, as though he were about to drop a grape into a bag of raisins.

Ram set the journal aside and checked his watch. It was about time for him to meet Bheem. He picked up the gifts he’d gotten him and felt his heart swell as he examined them.

Bracelets. That was all they were, or at least one of them was. The other was a bit more meaningful than that.

The regular bracelet was beaded with black and silver beads. Nothing fancy, although a few of the beads did gleam in such a way that made it stand out. The other bracelet was threaded and had a fish woven into it. He knew how much Bheem loved going swimming. The symbolism of the bracelet didn’t stop there, however. Ram reached into his pocket and pulled out a third bracelet. A threaded one with the image of a horse woven into it. Ram’s bracelet.

Friendship bracelets.

It was what Ram had specifically been searching for when he was at the stalls on the street, where all kinds of jewelry were being sold. He’d never had the opportunity to buy such a thing before and it was the first idea that came to mind when he’d considered what to get Bheem for his birthday. To be honest, it almost seemed like he was thinking more about himself than he was about Bheem. He had no idea if their friendship meant as much to Bheem as it did to him, so it was a bit risky.

Ram took hold of his keys from the dresser and checked his reflection in the mirror, combed his fingers through his hair. His heart leapt in his chest like it so often did right when he was about to see his best friend. He walked out and was on his way to make his friend’s day.

The weather was splendid and brightly sunny. Outside the café and on the street, people were bustling and enjoying time with their loved ones. A curly haired man stood near the café’s entrance, attention seemingly elsewhere with his back turned to Ram. Unluckily for Bheem, he had left himself completely vulnerable to Ram’s advances. So Ram grinned mischievously as he snuck up behind Bheem and tapped his left shoulder. Bheem’s head whipped to his left, but Ram had already stepped to Bheem’s right. When Bheem turned towards him, he slapped a hand to his forehead and laughed.

“Happy birthday, buddy,” Ram said as he pulled his friend into a warm hug. Its effect was instantaneous—indulging in a cup of hot chai wouldn’t have felt nearly as good. After they parted, Bheem waved a hand dismissively. “It’s just another day. But thank you.”

Ram followed Bheem inside the café as they sat down on a tattered couch and ordered two cups of chai. He couldn’t help but muse on what Bheem had said. He decided it didn’t sit right with him. “Nothing wrong with having one special day out of an entire year, Bheem. You deserve that much, at least.”

Bheem sighed as the waiter walked up and handed them their chais. After thanking him for his, he said, “I never really cared for birthdays. It’s strange to admit, but I always felt guilty when I’d get presents. And I absolutely hate when people sing ‘happy birthday’ to me. I know…I’m weird.” He looked sheepish as he took a sip of his chai.

Ram swallowed hard as he reached into his pocket and felt the two bracelets, his thumb playing with the one with beads. Was he wrong to have bought him the bracelets? What if it came across too strongly and scared him off? He’d just arrived and was already feeling like an idiot. Maybe a card would have sufficed.

“I’ve never had a birthday party with anyone outside of relatives and Sita,” Ram said. “I actually like getting presents, but I never really received anything I liked. It was usually just clothes.” Ram wrinkled his nose, making Bheem chuckle.

Bheem looked thoughtful for a moment as he tapped a finger against his chin. “What would you want to do if you spent your birthday with me?”

Ram didn’t even have to think about it, but he pretended to take a few seconds to think as he took a sip of his chai. He didn’t want to seem like he thought about this all the time. Because he definitely didn’t. Definitely.

“I’d want us to go dancing.”

His hands began to sweat as he instantly realized Bheem might not feel as eager to dance with him again. Maybe it was just a one time occurrence for Bheem. Maybe he’d felt pressured into it by Ram. Maybe he’d rather do it with Jenny instead…

Bheem smiled knowingly, his eyes so soft they could have made Ram melt into a puddle right then and there. “You liked dancing that much, huh?”

Ram wiped his hands on the back of his slacks, not sure why he was getting more and more anxious. How would Bheem react if he knew he daydreamed about it, was so enthralled by Bheem’s skills on the dancefloor that he’d been practicing in private, lest they have another dance off?

“Yeah,” Ram said.

I loved it.

The admission and Bheem’s nonchalant response helped Ram to work up the nerve to pull out the beaded bracelet and hand it to Bheem.

“Before you say anything—I know you don’t like presents, but it really isn’t much. It didn’t cost a lot. I just thought you might think it’s cool, maybe.”

Bheem frowned as he took the bracelet from Ram and studied it, played with the beads. This was only a few seconds, but it could have been a lifetime as Ram waited with bated breath for his reaction. Bheem finally put the bracelet on and smiled at Ram almost regretfully. “Thanks, Ram. But you really shouldn’t have.”

Ram was fully aware it was only one half of the gifts he had bought for Bheem. But he suddenly felt embarrassed for having gotten him the fish bracelet. Like he’d put too much thought into it, that he obsessed over their friendship like some psycho.

Bheem would probably never buy him something like that. He’d probably buy him a cup of chai or a lassi and call it a day. Although he would ignore the voice of reason telling him it wasn’t because Bheem saw him as any less of a friend. Bheem was just a simple guy who didn’t have much use or desire for material things.

Still, Ram wished he could somehow show him how much he meant to him without feeling ashamed of it. Somehow, even just this beaded bracelet made him feel overexposed…like he’d laid his heart bare for his friend to stomp on.

“If you don’t like it, you can tell me. Be honest.”

Bheem shook his head as he studied the bracelet on his hand, from different angles. “I like it. Really. Just hate that you spent money on me.”

“It was the least I could do to make your day a bit more special.” Ram felt overwhelmed by a torrent of emotion. What he was about to say was achingly true. “I’ve never had a friend like you. I care about you. I lo—”

He stopped suddenly, the words dying in his throat. Was he really about to say that? Did he really feel that way about him?

Bheem waited, then motioned for him to go on. It didn’t appear as though he knew what he’d been about to say. What he wanted so badly to say.

But Ram couldn’t say it. His fear of rejection wouldn’t allow it. He fought for words to fill in the blanks as Bheem was staring at him, confused.

“…Like you a lot,” Ram said, instead. The words were technically true and very nice indeed, so why did they feel so hollow, like a pale imitation of his true feelings? Maybe because it fit more with how he’d describe a plate of warm biryani…not someone he’d forgiven for ruthlessly stabbing him in the chest.

Bheem himself looked unconvinced that that was what he’d intended to say, but he had enough tact to not pry.

“I wouldn’t have even accepted this if I didn’t feel the same way,” Bheem admitted, surprising Ram. “Anyone else and I would have forced them to take it back.”

Ram felt elated hearing this. But at the same time, the fish bracelet was weighing increasingly heavy in his pocket. Why couldn’t he give it to him? Why was he so afraid his friend would reject it? Would it make their friendship any less meaningful if he did? Besides, Bheem had just told him he felt the same way…

Ram took a sip of his chai as he fell silent, looked outside the café window to see a couple walking down the street holding hands. Eager to change the subject, he turned back to Bheem. “So when are you going to brag to me about having kissed Jenny?” he teased.

Bheem arched an eyebrow and looked at him funny. “I did kiss her just the other day. I told you, Ram. Don’t you remember?”

At first, Ram felt indignant because he was certain Bheem hadn’t told him and was just messing with him. But then he vaguely remembered Bheem’s voice over the phone excitedly telling him that Jenny had kissed him after he’d told her she has a pretty smile.

"Right...sorry." Goodness…how could he have forgotten? Well, now that he remembered, he had to plan all sorts of romantic future dates for the lovely couple. Ram patted Bheem’s hand, then squeezed it. “Proud of you, Bheem. I knew you two would make a great couple. Even with the language barrier, you’re making things work. How great is that?”

“All thanks to my best friend,” Bheem said, placing his other hand on top of Ram’s. “And your magic touch, right? She couldn’t keep her hands off my hair. Like it was the softest she’d ever felt.”

Ram leaned back and chuckled at the reference to him giving Bheem a makeover. He was happy he’d helped him leave such a positive impression on the woman.

“Well, now you’re just making me jealous,” Ram joked, making Bheem laugh. It made him feel good to hear that she’d liked his hair. Ram had paid extra attention to it, knowing women, in his experience, loved a man with nice hair. And Bheem’s hair was lovely. Just like…well, him. The familiar sting of embarrassment struck him as he remembered complimenting Bheem’s eyes. He’d never said such a thing to another man. It felt oddly intrusive, like he’d admitted to noticing subtleties about his friend that he shouldn’t. Sheesh… The things he endured for Bheem…

“Someone’s lost in thought,” Bheem said, leaning back, looking amused. Ram hadn’t known he’d been watching him so closely. Sometimes he felt their bond was so deep that they could almost read one another’s thoughts. Thankfully, that wasn’t actually true, but at times like this, he almost wondered if it was.

“Just thinking about what a great guy you are,” Ram admitted. He’d intended to make it sound like he was half-joking, but it came out sounding dead serious. God, if he got anymore emotional, he might actually tell him he loved him…

“Shut uuuuuup…” Bheem looked embarrassed.

It wasn’t just because of the gravity of all that Bheem had forgiven him for. It was also because of who he was as a person. Gentle, quiet, peaceful, strong…he was all of this and more.

But most of all, he was mature. His maturity made him so admirable. If only more people were like him, Ram often thought. Then again, if they were, Bheem wouldn’t be as special.

“Sorry,” Ram said, grinning in such a way that he knew said he wasn’t sorry at all. Bheem simply rolled his eyes, accepting his awkwardness like the good friend he was.

They sat together and chatted for a while longer, simply talking about the women in their lives and more mundane things. Ram knew this was the nicest birthday experience he’d ever had, even if it wasn’t his own being celebrated. He realized he didn’t need to record it in a journal in order to treasure the memory. The memory itself was all he needed to feel content. After all, he was always building new ones with his best friend.

And as for the fish bracelet? He wasn’t going to throw it away. Maybe someday he’d give it to Bheem after all.

When the time felt right.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Camlann, except no one is being held back by stupid destinies;

Merlin manages to keep Morgana and Mordred on the side of the light, which has a few rather influential knock-on effects.

Morgause leads her army onto the barren fields of Camlann, her hair and eyes wild, but her sword and focus sharp. Opposite stands her traitor sister’s half brother, the Boy-King of Camelot, surrounded by his precious knights. Today, they would all die, she would make certain of that.

Arthur struggles to keep his hands from trembling, he’s well aware that this battle will likely be his, and subsequently Camelot’s, downfall, but his nerves are settled slightly by Merlin’s comforting presence at his side. Which he feels immensely guilty at. 

He’d done his best to urge Merlin to run, to take Gwen and Gaius and maybe even Morgana, to go to Ealdor to pick up his mother and run even further, just in case. Merlin had refused of course; Gwen and Morgana had squawked at Arthur’s stupid chivalry and planted their feet firmly in the throne room, a symbolic last line of defence, and Gaius rolled his eyes and reaffirmed that he would be in the infirmary tent, as planned. 

He’d given his men his speech and they all seemed content to die for the cause, for one last desperate attempt to keep their home safe, but that didn’t stop the freezing claw of guilt from shredding Arthur’s lungs every time he took a breath. They were just waiting now. For someone to make the first move, for Morgause to get a little closer, for someone to send a messenger. 

Arthur’s broken from his stare when a warm, soft, steady hand takes his gently. His head whips to the side to see Merlin, stood without armour (oh, how The King despaired) staring at him with a slight frown. A frown, Arthur thinks, that should be much deeper, and much more afraid. He’s grateful it isn’t. He’s not sure he could cope with seeing Merlin scared:

“Arthur, if... if I knew a way to win this, once and for all, with not a drop of Camelot blood spilt... would you let me?”

It takes Arthur a few moments to process what Merlin had said, on account of his brain focusing on how grateful he is to hear his voice and feel the warmth of his hand instead of actually listening to him speak, but when he does, he copies his servant’s frown, though his is slightly more confused. He doesn’t let go of Merlin’s hand as he responds, instead tightening his grip:

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

Merlin gulps and looks away briefly, a look of guilt if Arthur ever saw one, but he finds he doesn’t really care. They’re all about to die, he’d forgive Merlin anything:

“If I could win this battle, and the war, right here, right now. Would you let me?-”

At Arthur’s continued perplexed look, Merlin rolls his eyes and huffs, smirking slightly as he adds on:

“-Just humour me.”

Arthur gulps, glancing towards the slowly advancing army before once again squeezing Merlin’s hand and looking back at him:

“It would... depend on the consequences, I suppose. Would you get hurt?”

Merlin shakes his head, then stops, and tilts it sideways as though he’s considering something he’d really rather not think about. He can’t meet Arthur’s gaze as he responds:

“I... might need a few hours to rest, afterwards, but any... long term consequences would depend on your reaction.”

Arthur recoils slightly at that, frown deepening as he shakes his head, completely oblivious to the keen listening ears of his six most loyal knights, and another, hidden towards the back of the group. If he’d turned to see them, Arthur would’ve noticed the blank looks of steely determination on Lancelot and Mordred’s faces:

“Well we would never have to worry about that. I... I could never see you hurt, Merlin.”

The King’s voice cracks as he mentions Merlin getting hurt, and the servant’s gaze softens, knowing that Arthur was thinking of their inevitable demise, creeping closer and closer. He squeezes his hand, giving him a soft smile as his other hand lifts up to rest on his shoulder; his question comes out soft and pleading:

“Do you trust me?”

Arthur has to use all of his self control not to yell his answer across Camlann:

“More than anyone.”

Merlin smiles sadly and steps back, dropping both of his still-steady hands to his sides; Arthur feels the gap between them more heavily than he feels the armour on his back. Merlin goes to turn away without another word, but before he can take even one step, a figure is pushing through to the front, gripping his wrist and pulling him back:

“I’m coming too.”

Arthur’s eyes go comically large as he hears Morgana’s voice come from under the hood. He steps forward to rip it down, and she only spares him an annoyed glance before she’s back to staring purposefully at Merlin. A gasp goes up around the group from all bar two, and Mordred dismounts his horse, walking forward to be in line with Morgana. The three of them entirely ignore Arthur’s outraged words:

“Morgana, what the hell are you doing here? You need to be safe at the castle, you’re meant to take the crown what the hell are you doing here?!”

Merlin meets Morgana’s determined glare with a resigned one of his own:

“No, this is my-”

Mordred interrupts him, his voice strong in a way that Arthur had never heard from the youngest knight before:

“No. No, it’s not. You’re not just fighting for Camelot, Merlin, you’re fighting or us, for our people.”

Merlin looks like he wants to argue, but Morgana crosses her arms and holds her head high as she speaks:

“You’re making a stand and you have no right to stop us from doing the same. This is bigger than you, bigger than all three of us, this is our fight just as much as it is yours.”

Merlin can only hold their stare for so long before he sighs and looks to the floor, entirely oblivious to the knights panicking (bar Lancelot, of course). He looks up with a small, relaxed smile on his face, and if Arthur weren’t so preoccupied with the fact that Morgana was definitely not supposed to be here, he would’ve found Merlin’s almost-nonchalance calming. The servant holds both his hands out:

“Together?”

Mordred grins widely, taking one of Merlin’s wrists as he responds confidently:

“For Camelot.”

Morgana does the same, a sudden wind whipping her hair behind her wildly:

“For our people.”

Without another moment’s of hesitation, Merlin turns and marches towards Morgause and her army. His steps are purposeful and strong, and Arthur can’t bring himself to stop him, no matter how desperately his brain is screaming at him. Morgana turns to him with a not-quite-cruel smirk:

“This has been a long time coming, brother. Enjoy the show.”

Arthur can only blink in surprise as she turns and walks towards Merlin. Mordred looks to him next, though the young knight’s smile is a lot softer, a lot more pitying:

“You should consider yourself lucky, Arthur,-”

Arthur barely registers the use of his first name:

“-my Lord gave up his throne in favour of serving you, buried his crown in favour of polishing yours.”

Arthur shakes his head slightly, his voice quiet and confused and strained as he asks:

“Your Lord?”

Mordred looks to Merlin, still marching across the seemingly never-ending field, with an awed smile; his voice is quiet and holds notes of what almost sound like worship:

“He’s more than you know.”

Before Arthur can respond, Merlin and Morgana stop, turning to look at Mordred expectantly. Merlin stares blankly, his brows slightly furrowed, but Morgana sports a wild grin as she yells back:

“I though you wanted to join in on the fun, Mordred?”

The young knight grins in response, turning to Arthur and giving him one last short bow as he cheerfully says, not a trace of worry in his voice:

“Lady Morgana is right My Lord, enjoy the show.”

He turns away quickly, jogging to catch up with the other two before anyone can say anything. Gwaine is the first to react, jumping off his horse and starting forward, to catch up with them, to pull them back, to ask them what the fuck was going on, but Lance quickly lands behind him, grabbing his shoulder:

“Wait, don’t. You trust them right?-”

He casts his gaze around the others, all looking slightly confused but mostly panicked as they dismount their horses. Mordred, Merlin, and Morgana make their journey to the centre of the field, but Lancelot’s eyes focuses on Arthur:

“-You said you trusted him, so just... this is what he does, Arthur. Please, just trust him, everything’s going to be ok.”

Arthur is desperate to question his knight, to demand that he explain what’s going on and give up anything, everything he knows, but before he can say anything, Elyan gasps and points somewhere beyond their friends. The whole army seems to resume their earlier jitters as Morgause differentiates herself from her soldiers.

~

The three magic users spread out slightly as they come to a stop, Mordred on the left, Morgana on the right, and Merlin, of course, in the middle.

A storm seems to be fast approaching and the loud wind makes hearing each other difficult, but they don’t need words to speak, and Mordred’s question echoes in Merlin’s head as all of their gazes focus on Morgause stepping forward:

“Are the other two coming?”

The Warlock nods, tapping his finger to his temple briefly as he replies:

“I called for them hours ago, they’re almost-”

~

Arthur is distracted from all that’s in front of him when a desperate and terrified voice screeches out from the back of his army:

“DRAGONS!!”

He, and all the other knights, whip their heads around in panic, only to see exactly what had been yelled about. The Dragon that Arthur had supposedly killed years ago is flying towards them like a hurricane, golden scales shining bright even in the shadows of the approaching storm. Next to him flies a much smaller dragon, pure white and clearly young, unstable in the air but still graceful, still terrifying.

Arthur’s heart sinks even impossibly further as they both fly straight over them, aiming for the other side of the field. If Morgause had two Dragons at her beck and call somehow, there was no hope, no matter what ridiculous plan Merlin had. Arthur felt the tears fill his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. If this was to end in fire, then he’d sprint to Merlin, just so he could see him, hold his hands, beg him for a smile, one last time.

Lancelot holds him back with a hand on his shoulder and a soft smile:

“I know this doesn’t make sense, but just... trust him.”

He turns back to Merlin just to see the great beasts land in front of them, almost acting as a barrier between the three of them and the opposing army.

~

“-Took you long enough.”

Kilgharrah does his best imitation of rolled eyes before dipping his head in a bow:

“Where would you like us, young Warlock?”

Merlin grins, allowing Aithusa to push her head into his hands as he answers:

“I want you somewhere off to the side looking vaguely threatening. Only intervene if you have to, I don’t want the Camelot knights getting twitchy and skewering you, you’re an old man after all, I’m not sure you could take it.-”

Morgana laughs aloud and Mordred snorts behind his hand, but Kilgharrah just rolls his eyes again, giving another bow that this time somehow seems sarcastic before clomping off to the side, prowling up and down the edge of the field and huffing the occasional puffs of smoke in the opposition’s direction. Merlin looks down to Aithusa next, scratching her chin and using a much softer voice:

“Go watch over Arthur, keep him safe but don’t let him or any of the others hurt you, I’m sure Lance will explain. Try to stay out of the fighting and don’t let Morgause get anywhere near Arthur or the knights, you understand?”

The creature purrs and nods, stepping around her master and beginning an impossibly fast sprint towards Arthur.

~

Arthur stares with wide eyes at the gathering in the middle of the field, letting out a deep breath when the Great Dragon bows down to Merlin’s confident stance. The smaller creature bounds to him as he... exchanges words with the beasts, and all Arthur can do is stare as his brain argues over which emotion should be at the forefront. Fear? Confusion? Betrayal? Some kind of guilt? Pride, maybe?

Lancelot definitely looks proud, worried, but proud, and Arthur spares him a questioning glance; before he can say anything, Leon lets out a quiet yelp, pointing across the field and drawing his sword on instinct. Arthur whips his head around to see the white Dragon speeding towards them, eyes bright, teeth bared, and sharp claws ripping up the ground with every step.

He draws his own sword, panic clawing at his gut, but before he can step forward in some pointless attempt to protect his men, Lancelot pulls him back again, stepping in between Arthur and the approaching Dragon with a placating hand held out to each of them; his voice comes out quickly and desperate:

“No, no, she’s on our side, don’t hurt her. Merlin sent her here to protect us, don’t hurt her.”

Arthur stares between them with a mix of blood-curdling fear and endless confusion. But he trusts Merlin, and he trusts Lancelot, so much to Leon’s displeasure he lowers his sword, though he doesn’t sheath it, not yet.

The Dragon finally reaches them, coming to a skidding stop a few feet away. Arthur’s fear is overpowered by confusion, and an odd fondness in the back of his mind, when the creature almost topples over in it’s haste. She purrs loudly, and even Leon appears to relax slightly, even more so when she dips her head in what appears to be a bow to Arthur, before turning her attention to Lancelot and pushing her face into his hands.

The other knights all start forward on instinct, but when Lance lets out a low chuckle and begins... scratching the creature’s chin?? They step back again, watching as the Dragon begins purring even louder, almost bowling Lancelot over as it rubs it’s scaled body across his legs. It’s... acting like a cat...

Gwaine coughs very deliberately and Lancelot looks up with a blush, biting his lip before saying, his words awkward and stilted:

“Uh... guys, this is Aithusa, she’s... a Dragon. She can’t speak yet, but-”

Percival makes a confused noise in the back of his throat, shaking his head with wide eyes as he asks incredulously:

“Dragons are meant to be able to speak??”

Lancelot grimaces, but nods, but before he can say anything, Morgause’s crazed voice echoes over the field, and their attention is drawn back to the face off between Merlin, Morgana, Mordred, and the enemy.

~

“You can not beat me, not even with your precious pets!!”

The gang can hear Kilgharrah’s low growl at the insult and the sound vibrates across the ground and up into their very bones, even with the distance between them. Aithusa tenses in response, eyes narrowed and teeth bared as she detects the anger and insult swarming in her Kin, but Merlin holds a hand out to the Great Dragon, and both creatures relax as he monotonously responds:

“I’m giving you one chance, Morgause, do not send your followers to a pointless death.”

His tone is even and confident, his back straight, his head held high, and Arthur wonders how he’d never noticed Merlin’s obvious power before. Despite speaking normally, his voice is heard by everyone, even over the howling wind.

The knights can see Morgause’s hands shaking in her rage, her eyes wide and bright golden as she screeches her response, her anger showing through clearly:

“I am no coward!! You are nothing but a servant, a child soldier, and a pampered princess! What hope do you have against me?! I am a High Priestess, you are nothing!!!”

Merlin lowers his head, nodding slightly in resigned sadness. His muttered words, once again, somehow seem to echo across the field, and Arthur recoils at the grief in his tone:

“So be it.”

He slowly lifts his arm, holding it at a forty-five degree angle from the ground, his fingers splayed wide, and Elyan gasps, pointing wordlessly to the lightening dancing between his fingertips. Gwaine lets out a boisterous laugh, grinning as he realises with sudden clarity that Merlin is about to kick ass in a major way.

Arthur just gapes, struggling to process what was happening even as Gwaine whoops and Lancelot smiles proudly. The other knights are also staring, varying levels of confusion, awe, and happiness on their faces. 

From where they’re standing, they can see Mordred and Morgana get into a fighting stance, though neither of them draw the swords they have hanging from their hips. Morgause lets out an ear piercing screech, this one wordless, giving the distinct impression that her mind had snapped under the weight of her fury. Her army begins their march forwards as she hurls a fireball the size of a horse straight for Merlin, but he simply twists his wrist sharply forwards. A bolt of lightening rips down from the sky, intercepting the fireball and forcing it to the ground where it explodes in a miniature storm of silver sparks and golden flames.

Morgause screams again, her and her army speeding up in their approach as Merlin gives some sort of unseen command. All of a sudden, Mordred gives a small leap forward, planting his feet firmly as he thrusts his hands towards the ground before ripping them up again; with the movement, the ground at his feet explodes, vines and rocks and roots bursting from the field in a sharp line heading straight for the army. Morgana, at the same time, swirls her arms gracefully around her head, a few sparks of fire lighting up in the darkness as if from the friction between her hands and the air. She brings her arms down again, completing the elegant flow, stepping forward as she blows harshly into her cupped hands. A great, hot fire bursts forth, huge and angry and writhing as it shoots towards the enemy.

A few feeble counter attacks are thrown from Morgause and the sorcerers she has in her ranks, but ultimately, the army can only look on in horror at their approaching deaths. After a few moments of Merlin staring proudly at Mordred and Morgana’s handy work as it rips apart the first few hundred soldiers, he takes his own step forward, raising his arm to the sky. Lightening dances between just his fingertips at first, then down his arm, then all over his body; he connects to the flashes in the sky, and he glows brighter and brighter until he thrusts both arms forward. A tornado of flashing, crackling light shoots out from his hands, striking down thousands of soldiers. Shards of lightening jump from enemy to enemy, leaving none untouched by magic, each being struck down by Mordred’s earth, Morgana’s fire, or Merlin’s sky.

The Camelot army can only stare on in shock and horror as the enemy is wiped out in minutes, screams of those being buried alive, burned as if on pyres, or fried from the inside out reverberating across the field. Arthur’s mouth hangs open, his eyes wide and frozen on Merlin as he conducts lightening as if it were what he was born to do. Something deep in Arthur’s soul tells him that this is what he was born to do.

Aithusa’s protection isn’t required; none of the enemy soldiers get within ten metres of Merlin and his pupils, let alone Arthur and the other knights, but she patrols the front edge of Camelot’s army regardless, nudging back those that step too far forward (everyone was too focused on The King’s manservant, knight, and half sister being... well... Godlike, to care about the fact that a Dragon was using her snout to gently push people around), always with one eye on Arthur, just like her master had asked.

Within minutes, the field goes almost silent; the only sounds to be heard are the gentle crackling of still-smouldering bodies, and the deep breaths of Morgause, Mordred, Morgana, and Arthur. Merlin seems entirely unbothered, his stance still strong and powerful where Mordred and Morgana sag slightly from the exertion.

Morgause falls to her knees, tears on her cheeks as she finally realises the power that she’s up against; Merlin tilts his head slightly before clicking his fingers. The four of them disappear in clouds of deep black smoke and Arthur struggles to stop himself from yelping and falling back when they reappear in front of him.

Morgause is still kneeling, Merlin in front of her with a blank expression on his face. Morgana stands to the side, her face an odd mix of sorrowfully defeated—Morgause was her sister after all—and vindictively victorious. Mordred stands at her shoulder, looking a lot more tired but still managing to stay upright as he gazes upon the scene with well put together indifference. Aithusa bounds over to be stood at her master’s side, and even Kilgharrah joins them, standing behind Aithusa a way’s off.

Morgause finally speaks through her deep breathing, staring up at Merlin in desperation:

“Who are you?”

Merlin just tilts his head and frowns slightly, crouching down to place a soft hand on her shoulder:

“Who do you think?”

Morgause sags even further, her tears streaming down her face as she almost whispers, her voice cracking:

“Emrys.”

Merlin nods slowly, looking to Arthur for the first time since the whole ordeal started. Arthur is taken aback at the shining gold of his eyes, but holds his gaze, gulping and waiting for his servant (?) to make the first move:

“Your orders, My Lord?”

Arthur takes a deep breath, looking first down at Morgause, who is staring at the floor blankly, then to Mordred and Morgana, who raise eyebrows at him, then Lancelot, who shrugs, and finally the other knights, who stare at him with wide eyes, waiting for his answer just as Merlin is. His hands clench at his side, but he looks back to the dark-haired man, his face determined and his voice strong:

“Your suggestion?”

Lancelot nods approvingly at Arthur’s obvious show of trust; the question is more than just a question, it’s a display that The King is treating Merlin like an advisor, asking for his counsel and trusting his allegiance in front of a crowd. Merlin smiles slightly, tightening his grip on Morgause’s shoulder, not that she notices:

“I’m not overly fond of execution, but we don’t have dungeons strong enough to hold her long term, and too many have suffered at her hand.”

Arthur nods, though he sheathes his sword. He takes a deep breath before his next instruction, knowing that this is... delicate, and important; a turning point in his Kingdom’s history:

“Make it merciful.”

Merlin holds in his proud smile and Morgause only has time to gasp quietly as his hand moves from her shoulder to her forehead. Her eyes roll back and she collapses to the floor, dead before she even hits the ground. 

The Warlock spares the dead witch a quick, pitying glance, and the grief in his eyes, even after all she had done, is endearing, reminding everyone around them of the compassion Merlin is capable of. He stands quickly, but is careful not to make any of his moves too sudden, stepping away from the body and towards Arthur. His stance is strong once again, allowing some before unseen authority, confidence, power to shine through; Mordred and Morgana take their places either side of them, and even Aithusa sits up, tall and proud, as Kilgharrah edges forward slightly.

This is Merlin, showing off his army, presenting it to his King, offering it up for judgment. An army consisting of himself, his two apprentices, and two Dragons; not large, but likely the most powerful the land has ever known, and ever will know.

Arthur gulps, but meets Merlin’s golden gaze. The atmosphere is thick and charged and The King couldn’t pinpoint whether it was from the residual lightening still jumping between Merlin’s fingers, or the sheer power that was just displayed, seemingly effortlessly. He glances over the Warlock’s shoulder at the carnage behind him and can’t help but take a deep, fortifying breath. Merlin tilts his head, glancing at the massacre for just a moment before looking back with an almost repentant smile:

“I apologise for the theatrics,-”

He’s interrupted by Morgana’s whispered murmur of “I don’t, that was brilliant.” but ignores her:

“-but I can... fix that. If you like?”

