#around him is a billowing almost golden smoke

[krashlite]

Song of the Fool

aka I wanted to draw some f-d up smoke and was thinking abt jimmy solidarity

[billymayslesbian]

Before Lionblaze could argue, another shape burst through the billowing smoke to stand beside Squirrelflight. His eyes glared; his gray fur was matted together and stuck with bits of burnt leaf and twig. Confused by the smoke and flames, Hollyleaf almost thought she was seeing one of her warrior ancestors, until she recognized Ashfur.

Squirrelflight dropped the branch. “Help me push it into the fire!” she yowled.

Grabbing the branch in strong jaws, Ashfur thrust it past the wall of flame and into the ever-narrowing patch of ground where Hollyleaf and her brothers huddled. But Hollyleaf didn’t feel any sense of relief. There was a look in Ashfur’s eyes that she didn’t understand: the look of a cat who had just spotted an unexpected juicy bit of prey.

The branch made a bridge through the flames, but Ashfur stood at the other end of it, blocking the way to safety. Lionblaze nudged Jayfeather to his paws; Hollyleaf took a step toward the branch, then paused. She felt a cold weight in herbelly when she looked into Ashfur’s glittering blue eyes.

“Ashfur, get out of the way.” Squirrelflight’s voice was puzzled. “Let them get out!”

“Brambleclaw isn’t here to look after them now,” Ashfur sneered.

Hollyleaf felt her fur beginning to rise. What did Ashfur mean?

Lionblaze’s golden pelt was bristling, too. “What have you done with my father?” he howled through the flame.

Ashfur looked at him pityingly; his eyes were twin points of fire amid the burning forest. “Why would I waste my time with Brambleclaw?”

The main branch was too solid to catch fire easily, but the leaves on it had shriveled and the twigs were beginning to smoke. Hollyleaf realized that they didn’t have much time before their bridge to safety would be ablaze.

Squirrelflight staggered up to Ashfur. Hollyleaf had never seen her mother so angry. Her fur bristled with fury; she looked like a warrior of TigerClan. Yet it was obvious that the climb to the top of the cliff, followed by her struggle with the branch, had weakened her, and she was exhausted.

“Your quarrel with Brambleclaw has to stop,” she hissed. “Too many moons have passed. You have to accept that I’m Brambleclaw’s mate, not yours. You can’t keep trying to punish Brambleclaw for something that was always meant to be.”

Ashfur’s ears flicked up in surprise. “I have no quarrel with Brambleclaw.”

Hollyleaf exchanged a shocked glance with Lionblaze. “That’s not how it looks to me,” he muttered.

“I couldn’t care less about Brambleclaw,” Ashfur continued. “It’s not his fault he fell for a faithless she-cat.”

Faithless? A growl began to build in Hollyleaf ’s throat, but then she stopped and watched the cats on the other side of the blazing branches. Something ominous was taking place in front of her, and even with flame roaring around them she felt a sudden chill. She shrank closer to Lionblaze and Jayfeather, whose head was up, his sightless eyes intent, as if he could see the confrontation between his mother and Ashfur.

“I know you think I’ve never forgiven Brambleclaw for stealing you from me, but you’re wrong, and so is every cat that thinks so. My quarrel is with you, Squirrelflight.” Ashfur’s voice shook with rage. “It always has been.”

Horrified, Hollyleaf took a step back and felt her hind paws begin to slip on the edge of the cliff. Her head spun as lightning stabbed out and thunder drowned all other sounds, even the roaring fire. For a heartbeat she dangled over empty air, and she let out a strangled yowl.

Then she felt firm teeth meet in her scruff; blinking against the smoke, she realized that Lionblaze was hauling her back to safety. But there was no safety: only the hungry flames, and Ashfur blocking the end of the branch with fury in his eyes. Fiery sparks floated down on all three young cats, scorching their fur, and flames licked the underside of the branch; fear flooded afresh through Hollyleaf when she saw that it was already beginning to smolder.

Ashfur has to let us get out! But Hollyleaf couldn’t find any words to plead with him. What was happening here didn’t have anything to do with them, even if they died because of it.

“All this was moons ago.” Squirrelflight sounded puzzled. “Ashfur, I had no idea you were still upset.”

“Upset?” Ashfur echoed. “I’m not upset. You have no idea how much pain I’m in. It’s like being cut open every day, bleeding onto the stones. I can’t understand how any of you failed to see the blood. . . .”

His eyes clouded and his voice took on a wild, distant tone, as if he could see the blood spilling out of him now, sizzling on the burning ground. Terror burst through Hollyleaf and she pressed closer to her brothers. This cat was more dangerous than the storm or the fire, or the fall lurking perilously close to her hind paws.

Desperately she tried to step onto the end of the branch. At once Ashfur rounded on her, fully conscious again, his teeth bared in a snarl.

“Stay there!” Turning to face Squirrelflight but keeping one paw on the branch, he hissed, “I can’t believe you didn’t know how much you hurt me. You are the blind one, not Jayfeather. Who do you think sent Firestar the message to go down to the lake, where the fox trap was? I wanted him to die, to take your father away so you’d know the real meaning of pain.”

Hollyleaf ’s shocked gaze met Lionblaze’s. “He tried to kill Firestar?” she gasped. “He’s mad!”

Determination glittered in Lionblaze’s eyes, and he bunched his muscles for a giant leap. “I’m going to fight him.”

“No!” Hollyleaf fastened her teeth in his shoulder fur. “You can’t!” Her words were muffled now. “He’ll just push you into the fire.”

“Brambleclaw saved Firestar then,” Ashfur went on to Squirrelflight. “But he’s not here now. He’s not here—but your kits are.”

Squirrelflight’s eyes blazed. For a heartbeat Hollyleaf thought she was going to pounce on the gray warrior, but she knew that exhausted and in pain, her mother would have no chance. Squirrelflight seemed to realize it, too. She drew herself up, head high; she was trembling, but her voice was clear and brave.

“Enough, Ashfur. Your quarrel is with me. These young cats have done nothing to hurt you. Do what you like with me, but let them out of the fire.”

“You don’t understand.” Ashfur looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time; his voice was puzzled and petulant. “This is the only way to make you feel the same pain that you caused me. You tore my heart out when you chose Brambleclaw over me. Anything I did to you would never hurt as much. But your kits . . .” He looked through the flames at Hollyleaf and her brothers, his eyes narrowing to dark blue slits. “If you watch them die, then you’ll know the pain I felt.”

The flames crackled threateningly closer; Hollyleaf felt as if the heat was about to sear her pelt into ashes. She edged backward, only to feel the edge of the hollow give way under her hind paws. The three of them were pressed tightly together, so close that if one of them lost their balance, all three would be dragged off the cliff. Hollyleaf couldn’t control the trembling that shook her whole body as her glance flickered between the cliff and the fire.

Jayfeather was crouched close to the ground, looking tinier than ever with his pelt slicked flat by the rain. Lionblaze’s claws were unsheathed, glinting as the lightning flashed out again, but the tension in his haunches didn’t come from preparing to leap at Ashfur; it came from the effort of keeping himself on the top of the cliff.

Squirrelflight raised her head, her gaze locked on Ashfur’s crazed eyes. “Kill them, then,” she meowed. “You won’t hurt me that way.”

Ashfur opened his jaws to reply, but said nothing. Hollyleaf and her brothers stared at their mother. What was Squirrelflight saying?

Squirrelflight took a step away from them, and glanced carelessly over her shoulder. Her green eyes were fiercer than Hollyleaf had ever seen them, with an expression she couldn’t read.

“If you really want to hurt me, you’ll have to find a better way than that,” Squirrelflight snarled. “They are not my kits.”

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

| When One Possesses A Thing | Aemond/Married!Reader

Summary: She arrives to the Red Keep immensely dissatisfied with her marriage. Aemond proposes an alternative | Word Count: 3.8k~ | Warnings below the cut!

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: mentions of being in an unhappy marriage, universe canon aversion of homosexuality, mentions of homosexuality being a sin, mentions of fertility, threats of death, voyeurism, breeding kink, size kink if you squint really hard, p in v sex

@ewanmitchellcrumbs Ty for reading this through first 😭

When Aemond was informed by his mother of the arrival of one Lord from the Riverlands, of whose name he could not even be bothered to remember, he’d merely turned his head away, resisting a shrug of his shoulders and expressing immense disinterest.

That was until, Aemond clapped eyes on his Lady wife. 

He observed as she often held back behind her husband, hands clasped at the front, her fingers glimmering with golden rings and wrists with intricate bracelets, as well as one particular necklace that hung daringly around her neck, the pendant lingering above the cut of her dress with the shadow of her cleavage beneath.

They had, of course, arrived in celebration of King Viserys’ upcoming nameday. Not an event Aemond could say for himself that he would enjoy with any degree of certainty. He knew Aegon would find any excuse to drown himself in his cups and leer at the accompanying wives of the elder Lords, and that Helaena would simply attend, but be preoccupied with her thoughts and imagination as she so often was.

The Lord himself was tall, but slender, as if he had not broadened from age. Aemond observed that he seemed sprightly but aloof. Several times he forgot to make the proper pleasantries and introduce his own wife. Her gentle, warm face did not flounder with embarrassment, but she simply smiled, curtsied and introduced herself with a smooth, honey-like voice. 

Her husband gave her a nod of the head, his mouth set into a frown as he whispered something to her as his companion threw his arm around the Lord and dragged him off to the closest place they could find wine. 

The look on her face made it seem like this was a regular occurrence. Her husband snubbing her in favour of spending time with his male friends, not really even bothering to ask what she would do to occupy herself in a new, strange environment. 

She slipped away like a whisper, a cloud of silks billowing behind her as she made for any spot within the Red Keep that might entertain her. Alone.

Several laps through the decorated hallways, brushes through the gardens and wanderings past the Library later, she soon found herself face to face with the skull of a dragon, hung high above a table thick with candle wax, hardened from the years of merely replacing them. The stench of tallow was overwhelmed somewhat by the dampness of the cavernous space, and the smoking incense placed at each corner of the table.

The skull was enormous. Bigger than any animal she had ever seen on land. Those big sockets where its eyes used to be staring down at her, sucking her into its world of rich histories and conquerors. 

“My Lady”

The echo of Aemond’s voice did not make her jump, but it did steal her attention, her waves rolling over her shoulder as she turned to see the source. 

He could not help but marvel at her grace and the way her dress, so traditionally worn, happened to hang off her body in the most tempting of ways, emphasising her womanly curves. Though he had one eye, he himself could not miss the pressing of her breasts against the front of her corseted garment. 

“My Prince” she greeted in the same manner of tone as him, her lips turning upwards almost indistinctively as she gave a polite curtsy. He gave her a small bow back, intrigued. 

He took wide, calculated strides towards her into the candlelight. And she watched as his form came out of the darkness, his silver Targaryen hair illuminated by the warmth around them.

“Do you know his name?” he asked, in a manner that insisted he might have been testing the young woman.

“Of course” she answered calmly, “Balerion. Ridden by Aegon the Conqueror, was he not?”