Arthur frowns slightly, confused and so far out of his comfort zone that he doesn’t even want to hazard a guess at what Merlin might be implying. He feels a mould grow spontaneously in his gut, a horror with spores that spread throughout his bloodstream as he realises that... he doesn’t really know anything about magic, about how it works, about how Merlin is offering to use it. It had yet to occur to him to be afraid of Merlin, but the sudden realisation that he’d been persecuting his servant’s people with no real understanding of his own former hatred was... jarring.

The Warlock sees Arthur’s hesitation, widening his reassuring smile slightly as he repeats an earlier question, from a time that felt as though it had come years before, but was really only minutes. The discrepancy in timelines between Arthur’s head and the real world does not alter the King’s answer

“Do you trust me?”

“More than anyone.”

Merlin closes his eyes, holding his hands out to the side slightly as he lets out a deep breath. The storm, which Arthur and the knights had become entirely oblivious of despite it’s ruinous thunder and blinding flashes of lightening, quickly dissipates; blue sky and bright sun peek through the fading clouds. A gold shimmer ripples out across the ground from Merlin’s feet, spreading backwards like a wave over sand, turning pebbles and leaving the beach clean and fresh in it’s wake. The ground clears, bodies sinking into nothingness and fires being smothered by magic, even Morgause disappears into the dirt. 

Arthur absentmindedly thinks that that could be seen as honorary or disgracing; he supposes it depends on what type of person you were before the end of your life. Merlin would see being entombed within the Earth itself as a blessing, he somehow thinks that Morgause, with her God complex and inflated feelings of infallibility, would find it... demeaning.

Merlin sags his head slightly, and when Arthur’s brain comes back into focus, mostly prompted by the gasping and widespread whispers of the uneasy army behind him, he sees that the barren fields of Camlann, soaked with blood and scorched by lightening, no longer exist. In their place was a vast meadow, bright with the colours of spring and summer; untameable wildflowers stood tall and crimson butterflies were the only reminders of the bloodshed that had watered this paradise before them.

Arthur feels the smile on his face before he had even made the conscious decision to smile, but he decides that today, of all days, he doesn’t mind accidentally wearing his heart on his sleeve. Trust Merlin to do something as unspeakable as rip an army to shreds with lightening, and then apologise for his dramatics by creating heaven on earth.

The King sighs before shaking his head slightly, letting out a short, disbelieving laugh. He can feel the sun on his skin, and his smile grows with the knowledge that the heat warming his cheeks was entirely unnatural for this time of year; Merlin really was pulling out all of the stops.

“You’re a gift to this world, Merlin.”

His voice comes out softly, as if he were afraid of ruining the peace, though he only adds to it; The King finally turns to his Warlock again and almost stumbles back at the immeasurable devotion shining from his now-blue-again eyes. His whispered response carries on the wind as if he were a part of it, and Arthur wonders just how much of this world Merlin has touched, just how much of this universe Merlin has created, extended himself to. Did the wind exist before Merlin? Did the sun? Did butterflies, or lightening, or the colour gold have any space in this universe before Merlin willed it? Gaius’ thick books say they have an answer, but Arthur thinks they might be lying:

“A gift to you, Arthur, only to you.”

~

THE END!

I’ve been looking forward to writing this one for a while, so I hope y’all liked it!! I LOVE writing BAMF!Merlin, (and BAMF!Mordred/Morgana as well so) :D

Same as always, you wanna extend it/write it properly/remix it, then that’s fine, but drop me message before hand and credit/tag me!! :)

[glowingbadger]

The Sylvain and Dimitri arranged marriage stuff made me think of a claude version of it. Maybe an AU where Claude never came to fodlan and reader has to marry the prince/king of Almyra to improve countries relationships. Anyway seriously love your stuff thank you so much for the content!!

Oh hoo Anon, this is a wonderful take on the concept. Let's see what I can whip up for us~

((side note I feel like we never learn whether Almyra speaks a different language from Fodlan?? But being multi-lingual is sexy so idgaf))

((And also I used Bengali for Almyran because I have Bengali family and the language is so beautiful even though the english alphabet phonetic spellings are weird af))

Claude x Reader - Arranged Marriage

NSFW 18+ (like only towards the end tho idk)

Overall, you do what you can to stay out of the way. You'd been sent to Almyra as a symbol- a token, more than anything else. Now that you were in King Khalid's possession, very few throughout the castle paid you any particular mind. You were provided for, of course. Anything you cared to ask for was given. But you didn't speak a word of the Almyran language, and those who bothered to use what they knew of Fodlan's to communicate with you seemed to view you as a pet to be kept safe and healthy, and little else.

By week's end, there was to be a lavish banquet in honor of your union with the King- though of course, your input on the proceedings is entirely unwanted. In some ways, Almyra is quite similar to Fodlan. Court life is much the same. As you wander through the royal gardens, wondering at a range of colorful and exotic flowers you'd never heard of, let alone seen, a voice speaks smoothly behind you.

"Did you know you can actually eat the petals of this particular flower? They're very sweet."

You whirl around and nearly bump into King Khalid. You're about to stammer out an apology, but he reaches out and plucks a single white petal and holds it before your lips.

"Go on, I think you'll like it."

Whatever possesses you to eat a flower petal from this man's hand is something you'd rather leave unexamined for the time being- but he is right about the flavor. It's sweet, but not overly so, and quite pleasant.

"Hm! Yeah, it's nice," you say, then glance up at him as another thought occurs to you that you'd considered once or twice before, "You speak the language of Fodlan very well, my Lord."

"I'm flattered," he says with a disarmingly handsome smile, "and please, just Khalid. I don't think I could bear to have my own wife stand on such formality with me."

He says it so naturally, as if you'd been planning this union for years. Though, once again, he's right. This is only perhaps the dozenth time you've exchanged words, but you are wed, and you ought to get used to addressing him as your husband.

"Khalid..." you say tentatively, "Did- did you need something from me? I hope I wasn't too much trouble to find."

"Not when you find such pleasant places to hide," he replies, still wearing that easy smile, "but to be honest, I was actually hoping you'd accompany me for the day. I can finally afford to take a bit of time away from the castle, and I think you and I both would appreciate some space to breathe. What do you say?"

Correct once again. You nod, and take the arm he offers you. As he leads you out from the gardens, he points out a few more plants native to your new homeland. They're incredibly varied, each more strange and vibrant than the last. All the while, he's somehow made you feel as though you're chatting with an old friend. You leave the gardens and wander towards the area you vaguely recall to be designated for horse stables and wyvern stalls.

From there, a few things happen in sequence. Khalid asks if you're afraid of flying. He asks if you trust him to hold on to you. He helps you up onto the saddle that seems impossibly high up on its own right, and then, you're propelled into the air with a force your body has never felt before. You tense and shrink back against his chest, clinging to whatever part of the saddle you can find purchase on for dear life. Up here, it's difficult to pick up, but you feel your husband laugh behind you, then his strong arm wrap around your waist.

"Relax, I won't let anything happen to you," he says against your ear, his voice sure and steady, "I've got you."

And it takes a few miles of flying and a lot of Khalid distracting you by pointing out different buildings and shops along the streets below, but eventually, you do manage to relax- at least a little.

The castle town is positively buzzing with activity. Even from your distance in the sky above, you can see clusters of people moving around each other like fish up stream, and even hear the faint echoes of a merchant advertising goods.

"It doesn't seem at all like the Almyra we're taught about in Fodlan."

"Oh, it is," Khalid assures you with a bemused chuckle, "But it's also much more. I imagine it's the same for your people. There's a lot we can learn from one another, I think."

By the time the sun is high in the sky, you've passed the most densely settled part of town and are gliding over farmland and the occasional pocket of forest and rivers that split and cross through the earth like veins. Though, the warmer climate of Almyra will still take some getting used to, and it seems your husband considers this.

"Let's land for a bit and find some shade,"

You nod, and he directs his wyvern to begin a slow descent.

The King had thought of everything for this little day-trip, it seemed. Having evidently packed everything you'd need in the saddlebags on his steed, you now recline beside him on a plush blanket in a clearing amidst the trees. A small brook bubbles down from stone to stone in small waterfalls beside you, and the air feels positively alive with birdsong and rustling leaves, all foreign to you and all part of your new home. And so is he, you think as you glance over at the handsome figure of your husband beside you.

You'd been sitting in a comfortable quiet, munching on a couple of very dense pastries which Khalid had told you incorporated an extract of the flower you'd sampled earlier. He gives a satisfied sigh as he finishes his first and lies back on the blanket, taking in and savoring a deep breath. As you finish the last bites of your own treat, you reflect on the day thus far. You'd learned much about the locals and their daily lives by observation and Khalid's description in such a short time, and he'd even taught you a hand full of basic words and phrases in Almyran.

"Uhm, Khalid?"

He opens one eye and gives you a sideways glance.

"It was... dhonnobad, right? Thank you?"

His smile his open and warm, his eyes practically shimmering in the reflected sunlight from the nearby brook.

"Well, we'll have to work on your pronunciation, but I'm impressed you remembered," he beckons you down onto the blanket beside him, and you follow, lying on your side as he turns towards you. You're closer than you'd anticipated, even given the limited realestate of the blanket, and you internally scold yourself for being shy about something so silly- like some naive adolescent.

"Let's try a couple more words, since you've been such a diligent student."

"Okay," you say with a smile, "try me, I'll do my best."

"Hmm..." he looks around your private clearing, then gestures towards the brook and says, "Jala"

"Jala," you repeat slowly. He nods,

"Right- that's 'water'. And, uhm..." he points toward a patch of wildflowers at the edge of the brook, "Phula. That's 'flower'."

Again, you repeat as best you can, and though you know your pronunciation must be off, he's encouraging nonetheless. Then, he leans in towards you, and brings his free hand to your cheek, his fingertips brushing your skin lightly.

"Now try sundara."

"... Sundara?" you make an attempt, and you're sure you got something about that 's' sound mixed up, but Khalid just gives you a slanted smile. He doesn't clarify at first, so you ask, "What does that one mean?"

His fingers slowly weave back into your hair, and his voice is low and soothing as he replies,

"That means 'beautiful'."

Your face warms immediately, but you hardly have a moment to feel bashful about it before he presses his lips to yours, kissing you slow and deep. His movements are effortlessly sensual, pulling you towards him and sending your pulse pounding through your veins. You part your lips to him almost instinctively, and the way he uses his tongue is sparing, but oh-so effective. When he finally pulls away, your head is spinning and it's all you can do to meet his gaze.

"So... that's how they kiss in Almyra." you say, barely above a whisper. Khalid smirks and turns you onto your back, sliding an arm around your waist.

"Oh, no- there's no tradition in this, only skill."

Goddess- if they'd warned you of the King's supernatural charms, you wouldn't have believed them. But now his lips are on yours once again, and he's holding your body to his, and you can't think of anything else. Your arms drape across his shoulders, and faster than you can track, your bodies have met in a tangled, impassioned embrace. It was hard to imagine that mere kissing could feel so erotic, but something about his pace, about how his lips and hands move in tandem, about how thorough he is in exploring you, makes you feel like it would be only natural to give yourself over to him completely.

His kiss travels along your jawline up to the shell of your ear, where he nips briefly, then murmurs,

"I was hoping to apologize for how little time we've had to get to know each other before today," you bite at your bottom lip as his hand slides down to the curve of your hip, "if that would be pleasing to you, my dearest wife."

"Ye- yes..." you sigh into the open air as his lips reach your neck. The single word is all either of you need. He never stops pressing lavish kisses to your lips and neck as he pulls your clothing out of his way. By the time he's satisfied, your clothes are draped off your arms and pooling around you on the blanket- and he doesn't seem to care to remove them entirely. He has a goal in mind.

Slowly, painstakingly, he makes his way down your body. You feel him everywhere- hands tracing and memorizing your frame, breath hot across your skin as his lips spoil you with adoring kisses. Soon enough, he's kissed his way to your lower stomach, and he urges your thighs apart beneath him. You suppress the instinctive wave of embarrassment at being exposed to him for the first time- he is your husband and your King, afterall- but then, his head dips down towards your plump lower lips, and your mind goes white.

"Khalid-!" you gasp out as his tongue trails coyly up the crease of your folds. He hums contentedly, and places a disarmingly chaste kiss to the soft skin. Then, his thumbs gently spread you open for him, and your entire body burns while he takes a moment to merely admire you- your pretty little hole already wet, your clit already hard and flushed dark. When his head lowers once more, his green eyes meet yours steadily, as though to promise without words to be good to you.

And in a moment, his mouth begins to gently tease your clit, and your head tilts back on the blanket. Your hips jerk just a bit with each pass of his tongue across the sensitive bundle, and occasionally you can't hold in a gasp or whimper of pleasure. This only encourages him, of course. The more you moan and sigh, the more dedicated he becomes to your body. He presses himself more firmly to you, his lips surrounding your clit and the surrounding tender flesh, and he suckles on you, licks you, kisses you. You don't know when it happened, but your hands are at the back of his head, fists tangled in thick brown hair as he diligently works.

The unbearable tension is winding tight and anxious in your lower body- you know he'll drive you to climax before long, and the mere thought feels like falling in love. And then Khalid moves lower, and his tongue dips inside of your entrance. You gasp and unwittingly tug on his hair- but he certainly doesn't seem to mind. With a lustful groan, he presses more firmly to you, truly buried against your body as his dexterous tongue curls upward, stroking the vulnerable spot behind the nerves of your clit.

"Khalid!" this time it's nearly a scream, and you're grateful that your voice is lost in the surrounding foliage. Your thighs begin to shake, and your hands release him to instead clutch the blanket behind you. And at last, with a whimper in a voice you hardly recognize, your lower body floods with soaked warmth as your orgasm sweeps through you. Panting, twitching, you moan out for your husband over and over, until finally, the wave begins to subside, and Khalid pulls away to position himself above you on all fours.

"That's a nice expression..." he says with a grin, directing you to look at him with a hand at your chin, "I hope I'll get to see it often."

When your eyes finally refocus, you look up at him somewhat apologetically,

"I should... attend to you."

He laughs and kisses your forehead,

"There will be time for that tonight, don't you think? Once we're a bit more... put together," he says with a glance at your bare form, "we should head back to our ride. I'll bring you back to the castle, and we'll get the cooks to prepare something very 'Almyran' for you."

You nod- it probably wouldn't do for the first time with your Lord Husband to be mid-day in the woods. Though he'd certainly failed to make it seem unappealing.

"And then," he goes on, bringing a finger to trace the curve of your bottom lip, "Well, maybe we'll excuse ourselves to our bedchamber a bit early this evening, and we can continue this little... cultural exchange."

[jaybird-redhood]

propinquity

wc: 2.2k

pairing: jason todd // gn reader

The first thing you think when you see him for the first time is that he has the cutest smile.

That’s a lie, the first thing you think it that he is so incredibly in shape, and it looks great on him, but the smile thing sounds better in your head.

He's moving into the apartment across from yours a month after you moved into yours. Weird, because the two people in your building closest to your age are 2 and 63, respectively.

You suppose that some wicked twist of fate must’ve brought this upon you for missing your cousin’s birthday party last week, because the guy standing across from you is crazy hot. And looking right at you. And you are in the huge neon Wonder Woman t-shirt that your best friend got for your birthday last year.

Yeah. Karma.

“Nice shirt,” the guy offers, holding in a grin. “You’re really making it work.”

“I-”

“See you around, neighbor.”

And with a shut of a door and an awfully charismatic smirk he’s gone.

The next time you see him is a week later, and this time- luckily, you think- you’re dressed somewhat put together. You run into him while unlocking your door.

"What's got you in a twist?" he asks.

"Um," you start, "I just. Ugh I have so much to do. Like 3 hours of homework, a lecture tomorrow that I cannot skip, and I'm completely out of bread and eggs and can't even you to the store until, like, Thursday at best."

Once you start rambling you can't seem to stop. You slouch against your door. You're not entirely sure why you're telling a stranger all this, but he seems to be listening, so you suppose that’s a good sign

"I get the feeling," he offers, and you look up at him. "I'm majoring in English Lit and my classes are kind of kicking my ass."

You give him a small smile, "Glad to know someone in this building is struggling as much as I am."

"Jason," he says, and he reaches his hand out to you. "My name."

You shake it and tell him yours.

As you both turn back into your respective apartments you think that he maybe isn't as intimidating as you thought.

~

The next day goes by with a really boring lecture and another 3 hours of work you need to do.

The ride home from uni isn't that long, but it's long enough for you to contemplate all the ways that your life went wrong after moving to Gotham. And, maybe as payback for thinking mean things about the city, rain that you think should belong to a category 3 hurricane starts to whip around your car 10 minutes into your drive.

Your clothes are dripping water in literal puddles by the time you get back to your apartment.

Groaning, you start fishing for your keys in your purse while walking up the last flight of stairs.

When you get to your door you stop. Right in front of it there’s a grocery bag. Picking it up and looking inside you see a loaf of bread and a small carton of milk.

You pick it up smiling.

���Jason?” you ask, knocking on his door.

No response.

You shrug and turn around. Remember to thank him the next time you run into each other; you think.

~

That next time doesn’t happen to be that long and thank goodness for you.

“You know, we really need to stop meeting like this,” he says to you.

You’re sitting on the floor outside of your door looking rather pathetic, and he’s giving you the most awful smirk you’ve ever seen. (Not that it looks bad on him though. You seem to think that nothing could really look that bad on him)

“I swear I’m usually more put together than this,” you sigh to him. “You moving here jinxed me!”

“Yeah yeah. You’re locked out, aren’t you?”

You give him your best withering I’m going to kill you stare, but it must not be working because he just laughs even harder at you.

“This is completely not my fault it’s just I lost my second set of keys like right when I moved in and then today when I got home, I accidentally left them in my car, but my second set of car keys is in my apartment so now I can’t get them out, stop laughing at me!”

“God you’re a mess,” Jason says- finally finished laughing at you and maybe taking a bit of pity on how disheveled you look. “You couldn’t call anyone to get you in?”

You shake your head.

“My friend is the only other person with a set, but they’re out of town, and our landlord is being a dick and telling me it’s my fault in the first place, so I need to deal with it. I’ve been sitting out here for like an hour.”

“All I’m hearing is that it is your fault and now you’re just moping about it feeling bad about yourself.”

You tilt your head against the door so hard that it makes you wince a bit.

“Ok fine,” he says crossing his arms.

“What?”

“Wait right here.”

He goes into his apartment and comes back out with a skinny metal thing you don’t recognize.

You look at him in confusion and he just motions for you to scoot out of the way as he sticks it in your locks and starts to pick it.

You sigh in relief.

“Thank you thank you thank you. For everything. I swear I will get my life together, so you don’t feel like you have to keep cleaning up my messes.

“I don’t mind,” he says with a small smile, “Take your time.”

And with that he opens the door to your apartment and turns back to his.

“By the way, you should really get better locks. That was way too easy.”

You make a note in your head to get that done sometime. As you’re lying on your couch that night, you’re AirDropped a photo on your phone. Saving it up you see it’s a piece of paper with neat handwriting on it: a phone number and a smiley face, Jason’s name at the bottom.

You smile too and add the number to your contacts.

~

Over the next few weeks, you and Jason start talking more, both over text and through the various times when you run into each other outside your doors.

Each interaction is better than the next, and you soon start to realize that Jason isn’t just some hot guy with no brains. He’s sweet and charismatic, has a whole wall full of bookshelves, could probably quote any classical novel by heart, has incredibly good taste in music, and best (or worst) of all, would make incredible friend material.

It’s just that as you become closer friends, you start to realize that that might not be all you want.

It’s a stupidly cold Friday morning when he texts you, and you’re covered in blankets and wrapped in sweatshirts in your bed. Movie at my place tonight?

You text back your approval and a quick be there at 6 before getting ready for classes.

The day goes by slower than you hoped.

It might be the anticipation of seeing Jason again, or more likely the hours of lectures you have to sit through, but you’re elated when your final class for the day gets let out.

The hours in between are a blur.

A blur which leads to the two of you sitting on his couch watching Romeo and Juliet together, a blanket thrown over your bodies.

You have the obligatory bowl of popcorn resting on your legs, and every few minutes Jason reaches across your lap to take a handful.

The way you’re laying half on top on him is completely deliberate, as to take as much of his body heat as possible. Your landlord had turned off heating 3 weeks prior to ‘save money’ or some other bullshit.

Jason’s not complaining though.

Once your popcorn bowl is finished and your head is in his lap, he runs his fingers through your hair absentmindedly. It might be the nicest feeling you’ve ever felt.

Throughout the movie you exchange snide comments about the plot back and forth. You start trying to say funny things whenever you can just to hear how sweet his laugh sounds to your ears.

By the end of the movie, you’re only slightly in tears, or so you tell yourself.

“Are you crying right now?” Jason asks incredulously, wearing a teasing smile.

“It’s not my fault,” you half say half moan, “Leonardo DiCaprio just has that effect on me.”

He just laughs and pulls you upright until you’re sitting on his lap.

His eyes are a shade of blue green that you’ve never seen before, although you could swear their getting greener by the second.

You watch his gaze drop down to your lips before staring you right in the eyes again.

“Can I kiss you?”

“God yes,” you tell him, and kiss him right back.

~

The next week is somewhat uneventful, even though you and Jason had been meeting each other almost every night, rotating apartments based on whose house was warmer each particular night.

Tonight is your night, and you’ve been waiting the whole day to show him the film you had rented to watch together.

The walk up to your door is easier than usual, and you have a bounce in your step that’s making you feel even more elated than normal taking out your keys to unlock your apartment.

You open your door and your bag drops. The keys clatter when they hit the hardwood, and the silence that follows is deafening.

“You’re bleeding on my carpet,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

There Jason is, bleeding quite profusely, and using your kitchen counter to keep himself vertical. He’s wearing what looks to be a torn half of a domino mask and an extremely hot leather jacket.

(Not that this was the time for noticing his fashion choices, but you filed that thought away for later.)

What really catches your eye though is the huge red bat symbol on his chest, and the red helmet next to it sitting on your counter.

He shifts a little to the side before stumbling through saying, “Um, so, I know this isn’t ideal and I’m really sorry to put you in this situation, but I seriously do not feel like bleeding out tonight and-”

“Oh my god this is great,” you cut him off with. “I thought you were a hit-man!”

“Wait what.”

“Shit no that’s not what I meant- kind of, hang on we should probably stop you from dying before having this conversation.”

You walk over to him to get a better look at his wounds.

“God Jace, you look like death warmed over.”

He just stares at you.

“You have a bunch of stuff in your bathroom, right?”

At least this elicits a reaction. He grimaces in pain but gives you a nod of his head in conformation.

“Ok I’ll be right back, don’t move.”

He gives you a look that says seriously, where would I go.

3 minutes later you’re back with a needle and thread, and some sterilizing spray.

“This should be fine,” you tell him, “I took a first aid class last year with my friends and passed with flying colors according to the nurse.”

“Just try to keep them tight and neat. I trust you,” he says, and your heart pounds just a little harder.

You respond with a nervous laugh but take a deep breath and start working.

~

An hour and a half later you’re done.

The combination of pain meds, bandages, and a whole lot of stitches eventually led to you and Jason laying in your bed together, both completely exhausted.

He turns his head to face you.

“Could we maybe go back to the hit-man thing?”

“Oh uh. Well I saw a bunch of shirts covered in blood in your laundry in the bathroom, not to mention all the weirdly specific first-aid you had,” you tell him.

“And also the assorted guns and knives you have hidden all over. I guess I just assumed? But the whole Red Hood thing is so much better,” you reassure him.

“You found all my knives?”

You smile up at him.

“I love that that’s thing you chose to focus on.”

“And you’re really not mad that I didn’t tell you about the whole vigilante thing before?” he asks.

“Jay, I had already resigned myself to life forever with some shady hit-man that also happened to be incredibly good looking. Red Hood is ten times better than that. I’m not going to run away from you just because you’re incredibly intimidating and probably could kill me. I see that as an added bonus,” you say, with as much charm as you can muster without yawning.

“Just. Be careful, ok? I’d hate to make this a routine.”

He responds by pulling you closer to his body.

“I promise,” he whispers into your head. “You really to remember to get better locks by the way, breaking in was still way too easy.”

You let out a small laugh and finally you let yourself give into sleep.

[vintage-squid]

Threading Our Future

Summary: When up-and-coming designer Virgil Psykhe lands an interview with his favourite fashion label, he has no idea that the attention he's drawn to himself is being taken away from someone very important: the Lady of the Summer Court. Scorned and furious, she sends her son to kill the insolent human.

But when Janus lays eyes on Virgil for the first time, his breath is stolen by the fluttering of his heart and he knows he won't be able to follow through with his mother's orders.

A modern fae re-telling of the Eros and Psyche myth!

Pairing: Virgil/Janus (background Logan/Patton) Characters: Virgil, Janus, Roman, Remy, Patton, Logan, Remus  Rating: T Warnings: mild violence and blood mention, nonsexual nudity, literal sleeping together  Word count: 10 363 

----- 

Virgil Psykhe groaned as he stood from his chair, bracing both hands against the small of his back and pressing until he felt a satisfying series of pops from his hips and up his spine. He should know better by now than to spend hours on end hunched over his projects without taking proper breaks, but he honestly couldn’t help it. Once he got focused, his whole world narrowed to sketch, cut, sew, trim. It was like he was possessed by some crazy spirit who deemed his sarcastic, introverted ass worthy enough to use as a vessel for creation. At least, that’s how he described the near-frenzy he would fall into when his worried fathers questioned after his health.

Was he getting enough sleep? (No.) When was the last time he’d had something to eat? (Did the granola bar he had earlier count?) Would he be willing to drink more water if Papa cut up some citrus to add? (Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea...)

He knew their fretting came from a place of love. As the youngest of three, he was the baby of the family. Both of his older sisters had married a few years ago, now living with their husbands in a couple of larger, nearby cities. They had told their parents the distant moves were for their husband’s jobs, but Virgil knew better. His sisters had never seemed to fit with the unique … energy of their small hometown.

Virgil, however, had yet to even move out, let alone find anyone who would want to spend the rest of their life with him. Thankfully, while his dads did want him to eventually find love, they were mostly just happy to support his dreams of becoming a famous designer.

Rolling his eyes, Virgil glanced around his cluttered studio. Like he would ever actually be a big name in the fashion industry. Yeah, sure, he wanted more than anything to get his designs out there for models of all backgrounds and appearances to showcase the beauty that was in every body type, but he didn’t want his first name attached to that kind of attention. Nope. No thanks. He would much rather people enjoy his work for what it was, not just because it came from him.

Maybe a pseudonym would work? Eh, he still had time to think about it anyway. It wasn’t like he was going to be traveling far from his studio in his dads’ basement any time soon after all. Picking up his phone, Virgil glanced at the time and cursed under his breath. Shit, he was late to meet up with Remy, and he had forgotten to plug his charger in. He groaned as he shoved his phone in his pocket anyway and grabbed his wallet, headphones, and house key. That drama queen was probably going to bitch and moan about being made to wait until Virgil finally agreed to pay for his drink. Not that Virgil really minded, but he had appearances to keep up.

With one last glance around to make sure he had everything, he dashed up the stairs to head out.

-----

Jogging down the street, Virgil turned past the Spirits’ Temple, where the town’s inhabitants left offerings to the spirits of the forest on the first of every month. Tradition claimed that each month was to be dedicated to one of the twelve local spirits who held dominion over different areas of day-to-day life, and that by honouring them, the town would prosper. At the height of the monthly festivals, there would be candles lining the marble steps, fake vines and string lights wrapped around the temple’s stone columns, and a wide spread of wine and honey-sweetened foods to be served. Some of this would be up for grabs on the buffet table, but a selection was always saved to be placed in one of the twelve bronze braziers, which one depended on the month, lining the sides of the temple. Each brazier was set in front of a stone statue carved with a symbol that denoted which spirit it belonged to.

At some point during the evening, everyone in town would take a moment to approach the massive fireplace along the back wall of the temple and toss in a part of their meal with a quietly murmured prayer for luck in some strange-sounding language. To this day, Virgil wasn’t sure what exactly he was saying, but his dad had taught him the correct pronunciation, and he was too superstitious not to follow through. Besides, it wasn’t like he could look too ridiculous doing it when literally everyone else was doing the same thing.

Approaching one of the two coffee shops in town, and the only one he ever frequented, Virgil shook his head to rid himself of thoughts of weird small-town rituals. Inside, it was easy to spot Remy sitting at their usual table with his sunglasses tucked into the front of his shirt and a drink already in hand. As he slid into his side of the booth, Virgil was surprised to see his favourite order (hot chocolate with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles, and a slice of banana bread) already waiting for him.

“I was gonna apologize for being late, but clearly I don’t have to,” he said, glancing up and narrowing his eyes. “What did you do?”

Remy threw both hands up in a gesture of innocence. “Hey now, why did I have to do something wrong in order to surprise my best friend with his favourite goodies?”

Virgil snorted and crossed his arms, giving his friend a Look.

“Fine, fine!” Remy blew out a sigh and dropped his hands onto the table. “So, maybe I did do something, and maybe you’re gonna be a little mad at me for it, but I promise it’s okay! It’s gonna pay off and you’re totally going to thank me for this one day!”

Virgil dropped his face into his hands with a groan and dug the heels of his palms against his eyelids. “Just spit it out, Remy. What the fuck did you do?”

“Remember that photoshoot we did a couple weeks back with the latest ‘famous-one-day’ designs you sewed up?” Virgil could hear the familiar sounds of Remy typing on his phone. “Well babe, you’ve been making ‘one days’ for too long! So I decided to make ‘one day’ into ‘today’! Ta-dah!”