Aemond bowed his head, one eyebrow twitching, as if he had not actually expected her to know. This Riverland bound beauty was a surprise at every turn. He did not respond, feeling his expression was enough.

And it seemed she understood, as she smiled.

“I am no historian, my Prince. But it is difficult to feign ignorance to the victories that have been written of Targaryens”

He bit back a grin. Feeling his ego inflate somewhat.

“So you read then, my Lady?”

She cocked her head, “You seem surprised”

“Not surprised” he answered immediately, standing a good distance from her, “Merely intrigued”

He watched with further interest how her eyes were level with his chest, and how they dragged from the dragon-embellished doublet, over his neck, and to his gaze again.

“I do indeed enjoy reading” she mused, as if the suggestion she did not would have offended her.

“Only history?”

“Of all genres” she adds, with a knowing smile, “All such subjects are of interest to me”

They fell into comfortable silence, listening to the wafting of the candle flames whipping in the soft breeze. 

Her shoes clicked in a satisfying way as she turned back to the great skull.

“The King rode the Black Dread, did he not?”

Aemond fought back the urge to kiss his teeth, feeling as if at this moment, as he was lusting for the woman stood beside him, how much he did not want to think about his father.

“He did”

She turned to him, perhaps recognising the lack of affection in his reply.

“I suppose it is of no great merit to you, my Prince. As you claimed Vhagar after all”

“Vhagar is my pride” he answered, feeling warmth inside him as she recognised his efforts, one which cost him his eye. 

“As all dragons should be to Targaryens” she offered, “she is certainly a marvel. My Lord husband can barely tame a horse”

He laughed through his nose at her quip. Being able to envision the moment exactly as she described it. 

“And pray tell, how long have you been wed, my Lady?”

He almost regretted asking, seeing how her smile suddenly disappeared from her face. Like the sun had gone behind a cloud. She looked down, preoccupied with smoothing down her dress.

“Several years now”

“And no children?” he adds, watching the way she bites her lip, thinking he cannot see it.

“My husband does not enjoy the act of procreation”

His head tips at her reply. Perhaps not having expected her to be so honest.

“And what does your husband enjoy doing?”

Sighing distantly, her eyes ticked over to him, “Riding”, she replies simply.

His lips part to reply, and yet he does not have time to interject.

“Other men at least”

Silence falls between them at the weight of what she’s said. 

"A fact he conveniently kept hidden from me until marriage, I may add".

For a moment he is unsure what to say, as she stands, a sad, resigned smile on her face, waiting for him to reply.

“I see”

Absentmindedly, she wanders along the table, her hand running over the hardened wax.

"I care not of his affections for men. I only care that he does not conjure up the respect for me as he does his bedfellows" she sighs, “though as I am sure you understand, my Prince. As his wife, I must support him”.

“Even if what he does is a sin?”

It’s like she had expected that question. Something akin to a grimace appearing, “Even that”.

She sighs, “I must bear the brunt of the rumours surrounding my fertility and commitment to my marriage. Protect myself, where my husband cannot”.

“He does not protect you?”

“If we are speaking plainly, my husband rarely acknowledges my existence” she answers, her fingers playing nervously with one another, “more a hindrance than say, a life partner”.

“Then, if I might be so bold to say, you are doing more of your own duty than he is. The scales are unbalanced, so to speak”.

Her head raises to look at him, something playful lighting up her features, “And what is a husband’s duty?”.

“To protect his wife, of course”

She pauses. Knowing she cannot disagree to that. 

In any normal marriage, that is exactly what she would expect.

“And a wife’s is to provide him with children”

“That is no fault of yours, if you are to be believed” he raises an eyebrow. Attempting despite his nature, to be somewhat comforting.

She smiles again, laughing half-heartedly, her hand slipping from the table to wander about the room, trying to free herself from the stifling feeling of being close to him.

He remembered reading a book of loose morals, which at the time he recalled feeling indifferent towards, about the late Lady Coryanne Wilde, detailing her multiple escapades of lovers, indulging in the desires which had long been suppressed by women before and after her. 

“And you do not seek pleasure elsewhere?” he asked, hoping the suggestion would not offend her. But if he had studied her well enough in this short time he’d known her, he was confident it would not.

She smiled, her head lowered to the candles on the opposite side of her table. Her face illuminated warmly.

“Gossip is a ghastly thing” she stated, “Once a small fire is started then my dishonourable actions only fan the flames. I do not wish to be the subject of such disapproval, as I already am in my Lord’s eyes. And perhaps the Gods too”

“And yet, your husband has a lover”

Not a question, and her gaze averted at the tone of the statement. 

“His advisor. And childhood companion” she nods.

“In my view, it is only fair that he allow you to seek one”

“Perhaps that is where you are mistaken, my Prince. For I am the one with the womb” she responded, “therefore, I must bear the humiliation along with it”. 

Her gaze longingly lowered, and it did not go amiss that it happened to graze over his tall, broad form.

"In any case, it does not matter. Any children we would have had would be his, not mine"

That was true as well, Aemond mused. 

"His heirs. His future.

"By refusing to allow me to give him children, he is only doing more damage to his own house. 'Tis of no consequence to me".

She had done one lap of the large, candle adorned table. 

"You seem perfectly resigned to your fate, my Lady"

She hums. Standing before him, his eye raked over her, yearning for her, having had such an intelligent conversation with her. 

"Perhaps I am. My husband is young. Barely half a decade older than I" she says, "it stands to reason, I may be tied to him for quite some time".

Aemond cannot argue with that, try as he might.

Everything she has said so far, has been sensible. 

So he nods, "now, that is a sad thought" he muses.

It was only then either of them had realised how quiet their conversation had become, and how low his voice was when he spoke to her. It was difficult to deny how close they were to one another, in a manner most unbecoming of a single man and a married woman. 

And yet neither of them moved away.

It was unfortunate, her situation. And though he knew it might have been wrong of her to simply sit idly by, while her husband amused himself with his male lover, he could not find it in himself to reproach her. 

“Am I not how you envisaged, my Prince?”

He fought the urge to chuckle, “Not in the slightest”.

She bit her lip, to fight back a smile, realising perhaps she was doing so too much in his presence.

“That I was an intemperate wife, refusing to perform my duties? That I am barren, and incapable of giving him heirs?”

He felt his hands form fists behind him. 

“I would not think such things”

“Hm” her eyes once again went over him in a way that made him go all warm, “You are not how I envisaged, either”.

“How so, my Lady?” Aemond asked, amused that she had formed her own opinion before properly meeting as well.

"Many at court say you are tempestuous. Stubborn. Proud" she says, "and you very well may be all of those things. All pejorative descriptors. And yet…there is something else".

He wanted to laugh at that. Of course the other Ladies at Court had opinions of him that were unsavoury, given his common disposition. 

"I can be all those things, it is true" Aemond replies, "above all those, some say I am too particular. That I require too much in a person to respect them".

She tipped her chin up, meeting his gaze head on, but also emboldened by what she perceived was an intimate conversation.

“And what is it you require?”

He licked his teeth, smiling, watching her eyes as she stares at the way his lips turned upwards. As if entranced. 

“A wit” he states, “a passion” he purrs.

The tone does not go unnoticed. Aemond watches with satisfaction as she swallows thickly, now seemingly uncomfortable standing still on the spot. Her breasts pressed repeatedly and steadily against the corset of her dress as her breathing picked up.

“"And is that what you desire? Someone to match your wit? Your passion?"

All the air was thick in the room as he took one careful step forward, leaning over her, now able to see more of the shadow of her cleavage beneath the silks. Her cheeks bloomed with colour, but she dare not move off her spot.

“Perhaps”.

He could hear her breath. Like he was tuned to it already. The humming of her blood beneath her flesh felt invigorating, and for one brief moment, Aemond allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to sink his teeth into her, to taste her. To try and sense who she really was, what her desires were.

She shivered at his warm breath at the side of her face.

“"I could protect you, my lady" he whispers, blinking longingly, voice like the purr of a cat, "your husband cannot".

"If you were mine, you'd not want for desire. Nor affection. I would keep you round with child, you’d be such a beautiful mother with my heir inside you”.

She gasps at the blatancy of it, for they had for several moments danced around such a subject, in favour of decorum and manners. And now her chest rose and fall steadily with every utterance, "I am a married woman-"

"To a man who does give a shit about duty. About you" he counters, “nor your desires”.

“‘Tis not my husband’s nocturnal activities that vex me, my Prince, it is his lack of respec-”

"I would have you. Respect you. Ravage you"

For a moment, her mouth slams shut, fearing that her reaction to his flagrant desire for her would expose her.

“A good gentleman. A good man…rises above such mortal things as lust".

There she goes again, trying to be the ever-good wife to her husband, who even now, perhaps does not even know her true whereabouts. 

"Then perhaps I am not a good man" he replies, "and perhaps it is not merely lust".

"What then?" she asks quickly. 

There is a beat. Aemond wets his lips, watching as she trembles at his proximity. Each breath wafting the curls either side of her face.

“Intrigue”.

She swallows again, attempting to brush off the heavy tension with a half-laugh, “I'm afraid intrigue does not free me of my situation, my Prince".

Aemond hums, righting himself to full height, not stepping away from her, but rather using his size to his advantage by having her crane her neck to meet gazes. With a simple shuffle of his boots, he manages to manoeuvre her body without touching her, doing exactly as he planned and forcing her own feet to stagger backwards.

"Then how unfortunate it would be, for a terrible accident to befall your husband".

Her wide eyes caught the light of the candles as her back met the adorned table.

He did not stop coming towards her. 

Not until he was so close, that one exhale, and he would be pressed flush.

Her cheeks bloomed once more for him.

Aemond feigns a thoughtful expression, “Infection, as a result of injury?” he questions, “No. Too slow”.

The air felt humid and she felt her core clench around nothing realising what he wanted. 

Aemond’s large palms, even through the layers of silks, felt as if they were branding the very skin of her thighs as he lifted her onto the table. 

"Perhaps paying a servant to poison his wine?"

She made no protest, her eyes glimmered with anticipation when she felt his calloused, sword-worn fingers drift along her calves to lift her skirts. The air, though warm, prickled at her flesh merely at the idea of what he planned to do to her.

“I know” he smiled, watching as she gasped sharply as he pulled her thighs towards him, standing between her outstretched legs as they squeezed his hips.

“Thrown off his horse and trampled to death?"

He dragged his nose over her cheek, watching her eyelashes flutter at the sensation, his fingers digging into the meat of her thighs, dying to rip her smallclothes to shreds.

He whispered, placing a loud, open-mouthed kiss to the space between her ear and neck. She shivered in his touch, though not revealing any intimate part of her body, she felt very much as if he had peeled back her being, and stared into her soul.

“A fitting end”.

She exhaled with difficulty, feeling it catch in her throat as Aemond teasingly wrapped two fists around her smallclothes and tore without mercy to the fabric. 

He raised his head only slightly, to see the reaction he had extracted from her.

Her eyes were shut, her lips parted for breath.

"Gods, you look like a maiden when I touch you" he whispered appreciatively.

A pitiful moan fell from her lips as Aemond drew two digits up her womanhood, collecting the slick he knew would be there on his fingertips. Her hand tightened on his leather-clad arm, needing somewhere to express this overwhelming feeling.

"It is because it is you who has touched me like this for the first time".

His eye darkened, the colour eclipsed by black.

“Your husband has not even touched you?”

She shook her head softly, now revealing what embarrassment she had desperately kept inside for so long.

“The marriage was consummated…but that was all…” she answered through hurried breaths as Aemond drew patterns on her pearl with the aid of her wetness, "he would not touch me after that..."

"And you did try, didn't you? To tempt him? Like a good little wife?"

"Y-yes...but he refused..." she answered, her voice wavering, "...he would not even share a bed with me..."

He chuckled, "Then we had best make this a memorable occasion, then. My Lady”.

Having used his other hand to unlace his breeches, he released his cock, groaning with relief as he stroked himself, squeezing arousal from the ruddy tip.

Nobody was more surprised than Aemond, when his lady reached down between them to stroke him with smooth, languid motions, her hand in opposition to his, barely encircling his length. 

Their hedonistic expressions met. His breath coming in short bursts with every squeeze of her palm around his throbbing arousal. 

“I do not wish for him to die” she breathed, her voice heavy, “only for him to disappear. So that I may pursue my own happiness”.

He cocked his head.

“I do not wish to be a murderer”.

She was quite a woman, Aemond thought. Having gotten him this close to having her, and only now making demands, as if he could refuse her.

He smirked.

“Then it shall be done”.

With the promise sealed, she guided his length between her legs, angling her hips up for him as his cockhead kissed her slick folds. Impatient as Aemond was, he moved forward in one motion, watching her throw her head back as he sheathed the entirety of himself within her. 

Her cunt squeezed his cock like a maiden, and yet she did not protest to his harsh treatment of her, in fact, spurring him on with the sounds she was making, clutching onto the front of him with every sharp, true and deep thrust of his cock into her. 

"Gods - you are as tight as a maiden - squeezing my cock so tightly - "

One hand stayed around her back to keep her flush to him, sliding up her spine, long fingers threading through her hair at the base of her neck and pulling on her for leverage, using his hold on her body to fuck himself into her. Her breasts, beneath her dress, ached to spring free from their passionate movements, jolting the gold necklace held snugly there.

Aemond was entirely entranced by the image he saw when he looked between them, his cock driving into her with fevor, glazed with her arousal and meeting her fleshy hips with a wet smack each time. 

“I’ll have my heirs inside you in no time, Princess” he whispered, pressing his lips against the column of her throat, parting them once in a way to nip at her tender skin, “you shall have everything you desire”.

Her half-lidded eyes opened, the pressure in her core building excessively at the force of him driving so quickly into her, in this position, pulling her onto his length aggressively, bullying a rough, pleasurable place inside her she was not able to reach herself. 

“What is it you desire, Princess?” he asks, his thrusts becoming somewhat stuttered and messy, his eye screwing shut as his body wound tight, ready to burst at any moment. His hair stuck irritatingly to his forehead and face, from the exertion of fucking her.

“You…Aemond - you...”

He grinned, increasing the intensity of his thrusts, watching her warmed cheeks and body jolting with each smack of his hips. He felt her cunt flutter around him and reached down to apply the same pressure as he had before to her bud, to which she let out a near choked-moan, one hand tightening onto his doublet and the other white-knuckled holding onto the table, emboldened by the act and the fact that they could be caught at any moment in such a disastrous position.

He watches with excitement as she peaks around his length, her cunt sucking him within her from the pressure of her destructive orgasm, just begging for him to spend inside her, and hopefully, in nine moons time, round and large with his heir.

With a choked, staggered moan of his own, Aemond grips her so tightly, she would surely bruise, as he spills himself inside her hot, wet cunt. Filling her impossibly and entirely with his hot, sticky spend, thrusting shallowly to ensure it is as deep inside her as possible. His cock throbs with utter desire, hearing the little mewls of moans still falling from her glistening lips. 

She whines softly when he pulls out of her, watching with intense satisfaction at how his arousal as well as hers has made her womanhood glisten.

“You will really do it?...” she asks, still catching her breath.

Aemond huffs a laugh, tucking his softening length back into his breeches, “For your sweet cunt, I am confident I would do anything”.

His Lady smiles back, exhaustedly, pulling her tattered smallclothes off her legs, watching with both confusion and brief fear when Aemond smoothes his silver hair down and walks away.

“Where are you going?” she asks after him, pulling her skirts down.

He half turns, flashing a signature smirk.

“To ask your husband and lover to join me on a hunt. My dear Princess”.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

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[piratefishmama]

I Wish | Part 1

The trailer was quiet when he pulled up into the loose gravel driveway; Wayne probably already off to work.

With his bag in hand, he hopped out and trekked through the snow covered stones up to the door, unlocked it and stepped through. He kicked his dirty boots against the doorway to loosen the snow caking them, took them off, and trudged through to his room, throwing his bag onto the edge of the bed as he walked through.

It fell to the floor almost immediately.

It made a sound. A harsh clink of a sound that rattled his brain, had the memory of a bottle full of liquid rushing to the forefront of his mind from the depths it’d hidden itself in.

Not where it’d come from, just that it was there.

He’d bought things that could be ruined by liquid. The intricate scarf, the dice bag he’d gotten for free, even the wooden mug might have been marred by a glittering liquid of unknown consistency.

In a panic, Eddie rushed forwards and gathered up the bag, immediately pulling it open and rifling through for any sign of disaster, only finding the purchases he remembered, and the mysterious little paper bag that he’d forgotten.

“What the...” he mumbled, before pulling the paper bag out and placing his bigger bag back down on the bed. “Where the hell did you come from?” Another soft mumble to himself, he did that a lot when Wayne wasn’t around, and as usual no answer came.

With a small frown pinching his brow he reached into the paper bag, and pulled out the little bottle within.

It was warm in his hand, the warmth tingling his fingers, eyes locked on the gentle swirl of the galaxy within it, marred only a little by a smudge on the otherwise clean, coloured glass. Just a smudge, just a tiny little smudge, he wouldn’t care usually, it was a pretty thing he didn’t really remember buying, probably just something he’d picked up along the walk through.

It didn’t matter, the smudge, something he would have usually ignored, was annoying him.

It shouldn’t be there, that weird little smudge, couldn’t even place what it was, it was just... a smudge. A bit of dirt. Maybe some dust. No idea where it’d come from, was it always there? He didn’t remember. Barely even remembered buying the thing, but it was annoying regardless.

He’d never felt compelled to clean before yet there he was, unable to think of doing anything but pulling his sleeve over his palm, and rubbing that stupid little smudge until it disappeared.

Only that wasn’t all it did.

The bottle shook, it sparked, electricity danced along the thick glass surface, wind seemed to blow from no actual source, Eddie dropped the bottle with a startled “the FUCK?!” A reflex that he couldn’t help but do when he saw the electricity, he dropped it, it rolled under his bed, and suddenly his room was filled with a glittering purple smoke as if some kind of bomb had gone off, the smoke billowing out from under his bed on all sides until he couldn’t see his bed anymore.

Until he couldn’t really see much of anything.

His hands reflexively covered his eyes to protect them from not just the smoke, but the glow that’d slowly begun breaking through the clouds.

He rushed to open a window, open a door, do something to clear out the smoke, but it didn’t budge, it didn’t move from his room, swirling slow around the bedroom like the galaxy within the bottle, filling his room until he could see nothing but the deep purple smog, and the glow at its centre.

Then all of a sudden, it vanished. Or rather it was sucked inwards, all that smoke, the glittery purple smog and the glow at its centre rapidly caved in on itself, revealing at that centre… a man.

A lone man sat atop his bed. A… well Eddie didn’t really know how else to describe him other than… golden, man.

His skin sun-kissed to a point where it shimmered in the light of the overhead bulb as if he’d been airbrushed with a dusting of golden glitter and decorated with a nights skies worth of constellation-like moles. His thick, full hair was a dark brown with honey gold highlights, it was tied at the back, the loose ponytail long enough to brush his mid-back with short layers around his nape to hide where the ponytail began.

He was dressed in clothes not dissimilar to what Eddie had seen at the Faire, loose fitting fabrics, no real fineries to speak of, just… peasant garb, his cream, long sleeved shirt a deep V neck with a thick thread loosely criss-crossed over the opening, the deep V revealing a dense patch of hair across his chest, darker than that on his head.

His pants were some kind of cotton material, loose but practical, and around his waist was a red fabric wrap.

He didn’t wear shoes. He wore no jewellery besides a simple band around his forehead made of silver, and a twinkling rose-gold anklet tightly clasped just above his ankle, with a lengthy chain tail that appeared long enough for it to clasp a little looser if the wearer desired.

The man turned his attention, his hazel-green eyes to Eddie, and smiled.

“She gotcha, huh?”

Eddie blinked once, then twice, and then promptly passed the fuck out.

He came too not on the floor, but cushioned by what felt like the couch, something that was confirmed when he lifted his head to take stock of his surroundings. He didn’t… remember what’d happened though, did he fall asleep? It was dark outside, had he laid down and just… fallen asleep out in the living room? Did he—

“How’s your head, big guy?” Eddie startled, sitting up straight he was slammed by the memory of the man on his bed, whacked right round the head by the memories of glowing purple smoke, glitter, of galaxies in forgettable little bottles.

He was sat there, in the middle of the room, on the carpet, his legs crossed in front of him just. Watching him with wide unblinking, downturned eyes. Impossibly golden. Beautiful.

“Who—what—whe—”

“Stephan, Genie, The Crone sold me to you, although you probably don’t remember that last bit, they never do.” Did that answer any of his questions, yes and no, it both did and did not. “Listen, to cut things short, you attended a festival, right?”

“Uhm… a Faire, Renaissance Faire.”

“Renna—okay whatever, it’s a kind of festival though, right?” Eddie wordlessly nodded “okay, so you got grabbed by The Crone. She’s a sorceress, she goes from festival to festival, grabs some unsuspecting human, and sells my bottle to them. Then you forget it happened until you get to somewhere safe, something reminds you of the bottle, you see the smudge, rub the bottle, and poof, out I come. It’s fool proof.”

“… What’s fool proof?”

“What I just—the process, Eddie, what I just told you, the process, her process, everything she does, it’s completely fool proof, it’s never failed.” Now, Eddie never claimed to be stupid. In fact he loudly declared at any opportune moment that his academic career was simply marred by the looming ghastly shadow of his fathers’ behaviour. That he’d have been fine, he’d have passed with flying colours in all of his subjects had his father not been a great heaving pile of shit, with a stench so vile it marred all future generations in the eyes of Hawkins residents.

Yet this? Whatever the fuck this was? Beyond him. So far beyond him he felt dwarfed by how lost he was before it all.

“Uh…” so eloquent. What were words? Wait— “how do you know my name?”