Bracing himself, Virgil peeked out from the dark safety of his hands, blinking a few times to clear his blurry vision and focus on the phone screen wavering in front of him. Right there, staring back at him from within Remy’s well-manicured clutch, was an email addressed to Penelope with attached photos from their shoot.

“Please, please tell me you didn’t sen-”

“I sent our pics to your favourite fashion label! The one and only Penelope! Known for their breathtaking lines like ‘Faith’ and ‘Fidelity’ that reimagined what it meant to be fashionable! And the best part!” Remy paused for dramatic effect, all but wiggling in his seat. “They emailed me back! They want to do an interview with you next month on the first!”

There was a loud thud as Virgil’s head met the table. If they hadn’t been sitting in public, he definitely would have started screaming too. Instead, all that came out was a muttered, “I fucking hate you. Why would you do this to me? You know I suck at talking to people; they’re gonna hate me and then tell all of the other companies to never work with me and then I’ll definitely never make it.”

A hand settled on top of his head and began to run through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp at the same time. “Don’t be so dramatic, Virge. This is gonna be great for you, I promise. When have I ever led you astray?”

Virgil glared at his friend and opened his mouth, but Remy cut him off.

“Ahp-ahp! Rhetorical question, babes. You're going to thank me for this, I promise.”

When Virgil remained silent, the hand that had been petting his hair slid down to cup his cheek and lift his chin up.

“Hey,” his best friend murmured softly. “If you really, really don’t want to do this, I can email them back and cancel, but I think you should go for it, Virge. This could be your big break!” Remy’s thumb had begun running a soothingly back and forth over his cheek. Virgil didn’t even try to hide the way he relaxed into the comforting gesture, leaning more weight into his friend’s palm. “I’ll even come with you to the interview, okay? I’ll be right there the entire time - gotta make sure they meet your number one model after all,” he added with a playful wink.

Damn Remy and his extroverted influence. Virgil sighed and sat up fully, reluctantly pulling away from the comforting hold and silently relieved when Remy’s hand dropped to link their fingers instead. “I guess as long as you’re there too, then I won’t be the only one making a fool of myself.”

“That’s the spirit!” Remy cheered, ignoring the looks some of the other patrons shot their way at the noise.

Keeping their hands interlocked, Virgil picked up his hot chocolate and took a sip of the sweet ambrosia as he listened to his best friend ramble about his plans for their future.

-----

Somehow, the word got out. Everyone and their cousin’s dog knew about Virgil’s interview and had seen some of the photos that had been leaked. All of them wanted to get a glimpse of not only the representatives of the big fashion label (who may as well have been celebrities to the small community), but also the unobtrusive young man who had brought the attention onto their town.

Virgil clung to Remy’s hand as they approached the café where the interview was going to be taking place. It wasn’t their usual haunt, something Virgil was grateful for; if things went south, he didn’t want that memory attached to one of his favourite places. People were already gathering outside, gossiping amongst themselves or attempting to peer through the front windows. He longed to pull his hood up and hide his face, but Papa had spent all morning helping him make sure his hair and make-up (and everything else) looked interview ready. Not to mention he wasn’t even wearing his favourite hoodie to tuck himself away into.

At Remy’s insistence, he had donned one of the outfits he made last year. The top was made of a flowy material, tighter at the wrists and loose in the arms, wrapping comfortably around his chest to tie in the front above his navel. It was sewn from a high-quality plum linen with a black lace webbing over top. For the bottom, Virgil had pieced together different shades of grey and black fabrics until he had a pair of loose patchwork pants that sat at the hips and left a strip of his stomach visible. He had completed the look with a fresh pair of high-tops that tied the look together despite the discordant styles. With one last look to his best friend for reassurance, Virgil nodded and they waded through the crowd together, on their way to their future.

-----

Singing to herself, Roman stepped through the woods with all the ethereal grace granted to her by her station. As she made her way to the quaint little human town, Roman was accompanied by a pair of mourning doves. While one had alighted on her shoulder, the other fluttered about, and both were cooing in harmony with her otherworldly song.

Her body was draped in a sheer chiffon number, as blood-red as the wine she drank from each year at the celebration of her power and beauty. It was naught much more than a thin layer of fabric over one shoulder and wrapped about her shapely waist, exposing one breast and leaving little work for the imagination on the rest of her body. The finest embroidery coloured the lower hem with twisting rose vines, as if they had sprung from the ground she walked on and reached up for her attention. Her hair was left to tumble free, as wild and untamed as the waves she had been born from so long ago. The Lady of the Summer Court had arrived.

In no time at all, the temple the humans of the village had built for her and her compatriots so long ago came into view. Roman hurried her steps, eager to feast on the delightful offerings she knew would be awaiting her. She hoped one of them left pomegranate; it was her favourite. The plump fruit so easy to tear open to reveal the juicy flesh inside - and the crunchy seeds! Oh!

Grinning, Roman moved around the side of the temple, stepping between the columns to slip inside and make her way towards her ceremonial statue along the right with the other ruling gentry of the Seelie Court. However, when she got close enough to see into the massive dish, indignation began to boil in her blood. Before her, in her brazier, lay half as many offerings as were given to her in the years passed. She looked around, hoping to find something else had been set aside or misplaced, but there was nothing. Seething, she spun on her heel and stalked towards the front of the temple in search of answers.

Outside, two attendants were working to douse the remaining candles to be collected on the morrow after Roman had departed. Well, they were certainly going to be in for a surprise when they returned to find their pitiful offerings still there in the morning. Even with the great distance between them, as a fae, Roman’s sharp ears did not struggle to overhear the conversation between the two humans.

“-believe something like this could happen in our little town,” the one on the right was saying. “Especially from that quiet kid! What’d you say his name was again?”

“He’s the Psykhe’s youngest boy, Virgil.

“No kidding! Sam was telling me the kid showed up for the interview wearing this wild statement piece, like a full fashion runway. I bet his dads sure are proud. I heard half the town was outside Burnsen’s hoping to get a front-row seat. They certainly weren’t here, that’s for sure.”

“Damn shame,” the second human agreed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a turn out this small for a Spirit’s Night. I just hope it doesn’t come back to bite us in the ass.”

The pair continued their gossip as they finished with the candles and moved onto tidying some of the other nonessential decorations. Roman wasn’t interested in listening any further; she had what she needed. Turning away from the pitiful little temple those putrid humans had so desecrated on her day of honour, the Lady of the Summer Court stormed back into the forest, seething vitriol.

“How dare these humans offer this worthless boy the worship and reverence meant for me! My status is all but set in the very stars and they do nothing more than drag it through the muddy earth!” She screeched, scaring away the doves who had been lingering nearby. “So much for me, the ancient mother of this forest who feeds and fosters the very nature of this place! If nothing lusts, then nothing reproduces! Did they ever consider that before they forced me to associate my status with a mere mortal child?”

As Roman cried out, the very trees parted for her, leaning their trunks away and raising their boughs out of the path of the furious fae. She paid them little heed as she marched down a trail long familiar. “Won’t this boy, whoever he is, be glad to know he has claimed the honours that are due to me by right? Not for much longer, this I swear by my very name! He will regret this beauty to which he has no claim!”

At the climax of her tirade, Roman stopped before the ivy-woven doors of her son’s lofty domain. She would teach this Virgil what happened when you scorned the fae.

-----

Across town, still wearing the outfit and makeup from earlier, though much disheveled, Virgil ran as if his life depended on it. At this point, though, his life may as well have been over, so what was the point in struggling on? Down the street and through the park, he sprinted until he could go no further and crumbled to the ground at the top of the large hill that overlooked the fish ponds. On his hands and knees, he clutched at the damp earth and panted heavily through his heaving sobs.

It was over. Penelope didn’t want to pick him up as a designer. Sure, they liked the selection that Remy had sent them, enough to come talk to him about it, but when the representatives had taken a look through the rest of his portfolio? They hadn’t said they hated it outright, but Virgil was certain his designs were too gothic, too dark, too risky for mainstream fashion. They were going to talk with some of the higher-ups back at the designer studio, but Virgil wasn’t going to be holding his breath. He’d seen their expressions clear as day while they flipped through his work.

Collapsing forward, Virgil buried his face into the crook of his elbow and curled his knees towards his chest, sobbing even harder. He had told Remy after the interview that he needed some space, but now that he was out here alone, he wanted nothing more than a hug from his best friend. Fuck, how was he going to tell his dads about this? It would break their heart!

Virgil shook his head free of the thought; he couldn’t handle any more right now. So he lay on the ground with his cheek pressed against the cool night grass, and cried until he passed out from exhaustion.

-----

In the twilight between wakefulness and sleep, Virgil stirred when he felt a pair of arms slide under his body and hoist him up into a strong hold. His head lolled to the side until his temple dropped against a firm body. Then, a kiss was pressed to his forehead, tickling his skin with...a mustache?

“Go back to sleep, little human,” a high, scratchy-sounding voice said. “Jay doesn’t want you to see anything just yet! We don’t want to ruin the surprise, eh?”

Virgil’s face scrunched in confusion, but before he could crack his eyes open to see who was carrying him, a warm breath blew across his face and carried him off to his dreams like a gentle breeze spiraling high into the air.

-----

When Virgil woke for the second time, it was with far more peace and tranquility than he usually felt when greeting the day. His bed was extra soft and luxurious beneath the swell of his hip and he was comfortably warm, though he couldn’t feel the usual weight of his blanket. Stretching his arms far above his head, Virgil suddenly snapped his eyes open when his fingertips were greeted not with the hard wall behind his headboard, but with a damp, spongy texture instead.

Scrambled to his feet, he looked around to discover he was at the edge of a clearing, carpeted with a thick moss that his feet sank slightly into and surrounded by trees who towered so far above him their canopies seemed lost secrets of the sky. To one side a stream babbled a song, its waters bright as day and clear as glass. Breathless, he turned a slow circle, feasting on the seemingly supernatural wonders with starving eyes. The sight that greeted Virgil as he turned full around, however, could have subsisted him for a lifetime.

At the very heart of the grove, sitting in its focal point, rose what he could only describe as a palace. The trees which made up its supporting columns were an ivory birch, though much wider than any Virgil had ever seen, with leaves seemingly grown from pure gold that glittered in the dappled sunlight they let through. Framed by these otherworldly goliaths, ivy vines had been woven together to form a grand door which opened of its own accord and bid Virgil to enter. Under a spell spun from his own awe and curiosity (and probably some of whatever magic this place had to be made of), Virgil strode forward.

Inside, the palace seemed to emulate its own light, reflecting off the vaulted ceiling and highlighting the polished stone walls decorated with endless silver reliefs of animals real and imagined. Virgil trailed his fingertips along the slithering spine of a snake as he passed, admiring the lifelike detail in each scale, but before he could venture much further, a voice spoke.

“Welcome.”

Virgil jumped, spinning around to search for the source of the voice, but no one was there. When they spoke again, it sounded like they were right over his shoulder.

“You have been invited into the home of the fae as a guest of honour, Virgil.” The man in question felt a strange twinge in his chest hearing his name from the voice. “If you follow the doors to your left, you will find a dining hall in which you may eat your fill; the foods are from your home world and you need not fear consuming them. To your right lay the bathing and bed chambers. Please, make yourself at home. You are safe here, my darling.”

“Who are you? How do you know my name?” Virgil called out into the empty room.

There was a small pause before the voice replied. “You may call me Janus for the time being. It matters not how I know your name, but you need not worry that I will give it to anyone else.”

“Not creepy at all,” Virgil murmured before raising his voice once more. “Where are you? Why can’t I see you?”

“Ahh, my darling, take care with your curiosity before it gets you into trouble. Fret not, I am here with you, though you cannot see me. I know it is hard, but you must trust in me, my love. I shall visit you this evening after the light of day has given way to the dark of night. So long as you promise not to look upon my face and let me remain shrouded in shadows, then I shall answer more of your questions then.”

“What? I’m supposed to trust you, but I’m not allowed to look at your face? What the fuck, dude?”

“I understand this may be a cause for alarm, but you must understand my perspective, dear one. If you were to gaze upon me uninhibited, I fear you would not fall in love with me in a manner which would be best for us both. Promise to me, Virgil.”

“Okay, okay, I promise. Why is this so important to you anyway?”

“Thank you. I wish to form a genuine bond with you, beloved, and I cannot do that if you are influenced by my appearance. That is not how I desire to court my future husband.”

“Husband? What do you mean future husband!?”

Virgil stood in place, waiting for any further response from the invisible person, but it seemed his host had vanished into the very air he spoke from. Blowing out a heavy sigh, Virgil looked from left to right and decided the faint grumbling in his abdomen was something he could ignore for the time being; he probably wouldn’t be able to stomach anything right now anyway. So, he made his way towards the baths, hoping a splash of cool water could wake him from this crazy dream.

Unfortunately, even after dunking his head under the cool water, Virgil was still stuck in the extravagant palace with an invisible host. He braced his hands on the sides of the stone bowl carved from the wall, staring blankly at the trickling waterfall that fed into the dish he had rinsed in. How the fuck did he get into this mess? The voice had mentioned something about this place belonging to the fae? What the fuck? There’s no way any of this could be real. Well, that Janus had said he would answer Virgil’s questions tonight, so there seemed little more he could do than wait.

The bedroom he had been given was grand, far larger than even his entire basement suite back home, and all of its drapings were more luxurious than Virgil had ever seen. He ran his fingers down the curtains that hung from the bedposts, marvelling at the quality and the depth of the colour. What he wouldn’t give to be able to create with fabrics of this pedigree. He fiddled with the tie of his shirt around his middle and settled onto one of the plush armchairs by the window. Now, to wait.

-----

Hours later, Virgil was startled awake from a light doze by the sound of footsteps approaching his door. He scrambled to his feet, keeping one hand braced on a bedpost to orient himself as he squinted through the darkness. It was so dark he couldn’t even make out the vague outlines of the furniture around the room.

The door opened.

Virgil tensed, gripping the bedpost tighter and raising his other arm in front of him defensively. From what he could see, backlit from the hall, the figure entering the room was about his height, maybe a little taller. It was difficult to make out in the dark, but the shadow he cast onto the floor seemed to be larger than his body mass would produce. The door closed, leaving the two of them alone in the dark.

“Janus?” Virgil asked nervously, hoping there wasn’t anyone else in the palace who would be coming into his room this late at night.

“Breathe, Virgil, it is only me.”

It was as if a spell of calm soothed over him, easing the tension from around his neck and within his chest. Virgil took a deep, relieving breath. Janus hadn’t come any further into the room, seemingly content to linger by the door.

“Um… hi?” Virgil winced at how awkward he sounded, but continued on regardless. “You said you would answer more of my questions, right?”

“That is correct, beloved. I will tell you as much as I am able to at this time.” There was the sound of shuffling in the dark. “May I join you on the bed? I think we will both be much more comfortable being seated for this conversation.”

Virgil bit his lip, looking between the bed and Janus despite not being able to see either. Eventually, he nodded, and then blushed when he realized what he’d done.

“Yeah… yeah, you can come sit over here, I guess.”

“Thank you, my darling.”

When the pair had gotten settled, Janus was seated at the foot of the bed, leaning up against the bedpost and seemingly unbothered by the strange situation. Virgil, on the other hand, had his back pressed against the headboard with his knees hugged to his chest. His feet were buried in the blankets and he was absently scrunching the soft material under his toes in a comforting, rhythmic motion. It was Janus who broke the silence first.

“What would you ask of me first, dearest?”

Virgil blew out a sigh. “Why did you bring me here? What are you going to do with me? Am I ever going to be allowed to go home? Will you-”

"Sh sh sh,” Janus crooned, “One at a time, beloved, all will be answered. In short, I do not know when you will be able to return to your home, or if you ever will, but it is for your own good!” Janus hurriedly added before Virgil could panic. “You see, there is someone very powerful who is very angry with you. Intentionally or not, you have caused her a great disrespect, and she will not rest until her dues have been met.”

“How do you know all of this?”

Janus sighed. “Because she is my mother, and she sent me to kill you.”

“What!?” Virgil screeched, throwing himself off the bed and slamming against the nearby wall. His nails scrabbled at the stone, desperate to clutch, claw, escape. No, no, no, he didn’t want to die! He snapped his head back and forth, searching for any sort of way out, but he was blinded by shadows and fear. A sharp cry escaped him when a hand suddenly wrapped around one of his own and he whimpered as it squeezed, expecting pain. Instead, a gentle crooning cut through the ringing in his ears.

“Breathe, Virgil, you are not in danger. You must calm down and listen.”

Janus’ voice was surprisingly tender for how powerfully it could be heard through Virgil’s panic. He was able to focus on it like a tether to pull himself into a more relaxed state of mind. At some point, he had begun to time his breathing with Janus’ as well, steady and even to a count known only to the fae holding him. When Virgil had relaxed enough to come back to himself, he tensed all over again, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“How can you say I’m safe, when you’re gonna kill me?”

“Because I have no intentions of killing you,” Janus replied, now cradling both of Virgil’s hands to his chest. Even this close, the darkness was so impenetrably thick that Virgil had no hope of glimpsing his face. He kept his eyes averted regardless. “I brought you here to remove you from my mother’s gaze and conceal you from her misplaced wrath.”

Virgil was silent, processing, as Janus gently tugged on his hands and guided him back onto the bed. There, the fae leaned against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him and carefully pulled Virgil to recline on his chest. Virgil resisted for only a moment before complying. Everything else about this was already way out of his depth to manage, he may as well allow himself to be comfortable wherever he could. Janus was either going to kill him or leave him alive, and there likely wasn’t anything Virgil could do to sway that decision at this point. So, Virgil settled himself against Janus’ chest with his body laying between Janus’ legs and stretching out until their legs tangled together. He was grateful now for the dark that hid a probably searing blush as his cheek pressed flush against the fae’s warm skin; Janus wasn’t wearing a shirt and his nude torso was warm to cuddle against.

“Now,” Janus murmured, shifting Virgil’s focus from his embarrassment to the situation at hand. His fingers ran over Virgil’s scalp and through his hair, carefully brushing out any tangles and soothing in the same motion. “If you will let me continue, I was going to say my mother had ordered for you to be killed, however, I do not agree with her decision. She is acting rashly over a slight you did not directly commit.”

“What did I even do to piss her off so bad?” Virgil murmured from where his face was tucked against Janus’ collar, resting more of his weight closer with each breath.

“I do not know the exact details, only that you were the cause for drawing her worshippers away from the temple on her day of adulation. The fae do not take kindly to being stolen from, especially not my mother.”

“The interview,” Virgil breathed in horror. Pushing himself upright, he clutched at Janus’ arm. “I swear, I didn’t mean for everyone to skip out on the Spirit’s Festival! If it had been up to me, none of them would have even been at the cafe! I didn’t want them there, you have to believe me!”

“Calm yourself, beloved. I believe that you did not intentionally act to anger her. However, you must understand that even a perceived slight is considered very real and serious to the fae. That is why you must remain here under my protection, until my mother’s ire cools or I can convince her to redirect her anger.”

As Janus fell silent, Virgil curled in again and pondered what he had been told, trying to remember anything he could about the fae. It wasn’t like there was one consistent guidebook he could follow, but some of the stories the older people used to tell his grade school classes at the library were starting to make a little more sense now. He had been told the forest couldn’t lie, so maybe that meant the fae were bound by the truth? A stretch, sure, but weren’t all myths rooted somehow in reality? They were also regularly told that the spirits of the forest loved beauty, especially in the form of attractive people, and could bestow gifts on those they enjoyed looking upon. Virgil had always felt so disheartened hearing that. He wasn’t anything special, just a plain-looking boy, so the forest would never favour him.

Why then had Janus?

“So,” Virgil broke into the quiet, “you supposedly brought me here to protect me from your mother, but that doesn’t explain why you called me your future husband earlier.”

Janus hummed. “When I set out to observe the human who had offended my mother, I was prepared to be faced with a disgusting example of your kind. What I found instead was the most beautiful face I had ever laid eyes on.” Virgil gasped when the hand that had been in his hair slipped down to cup his cheek and tilt his chin up. He felt a pair of lips brush so lightly against his forehead that he thought he imagined it. “You were sobbing so hard for a deeply rooted pain. I found myself desiring nothing more than to stop your tears and see how much your already breathtaking countenance would shine when lit by a smile.”

“I - you -”

Virgil was sure that he had been kissed before, because now he felt those lips curl into a smile.

“Is it so hard to believe you are so attractive?”

“Well, yeah,” Virgil huffed, his eyes closed as he leaned into Janus’ palm. “It’s not like I heard it all that often.”

“Mmm, I shall have to change that, then,” Janus whispered, resting his cheek on Virgil’s head, cradling him close once more. “Do you have any more questions, beloved? If not, it is time for you to rest, you’ve had a long day.”

The gentle petting and warm embrace were taking their toll on Virgil’s exhausted mind. He let himself rest heavily on Janus, nuzzling his face into the crook of his neck and wrapping an arm around the fae’s chest. “Jus’ one,” he murmured, voice already dipping into that sleepy slur. “Wanna make sure m’dads know ‘m safe…”

“I’ll see what I can do, my love. Rest now, Virgil.”

Like a spell had been cast over him, Virgil drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

-----

When Virgil had awoken, he was alone in the massive bed. He was surprised to feel a twinge of disappointment in his chest, having hoped Janus would stay despite the fae not wanting to show his face. Sighing, he slid out of bed and got himself ready for the day, slipping into some comfortable clothes he found in a set of drawers. When he came down for breakfast, his host’s invisible voice greeted him and informed him that his dads had been told of the situation and were relieved Virgil was alive and relatively safe.

The next few days played out much the same. Virgil was left to his own devices during the day, waited on by some sort of invisible staff as he explored the palace. He never saw another soul, but whenever he needed something, he learned to simply call out for it and it would be delivered to him by magic.

Each night, Janus would arrive in his bedroom once the sun had disappeared. He never asked for more than Virgil was willing to give, but Virgil found himself cuddled close every night without fail. They would speak for hours - about Virgil’s dreams, his dads, and Remy - nothing was too simple for Janus to inquire about. The fae was fascinated by every aspect of human life, and Virgil enjoyed discovering a sense of romantic joy over the little things he had experienced. There was something about Janus that soothed away the ever-present worries that were always yelling inside Virgil’s head.

There was one worry that couldn’t be silenced, however. No matter how much Virgil was coming to trust his protector, he could not ignore the fact that he had no idea what Janus even looked like. It was eating away at him not to know, and the longer he sat alone, the Janus in his head looked more and more like a monster waiting to prey upon him. This couldn’t go on. He had to know.

-----

During the day before he was going to enact his plan, Virgil spent his time in the massive library he had discovered on the second day, scanning the shelves and making a show of selecting a couple books. He made himself comfortable in one of the oversized cushions piled near the floor-to-ceiling window and pretended to read. Between absently scanning the pages, Virgil looked up and glanced around the room, as if his mind were wandering with the tale he was apparently focused on. In reality, he was scouring the room for ideas.

Countless candles were lit around the library, their wax melting at different stages, some newly pooling while others formed thick layers around the base of the candelabras. They were lit now, but there was no way for him to have an already burning flame in the bedroom when Janus arrived for the night. He would have to find some way to light one on his own. Maybe he could just -

“Excuse me?” He called into the air. “Could I please have more candles, and some matches for them? I want to go read in my room, but, um, the smell is really nice in here.”

Like always, the items he requested popped into existence on a low table nearby: three candles and a pair of matches. Huh, he hadn’t actually thought that was going to work.

“Thank you!”

Hugging both books to his chest, Virgil collected his new tools and jogged up to his room. There, he placed the candles onto the small table between the armchairs and lit them with a match. The second match, he carefully tucked inside the front knot of his shirt, pressing against his breast. Now prepared, he settled in to actually focus on the novel he had picked up. There was nothing but time to kill.

-----

By the time Janus arrived, Virgil had already blown out the candles and crawled into bed. He cuddled in as soon as Janus had laid down, laying his head on the fae’s chest and trying to keep his breathing steady as they fell into their usually nighttime conversation. Janus’ claws delicately traced the bumps of his spine the entire time they spoke.

Once Virgil was sure Janus had fallen asleep, he began the slow process of extracting himself from the fae’s embrace. Janus really was a cuddler, and loved to hold Virgil close while they slept, but thankfully he was also quite a deep sleeper. Virgil was able to carefully pull himself away and tuck a pillow into Janus’ arms. The fae squished it to his chest and curled onto his side, none the wiser.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Virgil went to work. He grabbed one of the candles and fished the match out from under his shirt, striking it against the table to light it. One hand held onto the base of the candle, while the other carefully cupped around the flame, protecting it as Virgil walked around to the other side of the bed where Janus lay. With a deep breath to steady himself, he pulled his hand away and gasped at the sight in front of him.

Janus never wore a shirt, which meant Virgil’s hands had felt the broad expanse of his naked back every night they had slept together. That didn’t explain why there were now a pair of gorgeous, tawny wings sprouting from between Janus’ shoulder blades. The feathers looked softer than anything Virgil could imagine and shined like spun gold in the candlelight. Virgil ached to caress the speckled feathers, to scrunch his fingers in the fluffy down near the wings’ base, but as he reached out, Janus rolled over and Virgil’s breath was punched from his lungs. The face of his protector was carved by the gods. Janus’ skin was a rich, dark brown, reflecting the candle light to accent his strong jaw and sharp cheekbones. Virgil could only imagine what colour his eyes could be behind his lids, framed by perfectly shaped brows and a shapely nose. Oh! Those lips! So plump and full! What would they feel like pressed against his own?

Enraptured, Virgil tried to get a better look, but as he leaned forward, some of the melted wax from the candle spilled over and landed on Janus’ cheek. The fae yelped, startling awake and clutching at his face as he threw himself upright. Virgil jumped back in shock, falling on his ass while somehow keeping the candle lit. The clatter drew Janus’ attention and his head snapped to the side to look at Virgil, who saw the moment Janus’ eyes widened with understanding and heartbreaking betrayal.

“You promised!” Janus hissed. “You promised me you wouldn’t look! Does your word mean so little to you!?”

“N-No - I, I just, I wanted-”

“What!? What was so important that you had to break your promise?”

“I wanted to, to make sure you weren’t some sort of … monster … who had kidnapped me to… to eat me,” Virgil muttered, suddenly feeling incredibly foolish. Why did he have to give in to his anxieties so easily? The next moment, his heart crumpled with Janus’ expression.

“Get out.”

“Wait, what?”

“I said. Get. Out.” Janus growled, spreading his wings high above his head as he leaned over the edge of the bed. “Get out of my sight, and out of my home! If you cannot hold to one simple promise, then I will not protect you! You can deal with my mother’s wrath on your own!”

About to protest, Virgil cried out in fear as Janus slashed out him, narrowly missing his face with those lethal claws. He didn’t waste any more time, dropping the candle and scrambling to his feet to run out of the bedroom. The empty halls echoed with his laboured breathing and the slap of his bare feet against the tiled floor as he sprinted through the palace and out the ivy-woven doors. The moment he was out, the doors slammed shut behind him.

Panting heavily, Virgil bent over with his hands on his knees, his entire body trembling from fear and exertion. He dropped to the ground and clutched his head in both hands, curling smaller and crying as silently as he could muster. It was a long time before his breathing evened out and he was able to drag himself back to his feet.

A glance around the clearing revealed what he had known upon his first arrival: he had no idea where in the forest he was, or which way led back home. So, he did the only thing he could and picked a direction to start walking. Through the night he stumbled over roots and around tangled shrubs, not stopping until he finally tripped over his own exhausted feet and fell into the shockingly cold waters of a stream. He spluttered and gasped, miserably dragging himself back up the bank. The sun was rising overhead, the forest waking up around him; he didn’t have the time to huddle here in a ball feeling sorry for himself.

-----

As the day progressed, Virgil noticed the trees beginning to thin and the gaps between the trunks growing wider. Suddenly, the canopy overhead parted to reveal a mountain, vast and tall, that should have been visible long before this moment. Placed at irregular intervals up the cliffside were six palaces woven of different plants woven together with even more grandeur than Janus’ home. Over the edge of the mountain, the tips and edges of presumably more palaces - these ones sculpted and shaped from various stones - were visible against the pale sky.

Virgil squinted, trying to get a better look at the strangely familiar shapes carved into the rock face near each palace. He gasped. The symbols matched those carved into the statues above the bronze dishes in the Spirit’s Temple, more specifically, the dishes meant for the spirits honoured in the spring and summer. That would mean - there! On the left! Beneath a palace of myrtle trees and rose vines, was the symbol belonging to the seventh spirit. That had to be the home of Janus’ mother, the spirit - or fae, rather - who was supposed to have been honoured at the start of this month.

Biting his lip, Virgil looked back the way he came then up at the palace once more. If what Janus said was true, and he wasn’t going to be offering protection anymore, then Virgil would have to face her on his own. It was either that, or cowering away until she tracked him down and killed him. Also not a desirable option, but Virgil would rather have some form of control over the end of his life. Beginning to climb, he just wished he would have been able to say goodbye to his dads first.

While there were worn deer trails to follow, the journey was not an easy one. Virgil had to cling to the rocks, heaving himself ever upwards, trying not to slice his bare feet or palms on the uneven shale. The summer sun climbed alongside him, growing hotter and hotter, sapping his energy and strength. Still, he pushed on until he stood before the lush gates shaking with exhaustion and dizzy from the heat.

Before he could gather his wits, the thorny vines that sealed the palace from the outside world began to withdraw. Where they parted, massive sanguine roses bloomed, as if to cushion a passerby from the sharp thorns. From within the depths of the palace strode out a figure so radiant and commanding, Virgil immediately felt subservient to her will. He quickly looked away, cheeks hot, as both of her breasts were exposed and only a lightweight wrap covered her lower body. His body recoiled when her piercing laugh broke the silence.

“Finally! The wretched beast comes crawling to its master, the Lady of the Summer Court. Had enough of playing at royalty, have you? Look at me when I’m talking to you, Virgil!”

Virgil immediately snapped his head back towards her, paling when his eyes met with her seething ire, but unable to drop his gaze any lower. He gripped the sides of his pants with white knuckles. “I - I’m so, so sorry! I n-never meant-”

“Look at this!” The fae cut in, causing Virgil to flinch again. “The pathetic mortal trying to inspire pity from me with your anxiety and melancholy! I will not be made a fool and relegated to some cheap handmaiden!”

With a shriek of rage, the Lady of Summer darted forward faster than Virgil’s eyes could track. The next moment, he was sprawled on the ground, ears ringing. He brought a shaky hand up to his stinging cheek and felt his stomach drop when his fingertips came away bloody. Rolling onto his back, he choked. The Lady was looming over him, one of her hands dripping with his blood as she pinned him down with a foot on his chest.

“It seems only fair to me, mortal, that I give you some chance to win back my good graces. Therefore, you shall complete a task for me, or else I will take your life as compensation for your disrespect.” The Lady of Summer announced with a wave of her hand. Virgil looked to the side, wincing as the cuts in his cheek dug into the gravel, and watched in surprise as a pile of mixed grains appeared nearby.

“You will sort this mass and disarray of seeds - wheat, barley, millet, poppy, chickpea, and lentil - into individual piles. I will know if a single grain lays with the wrong group. You have until this evening.” With that, the Lady of Summer kicked off his ribs and spun her skirts, vanishing into thin air with a flourish and leaving only the heady scent of roses as a sign of her presence.

Virgil lay on the ground in silence for a long time after she disappeared, barely daring to breathe. When he was finally able to bring himself to move, he slowly rolled onto his hands and knees, hissing at the pain in his ribs - definitely bruised. Crawling over to the pile of seeds, he reached a hand out but hesitated before he could touch the tiny grains. How the fuck was he supposed to sort these? He could hardly begin to tell them apart! Sitting back on his ass, Virgil dropped his face into his hands and burst into tears.

Then, he heard a high-pitched giggle.

Flitting to-and-fro above him were four - five - eight, no - seven? Seven little pixies were spinning, twirling, dancing through the air above him. Their bright, insect-like wings caught the sunlight and sent out flashes of colour like a rainbow in motion. One-by-one they drifted to the ground, settling in a half circle in front of Virgil and his miserable collection of seeds. They stood only several inches tall and were dressed in leaves and petals. A pair stepped forward in front of the rest; they were holding hands.

“Hello, hello!” The one on the right chirped, waving up with his free hand. He had gorgeous light blue butterfly wings that fluttered when he spoke. “We heard you crying and came to see, to see! What happened here, here?”

Virgil sniffled, wiping away his tears and snot on his sleeve. “Well, um,” he hiccupped and took a deep breath. “It’s the Lady of the Summer Court. She wants me to sort all of these seeds by type before tonight, but I have no idea how I’m going to do that so she’s definitely going to kill me!” He slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle a sob, tears running down his face.

“Easy now,” a new voice murmured as two little hands pressed against his knee. Virgil blinked his eyes open to see the second pixie - this one with veiny wings like a beetle’s - rubbing his leg soothingly. “You need to take slow, deep breaths to calm yourself.”

Virgil nodded and attempted to follow suit, counting to four on each inhale and exhale until the tears had slowed and he was able to relax somewhat to continue the conversation. “Th-thank you, um, what are your names?”

“You can call me Pat, Pat!” The first pixie announced twirling himself up into the air and drifting back down again.

“Ah, so you are quite new around here,” the second pixie mused, keeping his hands on Virgil’s leg. “You may call me Lo. Names have great power to the fae and it is imperative that you do not give yours away lightly, else someone may have complete control over your will.”

“But the Lady of the Summer Court already knows my name, and so did Jan- her son.”

“At any point did you give it to them, though?”

Virgil thought back over the last few weeks. “No… no, they both just, sorta, knew it somehow. Oh, uh, I guess you can call me Vee, then?”

Lo nodded. “Then it is likely they only heard your name somewhere, but they do not own it. Do you understand? They can exert some measure of power over you, but they cannot remove your free will entirely. Now then. Why is it the Lady wants you dead?” The pixie offered a small smile, nodding his head as Virgil explained how he got into this situation, that he knew Janus (though he referred to him as Jay), and why he wasn’t with the other fae anymore. When he finished, it was Pat who puffed up angrily.

“The Lady has gone too far, too far! You didn’t mean to make those people leave, leave! And it sounds like you didn’t actually make a binding promise, so Jay is acting a bit silly, bit silly. So, we’re gonna help you sort these seeds, and get everything cleared up, up!”

Logan nodded in agreement. “Indeed. Pat, you stay here with the others to aid Vee. I am going to go have a word with our feathered friend.” With that, Lo leaned in, kissed Pat’s cheek, and flew off down the mountainside.

Virgil watched the glint of Lo’s wings until he was out of sight, then turned back to the remaining pixies to watch as their quick, tiny hands got to work on the grains. “So… how do you know Jay?

Pat grinned widely up at him. “Jay is one of the Princes of Spring, Spring!” He works with love magic, and helped Lo and I get together decades ago in exchange for our help weaving that pretty gate in front of his palace, his palace!”

While they continued to converse, the pixies worked away at the seeds to form six unique piles, sorted from darkest to lightest. Before long, the entire jumbled mass had been reorganized without a single seed out of place. Once their job was complete, the five other pixies twittered their goodbyes and flew off up the mountain. Only Pat remained, sitting on his knee and chattering away as the sun set. Virgil shivered as a chill breeze licked at his exposed skin.

A sudden snap rent the night air, spooking Virgil, who lurched forward to cradle Pat in his hands protectively. Looking over his shoulder, he felt like vomiting when he saw the Lady of Summer standing over the grain piles with her arms crossed. He internally thanked any of the spirits who may be on his side that her chest was covered this time.

“This is not your work,” she hissed. “These were not organized by your hand, but by his!” She pointed an accusing finger at Pat, who had been peeking around Virgil’s arm but quickly hid back against his chest at the attention. “How dare you attempt to deceive me, you cretin!”

With a wordless shriek, the Lady lashed out with her vicious claws, aiming for the unmarked side of Virgil’s face. He scrambled back on his hands and heels, his ass dragging on the ground while Pat clung to the front of his shirt. Before she could take a second swipe, however, the dust and grit kicked up around them, obscuring their vision.

With his eyes covered, Virgil could only hear the flapping of large wings that cut off before there was the thud of a body dropping in front of him. Opening his eyes, he gasped. There, with his back to Virgil, stood Janus, with his great wings spread wide and his claws flexed at his sides. Lo, who had been holding onto the fae’s shoulder, now zipped down to the pair on the ground, holding Pat close and ensuring he was unharmed while the pixies huddled together on Virgil’s lap.

“You will not lay another hand on him,” Janus hissed, standing over Virgil protectively. Virgil felt Pat grip his thumb, but he couldn’t look away from the pair above them.

“What are you doing? Get out of the way, my son.”

“No. You wanted your revenge on him, and you got it. Look at him; he’s terrified, injured, and exhausted. The original disrespect against you was not even intentionally caused by him; it was the doing of numerous others. I do not fault you for your affront, but you are carrying on like a tantruming toddler!”

The Lady of Summer took a step back and clutched at her bosom. “You dare to speak to me like that?”

“I do, and so does the rest of the Seelie Court.” Virgil watched as Janus rolled his shoulders back and stood straighter. The Prince of Spring then reached into a bag tied at his hip and pulled out some sort of wooden charm dangling from a hemp rope. At the sight of it the Lady of Summer gasped and covered her mouth. “I have spoken before the Queen and her retinue, and she has decreed you will leave this mortal alone. In exchange, he will return to his town and gather a proper celebration for you by the end of this month.”

Virgil held his breath, not daring to twitch a muscle as he awaited his fate. The Lady of Summer let nothing show in her expression, but the hard lines of her face had softened attractively as Janus spoke. She shifted, looking over Janus shoulder and directly at Virgil. “You. You will do as this deal demands?”

Nodding rapidly, Virgil held up his hand in oath. “I will, I promise. I’ll go back home and speak with the curator of the Spirit’s Temple. We’ll host another festival and you’ll get the offerings you were supposed to be given at the start of the month.”

As if a switch had been flipped, the Lady of the Summer Court beamed a smile and grasped her hands over her heart. “Well then! That wasn’t so hard, was it! My dear, smart son, finding a way to set things right. I’m so proud of you, my little songbird.” Looking at her son, she cooed and cupped Janus’ cheek to tilt him up to kiss his forehead, smiling at his grumbling. “I won’t linger much longer, don’t you worry. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of my future son-in-law after all! I’ll see you soon, Virgil, dear,” she called, a cool edge to her voice for a moment before she smiled brightly once more and waggled her fingers. With a dramatic wave of her hands, the Lady of Summer vanished once more.

A quiet settled over the remaining quartet, broken by a tinny clearing of a throat. Lo stood in Virgil’s lap, tugging Pat up next to him. “I believe it is time for us to depart as well. I am relieved we were able to arrive in time to prevent any harm coming to you, Vee.” The pixie looked from Janus to Virgil and smiled. “Let us know when you are in the woods, we would enjoy visiting under more ideal circumstances. Farewell, for now.”

“Goodbye, Vee, Vee!”

In a flash, the pair of pixies flew off into the night, their hands held tight together. They flew loops and circles over the others before darting off in the direction the other pixies had traveled hours ago.

On the ground, Janus helped Virgil to his feet. He cooed in sympathy, tenderly touching the tips of his fingers beneath the angry red cuts on Virgil’s cheek. “I am so sorry for what she has done to you, darling. And I am even more sorry that my own actions drove you from the safety of my side. I was meant to protect you from unearned rage, but instead I subjected you to further punishment and drove you towards your would-be killer. If I hadn’t gotten here in time-” Janus exhaled heavily, his wings sagging behind him. “I am so sorry, Virgil.”

“I mean, I’m not gonna say it’s okay, because none of this has been okay, but, I guess I can understand where you were coming from. If I were as attractive as you, I’d also be worried about people taking advantage of me.” Virgil blushed and dragged his big toe through the dirt. “So, yeah, I forgive you, or whatever.” He looked up with a fire in his eyes and jabbed his finger into the center of Janus’ chest. “But don’t you ever do that again, you hear me?”

Janus hands cupped around his own, cradling it close. “I swear, to the end of my days, I will treat you with the dignity and respect you deserve, my dearest.”

Despite the tenderness of the gesture, Virgil was unmoved. “I mean it, Janus. If you want us to work out, then I can’t be afraid that you’re going to banish me from your home every time you get upset. It’s not a relationship if you’re going to treat me like I’m disposable. I’m worth more than that. If you want more reassurance, or something, on my promises, then we can work something out, but what you put me through was terrifying, and I can’t go through it again. I won’t.”

Janus sighed, holding Virgil’s hands up to his lips and resting there a moment before slowly gathering Virgil into his arms. His embrace was loose enough to break, if Virgil wanted. “I understand, darling, and I will never be able to apologize enough for what I have done. However, it is not my words you want, but my actions, and I will do whatever you desire of me in order to make it up to you.” He cupped Virgil’s uninjured cheek. “I want us to work, too.”

There was a long pause as Virgil searched Janus’ golden eyes for any signs of deception. When he found only an earnest honesty, Virgil allowed himself to be held closer. He wasn’t sure which of them moved next, but they came together as one, lips pressing softly at first before quickly gaining heat. Then he was spun and dipped down, laughing hard as he clung to Janus’ shoulders, the fae’s wings held aloft to keep them balanced.

Maybe ‘future husband’ didn’t sound so bad after all.

[evansyhelp]

✧  TEXTURES  –  A TUTORIAL BY EVANSYHELP. 

In this (long and image-heavy) tutorial, I’ll be showing you how I make textures, as requested by a very kind anon. I use Photoshop CC 2019 but you should be able to replicate my methods on most editing software. Please like or reblog this post if you find this helpful!

Index.

Ethically Sourcing Your Images.

Finding The Right Image.

Making Your Texture.

Other Tricks I Use.

Quick Recap.

Making Textures Without Images: Speedrun.

Outro.

Ethically Sourcing Your Images. 

I will be explaining a couple quick ways to make textures without any images at the end of the tutorial, but since my personal favourite way involves images and that’s specifically what the anon requested, that’s what the majority of the tutorial will be focused on.

The first step, naturally, is finding an image to use. My personal favourite site is Unsplash, but there are plenty of options out there. 

What you need to keep in mind is what kind of license the images have. Unsplash is free for personal and commercial use with no attribution required, which makes it perfect for things like this. There are more sites like this in my free for commercial use masterlist (linked at the end of the post), but unless you’re using them in products you’re selling (like graphic commissions), the commercial aspect isn’t something you need to worry about. Just check the site/photographer’s rules to make sure you’re allowed to edit the images for personal use, and whether attribution (credit) is required. 

Another important thing to keep in mind is that these sites typically never allow you to redistribute the images as they are. That means you can’t just go to Unsplash’s texture category, save the images without any changes, and reupload them in a texture pack on Tumblr. That’s stealing. We don’t do that.

Finding The Right Image.  

Knowing what kinds of images will make good textures is a learning curve. My first couple texture packs are rough compared to what I make now, because I basically taught myself with no guidance and learned through trial and error. But with practice, I learned what worked and what didn’t. 

You want your images to be HQ, either with no ‘subject’ (ie. a person) or with a large background. Higher contrast is better but not super necessary. You should hopefully be able to envision what kind of texture you want to make before you even touch the image.

Making Your Texture. 

For the majority of the tutorial, this is the image I’ll be working with. Credits can be found in the link at the end of the post. 

Open your canvas. You can make specialised textures, like 100px for icons or 540px for Tumblr graphics, but I personally prefer to make them large for versatility. I’m using 800px in this tutorial. Once you’ve chosen your size, upload your full-size image into the canvas. This is where the fun begins!

Drag the image around into a nice position. Or use Edit > Transform to rotate, flip, and warp the image in different ways. Or use Edit > Free Transform (Ctrl+T) to change the size or the angle more precisely. Or probably some combination of all three! With Free Transform, make sure this aspect ratio anchor is selected so you don’t butcher the quality of the image, unless you’re warping it intentionally:

This is all very individual to each image you use. You might want to flip one, shrink another, put another at a 30 degree angle. Just experiment until you end up with something you think would look awesome as a texture. For the sake of providing a good example, I flipped this image vertically, shrunk it to 80% its original size, and rotated it until it looked like the smoke/cloud was coming from the bottom right corner. This is what we have:

Then we move onto enhancing. Textures work best when there’s a lot of contrast because it’s easier to manipulate the blending modes. So if your image isn’t already high contrast, these adjustment layers (Brightness/Contrast, Levels, and Selective Colour) are your new best friends:

If you don’t see this on your Photoshop, go to Window > Adjustments and it should pop up. Again, just experiment, because different images will require different things. Essentially, you want to make the darks darker and the lights lighter. Something I like to do is add a Selective Colour layer and use the Black slider. Pick out the primary colour of the image, and then Whites, in the drop-down menu, and move the bottom slider (left to lighten, right to darken) until you’re satisfied. Like so:

So with those Selective Colour settings and the following Levels settings, here’s the before and after of my image.

Much better contrast! If you want to end here, you can, but I personally prefer grayscale textures a lot of the time because it makes it more versatile. Instead of being forced to make a blue graphic because this image is blue, I can make any colour graphic I want with one simple black and white Gradient layer. Photoshop does have a default Black & White adjustment feature, but I prefer using Gradients.

Pro tip: if your image doesn’t have a pure black, you can keep the darkest parts of your image dark by using the left slider, shown below. 

A lot of the time, I’ll also decrease the opacity of that Gradient layer, to somewhere between 80% and 95%, so just a hint of the original colour comes through. This gives it more dimension in my opinion, while still keeping it mostly neutral. Here’s 100% vs. 85%:

You may find that you want to add a little more contrast after. With this texture, I decided to grab another Selective Colour layer, pick ‘Black’ in the drop-down menu, and pull the Black slider up to +40. I also settled on 95% opacity for the Gradient. And here’s the final product!

Other Tricks I Use. 

That covers how I make a lot of my easier textures, but here’s a quick run-through of other, slightly more complex tricks. I’ll be working with this image (again, credit at the end of the post):

This, of course, is not as obviously texture-worthy as the previous example, but I love textures with strong lines, so here’s how the magic happens! I wanted to get rid of the detail on the bottom half, so I used the Polygonal Lasso tool to select it:

Then I used the eyedropper tool (the 4th symbol under the polygonal lasso in the image above) to select the blue of the sky and, on a new layer, painted that selection completely blue. I decreased the opacity to 90% just so it wasn’t a total block colour, but not enough that you can really see the lines. I repeated this process for the sky, so it looked more consistent with the bottom half.

Then, using the eyedropper tool again and making a new layer for every colour, I went in with a small soft paintbrush and painted out the harsh vertical lines on each segment of the stripes. I didn’t want to make them totally perfect, but I painted over the bulkiest interruptions. 

I added a black and white Gradient layer, using the slider tool I showed you before to darken the darks and lighten the lights, and decreased it to 50% so that it wasn’t totally black and white but still more neutral than the original. Here’s the result:

Another fun way to shake things up, which unfortunately will require Photoshop (CS6 should be fine, not sure about earlier versions), is the Filter Gallery. Go to Filter > Filter Gallery, and you’ll find a TON of effects that change your image drastically. Most of the default settings are nightmarish, but you can play around with the settings panel on the right.

Here’s just a few results that are possible with the Filter Gallery, labelled for convenience. You can view the HQ versions in the link at the end of the post.

Quick Recap. 

So you don’t have to reread this obnoxiously large tutorial every time you want to reference it in the future:

Choose a HQ image.

Resize, rotate, flip, and/or warp.

Enhance the contrast.

Black and white!

Paint over problem areas!

Filter > Filter Gallery.

Making Textures Without Images: Speedrun.

We’re almost done! There are some tools built directly into Photoshop that can allow you to make textures completely from scratch, and I’ll briefly cover my favourites here. 

The first is pattern fill layers. I spent too many years not appreciating the patterns feature in Photoshop, but they’re great. Go to Layer > New Fill Layer > Pattern, click ‘OK’ on the box that pops up, and another box will pop up to let you choose your pattern. 

By themselves, they are UGLY. It can take a while to figure out how to use them. But if you change the scale, change the blending mode, and change the opacity, you have thousands of textures at your fingertips. And if you add two or three together? Billions of possibilities. I can do a more in-depth tutorial on patterns if y’all are interested, but here’s two examples I just whipped up in a matter of minutes, using two patterns on each:

The next feature is gradient fill layers, and the gradient tool. Go to Layer > New Fill Layer > Gradient… to select a gradient (or make your own!) and an angle, OR use the gradient tool (featured below) to drag the gradient across your canvas manually. On its own, boom, that’s a gradient texture. Paired with a pattern or put through the Filter Gallery? Even better!

The last is brushes. Brushes can be great for textures because there are so many kinds. You want to make a paint splatter texture? Paint splatter brush sets are everywhere! You want to make a smoky texture? You can get brushes that look like smoke! Smudged? Scratchy? Grunge? Halftone? Light leaks? Torn paper? Brushes have your back. 

With all of these features (and things like actions, too!), your saving grace is going to be this little cog wheel shown below, and the list you’ll find under the Reset/Save/Load section. There are SO many more options built directly into Photoshop that you don’t even see right away, because you have to add them manually from this little cog wheel. 

And you can download countless more patterns, gradients, and brushes from sites like Brusheezy and DeviantART. A couple tutorials on downloading and installing them can be found in the link at the end of the post, but remember, download these things ethically. If you want to sell products that use a custom brush, it’s your responsibility to find brushes that are free for commercial use. If you don’t want to credit the creator, it’s your responsibility to find resources that don’t require attribution. 

Outro.

I think that’s everything, guys! If you found this tutorial helpful or otherwise enjoy my content, please consider supporting me on Ko-fi! I offer exclusive rewards, like custom graphics, to everyone who donates. 

Due to Tumblr’s latest rules about links, you can find the credits list, the promised bonus tutorials, other important links, and the full-size HQ versions of the textures made in this tutorial over here.

Thanks for reading!

[abuskinswarrior]

Love Letter

So I read Read Between the Lines and it inspired me to write something similar.

Summary: The Reader writes her feelings down in a letter to hopefully get rid of her feelings towards Spencer.

Spencer x Reader

Fluff and Angst (a little, but not really)

Word Count: 2447

You know how they say write your feelings down then burn it. It’s supposed to symbolize you ‘“letting go of the feeling”. It’s usually for people that harbour anger, but I guess I could try it for love. So here goes I guess.

I don’t know why I’m so nervous to even write my feelings. I know you will never see this, but writing it makes it seem real I guess. Before I could just pretend I don’t feel this way, but it’s eating at me slowly chipping away pieces of me.

When I first met you, I thought you were cute and dorky. I liked the way you spouted out facts. You taught me so much about everything and I was amazed that it was only a fraction of what you knew. It was the start of one of the best friendships I have ever had. I think the moment I started thinking of you in a more romantic way was funnily enough Friday the 13 in October. Almost a year after I joined. It was a bad day for me. The words on the paper weren’t making any sense and when you talked to me I could only understand half of what you were saying. You noticed and you spoke slower for me. I don’t even think you remembered doing it. I was so extremely thankful and I brought you coffee for like a week after. It’s been so long since that and I thought I would get over it. We work together, we couldn’t date. But my love for you just kept growing.

I finally admitted that my schoolgirl crush on you was more than that when you invited me over to watch the newest season of Doctor Who. I told you I had never actually watched  an episode, you just shrugged and said we could do something else. I thought you were going to ask Penelope instead, but you wanted to spend time with me! (Outside of work!) I dressed up for it., stupid I know. I decided to wear a sundress because it had been so nice and you told me that your AC wasn’t working properly. I remember falling asleep on your couch and when I woke up you were still next to me watching Doctor Who. My head in your lap as you played with my hair. Again, I don’t even think you noticed. 

Emily picked up on my mood around you and confronted me, which is mainly why I am writing this letter. She’s gonna help me burn this. It’s hard though. I  know you will never feel the same way about me and I feel ridiculous. Sometimes it physically hurts to be near you. You make me nervous, you take my breath away and, god, you don’t even try.

I have fallen in love with all the things you do. You stick your tongue out when you’re thinking. When you spin around in the chairs when you can’t concentrate. The way you smile when JJ brings Henry  to the office. You bring me so much joy and it hurts that you don’t look at me the same way. I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t in my life. 

Do you remember when the group went out for drinks after that really hard case a few years ago? I went to the bar to get another pitcher for the table and some random guy asked if I wanted to go home with him. He wouldn’t take no for an answer and that’s when you came. I had never seen you like that before. When you asked me if I was okay and I couldn’t move. I was replaying that moment in my head. It was sooo sexy.

This isn’t the first time I was going to tell you. The first time I finally had the guts, I went to your place and you told me you were just about to come over to mine. I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt. You said you wanted to tell me something and I let you go first. Sometimes I wish I went first, but I’m glad I didn’t. That was when you told me about Maeve. My heart broke. I could feel my eyes tearing up, but the way you talked about her, god, I could never compare. And then she died. When JJ told me, for a fraction I was happy. It lasted for less than a second and I felt like such a horrible person. How could I even think about being happy? When you came back to work, I had to take a week off. I couldn’t even look at you because of the thought I had for a fraction of a second. That’s when I decided I was never going to tell you, but now I can’t even be near you and I have to leave.

I haven’t even said the three words this whole letter is for. It’s so hard. I think I’ve been denying it for so long that my hand doesn’t even want to write it. But I have to.

I                          love                             you

There I said it. I love you. Oh my god I love you so much. I love you so much I have to leave because if I stay, I don’t know what will happen. I want you to look at me the way you looked when you talked about her.

I think I’ll miss your eyes. The way they light up when you’re excited. I’ll miss your smile. I’ll miss the way your hand feels in mine. I’ll miss the way you engulf me when we hug. I can’t stay here anymore because I, fuck, I gave you pieces of my heart, slowly and now it’s in your hands and I can’t be there to watch you break it. 

I have to stop giving you pieces of me. At one point, you started taking them and I let you, but it ends now. I hope you find someone that makes you happy.

I sighed. “I think I’m done.” I looked up at Emily. We were desk partners. The other people in the office were out on their lunch break leaving just us. She looked up from her papers and smiled softly.

“How do you feel?” She looked down at the paper then back at me. I knew she wanted to read it and I just didn’t care at this point I guess. I handed it to her.

“Worse if that’s possible.” She read through it, mouthing the words.

“Y/n, you should tell him. I thought that you maybe had, like, a crush on the guy, not this!” Emily read it again, my natural cursive being a little hard to read. “Before Maeve? Really?” 

I smiled sheepishly and put my head down. “I know. That’s why I can’t say anything. He’ll hate me. Besides, it’s not like I’ll be around much anyway.”

“Woah, hey, you can’t leave.”

“Who’s leaving?” My head shot up as Derek walked into the office, back from lunch.

“Nobody, it’s nothing.” I said. Derek looked between me and Emily. Emily folded the paper, covering the front, leaving the back of the paper still accessible as she tried shuffling it between case files.

“Woah, what’s this?” He grabbed the paper out of her hands. Reading it out loud.

“Morgan, stop.” I got up trying to grab the paper.

“When I first met you, I thought you were cute and dorky. I liked the way you spouted out facts. You taught me so much about everything and I was amazed that it was only a fraction of what you knew.” He moved around me laughing. “Did you write this? Who’s this for?”

“It’s none of your business.” Just when I thought I had grabbed it, It slipped out of his hand.

“What’s this?” I looked over at who had grabbed it, the paper had refolded and it was in the hands of the one person who really should not have it.

“It’s nothing.” I reached for it again, but Spencer read the back. Being short sucked sometimes. I jumped reaching for it again. 

“Did you write a love letter?” He read it fairly quickly, no surprise. “It’s been speculated that writing love letters helps the nervous system pattern in the brain, appearing to exert protective effects throughout the body, including on the brain itself.” Spencer had stopped looking at it.

“That’s great, can I have it back?” I looked at him, my palm open. He looked between me and whoever was beside me. 

“Open it, pretty boy.” Derek shouted. Whatever he was going to say was muffled by Emily who had covered his mouth.

“Morgan, stop.” I heard her say. Spencer however, started opening the letter and I grabbed onto his arm, jumping up and snatching it, stuffing in my shirt in between breasts.

“Now, you gonna grab it? Cause I will file for harassment.” I looked at him. He smiled at me, a devious look in his eyes.

“Oh my god, I love you so much. I love you so much I have to leave because if I stay,” He used a higher pitched voice, mimicking me. My breath caught in my chest. I wanted to leave, I wanted to smack him, but I just stood there as he repeated what I wrote, mocking me. “I don’t know what will happen. I want you to look at me the way you looked when you talked about her.” He brought his hands up to his face. “I think I’ll miss your eyes.” He looked at me still smiling, laughing, with Morgan egging him on. I could hear both their laughs. 

“What’s going on?” I heard JJ’s voice from behind me. She put her hand on my shoulder, looking at my face. She could tell something was happening, but didn’t know what.

“JJ listen to this!” Spencer kept going. 

“Don’t,” I whispered as he continued to speak. “Please.” JJ looked between my face and Spencer, the wheels in her brain turning.

“I’ll miss the way your hand feels in mine.” 

“Spence, where did you read that?” She asked, stopping him.

“Y/n’s love note.” JJ looked at me with such sympathy. She figured it out. The tears streaming down my face were hot as I tried to wipe them away.

“Spencer!” I yelled. He finally stopped smiling, watching the tears stream down my face. “I know you have trouble picking up cues, I just never realized you could be such an asshole.” 

He looked at me with an emotion I couldn’t describe. I turned around, shoulder checking Derek as he tried to stop me. I could hear my name being called, but I didn’t stop. I ran down the stairs. I couldn’t wait for the elevator.

I pushed the doors open as I was gasping for a breath of fresh air. Tears clouded my eyes as I sat down on the curb. I let my head rest on my knees, replaying the scene in my head. He couldn’t hear me when I told him to stop. He wasn’t even paying attention to me. He was just smiling. I wiped my tears away, pulling out the letter, unfolding it, reading my god awful chicken scratch cursive. How Spencer was able to read it was beyond me. I watched as the paper dampened as my tears hit it. 

“God, I’m so stupid.” I sighed.

“I wouldn’t say that.” I whipped my head around looking up at Spencer’s tall stature. I folded the paper back up, tucking it back in my shirt, wiping away more tears.

“Here to mock me some more?” I looked away resting my chin on my knees. He sat down next to me and I rolled my head so I didn’t have to look at him.

“No,” He sighed. “I’m here to say I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s a stupid note anyway.” I could feel his stare on me. I played with some of the loose gravel near my feet.

“If it’s stupid, then why try to hide it?” I squinted my eyes, turning my head to look at him. He had a soft smile on his face as if this was his plan all along.

“Go to hell.” I got up, brushing myself off walking away.

“Y/n, no, wait.” Spencer trailed behind me.

“No, Spencer,” I sighed, cursing myself for crying again. “It was a stupid note, for a stupid person, who will never feel the same. So it doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous to even write my feelings.” I stopped turning around. He held the note in his hands. It had fallen out when I got up and I didn’t realize. “I know you will never see this, but writing it makes it seem real I guess. Before I could just pretend I don’t feel this way, but it’s eating at me slowly chipping away pieces of me.” He stepped closer to me, still reciting it, but he changed it. “When I first met you, I thought you were drop dead gorgeous. I liked the way you listened to me and were actually interested in what I had to say. Your limitless hunger for knowledge makes my heart warm. I noticed you were having a bad day because you pull on your hair slightly like you’re trying to pull your thoughts together and I wanted to make you feel comfortable. That was the day I realized I would do whatever you wanted.” He had taken more steps towards me. He placed his hands on my cheeks, so gently like he thought I was going to disappear. I closed my eyes, savoring the moment before reality could catch up.