“You opened my bottle.” As if that answered everything, thankfully the man realised that it didn’t, because he rolled his eyes as if so very put upon, and continued “It’s part of the magic, the person who opens my bottle, becomes my master, I know my masters name, that’s just the way it is. Plus I may have snooped.” Eddie frowned “Oh c’mon you were out for two hours, of course I snooped! You had notebooks open on your desk, ‘property of Eddie Munson’, that’s you, yes?” He already knew it was him.

He wasn’t lying, opening the bottle gave him just enough knowledge of the opener to have an awkward and stilted conversation with them once they realised they weren’t dreaming. Or in Eddie’s case, once they woke up.

“…Magic?”

“Mhm, Genie.” ‘Stephan’ nodded his head affirmative. “We are the embodiment of magic.” He said with a flourish of his hands.

“G—Genie… Genie? Like… three wishes, Genie?”

“Genuinely wish I knew where that comes from, no, Eddie. Genie, yes. Three wishes? No. Unlimited wishes. You have my bottle, it’s yours until you either accidentally kill yourself, someone kills you, or you voluntarily wish me back to the bottle. Disclaimer because this has happened twice now, forcing me back into my bottle relinquishes your ownership of it, and I return to The Crone to be sold anew. If you tire of me, you simply need only wish me back to my bottle, and I will go. You will not get back whatever you paid for me, that is what you used to forge the contract.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, accidentally what myself?” And contract?! What contract?! “Someone kills me?! What?!”

Had he wandered upon some kind of fae? No surely they didn’t exist. But then Genie. Or maybe insane homeless person who broke in. It wasn’t like he was dressed in ‘fine garbs and jewels’ like Genies usually were, right?

“Kill yourself. Or someone kills you yes. Second disclaimer, irresponsible wishing can and will cause death. If you can catch it before you perish, you can retract it no harm no foul, however you have to speak your retraction, you have to wish for your retraction. The dead do not speak, Eddie, and they certainly do not wish. Same goes for someone killing you. I would tell as few people as possible about me, humans are greedy and they don’t understand how the contract works. You can’t just steal my bottle. Upon your demise I will return directly to The Crone, she will sell my bottle to another unsuspecting human and the cycle will start anew. You cannot steal a genie, but thieving humans do not know that.”

“Okay can I wake up now?” Surely he was still unconscious, surely he was dreaming, he had to be, genies didn’t exist, magic didn’t exist, he’d been playing D&D long enough to know things like magic didn’t exist. He was not about to become one of those people who swore blind that things in D&D were real.

He wasn’t. He wouldn’t become one of them.

“You’re not dreaming, I can pinch you if you like?” Eddie pinched himself, hissing a sharp ‘ow’ immediately after “or you can pinch yourself, whatever.” ‘Stephan’ shrugged his broad shoulders.

“Why aren’t you dressed like a Genie?”

“How many Genie’s have you met to know what one dresses like?”

“Touche. Can you prove it?”

Stephan smiled at him, all teeth, his eyes twinkling with amusement, and maybe magic. Handsome. He was handsome. Unfairly so really, Eddie was trying very hard to ignore it. “Your wish is my command, Master, you need only speak it, and it shall be done.” He was failing to ignore it. “What do you wish of me?” He was really failing to ignore it.

But what could he wish for? Something big enough that it couldn’t possibly be faked, something fantastical enough that it’d prove Stephan was what he said he was, something completely and utterly unexplainable by anything other than real genuine magic. Something completely life changing in every way shape and form.

Something— “I wish my band, Corroded Coffin, was world famous.”

Part 3

[awkward-walking-potato]

Hi! I saw your post for Nightcrawler prompts, and I thought maybe some simple fluff; what might it be like to binge an adventure series (like Pirates of the Caribbean) with our beloved teleporter? Thanks bunches, and take care!

Swashbuckling with Nightcrawler

The living room lights were dimmed, casting long shadows across the furniture as the closing credits of the final movie in the series rolled. A triumphant score filled the air, the kind of music that made you want to stand up, grab a sword, and declare yourself the ruler of the seas. You glanced over at Kurt—better known as Nightcrawler—his golden eyes wide with excitement, his tail twitching in sync with the music.

"Ach, what an adventure!" Kurt exclaimed, his German accent thick with enthusiasm. "The way they captured the sea, the sword fights, the danger—so exhilarating!"

You smiled, sharing his enthusiasm. "The best part was the sword fights, though," you replied. "They looked like they were having so much fun."

Kurt's eyes gleamed mischievously. "Why don't we try it for ourselves?" he suggested, his grin widening as he teleported in a puff of smoke, reappearing beside the coat rack by the door. He grabbed two umbrellas, holding one out to you with a flourish.

"Ready to duel, mein freund?" he challenged, a playful glint in his eye.

You took the umbrella, feeling the weight of it in your hand. It wasn't a real sword, but with Kurt's imagination—and his powers—it would certainly feel like one. You twirled the makeshift weapon, trying to mimic the fluid, confident movements of the pirates from the movies.

Kurt chuckled, teleporting again to the other side of the room, now perched on the back of the couch. "En garde!" he called, and in the blink of an eye, he vanished, only to reappear directly in front of you, his umbrella clashing with yours.

The sound of metal-on-metal rang out in your mind, even though you both knew it was just the swish of fabric against fabric. You parried his strike, spinning around to counter with a playful jab of your own. Kurt teleported again, this time behind you, and tapped your shoulder with the tip of his umbrella.

"Too slow!" he teased, laughing as he flipped gracefully over the coffee table.

"That's cheating, you know!" you said, laughing breathlessly as you tried to keep up with him. You could never tell where he'd reappear next; it was like fighting a phantom. The entire living room had transformed into a pirate ship—at least in your minds. The couch was the deck, the coffee table a treasure chest, and the curtains billowed like sails in the imagined sea breeze.

Kurt leaped onto the arm of the couch, balancing perfectly as he parried another one of your strikes. His teleportation made him nearly impossible to catch, but that didn't stop you from trying. The two of you were grinning like children, caught up in the sheer joy of play.

You managed to land a hit, tapping him on the side with your umbrella. "Gotcha!" you exclaimed, feeling a surge of triumph.

Kurt staggered dramatically, clutching his side as though mortally wounded. "Oh, you’ve bested me!" he cried, falling back onto the couch in an exaggerated faint. "But I shall have my revenge!"

Before you could react, he teleported again, this time appearing upside-down, hanging from the chandelier. He grinned down at you, his tail wrapped around the chain, swinging slightly as though he were dangling from a ship’s rigging.

"Are you ready for the final duel?" he asked, eyes glowing with excitement.

"Bring it on," you replied, raising your umbrella in challenge.

Kurt dropped from the chandelier, landing nimbly in front of you. The room seemed to shrink as your duel became faster, more intense, your laughter mixing with the imagined clashing of swords. He moved with a speed and agility that was almost impossible to follow, yet you found yourself matching him blow for blow, the rhythm of the fight becoming almost like a dance.

Finally, with one last, dramatic swing, you both clashed in the middle of the room, the momentum causing you to spin around and fall back onto the couch, breathless and laughing. Kurt collapsed beside you, his tail flicking lazily as he caught his breath.

"That was—amazing," you said between gasps, your heart pounding with exhilaration.

Kurt grinned, his fangs flashing in the dim light. "Ja, it was," he agreed, his voice filled with contentment. "I haven’t had that much fun in a long time."

You lay there for a moment, the remnants of your imaginary battle still playing out in your mind. The excitement slowly ebbed, leaving behind a warm, satisfied glow.

"Next time, we’ll have to make it a real adventure," Kurt said thoughtfully, his gaze distant as if imagining what that might be like. "With real swords, and maybe even a ship."

"Deal," you said, chuckling at the thought. "But you have to promise not to teleport all the time."

Kurt laughed, a soft, joyful sound that made you smile. "No promises," he replied, his tail wrapping around your arm in a gentle, friendly gesture. "After all, what’s a pirate without a few tricks up his sleeve?"

As you both settled into the comfortable silence, the night stretching out ahead of you, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for moments like this. Adventures with Kurt were always full of surprises—whether they were real or imagined.

[satans-helper]

Loopy

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x Danny Wagner

Word Count: ~4900

Warnings: 420 blaze it; stoned sex ft. frottage. 18+ only

Just wanted to write about these two, specifically from around 2019 <3 Hope you enjoy!

---

“Shit,” Danny muttered breathlessly, leaning back in the driver’s seat. The windows were all up and all fogged so the outside world was almost entirely invisible–that was just fine with Josh, who was sitting in the passenger seat, basking in the warmth and the musky, earthy fragrance that filled the small space. Danny sighed contentedly and rolled his head to the side, looking right at him as he said, “I wish I could feel like this forever.” 

Josh giggled a little, already way higher than he expected to get. Actually, he hadn’t expected to get high at all–he’d expected to just meet Danny at their usual spot, swap cash for weed and part ways. They smoked together after the deal was done fairly often, but not every time, and today Danny had seemed oddly on edge before they started smoking. 

“Don’t you feel like this most of the time?” Josh quipped, flicking the lighter back to life to take another hit. Was smoking yourself sober a real thing? If so, he thought he might inadvertently make it happen if they smoked anymore. He thought of himself as a certified stoner, but Danny lived on another planet. 

Danny laughed louder than Josh had ever heard him, tilting his head back so he was looking out into the fogged glass. “Most of the time, yeah. It’s par for the course, man,” he said. When he reached for the bowl that Josh passed back, their fingers brushed and Josh’s whole hand tingled so much with the touch, it was like Danny was made of lightning. 

An onset of loud pitter-patters began to hit the car; fat droplets of rain smacked the windows and made glossy trails. Josh watched them, each one seeming to move in slow motion, and the music from the car stereo began to drown out with the sound of the heavy downpour. 

“Oh, man,” Danny remarked, tapping on his window and peering out. “Look at that.”

Josh followed his gaze out the driver’s side, managing a glimpse of billowing wet, green leaves outside through the fog. It was so cozy inside the car, inside the haze, sitting with his own nervous but excited energy and Danny’s friendly, easygoing presence. He didn’t want to leave. He’d keep smoking until the whole half ounce he bought was gone if it meant more time together. 

Danny answered Josh’s silent plea by announcing, turning again to look into his dry, slightly bleary eyes: “Looks like we’re not going anywhere for a bit. Want me to pack another?”

Josh’s heart hammered along with the rain. “I can do it,” he offered, already reaching for the bag of weed he’d bought. 

Danny gave a playful, light shove to his shoulder. “Nah, stop it. I said I’d smoke you up, so let me smoke you up.” He grinned while he retrieved the little plastic jar he was keeping his current stash in. “Save yours for another rainy day. Right?”

Normally, Josh was sure he’d have something cute and witty to reply with. But he was so stoned and so giddy with his elation of being mere inches away from Danny that his brain felt like nothing more than a mass of candy-colored swirls, his usual thoughts lost in the mix. He hadn’t had a crush like this in ages, and never did he think he’d ever be down bad for a dealer. Not that he had anything against dealers, at least not people who sold the “soft” stuff–he had lots of experience with plenty of them since high school–but Danny was just different. 

And gorgeous. Josh had noticed that right away. Danny was gorgeous now, with the faint pink flush across the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones; the way his dark, loose curls fell against his shoulders, the ends brushing against his collarbones that were just barely visible thanks to the few undone buttons of his shirt. Josh could even see a bit of his chest hair, stark in color and contrasting with the subtle golden hue of his skin. Josh found himself staring at that triangular spot of skin revealed between the flannel shirt, counting his chest hairs, wondering what his skin would feel like under his hands.

“What?” Danny asked, breaking the trance. When Josh looked up, he was quickly put under another spell because those damn eyes–he could get lost in them. Lost in them like the deep, dark and mysterious woods they resembled, all lush and mossy and scattered with patches of sunlight. Actually, Josh thought, slightly amused, a little like some really good, dank buds. 

“What?” Josh chirped back, his face growing hot. His whole body really, and it wasn’t just the weed anymore. He was embarrassed–not an emotion he frequently felt. Danny just did that to him. Every time they met up for Josh to buy, his heart would go wild. It had taken a few deals for his hands to stop shaking when they exchanged goods. Now, he felt like he was back at square one and his only relief would be the usual–going home to have a slow, fuzzy jerk-off session while thinking about Danny’s hand wrapped around his cock instead of his own.

“You were staring at me,” Danny said, his own face looking even more flushed. Was it the weed or was it–no, no way it could be Danny also being embarrassed. What did he have to be embarrassed about? But his hands were idle, no longer working to pack the next bowl, as if waiting for Josh to speak some sort of revelation.

Maybe it was a revelation, because Josh felt so bold for no good reason that he actually said, “Yeah. You’re hard to not stare at.”

Danny looked away, eyes on the dashboard for a split second before he looked back at Josh. “In a good way or a bad way?”

Josh scoffed, shaking his head. “Oh come on,” he said, his shaky hands also returning. He started something here–he just wasn’t sure what. Hope was a loose thread in his heart, but his high head was veering into the land of paranoia, and if Danny wasn’t at least going to be nice about letting him down, Josh was sure he’d never recover. 

“Sooo,” Danny began as he began to finally crumble the weed into the bowl, head down and giving Josh a perfect view of that perfect profile. “In a good way?”

“In a very good way.” Josh licked the backs of his bottom teeth, trying to awaken some saliva and curb the intense cottonmouth that was only getting worse with his nerves. It was so bad he was half-tempted to open the window and stick his head out, open his mouth and try to catch some of the rainfall. 

The smallest smile curved Danny’s lips. “Thanks,” he said, thumb and forefinger placing the last crumb of weed into the bowl. “You’re cute.”

Josh felt like his brain fully short-circuited at the sound of those words. He’d heard it a thousand times from a thousand different people but hearing it from Danny was, well, different. The compliment reverberated and echoed in his ears, sounding louder than the song from the stereo and the rain still hammering the car.

“You’re the hottest dealer I’ve ever had,” Josh said. It was the first thing he clearly thought and despite being a cheap compliment, he hoped against all hope that it would work in his favor. 

Danny laughed, tossing his head back, so loud again–Josh loved that sound. He wanted to hear it more often. He wanted to make Danny laugh like that all the time. 

“How many dealers have you had?” he asked, pivoting in his seat so one leg was cocked, one foot on the floor, eyes locked on Josh as he christened the new bowl with the flame. Josh’s eyes wandered down to the apex of Danny’s thighs covered in blue denim, briefly zeroing in on the zipper fly that was slightly bulging. 

“Um–enough to know I’m not gonna find another one as hot as you?” Josh replied, not intending it to come out insecure and like a question. But Danny’s gaze was suddenly intense and piercing, like the single hit had supercharged him with intimidating confidence. Josh also had to hold out hope that the bowl being passed to him again would do the same.

Danny leaned back, one arm slung across the driver’s seat while the other rested on the dashboard. He was as spread out as he could be, taking up space while simultaneously keeping his body so open that Josh knew he could easily crawl over to him and close the gap, share the space with him. He was silent as Josh took his hit, still looking right at him, lips slightly pursed in thought, brows just ever so slightly furrowed. 

Screw short-circuiting–Josh had to wonder if he was straight-up tripping when Danny asked, “Do you get horny when you smoke?”

Josh coughed wildly, bringing a hand to his chest from shock and the sharp discomfort in his lungs. He shoved the bowl back at Danny and waved the plume of smoke away from his face so he could see whatever facial expression Danny was wearing–his face was calm, curious, his eyes searching Josh’s face too, waiting for an answer.

At least he didn’t have to doubt anymore. This was it, Josh deduced–the invitation he’d only ever dreamed of. 

He inched closer in the passenger seat, sidling up against the center console. He’d peeked in there earlier when Danny had opened it–CDs, a phone charger, numerous lighters, rolling papers, a mini bottle of Listerine. It all made sense. Now, pressed up against it, Josh was wondering what was in Danny’s other compartments–what did he keep in the top drawer of his dresser? His bedroom nightstand? What cereals were in his kitchen cupboard? What on earth was the cologne he was wearing that smelled so warm and rich even through the dense scent of weed and where did he keep the bottle?

Josh wasn’t used to racing thoughts while stoned. He wanted to be grounded. He wanted to crawl into the space between Danny’s thighs and kiss his flushed cheeks and bite his lip, run his fingers through his chest hair with one hand and use the other to tug on his hair.

“Sometimes, yeah,” Josh finally answered. He was horny. He was half-hard in his pants just from Danny’s presence and the brief conversation, if that was even the right word for it. 

The hand on the dashboard slowly moved away and down–Josh swallowed hard, confused and entranced, as he watched Danny palm himself through his jeans. “Me too,” he said, his thumb running over the zipper of his fly. He coughed a little and smiled. “Like right now.”

“Fuck,” was all Josh could say, mind still racing while simultaneously feeling foggy, as foggy as the car’s interior and windows. 

“Sure,” Danny said, and Josh was frozen as his long body allowed him to fluidly slink forward past the center console–then Josh was forced to move because two of Danny’s fingers were hooked in his necklace and tugging him forward. 

He closed his eyes just before the kiss came, too stunned and bewildered to watch the whole thing in motion. Everything faded away–the music, the rain, the air blowing from the vents, the smell of the weed–when Danny’s lips found his. Josh relaxed into the kiss, his shoulders slumping; when Danny’s hands gently fumbled on his hips, Josh brought his hands up to cradle his face, finally feeling the warm, soft skin he’d imagined so many times. 

“Is this really happening?” he mumbled against Danny’s lips as the kisses became a little faster, a little deeper. His hands were finding those curls, his fingers sinking into each strand of hair, to keep Danny in place like he’d float away if he didn’t.

“If you want it to,” Danny said, one hand on the back of Josh’s neck, the other still on his hip. Before Josh could even try to answer with words, Danny kissed him harder, moaning softly, trying to pull him forward some more. 

Josh went with it. Although his limbs felt heavy and stiff as he crawled over the console and into the driver’s seat, as soon as he was pressed up against Danny’s body, he felt loose and relaxed. Just how he’d felt when they’d first started smoking and his fantasies were just fantasies and he could zone out with the high, lost in blissful images. Now, his weed high was being replaced by a different one–a high made of soft kisses, urgent touches and the intoxicating scent of that cologne that was stuck to Danny’s skin, all a welcome torrent of blissful and real sensations. 

“I really want to,” Josh told him, unbuttoning Danny’s shirt to further prove it. He was finding his words again, but there was still too much he wanted to say, all these desires from their compounded meetings coming to fruition. So he settled for rutting his hips against Danny’s; Danny grabbed Josh’s ass and pulled him right into his lap, and Josh ducked down to keep kissing him. 

The swapping of spit kept his tongue and lips comfortably moist, and Danny tasted like the same weed they’d been smoking and the sharp mint that Josh could assume came from that bottle of Listerine. Had he wanted this to happen too or was swishing and spitting just a habit? Their hands wandered easily over each other’s bodies as Josh considered this; their kisses were slow and steady, and the rain outside kept coming down, adding to the strangely cozy nature of the progressing rendez-vous.

It was all really happening, and all of Josh’s prior doubts were falling away. It seemed so silly now to think that Danny had never thought of some of the same things. When Josh tugged Danny’s shirt apart and rubbed his thumbs over his nipples, Danny arched his back and dug his fingers into Josh’s waist with a deep groan.

“God, you’re sexy,” Josh remarked quietly, looking at Danny’s face again before he started to press soft kisses to his neck. Between them, he could feel Danny’s erection pressing against his own, both of them trapped in their respective pants. Confined to a car, how much could they really comfortably do? Josh wished they were back at his place, or Danny’s even, on a big, soft bed instead of the narrow, firm upholstered seats. 

Not that he ultimately really minded; Danny didn’t seem to either. His hands were slipping beneath Josh’s t-shirt, ticklish touches across his stomach; Josh giggled into the crook of his neck and Danny chuckled softly as one hand wandered back down and landed on Josh’s crotch. 

Just the dull sensation of Danny cupping him through his pants made Josh’s head spin–he wanted more, as much as he could get. He cupped Danny’s cheeks and pulled him into another kiss as he began to grind in his lap, trying to make some more friction. The scant metal of Danny’s zipper and button were proving nice to rub up against, but he still needed more; he reached down to get it undone, Danny nibbling on his bottom lip at the same time.

Danny let out a little huff as Josh grabbed his cock, feeling the size and heat of it through his boxers. Josh broke their languid kisses to look down at what he was feeling–Danny was big, definitely. He’d figured as much. 

Danny put a hand on the back of Josh’s neck, his fingertips brushing through his curls: “Wanna see it?”

Josh nodded, their foreheads pressed together; Danny leaned back and Josh sat back, giving him the bit of space that was possible. Danny brought his hands down to take it out himself and Josh’s mouth was even less dry at the sight of Danny’s cock–big and hard, the head a darker pink and already leaking the tiniest bit of pearly precum. When Danny wrapped his hand around it–his big hand with the long fingers–not even he could cover the entire shaft. Josh just kept staring as Danny lifted his hips and pulled his boxers and jeans down a few inches, exposing his balls and the tops of his thighs, too fixated to know what to do with himself.

Danny gave a shallow nod, his eyes on Josh’s groin. “I wanna see you too,” he said, his voice low and inviting, as he gave one long, easy stroke to himself. 

There was barely enough room on the driver’s side for even Josh to mirror Danny’s prior actions with a modicum of grace. His elbow banged into the dashboard when he pulled his pants down; Danny chuckled and laid a hand on his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“Damn,” Danny said, his gaze still on Josh’s groin that was now bared straight to him. Danny’s face was slightly blurred in the lingering haze of smoke and humidity, but when he started to inch closer, closing the gap by pushing Josh back against the center console, Josh’s vision of him became clearer. Josh laid back against it, looking up at him until he winced at the hard plastic digging into the back of his neck. 