“Y/n, look at me.” His voice was gentle as if he were talking to a child. I looked up at him, placing my hands over his on my face. “I love you. I love you with every fiber of my being. My heart beats for you and only you.” He wiped away a few tears from my face and I leaned in, titling my head up more. He leaned down pressing his lips against my own. My eyes fluttered closed pressing all my emotions into the kiss. He kissed me back with the same fever I did. My head was spinning. I moved my hands to his hair, gripping at the root afraid I was going to wake up. He pulled away to take a breath and he opened his eyes, smiling.

“So you love me, huh?” 

“Shut up.” I smiled, pulling him back in for another kiss.

~Fin

[justletmeplayminecraft]

the three stages of impulse making friends

set in the magic misfits au collated by @haworthiaace! the origin story of how team zt adds the ‘i’. tango has a curse, zed is an elf, and impulse is a demon. could i make it anymore obvious? (yes. absolutely.)

featuring: the least conventional way to make friends, selling your soul is not a decision to take lightly, friends who will Literally die for each other, tango is ferocious when it comes to protecting zed, there’s a fair amount of work to get to a happy conclusion, but the three of ‘em manage it, impulse deserves the world, so does zed, tango... he’s on thin ice.

warnings: life or death situations, using your own blood in rituals, so kinda self harm?, conflict between characters, tango threatens impulse, they resolve things, but here’s certainly some angst before they all become friends, also it’s implied impulse didn’t have the best time as a demon, he has a breakdown, he’s soft ok, they’re making the best out of a terrible situation..

also posted on ao3, link in the replies

1. When Zedaph summons him

Zedaph steps back from the summoning circle, the charcoal staining his hand black as he puts it down. He checks every symbol twice against his book. The required items are around the edge, candles lit with his face pinched in focus. A glance down the hall confirms that Tango's bedroom door is still shut tight. There shouldn't be any interruptions. A good job too, because Zedaph's not looking forward to explaining this one.

He picks up his knife, taking a steadying breath. Zed's never really been one for blood. If it were anyone else, he wouldn't be doing this. But it's Tango. Zedaph can't lose him, no matter the cost. He presses the blade across his palm, slicing just enough for blood to bubble to the surface. He holds his hand out, droplets falling onto the intricate circles.

The symbols he spent so long drawing illuminate in a bright glow, activating like redstone. He gasps as the magic in the room whips his hair. Something tears into existence in the centre. Zedaph takes a step back from the pure magical essence.

The demon springs up in front of him. Bright yellow eyes meet his purple, and Zedaph takes in the demon they belong to. He's surprised, actually. He expected something more demonic. Not that the demon isn't demonic, of course. He has big black horns that Zed could probably spike himself on and a tail that's flicking behind him as he examines Zed. But his face is human, with pale skin and a curious expression. Zedaph thinks his dark hair might even be fluffy. And a t-shirt and jeans? Well, he's hovering sightly too, but-

"You summoned me?" The demon's voice is... Nice, actually. It's friendly, like melted chocolate. Sharp teeth show as he speaks. Zedaph nods, fiddling with his sleeves.

"I did." He tries to keep some confidence in his voice. "I want to make a deal." The demon nods, crossing his arms and sitting back slightly. It's strange seeing someone float in midair like that.

"That's what most people do. You get what your heart desires, I get your soul." Zedaph nods, dropping his eyes down to the floor. He hypes himself up, needing the confidence to commit to this. For Tango. For his best friend.

"My friend's cursed," Zedaph explains. "I want you to save him. In exchange for my soul." The demon tilts his head.

"A curse?" He sounds curious.

"We- we were messing around and upset a witch and-"

"A witch?" Zedaph tucks his arms against his chest. He nods. "I- I can't undo a witch's curse." Zedaph's heart stops.

"No!" He looks up at the demon, stepping close to the barrier circle. "You have to help him, I can't lose him. You don't understand." The demon has opened up in surprise, holding his hands out. He stares at Zed with an open mouth, yellow eyes unmoving.

"Um-" the demon glances away, "I might be able to halt the curse?" Zed jumps onto his tiptoes. "I can't remove it completely but I can lessen its effects and prevent it from spreading. Would that be sufficient for a deal?"

"He won’t get worse?" Zedaph checks.

"He won't get worse." The demon nods. Zedaph returns the gesture, determination returning.

"Then I'll do it. You can have my soul in exchange for that." The demon leans forward, holding out his hand.

"It's a deal, then." Zedaph nods. He steps carefully over the protective ring, clapping his hand into the demon's.

"It's a deal." Zed's grip on the demon's hand tightens, a choked noise escaping him as his chest erupts in pain. The demon pulls him close, his other hand resting on Zedaph's chest.

"Sorry about this part." Something is tearing, ripping at his skin. Zedaph would scream but he can't draw enough air into his lungs. For a second, everything falls away. When he opens his eyes again, he's on the cold floor. The demon has a hand on his shoulder, his other hand holding up something swirling, glowing a radiant purple. Zed can't take his eyes off it. "Are you okay?"

Zedaph nods, "Is it done? Will Tango be alright?"

"Yeah. The deal's done." Zedaph jumps up, leaping onto the demon and wrapping his arms around him tight. The demon falls back slightly, one hand wrapping around Zedaph's back with robotic movements.

"Thank you," Zedaph mumbles, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much, thank you."

"Uh." The demon sounds genuinely confused. "You're welcome?" Zedaph climbs down, realising this is supposed to be a business transaction. He steps back over the circles.

"Sorry I just- you don't know how much this means for me." The demon shrugs. He claps his hands together and that ball of glowing light vanishes.

"It's part of the deal." The demon shrugs. It's like he's trying to come off cool and collected, but he still seems twitchy, a bit nervous. "Will that be all?"

"That'll be all." Zedaph makes sure to keep his next words powerful and concise. "You may go back to your dimension." The demon nods. He bows slightly.

"Pleasure doing business with you." With that, the air twists once more, and the demon vanishes. Zedaph breathes out, placing a hand on his chest. It doesn't hurt anymore. He doesn't feel any different. He was willing to sacrifice far worse for Tango's safety. This is... He feels like he's gotten off quite lightly.

Well, except Tango's wrath. He's just about cleaned up the room when he hears a door slam open.

"What did you do?" Tango demands, storming up to Zedaph. He grabs Zed's shoulders and holds him in place in front of him. Zedaph shrinks down.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean-"

"Cut the bull, Zed!" Tango glares at him. Zedaph looks into his eyes, the solid redstone. It twinkles when the light catches it, like little stars. "You did something, because I can see again, and that didn't happen on its own."

"You can see again?" Zedaph asks, quiet. He squeaks when Tango pulls him closer.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing!"

"Zedaph!" Zedaph curls away at the anger in Tango's voice, even if it's born from worry. Tango's grip holds him in place.

"I may have summoned a demon," Zedaph mumbles it, hoping Tango won't hear.

"You summoned a demon?" Tango exclaims, echoing off the walls. Zedaph takes a breath, his expression shifting as he glares at him. Tango lets go, stepping backwards with surprise.

"It's the only thing I could think of that would be more powerful than a witch's curse!" Zedaph cries, his voice high. "And it was, it worked! He stopped it!" Zedaph holds his hands out to Tango, before waving them down his body, "And I'm fine! No different! I don't think anything's changed."

"Zedaph-" Tango takes a further step back, dragging his hands down his face, "-Please tell me you didn't sell your soul." Zedaph doesn't answer. Tango groans, frustrated. "You need to undo this, you can't just-"

"I'm not going to sit here and do nothing whilst you fade away! Not when I can stop it!" He places his hands over his heart. "And I feel fine, so clearly my soul isn't that important. So just drop it, and things can go back to normal."

"This isn't-"

"I'm not changing my mind." Zedaph pokes his finger into Tango's chest. "I refuse to watch you die, Tango!" They both stare at each other, Zed focused intensely, shoulders rising and falling with his heavy breaths.

"And you don't feel anything?" Tango asks. His voice has turned softer. Zed doesn't fight when Tango rests his hand against Zed's freckled cheek. In fact, he leans into it, all of his fight draining in an instant. "You don't feel worse? No pain?" Zed shakes his head.

"I feel fine," he confirms, squeezing the hand on his cheek with his own. "I promise you. It- it hurt when he took it, but I'm okay now. I don't feel it." Tango sighs.

"Zed, you're an idiot." Zedaph laughs. He pulls Tango's hand down, squeezing it between both of his.

"So are you," Zed replies. "It's a good job we've got each other, huh?"

Tango shakes his head, "I wouldn't want it any other way."

2. When Tango summons him

Tango doesn't know how it took so long for him to realise. It's basic common sense: you can't just sell your soul without consequences. Maybe he was a bit caught up in being able to see again and not having to prepare for his impending demise that he didn't fully consider it. Zed seemed fine. He was fine. For a little while, at least.

It happened slowly. It was first in how Zed spoke. Where his hands would usually wave around in a language of their own, he was still. He stopped coming up with ideas. He yawned, slept straight through afternoons. Then his skin became paler. His ears began to droop. He wouldn't get out of bed until Tango encouraged him. Now, Tango's barely able to get him to eat. He sighs, rubbing his fingers through blond locks. Zed managed some mushroom stew before dozing off, curled up as if he's freezing despite the blankets piled on him. His skin is cold against Tango's hand.

Tango stands, leaving the room without a sound. He's had a lot of time to plan this, with Zed asleep so much. He enters the side room, the summoning circle already set up. It's been a few nights researching, making sure everything's correct. The knife handle is cool as he twirls it in his hand. Hopefully, his cursed soul is still enough to cast this.

He makes a cut across his thumb, letting blood drip down onto the circles. It lights up, the air swirling around the room as Tango stands resolute. Despite all his preparation, he's still a bit surprised it's worked. He doesn't move an inch as the demon appears in front of him. Bright yellow eyes stare into his, black horns like a crown over his head. Tango skips over the surprisingly human features. The pale skin, the fluffy hair.

"You made a deal with my friend," Tango speaks first, crossing his arms over his chest. "Blond elf, purple eyes. Pointy ears." The demon's eyes widen.

"Oh," he says. His voice is smooth and- not very demonic. Tango steels himself. "You're his cursed friend."

"Yeah," Tango replies. "You need to undo that deal." The demon tilts his head.

"Undo it?" He questions. "You realise your curse would continue, right?"

"I'm aware." Tango stares straight into his eyes. The demon shuffles a little. "You need to undo it."

"Okay but you're missing one detail," the demon tells him, mirroring Tango's crossed arms. His tail flicks behind him.

"And what's that?" Tango asks.

"You didn't make the deal." The demon shrugs, his hand up. "Only the person who made the deal can void it. And it feels like he doesn't want to." The demon looks smug, like he's caught Tango out. Tango didn't do all of this research for nothing.

"How about this," Tango starts, reaching for the spellbook he stole from Zed. "I use a binding spell," he continues, holding it up, taking care with the worn pages. If demons could feel fear, maybe it would be there in the way his eyes widen and his tail stills. "And I bind you into my service until Zed agrees to undo the deal."

"That's... A little unreasonable." The demon sounds nervous. Tango grins.

"More unreasonable than the fact my best friend is currently so tired he can barely move?" He demands, stepping forward but careful not to go over the outer circle.

"Hey." The demon holds his hands up. "He sold his soul to me willingly. He knew the consequences."

Tango scoffs, "No he didn't! He had no idea what would happen. You took advantage of him." Tango pokes his finger against the barrier. "So I'm going to take advantage of you right back." The demon shrinks away.

"Okay, okay." He slowly lowers his hands as if Tango will calm down because a demon tells him to. "How about, instead, I give you a month to get your friend to void the deal. I will stay here, no binding spell required. If he doesn't change his mind after that, I'm free to go."

"And if you leave before the month is up, I get to summon you back, bind you to me, and leave you in a salt circle to rot." Tango smirks when the demon flinches. "Sounds like a deal to me."

"Um, uh-" The demon shifts their weight around, not quite making eye contact.

"Or, I go back to my first plan." Tango draws the word out as he flicks through the book. The demon huffs.

"Fine," he declares. "I accept your terms. If I leave before the month is up you can summon me back and bind me into your service." Tango snaps the book shut.

"Then the deal is made." He can feel a ripple of magic at the statement. Nothing strong, Tango's not particularly magically inclined. Hell, it's probably the demon's own magic working against him. But it's enough to make this work. To give Zed a chance to undo this mistake. Tango steps forward, breaking the outer protective circle with his toe. "Well?" Tango holds his hand out, "Are you coming?" The demon steps forward, hesitantly leaving the circles.

"Um," the demon glances back at the smudged charcoal. "I'm not sure how this works."

Tango shrugs, "I'm not happy about it, but I guess you're living here." The demon is looking at the floor, following Tango with light steps.

"Okay." Those yellow eyes glance down a corridor. "Um, yeah. Alright." Tango sighs, looking at the awkward being. Aren't demons supposed to be scary? Or is this one trying to lower Tango's guard?

"Name's Tango," he offers, in an attempt at a truce.

"You're just going to give me it?" The demon sounds concerned.

"I'm not giving it to you," Tango replies, refusing to expand further. "What's yours?"

"Oh." The demon's tail flicks at him. "Impulse. My name's Impulse." Tango nods. He pauses at the door to Zed's room, resting a hand on the wood.

"His name's Zedaph," Tango tells him. "He's... Probably not going to be happy that I've done this behind his back. But he's- don't expect much from him. He's already so bad." Tango can't help how heavy his voice grows as he continues, the weight piling on his shoulders. Impulse nods. If Tango didn't know better, he'd say he looks guilty.

He pushes the door open. Zedaph is still buried in a blanket pile. Tango can just see a hint of pale, freckled skin, peeking out from under messy hair. He hasn't moved an inch. Impulse stills in the doorway, staring at him. Tango turns, giving him a dead look.

"What, you feel guilty now?" Impulse focuses back into his folded arms. His tail wraps around him like a pathetic shield.

"I don't- I don't like this part. I don't usually see it."

"Well-" Tango holds his hand out, mock-bowing. "-Enjoy what you've caused." He sits on the bed beside Zedaph, scratching under his chin. Impulse inches forward. "Hey, Zed, buddy." Zedaph mumbles, rolling into Tango's touch. "Come on. Can you open your eyes for me? Sit up a bit?" Zedaph whines, but he shuffles around. Then, with a bit of effort, he pushes himself up, falling against Tango's side. It's more than he's managed for days.

Zedaph opens his eyes, sees Impulse and squeaks, "Tango?"

"He's fine." Tango gestures Impulse closer. The demon still hovers apart from them, trying to tuck into the corner of the room. "He's here because you need to undo your deal." Zed's eyes narrow, the purple glinting in the light.

"I'm not doing that," Zedaph says, with no room for movement. Tango refuses to listen.

"I don't think you realise how much it's hurting me seeing you fade away like this." Tango tries not to raise his voice. "I don't want to see you suffer."

"So you want me to do the same thing?" Zedaph asks, sitting away from Tango. "You- you want me to watch this curse claim you? And do nothing?"

"It's my curse. You shouldn't get to make this choice for me."

"And it's my fault you got it!" Zedaph's voice has raised, fingers bunching up in the blankets.

"You've got so much more life in front of you-"

"And I've already lived so much of it-"

"You're being selfish, Zedaph." Zed flinches back.

"Fine then. I'm being selfish. What are you going to do about it?" Tango halts at that, not sure what to respond. He wasn't- he wasn't expecting Zedaph to do that.

"Uh-" Both heads turn as Impulse speaks. He curls into himself. "Should I leave? Go to another room or something?" He's pressed himself against one of the walls.

"Go back to your dimension," Zedaph orders. "I'm not changing my mind." Impulse sinks downwards.

"I- uh. I'm here for a month. That's what we agreed on." Zedaph spins back to Tango with fury in his eyes. Tango answers before he gets the chance to talk.

"We made a deal. One I came out on top of. He's not going anywhere." Zedaph presses his hands into his cheeks before waving them outwards.

"You can't just keep him prisoner here!" Tango scoffs. If only Zed knew about the alternative. Maybe it would've angered him enough to void this whole thing. He might have lost his friend, but Zedaph would be able to keep on living.

"He's basically our roommate for a month." Zedaph groans. He holds his hands by his head, mouth opening and closing before he manages to find words.

"I don't even know what a demon eats!" He cries. Tango squawks.

"That's what you're worried about?" Zed crosses his arms, swinging his legs out of bed. He takes a few steps towards Impulse, turning his chin up as he pouts. Tango blinks, something in his head finally clicking.

"Yes, because I'm going to be a good housemate unlike-" Tango holds his hands up.

"Wait, wait, wait, Zed." Zedaph pauses mid-rant, face shifting to confusion. It's mimicked on Impulse. "You're out of bed. Willingly." Zedaph looks down at himself, running his fingers through his hair.

"I- I am," he murmurs, like acknowledging it will break this illusion. "I'm- I don't feel tired. I-" Zedaph looks at Impulse, his eyes widening as he takes a stumbled step back. Impulse holds his hands up, shaking his head quickly.

"I haven't done anything!"

"Then- but you're the only thing that's changed." Impulse squints, clearly thinking before he gasps.

"I still have your soul," he whispers.

"You just carry that around?" Tango asks. He can't force himself to sound angry. He keeps looking at Zed like a miracle has happened.

"I hadn't turned it in yet," Impulse explains, looking like he's solving a puzzle in his head. "Being close to it must mean that it's connecting to you again. Like you still have it." Zedaph bites at his lip, fiddling with the end of his sleeves. Tango really needs to get him into some new clothes. And in the shower.

"And you're only here for a month?" Zed asks. Impulse nods. Tango wishes he could follow the conflict that crosses Zed's face. Understand how he's feeling. Whatever the result is, he stands taller, grinning. "That's a month more than I had before." Trust Zedaph and his overly optimistic attitude. "Right, out of my room. I want to change."

"You're sure that won't-"

"If I'm not out in like an hour come and check on me." Zedaph jumps on the spot, leaping to his drawers. "I've got so much I need to do!" Impulse looks at Tango. He nods.

They leave Zedaph to pick out clothes, even if Tango has to watch him for just a moment first to convince himself this is real. He closes the door after him. Impulse is waiting on the other side. He's... Small. But his face is determined.

"This doesn't change the terms of our deal," he tells Tango. "One month, then I'm free to go." Tango sighs. After all that prep too. He should've just bound the damn demon. At least then he would've got something cool out of this. But-

"Of course," he agrees. Twisting to see Zedaph's door, he shrugs. "Worst case, at least I get to spend another month with my best friend." Impulse's expression is much tighter when Tango turns back. "I'll show you around. You can use the guest room."

"Thank you." Impulse keeps a step between them as he follows Tango. "I'm sorry about this."

"I'd say it's not your fault, but-" Tango's not exactly feeling sympathy here.

"I didn't ask to be born a demon." It's the closest thing Tango's heard to anger from him so far. "We have a quota to fill, and I don't want to fail it again. This is already going to-" He waves his hands. "Sorry, you don't need to hear about all that. Give me the tour." Tango nods, continuing to lead him through the base.

If he's honest, he's not too sure what his plan is anymore.

3. When Impulse decided to stay

Demons don't hang around humans. Especially not ones they've taken souls from. It's one of the first rules, for goodness sake. Don't get attached. You have to think business first, don't start considering the consequences. Mortals are insignificant in the grand scheme of things. There's so many of them, a few souls don't change anything. They're all pretty much the same, greedy lot anyway.

It turns out, Impulse is struggling with all of that.

He's never spent time around mortals before. When the elf, Zedaph, he now knows, first summoned him, he fulfilled the deal, pushed down his guilt, and continued with his life. Then the cursed human summoned him, threatened him with one of his worst fears, and somehow negotiated it into the current situation. Living with them for a month.

He's so out of his depth.

Zedaph seems to gravitate around him naturally. Impulse is pretty sure it's because he has his soul. He's still trying to get used to the feeling being around Zedaph gives him. Warmth, like he's stood out in the sun (a feeling he can properly experience now), mixed with a singing joy. Zedaph's soul is beautiful. It might even make up for Impulse losing a month of work if he handed it in. The downside is it's so beautiful because of the person it belongs to.

Zedaph is funny. He's creative and never seems to stand still. There's a calendar on the wall with the month marked out, filled with all the things he wants to achieve. The elf is facing his impending death and he's going there grinning. Even worse, Impulse is beginning to enjoy being dragged around by the blond. He likes hearing what strange idea he's come up with, helping him build a farm or plot a prank. If it were any other situation, Impulse would like to be friends with him. But friends don't take each other's souls.

Tango, the cursed human who has an aura of Impulse's magic, is understandably standoffish. Impulse would say he feels the same, but if he's honest, he finds the human scary. First impressions count and Tango is willing to do anything for Zedaph. Even if that means imprisoning Impulse like he's some kind of object. Impulse is all too aware of it. They have a begrudging truce between them.

So Impulse tries not to let it sting when he sees how much Tango cares for Zedaph. Those quiet moments between the two of them, Tango brushing Zedaph's hair back whilst the elf sleeps, cooking each other's favourite meals, how he'll watch Zedaph when he isn't paying attention with a sad look in his eyes. Impulse wants somebody to care for him that way. Even worse, he's going to be the reason they're torn apart.

"Impulse!" Zedaph calls through the house, interrupting Impulse's thoughts. He doesn't move, curled up half-asleep on the sofa. Rushed footsteps come to a halt with a scrape. "Oh. He's asleep."

"Still surprises me that demons can." Tango's tone is drier. Impulse wills himself to stay still. Zedaph huffs, a sound he's becoming all too familiar with. The two seem to argue a lot at the moment. It doesn't appear to affect their friendship, but Impulse can feel the strain the situation is putting on them.

"Can you stop treating him like he's some kind of object already?" Zedaph sounds frustrated. Tango sighs.

"Zed, he's a demon. They're not good creatures." A quick thud.

"He's called Impulse, and I think you're being biased." The footsteps come closer. Impulse nearly jumps when a hand rubs through his hair. He reminds himself to breathe. "He's done nothing against us. I was the one who summoned him for the deal. Begged him, even. I don't know what happened between the two of you, but I think you need to reconsider your attitude." The drawn-out silence from Tango is telling.

"Fine," he finally answers. "But don't expect me to be happy about it."

Zedaph answers without pause, "I'm not." The hand brushes against his horn before withdrawing. "Did you see him when we went out to the park? It was like he'd never seen the sun before. And the ideas he comes up with. You'd love them if you ever bothered to listen." Zedaph sighs, moving away. "If things were different, I'd like to think we'd be friends."

"Yeah," Tango's voice is flat. "Unfortunately, they're not."

They aren't. But Impulse can't deny things change after that. He's sat at the table, sketching out plans for a redstone farm he'd never get to make with a book on it open beside him. Tango sits in the chair next to him. He asks what he's working on. Impulse answers. From this emerges a day-long project that they both work on, until they have a working farm and Zedaph is hugging both of them and proclaiming how cool it is.

Impulse doesn't think it's the 'if things were different' they were expecting, but it does the job.

They're two weeks in and Tango asks, "So how does your human form even work, then?" Impulse is reading a cookbook, but he places it on his chest. Zed has poked his head up from his sketches too.

"My disguise?" Impulse asks, waving his hand as he draws on it. The two have seen him use it a few times now. They seem to insist on dragging Impulse with them everywhere. Even if it's the shops.

"Yeah, like, where do your horns and tail even go, dude?" Tango points up at the now absent horns. "Are they still there? Could we bump them or?"

"It's kinda a mixture of magic," Impulse explains. "My eyes and teeth are just simple illusion magic. The horns and tail are a bit more complicated. They're still there, but not in this plane of existence. So like, just shuffled into a different one so most people can't see or touch them." Zedaph nods.

"I've heard about that," he says, turning to Tango as he explains. "It was used as a form of banishment within magical communities. They'd force you into a different plane, so you're still there but you can't interact with anything, and nobody can see you." Zedaph shakes his head at the thought, raising his shoulders in defence. "I'm glad people realise how cruel that is now."

"It's what a lot of demons use when asked to make things disappear," Impulse tells them. "The shift between planes is like second nature for us."

"So you could see things on different planes of existence?" Tango asks.

"If I wanted," Impulse answers honestly. There's no reason not to. "I don't often, though. A lot of things are hiding in those. They don't like being found."

Tango laughs, "How ominous."

"And pretty cool," Zedaph adds. It's the first time someone's called Impulse's powers 'cool'. He's surprised by the warmth it gives him.

They reach the third week. Impulse would've never said it before, but time feels like it's moving too fast. He doesn't want this month to end. He doesn't want to go back to being pushed around by other demons, spending all his time working to avoid punishment. How is he supposed to go back to taking souls knowing these are the people he could be taking them from?

The hushed conversation he caught between Tango and Zedaph keeps replaying in his mind.

"I don't want to lose you."

"I don't want to lose you either. But one of us is going to die. Even getting another month with you- that's enough for me."

At the start of the fourth week, Impulse has a complete breakdown. He shuts himself in the guest bedroom, sitting against the corner and cries like he hasn't since he was a newly born. He's not made for these kinds of moral decisions. He's been dragged into this and now it's all his fault. He's going to be the reason that the light fades from Zedaph until he's an empty shell. Why a friendship so strong is shattered. Why they both talk in gentle comforts at night as they face the inevitable.

His tears soak into the blanket beneath him, staining it black. The crying doesn't help. It doesn't solve anything. But if he has to stay in this situation without doing something he'd explode. Maybe this is his explosion. A fizzle into the night.

"Impy?" He bolts upright at Zedaph's voice, accompanied with a quiet knock.

"Yeah?" His voice cracks. He's pathetic. Clothing scrapes against the wood.

"Can I come in?" Impulse swallows, fists bunching up soft fabric. He releases one to wipe his eyes.

"Yeah- yeah, okay." The door opens, revealing the elf behind it. His ears droop as he sees Impulse and he's by his bed before the door manages to shut behind him.

"Oh, Impulse." Zedaph wraps his arms around him, pulling Impulse against his shoulder. Impulse has enough thought to vanish his horns, too afraid of scraping Zedaph by accident. "What's wrong? Please talk to me." Impulse shakes his head. Zedaph sighs, cradling him close. Impulse embraces the feeling of warm arms around him, how Zedaph's soul sings at their proximity. Zedaph simply holds him as Impulse cries, and that's all Impulse needs. And it's that realisation that has him speaking in an unsteady voice.

"I don't want to go back." Zedaph shuffles Impulse away to see his face, using his own sleeve to rub Impulse's damp cheeks.

"Go back to what, Imp?" Impulse looks into those bright purple eyes, filled with concern.

"What I was before." Being alone, he doesn't say. "I don't want to keep taking people's souls. I'm so tired of feeling like I won't be enough. I like this. I like it here." Zedaph tilts his head, one of his hands sliding down Impulse's arm.

"Do you have to go back?" Zedaph asks. Impulse pauses at the thought.

"I- I don't really know. I don't know what might happen if I don't go back." He really doesn't. Would the other demons even notice? Would they come after him? He has no idea. He's never heard of a demon... Leaving, before.

"Well, why don't you just stay here?" Zedaph asks. Impulse sits back, his brows drawing together in confusion.

"Stay here? But-"

"No buts!" Zedaph interrupts. "It's nice having you around and it's not like anybody else uses this room. What was the wording of your deal?"

"I stay here for a month for Tango to convince you to void the deal. If you don't change your mind by the end of the month, I'm free to go. If I leave before the month is up, Tango can summon me back and bind me into his service." He recites the deal automatically, eyes closing as he does. Every deal he's made is slotted away in his head somewhere, though this one is certainly closer to the front. When he opens his eyes again, he can see a hint of anger on Zedaph's face.

"I'm talking to him about that last bit," Zedaph mutters, before the anger leaves as quickly as it came. "But, it's right there in the deal. You're free to leave, not that you have to. You can stay if you wanted." Zedaph holds his hand up, moving it as he speaks. "And I'm not just saying that because you have my soul. I've made peace with my fate. I'm saying it because I've grown to think of you as a friend, and I like to see my friends happy."

"You've known me for three weeks."

"I've made friends in less time than that." Actually, Impulse doesn't doubt it. "You still have a week to go. Think about it, okay?" Impulse nods, relishing the smile that brings to Zedaph's face. "Good. Now c'mere." Zedaph pulls Impulse back into his arms. Impulse laughs, closing his eyes.

He certainly hears when Zedaph talks to Tango about it. He goes to bed early, meditating until he can't hear them anymore. They must make up after because they're fine the next time he sees them. Even if Tango shows more than a hint of guilt when he looks Impulse's way.

It takes another day until Tango brings it up. The two of them are sat at the same table they bonded over redstone.

"I'm sorry." Impulse looks up from his book, frowning.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Impulse. For threatening you and blackmailing you into this. It was wrong of me and you're a really cool dude. You didn't deserve that treatment."

"Thank you?" Impulse rests a finger on his page. "Did Zedaph put you up to this?" Tango sighs, sinking onto his palm.

"He strongly suggested I should, but no. I'm doing this because I was an ass, and I'm not going to ignore that anymore." Impulse smiles slightly.

"Just a bit," he replies. Tango seems surprised, and Impulse realises he's not really been playful with them before. Then Tango breaks into a grin.

"You know, I was going to say I wouldn't mind you sticking around. I take it all back now." Then, as if detecting Impulse's worry, he quickly adds, "That's a joke, by the way. I'd love it if you stuck around. Just like I know Zed would, because he hasn't shut up about it these past few days."

"He hasn't?" Impulse asks.

"Nope. He's super excited at the idea of a new roomie. We don't mind what you choose either way. I know I've treated you pretty badly. But, yeah. We'd both be happy if you stayed." Impulse nods. But he gives the same answer as he did to Zedaph.

"I'll think about it."

He does. He really really does. It's all he can think about as the days move far too fast until they reach the evening the deal comes to an end. Impulse can feel the magic buzzing in the air. He thinks the other two can as well. Zedaph is fairly attuned to magic, though he admits it's easier when Impulse is close by. Whereas Tango is involved in the deal. The air is thick with the stuff. Magic. Magic and tension. 

They cook together that evening. The food here is far better than what's in his dimension. Zedaph and Tango have two very different styles of cooking that seem to blend somewhere in the middle. Impulse wishes he knew how to cook better, but he's happy learning from them. They seem to enjoy teaching him, too, if Zedaph's bouncing is anything to go by. All cooked, they settle by the fire, plates balanced on their laps. Zedaph has burrowed under a blanket.

Impulse can't look at either of them when he asks, "You really wouldn't mind if I stayed?" He can feel them watching him.

"No, why would we?" Zedaph leans forward, nearly straight into his food. "You've been a better housemate then Tango is."

"Hey!" Impulse looks up to see Tango crossing his arms.

"He does the washing up," Zedaph replies.

"So do I!"

"Once I bully you into it."

Impulse smiles, "You really mean it?"

"We're more than happy for you to live with us. Hey, we'll put you on the deed for the house if that's what it takes." Tango leans on the arm of his chair towards him.

"Yeah. I think that'd be nice," Impulse can't help but tease a bit.

"Do we even have the documents for this place?" Zedaph asks.

"I have no idea." Tango shrugs. "But Impulse is living with us either way now."

"And he's adopting your sense of humour." Zedaph sighs, falling over the back of the sofa, an arm over his forehead. "Outnumbered in my own home."

"Our home." Tango smiles at Impulse.

"Yep," Impulse agrees. "Our home now."

It's not until later that night, as they head to their rooms, that Zedaph wraps his arms around Impulse just like he did the first time he summoned him. This time, Impulse hugs him back just as tight.

"You know, if I could still cry, I probably would," Tango tells him. He wraps his arms around them both.

"That's 'cause you're a sap," Zedaph murmurs from Impulse's hair as if he isn't crying himself.

"Only for my friends," Tango replies. Impulse laughs, ready to start crying too.

"Yeah." He tugs the two closer. "Wow, I’ve made friends."

"You're stuck with us," Zedaph tells him brightly.

"Not literally," Tango amends.

Impulse shakes his head, his smile hurting his jaw, "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

They wake up in the morning in the same house. The world doesn't end. Nobody's bashing at their door.

Impulse stays with his friends.

[polar534]

Slumber Party... OF DOOM!

So. Here is my submission for @johnnysfire ‘s TOH Prompt challenge. For anyone who doesn’t know the prompt chosen was “Evil.”

I asked my lovely friends from discord whether I should go emotional or lighthearted with this and they said lighthearted, so here we are. It was actually really really fun to take a topic like evil and twist it to something fun and hopefully fluffy. I had to keep a lot of things shorter then what I would’ve liked to meet the word count (spoiler alert, I still went a little over), so one day I do plan on fixing this up and making it an actual one shot, detailing the game and everything. Until then, enjoy the read! My idea going in? 

Haunted Boardgame:

(EDIT: Um so Tumblr ate and spat out some paragraphs at random the first time I posted... so hopefully everything is in its correct order. Yikes.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Pillows?" 

"Check."

"Blankets."

"Check!"

"Hot chocolate?"

3 sets of eyes turned to the green-haired witch sitting in the corner. Amity Blight was currently too busy staring at the glow that inexplicably seemed to surround Luz as she sounded off the ingredients for her perfect 'Slumber Party' to notice her companions all staring at her.

"..."

Amity's eyes shifted only slightly to the left as her ear twitched, finally noticing the silence and the fact that everyone was staring at her.

Wait.

Everyone was staring at her.

"Oh um..." Amity looked around panicked, flushing red as she realized she had completely zoned out. She quickly analyzed the scene. Willow had wrapped a fluffy blanket around herself as Gus clutched a pillow excitedly to his chest.

Right. The checklist. Refusing to look at Luz (to avoid any further embarrassment or lapses in attention), Amity quickly reached out and snatched her sound-off item. Only barely remembering what it was at the last moment, Amity somehow saved herself from the splash of scalding liquid that flew out of her mug.

"Hot chocolate, acquired!" She grinned forcibly and altogether too nervously.

Finally risking a glance up to her crush she realized that Luz was giggling, the human's eyes closed as she snicked softly against her hands.

Amity's ears pressed flat against her head as Willow chuckled to her left.

"Well that would be Amity for 'check.'" The plant witch giggled, shifting her body to face Luz excitedly. "So. What happens now?"

"Yes, what new human traditions are you going to show us? I'm so excited!!" Gus squeaked happily, crushing the pillow in arms.

Luz grinned. "Just a little more patience my friend. We've got to start this off correctly. So… if everyone would grab their cocoa, probably a little more gentler then Amity over there, then I'll begin the toast to make this the best slumber party ev-"

THUMP THUMP

Luz stopped short as all those in attendance whipped around to face the door. Amity was finally able to unhunch her shoulders and stare with the rest of her friends at the mysterious knock at the door. The human was inquisitive herself.

"Luz, I thought you said there was supposed to be no one home tonight?" Amity questioned her curiously, cocking her head slightly to the side.

Luz's brow furrowed as she got up.

"There isn't anyone home tonight."

The entire room seemed to hold it's breath as Luz approached the door and pausing for what had to be dramatic effect, opened it sharply.

"HAH! GOT YOU… absolutely nothing…"

Amity peered around Luz's body to see exactly what was going on only to be met with the same sight and disappointment. An empty hallway.

Glancing both ways in the doorframe, the human shrugged nonchalantly as she went to close the door.

"Wait!" Gus cried from behind all of them. Flinging the pillow away from him and into Willow's stomach, he jumped up and dived underneath Luz to swipe something up from the ground.

Holding it proudly over his head both him and Luz marched back into the room, the bedroom door closing softly behind them. Willow and Amity leaned in close as Gus dropped the mysterious object to the ground with a soft and dramatic thump.

"What… is it?" Willow asked curiously, inspecting what looked to be a black rectangular box that lay before them.

"Is this part of the slumber party?" Gus asked curiously as Luz picked up the box and gave it a small shake.

"Not that I'm aware of. Let's open it!" The human said excitably, turning the box over to rip it open.

"Wait!" Amity yelped, grabbing Luz by the arm to stop her. Realizing what she was doing, Amity immediately dropped the contact, blushing profusely as she pointed to a small piece of paper that had fluttered to the ground.

"A note!!" Luz's eyes twinkled, causing the blushing witch to somehow go even redder. "Amity, you should read it for us!"

"What?!" Amity choked in surprise. "Why me?!"

"You found it! Besides you have a nice voice!" Luz explained casually, shaking the box slightly and holding it up to her ear.

Amity found it difficult to breathe as she shakily grabbed the note and held it in front of her, Willow and Gus scooting forward in excitement. Trying to ignore the thundering of her heartbeat in her chest and the full attention of the room, Amity glanced down at the note.

"Dear Sleeping Party attendants! You have been called upon to vanquish the evil from within this board! Inside you'll find what seems to be a normal board game, but is actually a prison for a very powerful and evil spirit! The only way to keep it's villainy contained is to play and win the game. The world is counting on you. Good luck! Mwehehehehehe."

Amity frowned and reread the note to herself. The world? That seemed farfetched to say the least. Where did this box even come from? Who sent it to them? Looking up Amity saw the stars dancing in Luz's eyes. Her crush was sold. Gus was practically buzzing beside her.

"I've heard of objects that could be bound with spirits before, but never like this!" He babbled excitedly.

"I have! You know how many human stories are filled with things like this? How long I've been wanting to do this?!" Luz grinned, finally figuring out how to open the box.

As the top lid slid off, a cheap and busted old board fell to the ground with a cloud of dust. Flipping the box over, a pile of cards, dice and one rather large hour glass spilled out as Luz gave it one final shake. Willow automatically went to organize everything and flipping the board over Amity saw a long and complicated maze pattern. The entire board seemed to be black, with the path cutting along through it a dull, brownish red. It seemed like each square had one of 3 icons sprinkled randomly throughout. In the very, very center of the board there was some sort of design. Amity reached forward and brushed the dust and dirt away from it as Luz and Gus talked excitedly above her.

The chatter quickly faded as everyone's eyes slid to the symbol that Amity had just uncovered. It was carved into the board itself, the deep grooves of the design painted in a faded and chipped white. Luz stared curiously while Gus, Willow and Amity all exchanged a concerned look. The design was simple, a small circle, with 4 tight loops surrounding it in all 4 cardinal directions, connecting in a diamond pattern in the very center of the circle.

The Witch's Knot.

Luz looked up at the plant witch curiously, one eyebrow raised as Amity swallowed the lump that was quickly growing in her throat.

"Oooh. That's elegant." Luz cooed.

"It's not elegant Luz…" Willow breathed quietly.

"That's," Amity pointed at the symbol, "a witch's knot. It's a symbol used to ward off evil."

Luz turned her head down to the board game and nodded. "Oh I get it, because of the evviiiilll theme this game has going on right?" She chuckled lightheartedly. When no one responded in kind, the human became quiet, her grin slowly slipping off her face.

"No. You don't understand. The Witch's Knot isn't just some superstition or tradition. In the Boiling Isles it had been used as a spell, carved to literally seal away evil. It hasn't been used in centuries though." Amity explained further, staring at the ancient white symbol. A cold feeling crept up her back.

Maybe there really was something to this game.

"Well, that makes what I'm about to say next, something that I have wanted to say forever by the way, a little more somber…" Luz gulped as she grabbed the dice Willow had set aside. The human tossed them into the air, and as they all watched the cubes crash down, she spoke again.

"Let the game… begin."

***

Despite the incredibly dramatic and powerful gesture, Luz had no idea how to play the game, none of them did. Luckily for the companions, Willow eventually found the directions taped to the inside lid of the box Luz had tossed aside. They were scribbled out in child-like handwriting but they were detailed enough to understand:

- Rolling the dice will move your character that many steps forward. On the board there are 3 different symbols. These represent your obstacles, fail to complete them and you lose your life. The only way to reverse this death is for a living player to revive you by taking a detour off the fastest route. Be warned, choosing this path will waste precious time and you will be risking your own life. You may only revive one player per game.

- Each player must choose a small token to represent themselves on the board. You will work together with those around you to overcome each obstacle in your path to the sigil. The goal is to reach the end with at least one player still standing to revive the The Witch's Knot protecting us from the evil.

- You may not begin the game until you have flipped the hour glass. If the last grain drains from the timer and you have not reached the end, evil will be unleashed.

-The Board itself is enchanted to tell if the players are worthy. It will be the judge and jury for the challenges you complete.

[ ~ ] Draw a blue card and cast the correct type of magic listed on it at the board. If you fail to cast the correct spell you lose your life.

Below are the symbols you will encounter on your quest:

[ + ] Draw a pink card and complete the challenge listed upon it. If you fail to meet this challenge you lose your life.

[ * ] Draw a green card. Answer the question on it correctly to move forward. If you get it wrong you lose your life.

Now having read through the rules, everyone seemed a lot more hesitant to start.

- When your token reaches the end, the correct lines to reseal the evil will appear. Read them aloud in a strong and clear voice.

"This seems like a bad idea." Amity echoed the thoughts of everyone in the room. Her amber eyes flicked up and caught Luz's warm brown ones. The human gave her a shaky smile.

"Come on Ami," Amity had to remind herself to keep breathing at the idea of her nickname. "It will be fun. Besides… I'm not exactly itching to find out what happens if we don't play." The human admitted quietly. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the dice.

They had all chose board pieces to represent themselves from Luz's large collection of knickknacks. Luz was a small figure of Azura while Amity was Hecate. Gus found himself a tiny rubber chameleon toy while Willow fittingly found a small plastic flower. Each kid seemed to fidget with their tokens as Luz looked at them each in turn. Nodding, the human set her figure down on the start square. Immediately a buzzing sound filled the room and the dull red path illuminated itself. The symbols now glowed their respective card color.

"Well. That seems ominous." Luz laughed nervously, her eyes growing wide as the light from the path traveled towards the Witch's Knot, as it reached the chipped white paint, the symbol flashed, changing it's paint to a bright angry red. "Scratch that. That is just ominous. Is my soul about to be consumed? Did I just sell my soul to a board game?"

Willow set her piece down next, a small ring of light forming around it as the board recognized yet another player.

"Well, I wasn't really using my soul for anything important at the moment. Let's do this." The plant witch grinned and Amity watched as Luz's confidence swiftly returned.

Gus whooped and set his own piece on the board earning him a wide smile from both of his friends. Soon all sets of eyes drifted to Amity who was staring down at the note that had been originally taped to the box. She couldn't shake the horrible suspicion that someone was setting them up. Looking down at the now glowing and obviously magic board, it was clear they were already too far into the trap to back out now. Taking a deep breath she placed Hecate down right next to Azura.

"Alright. Let's do this." Amity nodded, swiftly grabbing the hour glass sitting next to her. "Is uh, everyone ready?"

"Oooh! Can I say it? Amity pleaaaseeee?" Luz jumped in suddenly, startling the green-haired witch into nearly dropping the time piece. Resetting her heartbeat, Amity handed the hourglass to Luz who grinned widely.

"Alright. This time for real. Let the game begin." The human announced as she flipped it and begun their countdown.

The dice magically floated over to Luz as soon as the first grain of sand hit the bottom of the glass. It was clear who was going first. Tossing them out in front of her Luz rolled a 3 and 5. As she reached to move her figure, it zoomed away from her hand, darting forward 8 spaces by itself. The symbol beneath it glowed a bright pink. A challenge space.

Luz grabbed a card, and the race against time began.

Gus was the first to die, his token being swallowed by the board itself after he lost his balance 2 seconds into a 5 second handstand.

Amity was the next to lose to the game. Her concentration on a fireball spell having been completely shattered by Luz's supportive hand laying on her shoulder. Amity knew it wasn't her simply being startled like Luz apologized profusely for, but there was NO way she would be explaining that today. Not over a stupid board game at least. Fate of the world or not.  

Luz and Willow were about 3/4th through the path leading to the sigil when just a few spaces ahead the path split in two. Written in very faint lettering was the words: "Forest of Revival" by the detour path. Looking down it, the companions saw every single square through the 'forest' was lined with knowledge cards. The path itself eventually weaved back to the sigil, but was easily twice as long and packed with symbols.

If they wanted to revive someone it would be a struggle. Deciding to move forward Willow rolled her dice and landed on a spell square.

"Summon a small abomination to pick up your token off the board."

The group fell silent. Willow had never been good at abominations. She slumped in defeat.

Amity had to speak up, the painful memory of her teasing hanging over the entire room.

"You've got this." She said quietly, looking anywhere but Willow.

Luz's eyes flicked worriedly towards Amity, before they turned back to Willow.

"Amity's right. I've seen you do much cooler then a little abomination." Luz cheered helpfully.

"Thanks you two, but I think we both know what happens now." Willow admitted holding a hand up and drawing a pristine circle.

The resulting pile of barely sentient goop unsurprisingly earned a negative reaction from the board and Willow's token disappeared.

Luz wasted no time grabbing the dice for the next turn. They only had about 20 minutes left.

"I'm going to revive someone." She announced, rolling the dice and moving her token into the empty space before the forest.

"Wait, Luz! The forest is full of knowledge checks. Chances are you're going to get something you haven't learned yet. And we won't be able to help you." Amity spoke up quickly.

"Yeah, well you can't really help me if you all are dead right? Look. I'll be fine. There's 12 spaces to the revive square. If I roll double sixes, I'm there."

"That's a pretty big IF Luz..." Willow said worriedly, glancing over at the hourglass.

Turns out they didn't have to be worried at all. As double sixes appeared on the dice, Azura shot forward safely through the forest and landed directly on the revive square.

"I'm reviving Amity." Luz announced decisively as the square began to glow a bright yellow and Hecate appeared beside Azura.

"Me? Why?"

"Because statistically you are the most obvious choice. Top Student and well versed in multiple different magic tracks." Gus nodded, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Good choice Luz!"

Willow merely looked away in shame and Amity felt guilt twist at her heart.

"Well that's not exactly true, but I figure since all of us are always getting up to magic mischief that Amity should get to be a bigger part of this adventure. Plus, historically we have made a pretty good team." Luz beamed, somehow melting the tension of the entire room with her words.

She practically melted Amity face too as heat rushed to the witch’s cheeks at the compliment.

They resumed the game, getting further and further through the forest. As the sand ran down in the hour glass, Hecate and Azura inched closer towards the sigil and the evil within the board.

"1234...5...6... and 7. Nice! Just enough!!" Luz counted excitedly as the board moved her token into the final square before the Witch's Knot. She glanced worriedly at Amity who was still several spaces away and then at the hour glass with just a sliver of sand left.

They were running out of time.

Luckily the board seemed to recognize Luz's finish as a team victory and Hecate was pulled straight to the end, standing alongside her friend/rival Azura.

Two white cards appeared in front of Luz and Amity.

"Ok. So... now we just read whatever's on this card and the evil gets re-sealed?" Luz asked uncertainly, fidgeting with her card.

Amity simply stared at the white card still laying in front of her, dread building in her chest. If there was ever a time for the trap to spring... it would be now. Haunted objects like this often came with a curse, especially here in the Boiling Isles. The ancient symbol currently pulsating red in the center of the board reminded Amity that there was a chance that whatever 'evil' this board contained may be far too old and powerful to simply be sealed away by two witches in training...

"Yep. And hurry! There's not much time left!" Gus's panicked voice jolted Amity out of her thoughts. Taking a deep breath, Amity snatched the card up and flipped it over, almost completely in sync with Luz.

"To defeat the evil within in this board, I hereby announce that-" The two read off in unison.

"... King is the greatest of all time."

"... Luz is a buttface."

The entire room fell silent as the two finished the 'spell' causing the Witch's Knot in the middle to flash a bright, blinding blue before the entire board went dim.

From the doorway the companions could all hear a malicious cackling.

Amity turned around slowly, only to see the resident demon of the Owl House rolling around on his back, laughing.

"YOU SHOULD'VE SEEN YOUR FACES! Oooooh. Oh nooooo! The evil of the board is going to get usssss. Wheeeeheheehehe."

"King!!" Luz reprimanded angrily, but the smile on her face gave away her true feelings. "You know, if you wanted us to play a board game you made, you could've just asked!"

The little demon pushed himself off the floor and wiped his eyes. He walked to the center of the board and kicked over the hourglass, seconds away from running out of sand.

"Psssh. Like I'd want to be involved in your silly little 'Sleep Party' thing anyways. Not that I got an invite or anything..." King grumbled.

Amity felt bad for the little guy, even if the game had them all stressed over nothing, he just wanted to feel included. Reaching forward hesitantly, knowing she didn't have the best relationship with the demon, Amity gently scooped him into her arms and coddled him.

And to both of their surprise, The King of Demons let her.

"Besides, it's not my game anyways. I just wrote those last two cards." King continued, crossing his arms defiantly from his position in Amity's arms.

Luz frowned. "But if you didn't make it then... who did?"

"I don't know. Eda just had it laying around. I found it a couple of days ago and planned this spectacular and amazing prank to pull on you guys for not inviting me. And it workkkeedd! Hah!"

Amity tensed. Nobody knew who made it? A board this enchanted had to have been made by someone.

"No, that's not right. There has to be some sort of clue, right?" Luz frowned, looking around at her friends.

"I don't know, I didn't look." The demon king shrugged before stretching out and curling tightly into Amity's chest.

"Try flipping it over? Maybe there's a name or something. That's what my dad's always do to our stuff in case it gets lost." Willow suggested helpfully.

Everyone nodded as Luz tentatively reached over and flipped the board over. On the back, faintly scratched into the cheap cardboard, were two initials and a small inscription. They had found their answer.

L + E - Vanquishing evil together. Forever.

The End

[roscoe-dream]

End of the Line [ 1 ] || Stiles Stilinski

A/N: this takes place during season 6A, when Stiles is taken by the Ghost Riders. a STYDIA SCENE TURNED INTO AN STILES x READER SCENE. also, italicized text symbolizes memory.

word count: 2,426

WARNINGS: i’d say none, but some might consider angst? I don’t know how this works yet.

Inspired by this song. Highly recommended you listen on repeat while reading!

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀* * *

Your heart ached as you walked through the doors. It wasn't an aching that you'd get from seeing a sad scene in a movie or seeing someone cry in public — it’s the feeling you get when you lose someone. You felt like you lost someone.

You felt lost. And you didn't know why.

Frantic. You were so frantic, tears welling in your eyes as you scanned the parking lot of Beacon Hills High School in search of your hazel-eyed best friend.

"Y/N?"

You heard him call out for you, and in that moment you didn't care if you tripped over your own two feet to get to him. You did what it took to get to him as fast you could.

The wind was picking up. The golden brown autumn leaves that tumbled from the trees were being blown by the harsh wind, your hair being whipped around your face. You didn't care. You only cared about him, only cared about being in his arms.

"You know me. Oh, thank God." He panted, hurrying you into his strong embrace. You were speechless, heart racing at the thought of being too late before he was taken. Clinging to his body, your  fists clenching into his flannel shirt.

"I know you." You managed to squeak out, mind feeling hazy.

You knew him. But it began to feel like you didn't.

Your eyes screwed shut, and you hissed in pain at the sudden pounding to your temples. Instinctively, you held your head, ignoring the stares you were given by fellow peers as your slowed your walking in the hallway.

And just as quick as it came, the headache was gone. Your eyes sprung open, and you let your gaze travel through the sea of students. Fingers tingling as well as the tip of your tongue, and you couldn't explain why. Someone was supposed to be here. But where were they?

With your brows furrowed, a look of determination settled nicely on your features. You pushed your way through the bodies, but not without looking at each one of their faces in hopes of easing the longing feeling that was only growing in the pit of your stomach.

"I think everyone else is forgetting."

Your words were weary, tears leaking from your eyes and trailing down your cheeks. Bottom lip wobbling as your grip on his flannel shirt only tightened.

The sight of you this way broke his heart, and you could see it in his whiskey colored eyes.

'Those eyes, how could I forget them?' You thought. But little did you know it was already slipping your mind.

He opened his mouth to give you as many comforting words he could before his time was up, but it was too late.

The wind picked up gradually, cold air nipping at both of your skin causing your cheeks to flush. Your clothes flapping against your body as your hair attempted to block your vision of him. So you tied it up.

Although it was blind to your eyes, it wasn't to his. He froze in your arms, a panicked look taking over his beautiful features as his eyes darted around in front of him. You could feel his breathing picking up as you held him, which caused yours to do the same.

"What is it?" You asked, no matter how badly you didn't want to ask the question — you did.

"Do you see them?" Was all he asked, his arms slipping from their hold on you as he slowly stepped back.

You took this time to look around you, only to see the dimly lit parking lot with a few cars in it. "See what?"

He whimpered at your response, and you watched as tears filled his eyes. Taking a step toward you, his large hand clasped around your wrist, gently tugging you in his direction and away from the men on the horses that only he saw. His eyes weren't on you, they were on something ahead of you — they were on them.

"Stiles," You swallowed thickly, slowly pulling your eyes away from the empty lot to his fear stricken face. "If you can see them, they're gonna.."

You couldn't finish. You didn't want to, because you knew if you did, the truth would become even more real than it already has.

Stiles finally tore his eyes away from the Ghost Riders that slowly gathered in front of the two of you, grabbing onto both of your arms firmly.

"No, I know. I know. They're coming for me."

Headache again, but what was the trigger?

You stopped in the middle of the hallway, wincing at the harsh pounding in your head. It felt as though the back of your head was being whacked with a metal bat and you couldn't get it to settle or stop.

Looking around again, nobody seemed to give you the wave of familiarity you were yearning for.

You began to grow frustrated with yourself. Why couldn't you remember who you were looking for? They must've been way too important to forget if your body is aching to find them.

But you can't fulfill your own needs.

Why? Because you don't even know who you were looking for anymore.

"You have to get away from me. Right now, okay?"

You felt your pulse begin to quicken as the hairs on your arms and back of your neck began to rise. They were here, they were close. You could feel them, but you couldn't see them.

Shaking your head at him, Stiles scoffed. Now wasn't the time to be stubborn, so he let it go. "Alright, come on. Come on!"

He began to drag you off in the direction away from the school's doors, and you didn't even care about the fact that he was pulling you so carelessly, you were tripping over your own two feet. You needed to get away.

You crashed into Stiles' body as he stopped abruptly, him seeing a single Ghost Rider at the end of the path. "This way, this way, come on." Just like that, he was pulling you back in the direction you came.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!" He shouted, skidding into another stop.

The tears rolling down your face were relentless, looking in multiple directions, but seeing absolutely nothing. Unlike Stiles, who had every reason to be afraid, but all he was worried about was you.

"Stiles!" You finally broke, a sob escaping your lips as you let him drag you around through the parking lot in attempt to escape. "Stiles, where are they?" You whimpered, huddling your body as close to his as possible.

He slowed his movements, panting breaths with eyes full of fear and panic as he looked around you both.

"They're everywhere."

The headaches you were beginning to feel made you feel numb. It hurt that much.

Heading to your locker, you raised your shaky hands to the combination lock that rested there, swirling in the combination.

You've never had headaches or migraines this severe, or repeatedly in one day. You never thought to keep spare Advil in your bag or locker. Glancing at the clock posted on one of the walls in the hallway, you let out a sigh of relief at the sight of having a little more than 10 minutes until class started.

'Maybe the headaches would die down by then,' you thought to yourself, rummaging through your locker to put away larger textbooks only to replace them with the needed ones.

Your locker slammed shut, and you clamped the combination lock back together. Almost immediately, you turned your head to look across the emptier hallway. You looked at the set of lockers across the hall expectantly, but soon made a face of confusion. The action was almost an instinct, but nobody you knew was over there, you were met with an empty set of lockers.

"Don't look at them, Y/N, okay?"

Stiles was booking it to his powder blue jeep, hand latched with yours as he struggled to get the keys out of his back pocket. Neither of you skipped a beat when throwing yourselves into the front seats, hands reattaching almost immediately.

"Don't try to scream, they'll take you too. Do not look at them." He ordered, both of you jumping at the loud crack of lightening in the sky. However to Stiles, it was the whip of a Ghost Rider.

You shook your head rapidly. "I won't, I won't!" you assured him, heart lurching in your chest as you watched the car keys slip from his shaking grasp.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as Stiles' hurried movements stopped, and instead of starting the ignition and driving out of here, he let his hand fall into his lap. "What are you doing? We need to get out of here!" You yelped, feeling your heart stop all together.

"There's no time." Was all he said.

He turned his body to face yours, using both hands to grab onto yours with need. "Y/N, I'm going to be erased, okay? Just like Alex. You're gonna forget me."

Alex. A name you didn't recognize. You knew it was the effects of the Ghost Riders, and didn't suppress the sob that left your mouth.

"No. No, I won't! I won't. I won't." You promised, your sobs escaping at every chance they could.

The only reason why you were sobbing as bad as you were, was because you were making a promise you couldn't keep. As you stared into the beautiful whiskey eyes of your best friend, as welcoming and calming as they were, they were beginning to look unfamiliar to you.

Stiles shushed your mumbles of promises by placing his larger hands on your face, cupping your cheeks. "You will." He whispered calmly, tears rolling down his own freckled cheeks as he gave you a small smile. "Just try to find some way to remember me, okay?"

Remember.

Your bottom lip trembled as you desperately grabbed onto his hands, your eyes never moving to look at anything but his own.

"Remember how you were the first person to know my real name?" He chuckled, eyes lighting up slightly at the sight of you giving him a breathless laugh at the hazy memory, soon followed by a sniffle.

Remember.

"Remember how you always liked to hold my hand in the hallways so you wouldn't get trampled, just like I'll always remember how you smile at me across the hallway from your locker." He spoke, words trembling while using the pads of his thumbs to wipe away to new set of tears.

You wept as you leaned into his slightly familiar hands, fighting with yourself to remember, but cried when you were only given a slight hazy vision.

You were forgetting.

Stiles tore his gaze away from yours quickly, before reconnecting them and sniffling. "Remember how you were the only person I talked to about my mom, Y/N. I trust you with my life." He breathed out, leaning his forehead against yours as his eyes shut.

"And I trust you with mine." You let out weakly, eyes closing as you savored the touch that, for some reason, brought you so much comfort.

Remember.

He pulled away slowly, peeling his eyes opened and you gasped. You didn't know those eyes, not one bit.

Stiles' heart shattered at the fact, he could see the scared look on your face clearly. Readjusting his grip on your face, he licked his lips nervously before speaking again."Remember... Remember that I've been in love with you since the beginning of our friendship, and that I didn't even realize until middle school." He chuckled humorlessly, swiping at the few stray tears that sprung from your eyes.

Remember.

You shook your head in his hold, the faint memories of your blossoming friendship since diapers flashing before your eyes. "Stiles." You wailed, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth to silence your cries.

The boy's eyes flickered past you, his heart stopping at the sight of a Ghost Rider just outside your window. He released a steady breath, leaning into your face.

"And remember this."

He whispered, and before you could ask, his lips were planted on yours.

Tears rolled down each of your cheeks, merging together in the places your faces were touching. It was a whole new set of waterworks, because as he kissed you, you could feel the distant wanting of this moment. However, it was crowded by the overwhelming feeling of unfamiliarity.

You pulled away, a ghost of a smile on your lips as you stared into a pair of beautiful whiskey eyes.

Remember.

The moment didn't last long at all.

Time seemed like it slowed instantly in this moment, but it hadn't at all — in fact, it happened way too quick for you to comprehend.

The door to Stiles' side opened by a large gust of wind, a Ghost Rider, and he was dragged out. You screamed, at an octave that would put a banshee to shame. Reaching out for the boy that was pulled out of the car by the wind, you choked on a sob when he disappeared with a crack of lighting.

Your arms wrapped around yourself as you pushed your body into the jeep at was slowly beginning to fade from your memory, the only word leaving your lips being 'Remember.'

You jumped at the feeling of a hand being placed on your arm, snapping out your daze to meet the concerned looks of Scott, Malia, and Lydia.