“That’s no good,” Danny remarked, then he was shrugging himself out of his shirt and stuffing it beneath Josh’s neck and upper back, giving a shallow, warm and fragrant cushion. He sighed softly as he let his lower body rest on top of Josh’s. “Is that any better?”

Distracted by the first subtle but still intense contact of their erections being pushed together, Josh forgot to answer right away. When he saw Danny smile a little and felt fingers gently running down his neck, Josh said, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s better.” He placed his hands on Danny’s bare waist, one skimming down and over so he could touch the dark happy trail beneath his navel. “Still kinda wish we were on a bed though. Or a couch.”

Danny rolled his hips a bit, really rubbing their cocks together. “Next time,” he said, planting the hand that wasn’t traveling across Josh’s chest onto the center console, right next to his head.

“There’ll be a next time?” Josh asked, tensing with grueling anticipation as Danny let a long string of saliva slide down from his lips and onto their cocks. He gripped Danny’s waist harder, the skin beneath his fingers turning red with his squeezing. 

Danny slid the spit around both of them, his fist a tight vice that kept both of their cocks together within; he nodded, looking down at what he was doing between them for a moment, then met Josh’s gaze again. “For sure,” he said, the sound of his voice and the simple but titillating words looping through Josh’s brain. The hand between them was gone, replaced by more of his weight pressing down, then Danny was kissing Josh again, taking the air right from his lungs and the words right from his tongue.

Confined to the small space of the car, locked in all of his clothes, trapped beneath nearly the full weight of Danny on top of him–so much potential for discomfort, to feel helpless and stuck. But Josh felt nothing but bliss and wanting, the wanting so deep and aching now that Danny really was there on top of him, grinding their hips together and kissing him hard and fast, moaning softly against his lips and playing with his hair with his spit-dampened fingers. Josh felt like he could stay there and keep doing all of that forever.

“I know it’s not the same,” Danny said, speaking against Josh’s lips before he kissed him again, then pulled back from the kiss as his hips pushed forward. “But y’know–given the circumstances–”

“No, no,” Josh said, breathless and wrapping his arms around Danny’s shoulders. “It’s good.” He couldn’t do much in his position, but he was able to grind upwards for a couple seconds, moving with Danny’s rhythm. The friction they were creating and the new high they were chasing might not have been the same, but that didn’t make it any less perfect.  

Danny let out a small huff with his efforts, grinding harder, shoving the weight of his lower body straight down in a surprisingly concentrated way. Josh bit his lip, stifling what he thought might be too pathetic of a whine, but Danny intercepted with another kiss. He swiped the tip of his tongue over the slight tooth imprint in Josh’s bottom lip and caressed his face; the intimacy forced a real whine from Josh’s throat that was caught between their mouths, and he could feel the slight smile on Danny’s lips after the sound tore out of him.

Josh could feel more needy, desperate sounds building up in his chest. When Danny broke away and braced his hand on the center console again, keeping himself propped up while he looked down, Josh kept the sounds locked in his throat. There was no way he could let them out when Danny was looking at him like that, deeply into his eyes with such an open, vulnerable gaze; he didn’t even need to say anything. Josh could see the same desire he felt reflected in Danny’s eyes, and his pupils had become so huge that he could just barely make out his own literal reflection in the blackness. And Danny’s skin, so silky and rosy–his face, but his body too. His chest was flushed and his entire body was vividly warm on top of Josh’s; when Josh took half a second to glance at the windows, he couldn’t see the outside world at all anymore.

A little line creased between Danny’s eyebrows as his jaw visibly tightened and he let out a low, quiet groan. “God, Josh,” he said, so soft and so sweet were those words from his swollen pink lips. It looked like he was going to say something else, but then he was spitting into his hand, leaning back and wrapping that hand around both his and Josh’s cock, jerking them both off with a shocking onset of gusto.

Josh’s back arched and a loud, long moan ripped right out of him. He reached out to grab Danny’s hip, hooking his thumb through the belt loop of his jeans to encourage Danny even more; he closed his eyes, sinking even further into the feelings and the sounds, but then Danny said his name again.

“I want you to come so hard,” Danny said, looking wild and beautiful, so much so that Josh had no doubts about obliging. Just hearing the slight growl in those words and seeing the way Danny’s hair fell against his shoulders, the way his throat bobbed as he threw his head back, was more than enough to bring Josh right to the edge. 

“Fuck yes, that’s it,” Danny hissed, looking down at what Josh could feel was both of their generous streams of precum mixing together in his hand. Danny kept stroking–Josh kept panting and whimpering and staring at him as the smooth velvet of Danny’s cock rubbed against his own, the spit and precum keeping the slide sticky, the friction luxuriously wet. 

Josh was surprised–and delighted–that Danny came first. He threw his head back again as he moaned; Josh watched his shoulders shudder and his chest heave, then looked down at his hips stuttering and the motion of his arm and hand slow down. He could feel the additional warm, wet stickiness of Danny’s cum that made him want to come too. 

With a sigh, Danny let go of himself. He brought his full focus to Josh, keeping his hand wrapped solely around his throbbing wet erection; Josh squirmed while his own chest heaved hard, his breathing ragged, and then his vision was blurring and blacking out entirely as his eyes closed of their own volition. But as his own orgasm rolled through his body and he spilled into Danny’s hand, within the blackness behind his eyes, Josh could still see only him.

When he opened his eyes, Danny was still there, of course. He looked calm and relaxed–he was still perched on top of Josh but his weight had diminished with the slackness of his body and the release of all that energy. The same went for Josh, who was loose like goo in the middle of the front seats, still trying to catch his breath as Danny ducked down to kiss him all gentle and sweet.

“You’re really something,” Danny said when he was sitting back, creating space between them for the first time in which Josh could only guess how long. He wiped his hand on his discarded shirt, then lifted his hips up from the driver’s seat to pull his boxers and jeans back up; Josh managed to do the same after a couple more seconds of collecting his mental bearings. 

Flopping back into the passenger seat, Josh said, “So are you, Danny.” He wished the center console didn’t exist at all so he could stay close without it being awkward–the idea of trying to cuddle, crammed in the driver’s seat together, wasn’t really romantic. But just as Josh was once again dashing away his own little hopes, Danny whisked them to life again by leaning straight across the front of the car and pressing his clean hand to Josh’s cheek.

“I really like your face,” he said, making Josh’s heart ramp up again. Danny’s fingers brushed over his cheekbone and then his jaw before it was gone and Josh just felt the residual tingle of where his touch once had been. 

“I really like yours too,” Josh told him, sparing a quick look at the slight bit of himself that he could catch in the rearview mirror while Danny put his dirty shirt back on. He couldn’t see much, so he hoped he didn’t look as wrecked as he felt–Danny looked depleted but glorious behind the wheel again, and excitement bubbled in Josh’s belly when he lifted the bowl to light again. 

Danny exhaled more smoke, then passed the bowl and lighter over to Josh. “I really like you, Josh. As a whole person,” he said, looking a little shy again. God, it was so cute. Josh had to look away as he took his hit, trying to find a little composure. “It sounds lame, but I’m really glad you started buying from me.”

Josh laughed. The single hit of weed seemed to reignite his previous high, in addition to Danny’s charm. “Yeah, I’m glad about that too. Is it safe to say that, after all this, I’m your favorite customer?” 

Danny laughed too. He backed up against the driver door, facing Josh, legs splayed as much as he could. “No doubt about it.” He leaned forward to take the bowl Josh passed back and let his fingers linger on Josh’s hand, keeping them suspended in air for a moment. “I’ll always smoke you up. But maybe next time, we could do something else too?”

Josh was delighted. He perked up in the passenger seat, Danny’s question echoing in his ears along with the rain that was still pounding down. “Something else in addition to doing this but in a bed instead of a car?”

Another laugh. Danny nodded with the bowl to his lips. “Exactly,” he said, slightly strained with the smoke in his lungs before he exhaled. He smiled, eyes bright. “What do you think?”

“So like…a date?” Josh asked, able to picture it so easily. They’d talked a bit about what else they like to do–he could imagine romping around outside somewhere with Danny, holding hands while they walked a trail with the sun high above their heads. He’d be happy with just about anything.

“Yeah, a date,” Danny affirmed, then cleared his throat. “If you want.” He looked away, his dark hair shielding his face, until Josh took it upon himself to crawl back over the console and sidle up against him. 

“It’s really adorable when you’re shy,” he said, resting his cheek on Danny’s shoulder. “But you should know that I’ve been thinking about doing all sorts of things with you since the first time we met.”

“Oh,” Danny said, chuckling. He tilted his head to rest on top of Josh’s. “That’s good, because I’ve been a little loopy for you since the first time too.” 

Josh smiled to himself. “Am I just flattering myself, or might that be why you seemed a little edgy earlier?”

Danny slid his arm around Josh’s waist and squeezed him a bit, warm and strong. “Yeah. You make me nervous.” 

“Same,” Josh said with a short bark of a laugh, so surprised again, so overjoyed that his world had been illuminated within what would have otherwise just been a slow, dreary afternoon. He was wholly content to hang out there in the dank air, content to be crammed in the car cuddling with Danny until the rain finally stopped. 

---

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[noroamenial]

“You knew this would happen when you chose me over them.”

And you knew he was right. Standing on the edge of the main gates walls you watched as Baldur’s gate burned, aroused in smoke and flame. You were no fool, your actions led you here.

You assured your companions the crown was better off in the bottom of the Chionthar, that no one would be able to grab its power…no one except you.

You disappeared in the lie of new work—secretly weeks of sand filled searching. Predictable, ambitious, hollow, choking on water. Even now you can recall the way your lungs would burn. And finally, only when you had almost given up, did your hands hit the slender metal of the crown.

The weight lifted from your hands on the shore to the grip of the devil you knew. He knew what you wanted. For once he brushed off that you were filthy—full of bay water—and embraced you.

“Must you look so melancholy?” His voice came from behind your neck, smooth even through the crackle of flame and billow of smoke.

“I can’t help it.”

“Feeling guilty? Regretful?” You can hear his jealous hiss, and if you dared look over your shoulder—his narrowed golden gaze.

“Sort of,” you sigh, you weren’t really sure what you felt. Disconnected? Powerful? Weak? You leaned into his possessive embrace, arms snaking around your waist.

You could feel him frown against your neck, fangs grazing senstive skin. Jealous thing he was. You always sort of knew, but now without his game he was much easier to read. Not like you minded, having him make decisions and keep you well was all you could ask for. All you wanted, really.

[alleiwentcrazy]

The first time Eddie agreed to try, Steve looked surprised, like he finally scratched the right numbers on a lottery ticket. Like he hoped for it to happen, but didn’t actually expect it to happen.

Steve had been really interested in shotgunning for the longest time, which was completely insane to Eddie, because he’d always assumed that Steve had tried each and every stupid way of wooing somebody and getting them to make out with you. Hell, even Eddie had this experience—and he’d never been, by any means, proclaimed the King of Hawkins High.