"You alright?" Scott asked softly, taking a step closer to get a good look at your face after getting a whiff of your anxious aroma.

As Scott stepped forward, Malia did too, inspecting your face with her naturally gruff expression. "People were looking at you stupid for staring at the lockers across the hall. Who are you looking for?" She asked bluntly, letting out a yelp from the whack on the arm she received from Lydia.

Despite how blunt her words were, you looked at her as tears filled your eyes. Her hard gaze softened almost immediately, feeling guilty as she thought what she said hurt your feelings.

But that wasn't it, not at all. It was the multiple painful headaches you got just from being at school for 10 minutes. It was the longing feeling you had in the pit of your stomach, the anxiousness you felt walking through the hallways because you were supposed to be with someone. You were looking for someone, but —

"I, um.. I can't remember."

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Reading Area #1 (1/18/2021)

Click here if you’re like “What the heck is this about?”

Valera @autokrates joins Kyxs @usedhearts while reading in the library and pulls out some tea. They hang out and chat about, among other things, Kyxs's death, magic, weird inhuman reproduction, and alien/infernal politics.

Kyxs

Books always attracted him, like a fly to honey, and so it's no wonder that he finally ends up in the library. Most of the volumes on the shelves, he couldn't even read the titles of, but he'd found a nice sci-fi novel in a shelf and sat down with that, just casually flipping through it and skimming.

Valera

Hope Kyxs didn't think he'd get alone time, even in an estate big enough to get lost in. Here comes Valera, a leather bound alien text shoved under one arm, the other holding an oversized mug of tea. To their credit, they offer a little murbling trill in greeting before taking a seat across the way from him in a piled up coil of tail and armchair cushions hidden under a throw blanket. Ohoho, this fish is ready to get COZY.

Kyxs

He looked up with a blink when she entered, but smiled her way. He slowly shut his book and held it in his lap.

"Hey, Val, haven't had a chance to see you yet, nor a chance to thank you for inviting me along. This--" He gestured around them. "Is way better than being in a bunker waiting things out. I'm having a blast."

Valera

"So I can imagine!" They grin, then cock their head to the side and rearrange themselves so they can lean in to get a closer look at their guest.

"Extermination day is your..." Ahem. "*Death Day,* right?" They sound it out carefully, a clear division between two words that didn't belong together in their mind. "Happy Death Day, Kyxs. I hope you've been able to enjoy this one more than the last."

Kyxs

He chuckled, giving a nod. "It is, and thanks. Yeah, usually I have a drink of whiskey with Alastor and listen to the radio waves through the extermination and that's all. Having mixed drinks with my boyfriend and hanging out on a beach side island mansion? Maaaajor upgrade."

Kyxs laughed a little more. "So, still weird to know that we're all dead humans, huh?"

Valera

"Very." They snort, turning to put their tea on the end table next to their chair. "I've seen plenty of humans die, but not as many start walking and talking in new form right afterwards."

They tap the edge of their book, humming as they watch him. "I'm glad I could provide a change of pace for you and yours. I almost didn't offer! I thought it might be too forward with how little we actually know each other, and I'm a TERRIBLE judge on how humans or ex-humans will respond to... Anything, honestly."

Kyxs

"Well, I'm glad you did." He shrugged a bit, leaning his elbow on the arm of his chair.

"Y'know what the worst part of arriving in Hell is? The drop. One minute, you're dying peacefully, and then next--" They lift a hand, making a motion with a finger like something falling. A cartoon sound effect of falling and then a comedic smacking sound play on the air. It's as smooch as any Alastor's effects, but it's clear he's been practicing with the noises.

"You're falling and splatting on the ground. I had the unlucky fortune to do that a few scant minutes before the Extermination kicked off for that year, and as jarring as it is to just fall in, falling in on Extermination day is worse."

Valera

A frown. "I'm surprised you survived. Well, I mean.."  A dip of the head. "You *didn't*, obviously. But you didn't *double* die. How did

freshly fallen sinner not immediately get exterminated? You'd have been a walking target!"

Kyxs

"Simple: Alastor. He was waiting for me when I dropped in, immediately got me up and rushed me to a bunker. Didn't even ask anything of me until after the Extermination." He shrugged a bit.

"Without him, I'd have been double dead for sure."

Valera

"Ah. Must have been a fan of your work." They're just going to take a sip of their tea, don't mind them. They know you, sad radio boy.

Kyxs

His mouth snapped shut, but his expression is a familiar static smile. Kyxs takes a moment to blink and then take a breath, relaxing. He just had to remind himself that they were an alien, maybe they wouldn't judge him like other humans would?

"....Yeah. He was. He followed me, listening in via the radios around me, watching what I was doing. Said he liked my style, but that I could have more flair, more power. Offered to teach me, if I worked for him in exchange. I took the deal." He tries his best to act casual, but his next shrug is a little too stiff.

Valera

They watch him stiffen up, and roll their eyes at his carefully manufactured casual mannerisms. "Here's a little tip from your local theater major, kid. Alastor can get away with the stiffly smiling puppet man act because that's how he *always* is. If you flip the switch on suddenly, everyone is going to notice and be on edge."

Ssssip. Mm, good tea. "Anyway. Making a Deal with Alastor was stupid, obviously, but I'm glad it's working out."

Kyxs

He sighed. "I know, I'm working on it. I only have high school theater to rely on." He laughed, crossing his legs.

"Eh, not as stupid as some people might think. Alastor's actually reasonable, mostly. If he respects you, which I was fortunate enough to earn by my actions in life. He'll give you good terms then, but if you're an idiot and act like one around him, well..." He trailed off and shrugged.

Valera

"Earning his respect doesn't seem that hard... Unless you also want him to fear you just a bit." They grin, all teeth.

"Not that I'd know. I have *no* idea if any Alastors out there respect me. But I do have things they want, and that's good enough. The only ones I make deals with are the ones I know have a vested interest in my survival."

Kyxs

"I don't know about that, there's not much Alastor fears." He took a breath, his hand playing with the pages of the shut book on his lap.

"Which ones are vested in your survival? Or are you not allowed to say?"

Valera

"I disagree MOST heartily, dear boy! There's plenty he fears. But if you haven't figured out what yet, I'm certainly not going to tell you and ruin his fun!" They crack their book open, setting it in their lap as they tug the throw up over their shoulders. Hoohoo cozy time.

"I could tell you specifics, but I wouldn't benefit from you knowing. Suffice to say, the ones that like going to Earth for visits or ingredients make an effort to keep in my good graces. Free rides are hard to come by."

Kyxs

He nodded. "True, I don't know much about what other Alastors fear, only the one I know. Who can say which ones of them have the same fears?"

He leaned over, tilting his head to try and get a peek at her book. "What're you reading?"

Valera

A few seconds of watching him crane his neck, and they obligingly turn the book sideways so he can see text he absolutely can't understand. It was reflex, don't question it too much.

"This? Nothing special, really. It's a book on chronomancy, time manipulation and the like. This one is about creating pockets of reality where time is dilated. Not terribly useful to me, but I like to study the basics of anything I can."

Kyxs

She was right, he could't read it, but he enjoyed being able to see the script, it looked nice. That explination flew over his head, though, and he blinked. "Soooo, time travel? What's.....time dilation?"

Valera

"Time dilation is.." They pull the book back, brows furrowing. "To simplify it to an absurd degree, time dilation is where time slows down. So this teaches you the theory behind creating pockets of space where time slows to a crawl relative to the world outside of it."

Kyxs

"Think I read a fantasy western where someone could do that. Had to burn a metal with Allomancy to do it, though." He chuckled. "But that's....neat? Is that something you can do?"

Valera

"Oh yeah, totally." They toss the book at Kyxs, watching as it freezes in midair, then seems to fall in slow motion.

"I already learned how to break this kind of magic at its zenith, but I did it with brute force. I'm studying the theory to learn how to pick it apart instead of just smashing it with a metaphorical hammer. Because eventually I wont be able to just" here they whip out the airquotes, voice turning exasperated "'orbital drop kick' my way to victory."

Kyxs

Kyxs blinked as the book froze and watched as it kept slowly moving towards him.

"Orbital drop kick, huh? So you got a lot of raw power but no finesse?"

Valera

"Oh, uh. Yeah." They roll their eyes, reaching out to pluck the book from the air before it went too far.

"I ruin a lot of things, losing control of spells. There's actually a spot in one of my off planet estates that infinitely spawns chickens because I overcharged one part of a time weave." A pause. "So if you're ever hungry, paradox chicken is cheap."

Kyxs

Kyxs blinked again, and then laughed, putting his face in his hand. "Paradox chicken?"

He lifted his head and, still giggling, continued. "So, is it just a planet of chickens now, or do they disappear after a while?"

Valera

They snort, waving a hand dismissively as they settle back into their coils. "I put a portal underneath the point that whisks them away to a processing facility. But it sure LOOKED like it was going to turn into a chicken planet for a while there. I didn't exactly have a response plan ready for *an endless flood of chickens*."

Kyxs

"Endless chickens. You could solve world hunger-- or actually, ALL worlds hunger." He laughed again.

"Okay, what else have you fucked up magically?" He looks legitimately excited by this.

Valera

They sniff. "Oh you want to hear about all my FAILURES huh? Not my dazzling successes? I broke an entire MOON out of a time freeze you know!"

A moment, and then they drop the act, grinning again. "Veci learn to channel our magic through boards carved with symbols. They're rigidly designed and have a bunch of redundancies to keep dumbass kids from hurting themselves. They do all sorts of things, and ONLY those things. So I, of course, wired a bunch of them together and powered them all at once."

A long sigh. "Long story short, the whole kit and kaboodle went flying off into low orbit and is probably still going."

Kyxs

Kyxs laughed, harder this time. "Oh my god! Just bam, zoom! Off it goes! That's incredible."

He sighed and wiped at his eye. "Reminds me of when Alastor started teaching me magic-- nearly broke every piece of radio equipment I touched."

Valera

His host watches him, fins twitching as they hold their mug of tea in cupped hands. "Aw, hatchling's growing pains. I assume you've gotten better control since then?"

Kyxs

"Oh yeah, a lot better. I still don't have the simple finesse and control that Alastor does, but I'm also not a full fledged radio demon yet." He shrugged.

"I still have to concentrate for stuff that comes naturally to Alastor." To prove his point, an audience gave sporadic clapping after he spoke and he sighed.

"Like that. Still need to whip my audience into shape."

Valera

"So I've heard! You don't inspire the same fear, but you also didn't exactly spring into Hell fully formed and blasting Overlords with unfathomable power. Or whatever. I wasn't there for it, I'm sure his manifestation was greatly exaggerated."

Kyxs

Kyxs rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged a bit. "I dunno, I've looked into it, quite a bit, and most reports are shockingly accurate from what I can tell. Alastor doesn't like to talk about the specifics a lot, though. But he did kill just...a whole fuckton of sinners."

Valera

They shrug. "Sinners die all the time. But we're focusing on you here. Do you MIND that people aren't as afraid of you?"

Kyxs

"Not really? Like everyone's _so_ afraid of Alastor that he can't do much of anything without people running in terror. I can go places and do things on his behalf and even then people won't just up and run because of my mere presence. Being feared to that extent's gotta be tiring." He shrugs back.

Valera

Sip-- Oh, they're out of tea. Ah well. "Speaking from experience? Exhausting. Especially for someone who was previous used to being well liked. You should feel bad for him, but only a little. He did choose to do all that murder after all."

Kyxs

His head tilted, looking curious. "People feared you? Like they do Alastor? But....you're so nice?" His bright green eyes squinted.

"Though considering you can make a chicken paradox, I guess getting on your bad side is a bad idea."

Valera

Well, if he's going to say his piece.. They carefully set the empty mug aside, face blandly neutral as they speak.

"I was thrust into power at twenty years of age, unprepared and terrified. When people attacked me, I responded in turn. When their families protested, I held public executions, to prove a point. A plot of treason? I strung their bodies up for everyone to see!"

A shrug. "Once people see you pull the trigger on an entire city in response to something they did, they realize what they're trying to fight against only gets worse every time they try to put it down."

Kyxs

"Oh geez." Their eyes widen with each word and they look away, elbows on their knees and hands covering their mouth.

After Valera was done, they were quiet a moment. "Yeah, that'd do it," They muttered.

Kyxs sat back up, leaning back in their chair, arms crossing over their stomach. "I killed my father and brother. They were both my first victims. And then I went off and killed a lot of other people. Not a whole city's worth, but for one person just on their own? I killed a lot."

They shrugged. "I keep that under wraps for most of Hell, on Alastor's advice. Thought since you shared...." They shrugged.

Valera

What a strange heart to heart this is. They'd hesitate to call Kyxs anything more than a maybe-friend, but.. He tries. They offer a smile, one side crooked higher than the other.

"Weird that he'd tell you to keep a few murders under wraps, considering the circumstances! But I'm sure he had his reasons. Maybe keeping your victims from deciding to settle the score personally."

A beat. "Oh. I haven't done a widespread cull since I hit thirty, so don't... worry? I guess? I made a deal; ten years of compassion after ten years of cruelty. Six in now, and people have gotten comfortable enough to insult me to my face."

Kyxs

"I think it's less about the murders themselves and more me being a serial killer and all the media coverage I had before I died. Some people in Hell go real hard for true crime shit and have no qualms about stalking you." He laughed softly.

Kyxs's head titled, curious. "What happens when the ten years are up? Will you go back to doing stuff like that or do you think your decade of compassion's changed you enough to not do it again?"

Valera

"Figures, even in Hell where killers are in spitting distance on any given street corner, the big names still get creepy fans. Ever had people ring into the station over you yet?"

The question catches their attention, eyes alight with mischief. "I'd started to find the devotion to compassion rather boring, but then it lead me to Pentious. I _like_ being attentive with him. Making him happy makes _me_ happy. It's pleasant! And weird!"

They magic up fresh tea, offering a duplicate mug to Kyxs. "In four years time, I'll likely have young children to worry about. Another thing I never expected. So.. The best answer I can give is.. I don't know! This year alone has upset my status quo immensely."

Kyxs

He laughed, shaking his head. "No, thankfully. It helps that Kyxs isn't the name I went by when I was up top. I _do_ get people calling in thirsty as fuck for Alastor, though. In a variety of ways."

Kyxs shuddered a bit, and then grinned.

"Oh yeah, love can do that. Having someone to share things with is just really nice. Whether it's a friend or a significant other, it's really nice just being around people you like and care about."

He blinked and tilted his head. "Kids? With....Pentious? I thought sinners were sterile?"

Valera

"You are." They go back to cupping their drink. Time for more explaining! "Veci can reproduce with anything that has a soul. Sinners like you and Pentious ARE souls, condemned to Hell for your sins in life."

A pleased hum.. And then they snort. "Before you ask, yes I'm sure it works, and I've got the embarrassing story about Alastor being my midwife to prove it."

Kyxs

He blinks again at that and finally takes a sip of the tea she'd given him.

"Ah, hm, I don't think I want to hear that story yet. I don't think I'm mentally prepared." He chuckled. "But that's really interesting. Is it cause your people are so much more magically inclined?"

Valera

"You will never be mentally prepared. And if you ever are, you'll have better luck asking Angel. He was there too." A dainty wrist to their forehead, and they sigh dramatically. "My BEAUTIFUL spusband, my knight in SHINING armor.."

But no, Kyxs was NOT ready to hear the story, and Valera was not about to share it. Instead they grin over their tea, mischief in their eyes. "To answer your question. Yes and no. We're very magically inclined, but we're also genetically all over the place, compared to humans. For example, I bet you had two genetic donors, both normal husband, and you came out looking like either of them. "

Kyxs

Another rapid set of blinks. This converstation really was getting a lot of those out of him. "Angel was there?" He grinned at her display. "Well, that explains everything, he's definitely a knight in shinning armor."

He nods, very seriously, yes absolutely, knight in shinning armor.

"Yeah, that's pretty much how humans do it. Two parents, both equal in indignity." He snorted into his tea as he took another sip.

Valera

Oh no, there they go back into their dramatic swoon. "Of course Angel was there! He was the one whisking me away once things started happening, the one right by my side through thick and thin!"

And cue another sigh, flowery as you please. Then they snap back to normal, chinhanding at Kyxs. "I've got seven parents. All genetically related to me. Though the indignity stands, anyone who thinks reproduction is beautiful is wrong, and worse, they're stupid."

Kyxs

More blinking! His eyelids are going to get tired at this rate. "Seven? If it's not too weird to ask, how?? I only know about human biology, so forgive the ignorance."

He was trying very hard to not giggle as he took yet another sip of tea.

Valera

Kyxs' eyelids were going to be so buff by the time this was over. "Well, in MY case the genes were harvested and then patched together in a controlled environment. Yes, that's right darling... I'm DESIGNER." Hairflip. Anyway.

"But it CAN happen naturally. The optimum mating period is fairly generous, as long as there's enough.. traits.. mixed in there by the time the shop closes, the results can be any mix of the parents... Or you just do it magically. We've got spells to avoid the sexual part of reproduction entirely. Options are out there, suffice to say."

Kyxs

He gives a BIG laugh at the hairflip. That was a good one, tickled his funnybone something good.

"I see. That's really cool. So like, anyone can have a kid if they want, I guess the opposite is true too? Like there's probably magical contraception and all that?"

Valera

Good, they live to entertain!

"Of course! I just use the standard non magical medical solutions. Keeps me from having weird magic interactions!"

Kyxs

Kyxs laughed again. "Oh God what kind of weird magical reactions can they cause?"

Valera

"I mean, I laid three eggs. So failure is a common one." They roll their eyes. "No, I know what you want. Sometimes you change colors if your contraceptive doesn't mesh well with your magic. Or you can turn sparkly."

Kyxs

"_Sparkly?_" Their eyes get real big for a moment there. "Man, I want weird magical reactions that turn people sparkly to exist in Hell that sounds funny as fuck."

They laughed and set their empty cup aside. "I take it yours meshes, though-- or are you normally blue?" Kyxs smirked.

Valera

"I hatched *red,* actually." They flutter their lashes... Then snort and shake their head. "That's true, but misleading. Veci change colors as they grow up fairly frequently, nothing to do with contraceptives. No, I use regular old injections, good for six months at a time. Though my old magical one would sometimes make my horns get blue speckles. As far as side effects, it was pretty harmless!"

Now it's their turn to lean in, eyebrow raising. "You've asked *me* a bunch of questions, but what about you? Any magical contraceptives on your side of things, Kyxs?"

Kyxs

Oh, the blinking time is back, that's good. He laughed after, shaking his head.

"Oh, no, not that I know of. Sinners being sterile and all there's no real need for injections? I don't know what's up with the Hellborns though, so maybe they got some." He shrugged.

Valera

"Oh, boo. Though the idea of Hellborns making minor contracts with...." They trail off, leaning back in their seat.

"Oh my gods. Do they make deals with Stolas? No, no... Unless they were trading for information on contraceptive *herbs*. No, they'd go to Gaap, probably? He's the prince who rules over that sort of thing, if my memory serves. I haven't brushed up on my knowledge of demons in *years*." Plus Gaap was the one that Alastor had called on for them.. They should send a gift basket.

Kyxs

"I've been lacking in my demon studies, honestly. I know about Prince Stolas, but Gaap's not familiar to me? Is he a Duke or...?" He trailed off, shifting to tuck his feet under him on the chair.

Valera

"He's a prince, same as Stolas. Though, that's assuming your Hell works the same as some of the others I've been to. I'd honestly suggest you do your own research when you get home, if possible. Though if you want, I could ask Stolas when I see him on our coffee date." They shuffle deeper into their blankets.

"Do you want a refill on the tea, or is that enough for you?"

Kyxs

"Oh! Yeah a refill would be nice." He picked up his empty cup to hand over.

"Yeah I should. I need to be in the know more when it comes to Hellborns rather than just sinner Overlords."

Valera

A twitch of their fin, and his tea is refilled. Who needs TEAPOTS when you've got MAGIC ~~and a teapot and tea cabinet in the kitchen you can draw boiling water and leaves from~~?

"Indeed! Though, really I should as well. If I'm going to marry a man aspiring to conquer, I need to learn everything I can to help support him in his efforts. His greatest enemies, possible allies, how to manage them.. You know. Political stuff."

Kyxs

He takes a sip of the new tea. Ah yes tasty.

"Yeah, I've been putting it off a lot because of the politics. But considering I'm bound to the Radio Demon, and he's working with the Princess, maybe it's a good idea to look more into things."

Valera

"Take it from a politician. Politics are the worst and I hate them. Death to politics as we know it can't come soon enough." A heaving sigh.

"It sounds like a good idea. If you're going to help your boss, you need to know what you're doing. If I'm going to help my husband, so do I. We're together in misery!"

Kyxs

"Yay!" Kyxs gave a little fake cheer and then laughed.

"Well, as they say, misery loves company." He gave a shrug. "But you said you were planning on having coffee with Prince Stolas? Swanky." He laughed a little.

Valera

They groan, nearly vanishing into their own coils as they slowly place their book over their face. Politicsssssss....

Oh, right. Stolas. They remain exactly as they are, voice muffled but much more cheery. "We're going to meet up and swap parenting tips over iced coffee! He seems lovely, so I'm looking forward to it."

Kyxs

"That sounds so wholesome for a chat with a Prince of Hell." Kyxs couldn't help another giggle.

"Then again, Hellborns are a lot different from sinners. Who's to say they can't be wholesome?"

Valera

They wave a hand, vague and airy. "Parents operate on a higher frequency. We make eye contact and a bond is established. In that moment, we are allies in exasperation and adoration for the weird tiny people we're stuck with."

The book is brought down far enough to peek their third eye over at Kyxs, surprise tinging their voice. "You've met Charlie, haven't you? She's a total sweetheart, and about as Hellborn as it gets."

Kyxs

"Oh yeah! I have, she's really nice. I think my brain just slots her into her own category cause she's Princess." He shrugged again.

"She's very _very_ enthusiastic about things, which is really adorable. I really kinda wanna meet her parents just to see how they could've raised someone as sweet and compassionate in Hell of all places."

Valera

"You know, fair. She's certainly not like any other Hellborn out there, with that parentage." The royal baby, the little Angel of Hell. Poor Charlie.

And then her parents. Ugh. "I've heard very little about Charlotte's parents." They begin, carefully. "But I've heard nothing _good_ about them. I think Charlie's personality is her own doing."

Kyxs

"That's a fair point. I've heard things about Lucifer and Lilith, and none of it wasn't someone doing some ass kissing, sooo..." He snorted and shrugged again.

"It'd make sense if Charlie was mostly a self made Princess."

Valera

"Quite so, Kyxs." The book is finally pulled away, set on the table between them so Valera can have both hands free.

"Apologies, I didn't mean to derail the conversation. Was there anything in particular you wanted to discuss?"

Kyxs

"Oh, not really. I kinda like derailed converstations, makes it easier to go with the flow." He tilted his head.

"Alastor hasn't been any trouble has he? I mean, the one that's my boss, of course."

Valera

They stare at him, blank faced as they process his question. Alastor... Trouble... His *boss* Alastor.... Had he? Had he been trouble? Quick, brain, go evaluate a specific Alastor even though they all looked almost identical. Which one was his boss? Not Stick, right? No of course not. So that meant...

A few seconds of silence, and... "Oh! Not at all. He's lovely. A model guest. Good shot, too." Nailed it.

Kyxs

"Good shot?" His eyebrow raised and he lifted his cup for another sip of tea.

"What was he shooting?"

Valera

"Fish! We went speargun fishing together on the pier. It was very fun, he's good company." Oho, a purr from the fish, good job Alastor, wherever you are.

"I almost feel bad for worrying, all the Alastors have been behaving very well. So far."

Kyxs

"Oh never feel bad about worrying about Alastors making trouble. They'd never be rude, but I will say if they weren't your guests, they would be making a loooot more chaos than they are." He shook his head and smirked.

"Sometimes it's funny, sometimes....not so much."

Valera

They open their mouth to respond, then hesitate, tension tightening their shoulders. "Yes. Sometimes not so much is right."

... Not going to elaborate on that, Valera? No? Alright. "Well, with him at least, we managed to get along well enough with weapons in our hands! Always a good sign. Hopefully even when he isn't bound by his manners we'll muddle through, but we'll see."

Kyxs

"Well, if he didn't take a shot at you with a weapon in his hands, I'd say you're at least good in that he won't immediately kill you." He laughed again.

"I mean, not that he could? I think you'd be able to take anyone in Hell, honestly. Maybe not Lucifer himself, but you never know."

Valera

They grimace, shaking their head at the idea. "I could take Alastor in a fight, but I don't know about any Hellborn. And even if I *could* take them on, I wouldn't want to. Fighting is *stressful*."

Kyxs

He nodded and shrugged. "Fair enough, I haven't actually fought anyone else in Hell, so I don't even know what a big demon magical fight would be like."

Valera

"Oh, you haven't? Do you even know what you're truly capable of?" Now they're interested again.

"If you want to get an idea, I could always spar with one of my friends while you watched. Sparring is one thing, that's just playing."

Kyxs

"Not like, fully capable? I've gone into uhhh, my 'true' demon form a couple times but never to really fight? Or at least not anyone who was even near my level in terms of power." He used airquotes around the true part, and then shrugged.

"But I wouldn't say no to seeing some sparring, sounds fun."

Valera

"Sure! Probably not this time, but we can absolutely arrange something when less people are around to get in the crossfire."

They've abandoned the idea of reading by now, just a bundle of fish in a blanket sitting pretty.

"So, Kyxs. What do you want in Hell? You're stuck there theoretically forever, have you got a goal?"

Kyxs

They pondered that question for a bit, one clawed hand scratching at the base of one of their horns.

"Not really sure? Beyond like, doing the radio thing, learning from Alastor, and playing music, I don't have big overarching goals? I'm.... kind of content with that? Which is weird when you think about it, being content in Hell of all places but hey." They shrugged. "I'll take it."

Valera

"That might be for the best, honestly. But yeah, there's a pretty big flaw in Hell's design."

They shrug. "Humans can adapt to just about anything. That's your claim to fame. Give them eternity and they'll build civilizations, like they did on Earth, and like they did in Hell. Mediocre food? You get used to it."

Kyxs

Kyxs laughed. "Don't let Alastor hear you calling Earth food mediocre, he'll take that as a challenge."

He leaned back, tilting his head to stair up at the ceiling. "Kinda makes you wonder how Hell's supposed to be a punishment when it seems like more of the same. Maybe that _is_ the punishment? You think it's gonna be a change, but it's not. I dunno, I can't claim to know what God was thinking when he came up with it."

Valera

"Alastor can take it as a challenge, I've rarely had food from Earth that actually tasted good. It's not made for a Veci tongue to enjoy. If he thinks he can do better than all the other attempts, let him!" A snort, and then they shrug.

"I can't say much for your God, but they never struck me as the creative sort. Or as all knowing as they act. It's kind of embarrassing, like a kid who made a mess and then tries to hide it." They pause, raising an eyebrow. "Though of course, I get to say that because I'm an alien with gods I can punch in the face. Yours seems a bit loftier."

Kyxs

"Yeah, loftier." He rolled his eyes. "He's an asshole. Thought so when I was alive and still think so now. His sons aren't much better, any of em. Though," He giggles, "It does make me laugh that the family who where the biggest bible thumpers are the ones in Hell with me, the heathen, now."

Valera

Well that earns him a quizzical look. "What does that mean? What family?"

Kyxs

Kyxs winced a little and glanced away. "_My_ family. My uh brother and father. Huge Christian bible thumpers and yet," He giggled again. "They're both in Hell now too. Looks like all their hypocrisy got the best of them."

Valera

They scrunch their face like they just sucked a lemon, sinking further into their blanket. "Gods, I forget that people having families is *normal*. Sounds like yours wasn't great though. I take it you were responsible for their surprise entrances to Hell?"

Kyxs

"Yeah. Said earlier that I killed em, but yeah. Knife to the neck for dear old dad and just a bunch of stabs to the chest for big brother." His face also scrunched. "Really had hoped that they'd been exterminated."

Valera

"Well sure, but I don't know how much family you have. Had. Have?" Squint. "Either way, good riddance. Next round, just throw them into the street yourself. You want a problem solved, do it yourself and all that!"

Kyxs

"Easier said than done, I don't know where they hole up for the exterminations, and I doubt they'd let me in so that I _could_ toss them out." He shrugged. "Just have to find some other way, I guess."

Valera

Valera scoffs, pointing a finger at Kyxs. "You have a lot to learn, kid. I hope Alastor teaches you how to properly track a target by next extermination. It's all about networking with people who want to be in your good graces."

A dismissive toss of the head, and the fish rises to their feet. "Speaking of family we hate, though, I should check on my *own* brother to make sure he hasn't said anything stupid to any of my guests. I'll see you later, Kyxs."

Kyxs

"I know how to track people, they just have some...powerful friends." He sighed. When Val got up, he nodded.

"Brothers are the worst. Alright, see ya later then, Val."

He gave a little wave as she left.

[3centsofbutter]

Memoirs of a medic - BNHA part 3

Part 1 (Start from the beginning)

Chisaki Kai / Eri 

Part 3 - Final 

“The heroes are outside the base, we have to go.”

It was a regular Thursday morning. It was well in the middle of spring and the sun hung high in the sky warming the earth underneath it. You had attended to the garden earlier that morning to bask in the sunlight and returned back inside to get on with some paperwork. Eri sat opposite you, studying basic kanji from one of the books you used to use when you were first brought into the Hassaikai. 

Irinaka burst into the room at 8:29 in a clear state of distress. They were here. 

Kai had told you that a few days ago, Eri had escaped and stumbled upon some UA students and had made a scene since then, the compound had been on high alert. A small part of you desperately wished they could have taken her there and then which could have spared the absolute chaos that was about to ensue. Eri mentioned the UA students offhandedly and from the way she spoke of them in such high regard, you couldn’t help yourself but feel a pang of sadness. As much as you knew that a life outside of the clutches of Kai was what she deserved, but your creeping selfishness wanted to stay by her side and watch her grow. Your loyalty laid with Kai, but you secretly wished the heroes could win just this once. 

“Eri let’s go, the time has come.”

You scooped up Eri in your arms and fast-walked behind Irinaka to Kai’s office. His desk was clear of everything save for the tiny potted plant on the corner of the table. Hari stood beside Kai with your backpack at his feet and nodded in acknowledgement to your entrance. The main few of the eight bullets had been instructed to pack their bags beforehand in the likelihood of this specific event. Your backpack wasn’t filled with much, you never found yourself indulging in materialistic goods or finding sentiment in any of them. You packed only a few things that couldn’t be replaced, the framed photo from your dresser, a leather-bound journal, a stack of white envelopes, and Eri’s doll. 

BOOM 

An explosion shook the whole room heralding the beginning of the raid, it was time to leave. The plan was to use half of the eight bullets to hold off the heroes and police while you made your escape through a hidden exit on the other side of the base. It was best to prevent conflict especially while being in possession of Eri and potentially risking everything Kai had worked for. The walk passed in silence with only the thump of footsteps and occasional echoes of explosions and rumbles filling the background. They were walking at an awfully slow pace, seemingly unbothered by the commotion above them. 

At 8:42, things got interesting. 

“Excuse me.” 

Someone had gotten here quicker than anticipated. 

“Can I ask some questions?”

It was the boy, the one Eri had described. Blue eyes, blonde hair, bright red and yellow hero suit that stuck out as an eyesore against the dull concrete walls. He was young, around 18-ish you guessed, probably in his third year of high school you presumed. He was so young. You found it sick that society glorified hero work and enabled children such as him to risk his life like this for a fabled utopia. It was a pity he was going to meet his end here. 

Your eyes flitted to Kai to gauge his reaction. He seemed unbothered, face blank of emotion. 

“You shouldn’t have been able to get here this fast,” Kai drawled, his voice was flat and lazy, completely unresponsive to the situation. 

The boy was clearly dishevelled, he was panting and sweating profusely. He must’ve run all the way here. 

 “I took a shortcut, I’m here to rescue that girl.”

You almost felt sorry for him, he had let go of Eri back then oblivious to the situation she was in and gave her back to her captor. He must’ve felt the guilt weigh down on him once he found out, now hastily throwing himself at national criminals in an attempt to repent his guilty conscience. He should’ve just taken her then. 

“This girl doesn’t want you to rescue her, she doesn’t see you as a hero.”

You could feel Eri uncomfortably shuffle in your arms.

“That’s why I’m here.”

Kai sighed and turned to continue walking. “It’s not getting through to you, is it? I’ll make it simpler.”

“Die.” 

The boy charged at Kai falling to the ground instantly. Sasaki’s quirk sloshed was in effect, ruining his sense of balance and causing him to stumble around in a drunken state. 

Hari tugged at your sleeve, “Sasaki and Nemoto will keep him busy, keep moving.”

You forced yourself to tear your eyes away from the scene, falling into step behind Kai. You knew firsthand how unpleasant it was to be under the influence of Sasaki’s quirk. You never enjoyed drinking and he continuously cemented that concept whenever his presence was near. His control over his quirk was only decent when he was sober— which he never was. You flinched at the sounds of gunshots and tightened your grip on Eri. You prayed his death was short and painless. 

“CHISAKI!”

He appeared from under the ground and swung at Kai’s face, failing to land leaving only a slight graze. Before you could even process the situation, his foot connected with your face, sending you flying against the wall. 

“Yasuko! Hide, I will find you when this is all over.”

You scrambled to your feet assessing the situation. Eri was in the hero’s arms and Kai was preparing to attack. He flexed his fingers, a habit he had picked up, a small ritual before using his quirk. He hid his left hand behind his back, hiding it so that only you could see. He held up three fingers and pointed downwards.

‘I’m going to use my quirk, don’t get in the way.’

It was the code you both used when you were younger on the streets. You had to leave before you got caught in the crossfire. You picked up your backpack and hastily retreated down the corridor. You hid in one of the empty rooms and slumped against the wall heaving a sigh of relief. Kai was going to be fine, he always would be. It would only be a slight nuisance to patch him up afterwards. 

The ground rumbled underneath you, a sure sign that Kai was using his quirk, the whip-like cracks of gunshots could be heard periodically courtesy of Hari’s pistol. You checked the state of the contents in the bag, thankfully nothing was harmed in the process. You lightly touched your cheek noticing it was very much swollen. 

The boy had trained his quirk exceptionally well for someone his age, his finesse and determination was unlike anything you had seen before. He was someone to be admired, a striking resemblance to All Might: the retired symbol of hope. He was young and naive, sheltered from the crippling effects of corruption and desperation, as most heroes were. He would’ve made a great role model for Eri, saved her from Kai as fairy tales and stupid marketing would suggest, cape billowing in the wind as a copyrighted theme song played over replays of the final blow. Heroes were never there for you. You had found out the hard way when one of them showed up as your customer and ignored your silent pleas of help as they got drunk off of a temporary high. They were cowards who dressed up in tight suits to instill false hope and ignored those who really needed it. What says they would be there for Eri?

BOOM 

A loud crash shook the room. Knocking over the giant oak bookshelf on the opposite side of the wall. You could instantly tell it wasn’t Kai, his quirk was fairly quiet and didn’t cause large crashes like that, the reinforcements must’ve caught up.

You scrambled out of the room only to see that the entire floor had been turned into one giant arena with a jungle of concrete spikes — courtesy of Kai — towering above you. You could only vaguely make out a giant hole in the wall, presumably the source of the crash and the vague image of a body crumpled on the floor. 

It was Kai. 

His clothes were caked in dust, skin covered in scratches and pink welts. The boy and Eri were a few metres away being tended to by the pro-hero Nighteye. The boy had sustained quite a bit of damage being barely able to stand and very visibly exhausted. Eri was fine save for a few scratches here and there, at least the pro heroes wouldn’t hurt her which left your main priority to be Kai. Just as you were about to run towards him, the pro hero Eraserhead and his green haired companion lept in the air and prepared to attack. They were zeroing in on him at an alarming speed, about to serve the final blow. Before you could even react, Kai’s voice rumbled throughout the makeshift arena. 

“GET UP, CHRONO!”

A strand of silver hair sliced through the motionless bundle of white fabric, extending like tape, cutting Eraserhead on the arm. You thanked your lucky stars Hari was alive and most importantly Kai was too. The heroes fell to the ground giving Kai a brief moment to regain composure. His hand slammed on the ground forming another wave of giant spikes across the room separating him from the opposition.

“You did a good job didn’t you, Neomoto? We can’t lose the fight here, not like this…”

His hand reached out, grabbing Nemoto’s mask which disintegrated like wet sand under his touch. He kept going, merging into his face as if it were a hologram. His other hand covered his own face melting into his beaked mask. In a flash of light, an explosion happened. The gust of wind hit you like a whip, causing you to stumble backwards from the force. Your arms instinctively covered your face to protect from the dust and rubble being flicked in all directions, seemingly the only time the mask Kai forced you to wear came in handy. You could barely make out the silhouette of the two bodies as they were shrouded in a whirlwind of debris. It was almost a blessing in disguise as what you could see was something that was most definitely inhuman. 

Both bodies were ripped apart into ribbons of flesh swirled around each other, slowly merging together building a body layer by layer. The bones, the organs, the skin welded together like a cursed puzzle piece. Glaring red eyes glowed like torches through the smoke screen as a second pair of arms ripped through his back. The dust cleared revealing the abomination that was Kai. Black crack like lines painted his face and the skin on his arms were darkened and lined with spikes resembling sharp rocks. You didn’t even know if you could consider that thing to be Kai. This wasn’t the boy who saved you from your father, this wasn’t the boy who stole bread for you when you complained you were hungry. This wasn’t the Kai who shared the ratty blanket with you when you slept on the streets. This was a monster, and he had been that way much longer than you would’ve liked to admit. 

The green haired boy launched a broken-off spike at Kai’s body. The concrete shattered like glass upon impact, reforming back into spikes just as the boy launched a follow up attack almost piercing through the soles of his shoes. The boy was lucky that his flash hero suit was made with situations like this in mind otherwise his whole leg would have most definitely been smashed into pieces. Nighteye leaped in pushing the green haired boy to the side, narrowly missing the spike Kai had sent towards him. 

If nighteye was there, that meant the blonde boy was alone. 

You weaved your way through the rubble and saw the boy propped up against the wall a fair distance away from the fight. His hero suit was bloodied and torn and he looked as if he was barely able to move. Eri was further away from the boy, possibly left there in a hurry as Nighteye went to assist the green haired boy. You cautiously approached him being careful not to underestimate him even in his handicaped state. 

“You have fought well, young man. May I know your name?”

He stared at the mask on your face, a clear sign of your affiliation with Kai. “I am lemillion to the likes of you scum. I don’t take compliments from villains like you.”

Your face soured at the label, “I don’t go by that term, I prefer yakuza.” Your hand hovered over the knife strapped to your thigh. “Tell me your real name, or this is the last face you’re going to see.” 

“Mirio Togata.”

His face showed no sign of lying, a good egg he was. A fault of heroes had to be their strong sense of morals eventually resulting in the downfall of many of them. 

“Mirio, I have a knife strapped to my leg, I can end your life faster than you can think. Give me a reason why I should let you live.”

His guard was still heightened and his distress was visibly showing on his face. The fear of death was synonymous with all humans it seemed. He didn’t speak for a moment, hesitant to come up with an answer. You almost thought he wasn’t going to say anything at all until he finally spoke. 

“Someone like you may not understand, but I want to live to see the relief on people's faces after I save them. I want to be able to save at least a million people and be the hero people can look up to and feel safe in my presence.”

He was so hopeful that it hurt. 

“You could have ignored her, saved a million people instead of dying for one. Why does she matter so much to you?” 

His face hardened with determination. 

“What type of hero am I if I can’t save one helpless girl? I’d die for her no questions asked if that ensured her safety.”

“Chisaki, join us in the Shie Hassaikai. Your future is one with potential.”

Slate grey clouds darkened the afternoon sky. A heavy downpour of rain had soaked both you and Kai’s clothes and chosen to seek refuge outside a brothel. The man had approached Kai after watching him materialize an umbrella from scraps you had scavenged from the dumpster. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd. Unlike the usual suit and tie businessmen and raggedy drug addicts that frequented the brothel, he donned a black kimono, a rarity in general even out of the red light district. His silver hair was slicked back neatly and a large carved, jade ring wrapped around his finger. He looked like royalty. 

“How do I know you’re not gonna sell me into human trafficking or something, old shit?”

“Boy, look over there.” He pointed to the flashing neon lights of the brothel, “I own that brothel. I own almost 30% of the businesses in the red light district. This could all be yours one day.”

Kai’s eyes immediately glistened with interest. He wouldn’t have to sleep on concrete anymore, he wouldn’t have to worry about his next meal, and he wouldn’t have to worry about braving the winter. He would have somewhere to call home. But the thoughts dissipated as quickly as they came. 

“What about Yasu? Can’t leave her out here on her own. I told her I’d protect her forever y’know.”

The man shook his head. “We never brought up women in our clan, its tradition.”

You tugged at Kai’s sleeve. He deserved a life in comfort whether it was with you or not. He had done so much for you already. “You can go, I’ll be fine. You can’t pass up an opportunity like this.”

Kai, very much irked by his response, held up both middle fingers to flip off the man. “Then change tradition. I ain’t going nowhere without her ya heard! Take your gedo sandals and shove them up your ass.”

“Why does she matter so much to you?”

“She’s all I got, I’d die a hundred times over if it means she is out of harm's way. Ya can’t take me without her. We’re a package deal ya got it?”

The man sighed and looked at the boy. He stood defensively in front of the girl. She didn’t look like much but appearances were deceiving. He was loyal, an honorable trait. With a little bit of guidance, he could be a great leader. 

“Fine, let us go.”

This boy looked so different but he had those same eyes Kai once had. Hopeful and kind, shining with compassion and determination. He was uncorrupted, a pure soul, the family Eri deserved to have. You had done so much wrong in your life, allowing Kai to succumb to his pride, staying silent while he committed heinous crimes, letting him hurt the innocent, there were too many sins to count. But it was time to do something right for once. 

You took the rucksack off of your back. 

“Take it.”

He was taken aback. “What?”

“Please, when Eri is old enough give her the contents of this bag. You can look through it if you are suspicious.”

“You mean— “

“Yes. I can’t guarantee that Kai will lose this fight but I entrust Eri with you. Please take care of her, be the hero she needs.” 

The bag contained a leather bound journal, your personal diary that you started when you finally learnt how to properly read and write as encouraged by your father. It documented every single tear, laugh, and worry since you were 12; a stack of white letters, For each birthday of Eri’s since you met her, outlining everything that you wished for and regretted, how much you had wanted a better life for her, everything you ever wanted to tell her if you had gotten the chance; the photo from your dresser as something she could remember you by; and the handsewn doll Eri loved that you had made for her because she cried every time Kai’s goons would buy her something new. 

You looked over your shoulder to the main fight. Kai was growing weary, his transformation wasn’t enough to fend off the pro heroes. It was drawing to a close. You looked back at Mirio. 

“Please tell her I loved her… love her for me.”

“I will.”

Nighteye broke off one of the giant concrete spikes and hurled it towards Kai’s weakened body like a javelin. He sat kneeled on the ground desperately panting for breath. The bottom half of his mask was broken off and his jacket torn in pieces, the shreds decorating the ground around him. His body was drenched in blood, some his own, some others. Hari had disappeared earlier to deal with Eraserhead and all of the Eight bullets were either dead or in the hands of the police. No one was there to save him anymore. 

“Tell her I’m sorry.”

Your body moved faster than your brain could react. The effects of the ability enhancing drugs were kicking in right on time. Time was moving in slow motion, you leapt into the battle scene, your hair extending outwards towards Kai’s body pushing him out of the way. The spike skewered your body impaling you square in the chest. 

An unknown woman had thrown herself at sure death to save a criminal. 

“MOM!”

Eri screams bounced off the walls of the building bringing the entire room to a standstill. She ran from her hiding spot stumbling over loose rubble collapsing beside you, sobbing into the crook of your arm.

Kai’s transformed state instantly melted away into goop around him. He was dumbfounded. Just seconds ago he had prepared himself to face death but was given torture way worse. He gently picked up your figure and held you in his arms. 

“No, Yasuko, what have you done.”

“Kai, I’m sorry.” Your voice was hoarse and slurred. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. 

“Yasu, I can fix you, y-you can’t go like this, I need you.”

“You know, I always wanted to be called ‘mom’.”

He caressed your cheek. 

“Y-you can be if you stick it out. It’ll be like old times, just you and me.”

You chuckled, the laugh reduced to only short, laboured breaths of air. “Stop this nonsense, Kai. Let me rest. Maybe we’ll meet again in another life.”

You never doubted you were a bad person, the bad things you had done heavily outweighed the good. You had never believed in a life after death or reincarnation, always in fear that what awaited after you closed your eyes was eternal punishment. But if there were, you prayed the shinigami would be kind and grant you an eternity to watch over Eri, and see her grow into someone you never got the chance to. 

“I love you, Cyclamen. I always have and I always will.”

“I love you too, Kai.”

Your eyelids grow heavy savouring the last moment you could feel. The heaviness of Eri on your chest, shirt wet with her tears; Kai’s calloused hands cupping your cheek, feeling the warmth of his body from being held so tightly. The pain in your chest seemed to melt away in their presence. An unfortunate death yet envied by many, surrounded by the people you loved. 

The cyclamen, a flower symbolic of sincere and everlasting love, finally gave in to the weather after drowning in the heavy rain for many years, weathering out the storm until it couldn’t any longer, leaving behind only broken petals in its place. It’s ethereal beauty preserved in what it had been despite the circumstances, its body now nourishing for the garden that is to bloom the coming spring. 

In the chaos, there was peace for a brief moment.

Masterlist of all my stuff

A/N: I’m sorry this took so long to write. Got caught up with online school and all that. Excuses excuses I know. It was really hard to write so please forgive me. I hoped you enjoyed reading all of my nonsense, a slight break from all the romance oriented stuff lol (nothing wrong with that, love me some Bakugou). But yeah, thanks for sticking through, it really means a lot.

[crowleyellestair]

For A Swim - Jaskier blurb

AN// This is a silly little thing, but here it is.

Summary: Jaskier goes for an involuntary dip with a creature, and Y/n has to perform CPR.

 Velen was a bog filled with monsters and disappointment. Thugs and vagrants filled every nook and cranny of the area, and the trio had been on guard for days traveling the lands. There had been a contract to take out a mysterious fog creature in the thickest part of the swamp but it seemed to be an easier job. Foglets were never easy, but it could have been worse.

And then it got worse.

The fog had cleared, even as Geralt still had to dispatch of the magic projections that still lingered from the creature, when Y/n noticed a Water Hag. It wasn’t a surprise that one was here, but it did mean she needed to turn her attention from her bard. Jaskier was seated safely on a rock at the edge of the water, with a high enough vantage point where there would be no need for him to move closer. Y/n moved from her spot next to him to engage with the hag. The two had giving the witcher commentary as usual, but whenever she got involved with the fight, Jaskier only had eyes on her.

Little shouts of encouragement were thrown, or little gasps of fear could be picked up when she miss-stepped. Today was no different, so as she rolled through shallow water and dogged the lump of mud thrown her way, she heard the proud ‘nice one’ that slipped from him. It wasn’t smart to listen to him in the heat of battle- she knew that well. Every time she sparred with the witcher, Jaskier would watch and comment, usually complementing her, and it would lead to Geralt winning. The witcher would lecture her on how losing focus would get her killed, but no matter how hard she tried, no matter the situation, her mind always finds its way back to Jaskier.

The Hag’s tongue whipped out from its mouth, venom dripping with every swipe through the air. She pirouetted out of the way, her back to the creature. It fell for her trick, lashing its muscle towards her, but Y/n threw a perfect perry. She looped the sword around its tongue and put all of her strength in bringing the blade to the ground, effectively cutting the tongue of. Loud shrieks fell from its mouth, and a small cheer came from her right as the bard approved of her move. Geralt stood to her left, ready to join as he finished the Foglet off for good. They both moved in tandem, dogging mud being thrown, and claws striking against their blades. There was a moment of stillness in their fight, where the Hag seemed to rethink its strategy, when Y/n heard a familiar gasp. She hadn’t miss-stepped, so she turned to look at why fear took an audible form from Jaskier. It was in that moment when she saw him being drawn backwards off the rock, and into the water behind him.

Y/n all but threw her sword down, running to the rock. Geralt called after her, but she was busy ripping her jacket off. Once she was free of the heavy layer, she dove from the rock. The water was murky, and her heart pounded so fast that she knew her air supply was short. Only the movement of mud alerted her to where he was. She found a leg and grabbed on, pulling against whatever was holding him. Y/n was frantic, and fear set in quickly. After a moment of aimless jostling, she tried to move up his body, finding a scaled claw in his collar.

Curses flooded her mind as she didn’t have a weapon on her.

Think.

Think!

You’ll lose him.

Time’s running out.

It hit her fast, remembering he kept a small pen knife in the lining of his trousers. Her hand fumbles for a moment, ripping it from the cloth, and embedding it in the creature’s hand. It was quick to release the bard, and she was even quicker to start bringing them to the surface. The edges of her vision started to blur, but air flooded her lungs as she reached the surface. Geralt was at the edge of the water, grabbing her arm and dragged the two to the shore.

Geralt laid Jaskier down, but it was clear that he couldn’t hear the bard breath by his worried expression. Y/n pushed him out of her way as she ripped the doublet open. Tears started to prick her eyes, and her breathing became labored. Still, her hands started to compress against his chest. A shaky version of Toss a Coin left her as the song gave a great rhythm to perform CPR. Geralt helped by tipping his head back, and closing his nose.

“O valley of plenty, o valley of plenty. You’re not allowed to die, Jaskier. There’s so much we have yet to do- so much time to spend.” Y/n leaned to his mouth and started to breath. She quickly went back to the compressions, then back to breathing into him. During the next round of compressions, Geralt’s hand dropped onto her shoulder, but she couldn’t stop. More tears ran down her still damp cheeks, and she went to breath again. Her lips met his, when he started to cough. He curled onto his side to let the water out of his system, and she scooped him into her arms. Her grip was tight, but he didn’t fight it as he drew deep, ragged breaths. After a moment, his arms wrapped around her waist best he could, ang he nuzzled into her collar bone. There were a few more moments of silence until Jaskier broke the air.

“It wasn’t my fault-.” His tone was playfull, but Y/n’s hands cupped his cheeks and pulled him away to look into his eyes.

“If you ever- ever try to leave me like that again…. No more hunts for you.” Her right hand moved up to be able to brush wet clumps of hair from his forehead. Her lip still shook, and Jaskier tightened his hold. Y/n couldn’t stop replaying the events behind her eyelids despite him being safe in her arms.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re damn right. I don’t care if it was that creature, you’re not allowed to be in harms way.” Geralt interjected.

“Creature?” She nodded, but didn’t look away from her bard.

“Drowner I think. I injured it, but I don’t know where it went. We also need to get you a new knife. I don’t care if you didn’t want the last one, you’re getting a new one. Or three.”

“Anything,” to calm you. The words weren’t spoken, but the thumb he placed on her bottom lip to still it was symbol enough.

It was silent most of the way back to the inn. They received payment, and bought two rooms. Jaskier had finally looked down at himself in the inn’s mirror and wasn’t fond of what he saw. The outfit was ripped and still damp, and behind him, Y/n was just as wet and looking down anxiously. It was a look he didn’t want to see on her again.

“To bad I couldn’t witness you ripping my doublet open. I bet it was a sight to see.” Again, his tone was playful, but was met with a serious one. She simply started shedding her clothes, not sparing him a glance.

“I’ll buy you a new one. As many as you like.” He turned, and captured her hands. Her eyes found his, and he could see the fear still gripping her.

“I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You’re ok, and that’s what matters.” Y/n tried to pull away, but he yanked back, her chest meeting his, and his arms caught her in an embrace.

“You’re still fearful. What can I do to ease you of that?” His nose dug into her hair, and he closed his eyes in waiting. It took her a couple tries before she exhaled.

“I almost lost you without having the chance to…” Jaskier’s heart started to pound, knowing where it was going. He knew- knew she loved him back. The last thing he wanted to do was push her, though, so never made a move past flirting and a caring hand.

“Well, Darling, I’m here now. You can tell me anything.” Y/n leaned back, seeing the hopeful and encouraging smile on his face. It was what she needed to finally admit,

“I love you, Julian.”

“And I you, my dearest Y/n.” She sighed, closing her eyes. She seemed to revel in the moment, in the feeling of his arms around her.

“May I kiss you, dear heart?” Y/n smiled, but there was that specific tilt to the corner that told him she was up to something.

“We kissed earlier, my star.” His heart skipped a beat at the name, and smiled. It soon dropped when the confusion set in.

“I don’t remember such a momentous moment.”

“Well, yes. You were unconscious, and I was technically resuscitating you, but my lips touched yours. Twice.” Her eyes were still closed, so to grab her attention, he dipped her. Her hands grabbed at the ends of the frayed doublet, and a gasp left her. Y/n’s gaze snapped open to find her bard smirking.

“Then I want another.”

[nishigo]

lunar new year. // todoroki shouto x reader.

lunar new year. // todoroki shouto x reader

hello! hope you have had a lovely day, here’s a little todoroki love for you all as the Chinese New Year starts tomorrow! much love to you all~

words : 1528

tw : none , fluffy fluff !

request status at time of post : open !

in which he failed the first time to convey his feelings, but luckily, he had another shot.

————

Todoroki glances at the small house, tilting his head softly as he glanced from the red packets in his hands to the soft glow of the candles guiding towards the backyard. He heard the chatter in the background, how everyone from class had joined together to celebrate the lunar new year. Although rarely celebrated in Japan, many of those in the area decided to support their Chinese neighbors and cheerfully greet the new year. It was also another reason to party, which no one could deny. Your parents had decided to go to their friend's house to celebrate, leaving you with just the house to yourself until tomorrow. It was smaller than most, however, after doing a small raffle, your name was drawn from the jar and here he was, in front of your home.

Todoroki has just gotten back from seeing his mother in the hospital, in which he had finished ranting to her about what would partake in the night. Of course he was nervous, you were the only person who could make him feel such a way. His mom reassured him that everything would be fine, but what if it was not? He shook his head, no time for that now. It is also where he got his red packets from, as everyone was forced to bring something as a token of cheer, whether it be food or games, and needless to say, the boy was not exactly poor. His mother insisted to stick to tradition, smiling at her son as he took them with a swift nod but slight concern. A sigh escaped his lips as he began to walk towards the back, hoping for the best as he kept a relatively cool demeanor.

Todoroki walked into your backyard and took in the sight. It has a large tree sprouting from the ground, lanterns of all colors, shapes, and sizes hanging with various symbols in both Chinese and Japanese wishing good luck for the new year. Bamboo lined along the white picket fence, little red banners hanging off their small branches with stars and more writing Todoroki did not recognize. All around the tree were small tables, and various red mats were sprawled around them for his friends to sit and talk, whether about school or how excited they were. A long table lined the side of the house, food decorating every inch of it. The smell of moon cake, rice, pork dumplings, and duck filled his nose, making his mouth water slightly as he walked closer. The whole place was brightly lit up, decorations of stars of gold and red painting his vision, along with various peonies, carnations, and orchids. It was amazing how much effort you had put into making this an enjoyable experience for all, and frankly, he was touched.

“It’s Todoroki!” The boy whipped his head around and looked at the owner of the voice, who happened to be Midoriya. He sported a red sweater and black pants, grinning from ear to ear. Actually, everyone was decked out somehow with the color, whether it be a simple bracelet to Kirishima, who had on a red outfit head to toe. Todoroki got pulled towards the food, where he finally saw you for the first time this night.

You had your hair brushed out and away from your face, eyes sparkling as you served food and made conversation with all of your friends. Your energetic attitude was contagious, and Todoroki could not help but smile at how cute you were when you were passionate about something. Sporting a red jean jacket and gold bracelets, earrings, and necklaces, you looked right at home as you explained to Iida what eating long noodles symbolizes to the Chinese. As he picked up a plate and began to grab some food, he caught your eyesight and gladly went up to him to talk

“Hey! Todoroki, I am so glad you could make it! And- Oh! Red envelopes? Here, let’s add them to the pile over here, I will be handing them out later after everyone settles down from the food.” You took them from him quickly, putting them into a basket full to the brim of various family names and money. Turning back around to face him, you paused as you opened your mouth slowly and began again.

“Hey, Todo, mind heading inside with me? I need to pull out some more food, looks like noodles and dumplings are running out.” Todoroki blushes lightly at the nickname as he nodded, watching as you made your way towards the back door and allowed him to slip in with you and towards the kitchen.

Trays of food were stacked on top of each other, still piping hot as he shuffled quietly behind you. You took a deep inhale, exhaling loudly as you took some trays and separated them from the rest, supposedly what was needed more outside. It was a bit weird for once, since both of you were quiet and there was no one else around. Maybe this was an opening, maybe he could-

“Take these outside for me, will you?” He retracted his outstretched arm, quietly sighing as he nodded and grabbed the various trays and doing obediently as he was told.

The night unpaused after that brief moment alone with you. His heart was racing inside his chest. Jeez, it’s as if you used his own fire quirk against himself, he was heating up just looking at you. He went on to sit at your table along with Midoriya, Iida, and Uraraka. He chewed his food silently, internally praising you for your delicious seasoning on the pork buns. With his cheeks stuffed, the conversation varied in the night, but all he could focus on was you. He saw words come out of your lips, but no response was made on his part. Just sitting by you was enough for him, and he was content with the positioning. It was bugging him, though, that he had not completed his final motive, and he only had a little time left to succeed.

The hours began to lengthen, and soon enough, people were starting to leave. You had handed out all the red envelopes and it was fun to see people jump for joy at how much cash they were getting. One by one, he watched as his classmates received a hug and a wave from you, holding various leftovers as the food coma was beginning to hit and drowsiness arose. He waved off his friends goodbye, cracking a small smile as he then turned around to see you working hard to get everything put away. With a large amount of pity from him, he sighed and began to help you pack up tables and stack mats. Lanterns were turned off one by one, and with a quick flick of his fingers, a frosty blast sent all of the candles out, nothing but smoke left.

Inside, you two panted as the effects of doing so much hit you all at once. Stretching slightly, you pulled your hair tie down and he watched as your face was cupped by your lovely locks. Now, since it was just the two of you and silence, he decided to break out. May his mother’s words be true, and with courage, he spoke.

“Y/N, a word?” You glanced back at him in small confusion, grinning from ear to ear as you shuffled close to him, signaling for him to continue.

“I missed it at the beginning of January, and I was meant to tell you that night. However, I never gained the courage to do so, so tonight…” He took a shaky inhale, glancing away softly as he pulled out a packet he had saved for you along with some deep red roses, making you stop in your tracks in awe.

“I wanted to try again, since the lunar new year is another beginning. Basically, I am here to say I’m in love with you. No, wait, scratch that, I’m infatuated with you. You make my head spin and makes me freeze up and melt at the same time. So, would you happen to want to become...a couple?” He repeated his phrase that he had said over a million times in the mirror, hoping that his words would be enough. He could not read your reaction for a second, but soon enough, tears began to flow out of your eyes as you nodded sweetly, taking his red envelope and flowers into your hands and quickly grabbing him into a hug. Although Todoroki did stumble a bit, he caught his balance and hugged back, a breath of relief flying into his lungs before he began to smile and bury his face into your neck shyly. A sweet blush overtook both your faces, and innocently, you pecked his cheek with the brightest smile in existence and he mimicked your actions back at you. Elated, exhilarated, overjoyed, you two were many things, but to describe it the best...

You both were over the moon as the ringing of fireworks popped in the background, signaling the start of the new lunar year and your relationship.