“Wait,” Steve said, baffled. His eyes were unfocused, face drawn. “You’re not kidding?”

“No?” Eddie responded, squirming on his spot on the carpet. He immediately felt his confidence (which was already quite feeble) melt. “You’ve been asking for ages, maybe we should just do it and get over with.”

“Get over with,” Steve echoed. A fleeting expression cast a shadow over his face, but it was too sudden and too short for Eddie to decipher. “Right. Yeah, let’s—let’s go.”

He handed the joint over. Eddie tried to take it between his fingers with every last bit of bravado he had, but it didn’t make his hand any less shaky. They both shifted slightly, trying to sit closer and more aligned, but managing only an awkward angle that could have been really uncomfortable if they decided to sit like that for a while longer. Eddie looked around, but they were alone in the room, the rest of the party seizing the opportunity to experience what was probably one of the most beautiful golden hours in the history of the universe. He didn’t feel like he was missing out on anything – judging by the way those soft, honey-colored sun rays were hitting Steve’s eyes at a perfect angle, making them somehow bigger and brighter, Eddie had the best possible view right beside him.

Eddie swallowed before he took a hit. He kept reminding himself to stay focused, but when he leaned forward at the same moment that Steve’s nervous expression melted into something more delicate and so easy to shatter, Eddie’s whole consciousness blacked out. The last thing he noticed was how softly Steve’s eyes fluttered shut before he leaned forward as well.

Their noses bumped. Steve immediately realigned himself. Eddie didn’t even register how it happened, but suddenly their lips were more or less pressed together, and he had to act fast before he did something stupid. Slowly, he started breathing out the smoke, but it billowed around their faces instead of disappearing. Steve was frozen, with his parted lips faintly ghosting Eddie’s, while Eddie himself was on the verge of panic.

He was shotgunning with Steve Harrington. There was no space left between them, Steve’s skin smelled like warm cedar, his lips were so soft they were practically asking Eddie to lean into them. He didn’t know for just how long he’d be able to take it before collapsing.

Finally, after what felt like ages, the smoke thinned out. Eddie felt it move around them and disappear, but even when he had no air left in his lungs, he still lingered.

They both lingered.

Eddie was the first one to back away. He almost suffocated trying to prolong the moment for as much as he could, but unlike Steve, he wasn’t a swimmer; his lungs burned, his vision was cloudy. Despite that, he noticed how Steve’s face changed. His eyelids looked heavy, but the everlasting lines on his face seemed less hollow. Eddie decided not to dwell on whatever this expression could mean.

He took another hit and passed the joint to Steve.

Afterwards, they didn’t talk about it. They finished the joint in silence and went outside, where their friends were. They seemed normal. There was no change in their interactions, but this single incident altered Eddie’s whole worldview. That was how he found out just how massive his “stupid crush” had gotten.

[grayhyacinth]

The Wishmaker Star

Go watch season three of The Owl House! I hope you guys enjoy another work I wrote. Unfortuantly, school is about to start again, so I'm not sure when I'll create another work. But, I won't forget about you.

Links: ao3, tumblr, masterlist

Hunter’s POV:

“…do you think she’s going to like it?”

“Dude, you know she’s been wanting a palisman for like... over five years!” Augustus sighed in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose before sliding his fingers down the length of it.

“Yeah! I know, but—”

“Plus, you’ve been carving palistrom wood to make her the perfect palisman.” Gus added air quotes, emphasizing the last two words with a teasing smirk. “She’s going to love it.”

“…really? You think so?” The former Golden Guard turned the small, carefully wrapped gift box in his hand a few times, as if the motion could help him decide whether its contents were truly enough.

“Really.” Gus nodded with confidence, locking eyes with Hunter. “Now, come on! We’re gonna be late to the party!” He stopped mid-stride, suddenly grabbing Hunter’s hand and tugging him into a sprint.

“Haha, hey! Okay!” Despite the laughter in his voice, Hunter couldn’t shake the undercurrent of anxiety brewing inside him. What if you hated it? What if the last thing you wanted was a gift from someone who used to serve Belos?

His fingers tightened around the gift as they dashed through the forest, the sight of The Owl House growing closer. Deep down, he desperately hoped you’d appreciate it. More than that—he hoped you’d understand what the gift really meant to him. What you meant to him.

He blinked in shock. Did he really just think that? His ears burned bright red, and he forced the thoughts away, but they lingered, hanging in the back of his mind as they neared the clearing.

The trees thinned, revealing the tip of the familiar crooked roof, smoke billowing from a lit, bubbling cauldron. The scent of delicious food greeted them, and the sound of laughter echoed through the clearing, filling the space with warmth.

His eyes were instantly drawn to you.

“Haha, seriously, Luz?”

“Oh, come on! Don’t tell me you didn’t find that funny!” Luz was grinning, clearly proud of herself, but you were shaking your head, still chuckling.

“Your attempt at a dazzling light show ended up with random colorful sparks chasing each other around! You almost set King on fire!”

Your laugh rang out again, your head tilted back, eyes crinkled in a way that made you absolutely radiant in Hunter’s eyes. It had been three long months since your last visit to the Boiling Isles. And he missed you.

(Y/n) POV:

Returning to the Boiling Isle was like a breath of fresh air after drowning in the Human world. While Luz occasionally visited the Isle, you had thrown yourself into preparing for your exams, working day and night to secure your place at your dream university.

And now, you had done it. The letter was sitting back in your room, in the Owl House, confirming your acceptance. Tonight’s "Night Under the Stars" party wasn’t just a reunion with friends—it was the perfect chance to announce your plans for the future. But that didn’t stop the nerves boiling beneath your excitement.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Gus and Hunter making their way through the crowd. The moment your gaze met Hunter’s, a wide smile spread across your face, and you waved energetically.

“Gus! Hunter! You made it!”

Gus approached first, grinning as he handed you a blue gift bag decorated with silver stars. “The party looks awesome, (Y/N)!”

“Thanks, Gus!” You took the bag, your excitement bubbling over. “You didn’t have to get me anything, though!”

He shrugged dramatically. “It’s either a gift or a firework show, and let’s just say... my track record with fireworks isn’t the best.”

You laughed. “You mean the time you nearly set Luz’s eyebrows on fire?”

Gus pointed at you. “Exactly! See, I’m learning from my mistakes. No more ‘explosive’ gifts. I went safe this time.” He gestured to the bag.

Peeking into the shimmering tissue paper, you raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried about this gift now?”

Gus waved his hands quickly, eyes wide. “No, no! I swear, it’s not dangerous. This time it’s actually cool! Just, uh, make sure you open it carefully… outside.”

You shot him a playful glare. “Gus!”

He laughed, nudging you. “Just kidding.”

Hunter stood a little behind Gus, awkwardly shifting the small, carefully wrapped box in his hands. He took a deep breath, holding the gift out to you, his gaze darting nervously to the ground.

“I… uh, made this. For you.” His voice was quiet, and his ears were still red. “I hope you like it.”

You took a step away from Gus, eyeing the gift box with curiosity. It was wrapped in a beautiful shade of magenta, one that almost perfectly resembled Hunter’s eyes. A neatly tied yellow ribbon sat on top, forming a large, slightly uneven bow that added a cute, personal touch. You couldn’t help but smile—Hunter was really getting good at arts and crafts.

“This is…?” you asked, your voice soft as you carefully reached out, your fingers brushing against his as he held the box. His hand felt warm and rough, calloused from endless hours of training and carving. You couldn’t help but notice the small bandages wrapped around each finger, a testament to how much care and effort he must have put into this.

Your eyes flicked up to his face. Hunter’s blush deepened, his freckled cheeks glowing a light pink as his eyes darted anywhere but yours. He seemed frozen, caught between the hope that you'd like it and the fear that you wouldn’t. It was endearing, seeing the normally composed Hunter so nervous.

His voice barely came out in a whisper. “It’s, uh... just something I made. I wasn’t sure if it was good enough…”

You smiled, squeezing his hand gently to reassure him. “Hunter, you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he interrupted quickly, almost panicking at the thought that you might dismiss it. His eyes finally met yours for a second before he looked away again, clearly embarrassed by his own outburst. “I mean, I just… I thought you might like it. If you don’t, that’s fine too! I just—”

You cut him off with a soft laugh, feeling your own cheeks warm. “I haven’t even opened it yet, but I already know I’m going to love it.”

Hunter blinked, surprised by your words, but his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. His lips twitched upward in the smallest of smiles as he mumbled, “I’m glad…”

You carefully took the box from his hands, your heart fluttering at how much thought he must have put into this. Whatever was inside, it already felt special. You looked up at him again, giving him another warm smile. "Thank you, Hunter. Really."

He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Yeah, uh... you're welcome." He stole a quick glance at you, his blush deepening again.

You glanced over at Luz, who was giving you and Hunter a smirking look, clearly enjoying the awkward tension. “I think there’s a couple more things left to do before the party can start, right, Luz?” You raised an eyebrow at her, trying to shift the attention away from you and Hunter.

Luz’s smirk widened, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, totally! But, you know, I think we could give you two a little more time to… finish your moment.” She wiggled her eyebrows dramatically.

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a laugh. “Luz.”

She snickered. “Okay, okay! I’ll behave. But yeah, there’s a couple last-minute things to get done. I’ll go grab the snacks from the kitchen, and King’s in charge of making sure everything goes well. You know how much he loves bossing everyone around.”

Hunter let out a small, awkward laugh, scratching the back of his head. “Sounds like King…”

“Yup! Little guy’s already giving me a lecture about optimal stargazing positions,” Luz added with a grin. “But we’ve got it all under control. You two just… keep doing whatever you’re doing.”

“Luz!” you called, a mix of embarrassment and amusement coloring your tone as she dashed off with a mischievous wave.

Hunter stood beside you, looking slightly flustered but smiling softly. You turned back to him, giving him an apologetic shrug. “She’s… well, Luz.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, eyes softening as he looked at you. “She is.”

While Amity worked her culinary magic in the kitchen, preparing delicious treats and savory bites, Willow was outside weaving a tapestry of glowing enchanted flowers. Gus was busy setting up a stereo system and curating a playlist.

Lilith, ever the organizer, took charge of a trivia game focused on the magical history of stars and constellations. Eda zipped around with King to assist wherever needed—whether it was adjusting decorations, fetching supplies, or simply keeping an eye on things to make sure everything was running smoothly.

Hooty, with his characteristic enthusiasm, took on the role of party greeter and entertainer. He offered his over-the-top hospitality, engaging in animated conversations.

As for you and Hunter, you were hard at work preparing the stargazing area. Together, you laid out an array of soft blankets and pillows, arranging them in inviting clusters around the open space. You made sure there were ample cozy spots for guests to lounge and gaze up at the stars. Hunter adjusted the placement of a few blankets to ensure that everyone had an unobstructed view of the night sky.

Taking a step back, you admired the sight before you. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting a final burst of orange and pink across the sky. As the daylight faded, the first stars began to twinkle, their light growing clearer against the deepening blue of the evening. It was a breathtaking backdrop for the night’s festivities.

With a deep breath, you called out, “Everyone! It’s time!” Your voice carried across the gathering, amplified by the excitement in the air.

Gradually, the guests made their way to their chosen spots, finding cozy places among the clusters of blankets and pillows you and Hunter had arranged. Plates of snacks and small bites were passed around, with some guests holding their treats in hand as they settled in. The soft murmur of conversation began to mingle with the occasional burst of laughter, while the louder chatter from Hooty and the background music set a lively, cheerful tone.

As everyone settled in, the trivia game organized by Lilith started to draw interest, with guests eagerly gathering around to test their knowledge of magical history.

"What rare type of star is known for emitting a gentle, calming glow that can soothe even the most agitated magical beings?”

“Oh! I know!” Willow immediately raised her hand. She was literally clutching a finger, hence the name for finger food, and waved it around excitedly. “The Tranquil Star?”

“Very good, Willow!” Lilith responded with a proud smile. She marked a point on her chalkboard, which rested on her lap. “Next question: Which star is known to be the source of the most potent moonlight magic used in spells and enchantments?”

“Hmmm…” You furrowed your brow, trying to recall your Astrology Class lessons at Hexite. But before you could come up with the answer, Eda chimed in, leaning back with a confident grin.

“Obviously, the Silver Beacon,” Eda declared, casually biting into a piece of spicy manticore jerky. “These questions are too easy. Either you’re getting rusty with your history, Lilly, or I’m just a natural.”

Lilith’s smile widened, clearly enjoying the challenge. She noted a point for Eda on the chalkboard. “Alright then,” she said, rubbing her hands together in preparation for a tougher question. “What is the name of the mystical star that is said to appear only once every hundred years and grants a single wish to those who find it?”

A hush fell over the group. Everyone furrowed their brows, deep in thought, but no one could come up with the answer.

Lilith’s eyes twinkled with a mix of anticipation and mischief. “Come on, folks,” she teased. “Anyone want to take a guess, or should I reveal the answer?”

Amity speaks first, tapping her chin thoughtfully with a finger. Her other arm is wrapped securely around Luz, drawing her close. “How about giving us a hint?” she suggests, her tone light but eager.

Everyone nods in agreement. Lilith, clearly enjoying the playful challenge, grins and leans forward. “Alright, I’ll give you a hint,” she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “The name of this star is said in stories we read to children.”

You spent a lot of time in the library, a habit sparked partly by Amity and Luz’s influence, but also because you genuinely enjoyed delving into the rich history and lore of the Boiling Isles. As you pondered Lilith's hint, a classic children's story came to mind. You murmured the title under your breath, “The Wishmaker Star.”

Hearing your whispered answer, Lilith’s eyes lit up with approval. “That’s right!” she exclaimed. “Nicely done, (Y/n)!”

The group erupted in applause, impressed by your knowledge. Lilith marked another point on her chalkboard, and the trivia game continued with a renewed sense of enthusiasm.

Once the trivia game ended, with Gus emerging as the clear winner, the friendly competition had everyone in high spirits, and now it was time for the much-anticipated moment: opening the wrapped gifts.

You gathered the colorful packages, each one tied with cheerful ribbons and adorned with heartfelt tags.

The first gift you unwrapped was from Amity. It came in a shimmering purple bag, and as you carefully lifted the tissue paper, you found a beautifully crafted crystal pendant. The pendant was shaped like a star, with intricate details that caught the light in a mesmerizing way.

Amity watched with a hopeful smile as you admired the pendant. “I thought it might be a nice reminder of the stars we’ve spent so many nights talking about,” she explained.

You were touched by the thoughtful gift and hugged Amity gratefully. “It’s perfect, Amity. Thank you so much!” you said, your voice filled with warmth.

The next gift was from Luz. In her yellow gift bag, you discovered a small, leather-bound journal. The journal’s pages were blank, inviting you to fill them with your thoughts, dreams, and magical discoveries. Luz had added a personal touch by writing a heartfelt note on the first page, expressing her pride in your achievements and her hopes for your future. You rushed over to hug her tightly.

Luz’s said enthusiastically. “I’m glad you like it. I thought it would be perfect for your new adventures,” she said, her tone filled with sincerity.

After that, you made sure to open each gift and to express gratitude with heartfelt joy.

Eda had gifted you a charming, hand-carved wooden charm that depicted a playful owl. The charm was both whimsical and meaningful, capturing Eda’s unique sense of magic and mischief. “I figured you could use a bit of my own brand of luck,” Eda said with a wink. “Besides, owls are good for keeping watch!”

Lilith’s gift was a beautifully crafted set of magical candles, each one infused with different enchantments. There was a candle for relaxation, one for focus, and another for inspiration. “These are to help you with your studies and your adventures,” Lilith explained with a warm smile. “Light them when you need a little extra magic.”

Gus’s gift was a set of magical quills and enchanted ink. Gus had been excited to see you use them, and his enthusiasm was evident. “I just knew you’d appreciate these for your notes and sketches,” he had said. “Be careful with that though. Only write with the bright green ink when you want something to come to life!”

Willow’s present was a collection of enchanted botanical seeds. Each seed had its own magical properties, such as glowing flowers or plants that could change colors with the seasons. “I thought you’d enjoy growing these,” Willow said with a shy but proud smile. “They’re a little bit of nature’s magic for your home.”

Next, was Hooty’s gift. The eccentric owl had been practically bursting with excitement, his eyes gleaming as he hopped around. With a dramatic flourish, he coughed up a large, oddly-shaped package that landed with a soft thud in front of you.

As you carefully peeled away the wrapping dripping with salvia, you discovered a bizarre but intriguing gift: a large, enchanted plushie that looked like a cross between a fuzzy critter and a whimsical creature. The plushie had multiple eyes and an array of mismatched limbs that wiggled amusingly.

Hooty, still brimming with enthusiasm, explained, “Surprise! I thought you could use a little friend to keep you company. This is Hooty’s special buddy, Fluffernox!”

“Haha…” You held the disturbing stuffed animal at arms length. “Thanks… Hooty…”

Lastly, you turned your attention to Hunter’s gift. His hands trembled slightly as you carefully untied the ribbon and unfolded the wrapping paper. Inside was a small, intricately carved wooden box. You noticed that the lid of the box had your initials. As you lifted the lid, you discovered a delicate, handcrafted palisman. The palisman was adorned with symbols and a subtle glow, reflecting the effort and care Hunter had put into its creation.

You were momentarily speechless, your eyes wide with amazement. “Hunter… This is incredible!” you finally managed to say, your voice filled with awe. “I’m truly surprised. It’s beautiful.” You held up the small creature, admiring it’s weight in your hand and the aesthetic.

Hunter leaned in, his hair brushing lightly against your forehead as he gently cupped your hands, holding the palisman between you. “All it needs to come to life is to know your deepest desire,” he whispered, his voice soft and intent. The warmth of his hands and the fresh scent of his shampoo made your pulse quicken. Heat rose to your cheeks, but Hunter was so focused on the palisman, he didn’t notice the way your gaze lingered on him.

“I—” you hesitated, the words catching in your throat. What was your deepest desire? What did you truly want? The weight of that question felt almost unbearable, and you swallowed hard, feeling the pressure of the moment closing in. Now was the time to tell them—about your future, your plans, everything.

You gently pulled your hands back, allowing the palisman to fall into Hunter’s palms. His expression shifted to one of confusion, but before he could ask, you stepped away, the silence from everyone around you suddenly heavy. Their eyes were on you—waiting, watching. You felt as though the weight of their expectations was pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe.

Your hand trembled as you clenched it into a tight fist, trying to steady yourself. You took a deep breath, scanning the faces of the people you cherished. They all looked at you with concern, curiosity, and affection.

“I… I have something to tell you guys,” you finally managed, your voice cracking just a little under the pressure. The words hung in the air, each one harder to say than the last. “I’m staying in the Human Realm.”

They blinked Everyone stared at you, stunned. You could feel the weight of their surprise, their confusion, and the sharp, heavy moment that seemed to stretch between all of you.

The silence that followed your announcement felt endless, thick with shock. You could see the confusion in their eyes, the sudden tension between excitement and uncertainty. Even Hooty, usually brimming with chatter, was silent, his long body frozen in place.

Luz instantly stood up, her wide eyes reflecting disbelief before she finally broke the silence. “Wait… you’re staying?” Her voice was a mix of confusion and hurt.

You nodded, your throat tightening. “Yeah. I got accepted into my dream university in the human world. It’s… it’s a huge opportunity for me.”

Amity’s eyes widened in understanding, but there was a flicker of sadness. She squeezed Luz’s hand. “You didn’t tell us. All this time, you’ve been planning to leave?”

“I didn’t know how to say it,” you admitted, feeling your heart pound harder in your chest. “I didn’t want to make anyone upset.”

Eda let out a low whistle, crossing her arms. Her usual smirk was replaced with something else, something more thoughtful. “Well, kid, that’s one heck of an announcement. I get it, though. You’ve got big dreams.”

Gus, stepped forward with his usual enthusiasm dimmed by concern. “Does this mean you won’t be coming back? Like, ever?”

Hunter, still holding the palisman in his hands, was the quietest. His magenta eyes darted between you and the small creature. His mouth opened slightly, but he hesitated to speak, clearly grappling with what this meant.

The pressure from their reactions hit you hard, and you tried to steady yourself. “I didn’t tell you guys sooner because…” you paused, taking a shaky breath, “because I wasn’t sure. It wasn’t an easy decision, but after everything that’s happened, I think it’s what I need.”

Luz’s lips trembled, her hand gripping Amity’s tighter. “But we’re your family too,” she said softly, her voice breaking slightly. “Are we… not enough?”

Her words cut deep, and you felt your heart ache as you tried to explain. “It’s not about that,” you said quickly, “it’s not about any of you not being enough. I love you all so much. But… I have a life back in the Human Realm. I’ve worked so hard to get into this university. I need to follow through with that, with my own future.”

Eda let out a small sigh and rubbed the back of her neck. “You’ve got to do what feels right for you, kid,” she said, her voice softer now. “It’s a tough call, but… I get it.”

Hunter, finally finding his voice, spoke quietly. “And the palisman…?” His eyes searched yours, his fingers brushing over the wooden surface. “It won’t come to life if you don’t… if you’re not here.”

You looked down at the palisman, the weight of his words sinking in. This creature, a symbol of magic, connection, and belonging in the Boiling Isles, would never awaken in the Human Realm. You felt a pang of guilt, but you stood by your choice.

Hunter didn’t said anything else, but his eyes met yours for a brief moment. There was something deeper in his gaze—something that made your stomach flutter with uncertainty. Finally, he broke the silence. “I’m happy for you,” he said quietly, his voice steady but laced with something unspoken. “This palisman… it’s for you, wherever you go.”

He reached out his arm, beckoning for you to take the palisman. You looked up at him and then back towards the creature. “Thank you, Hunter.” You said, your voice heavy. “I’ll—”

“Will you be gone forever?” Willow’s voice trembled, her lips quivering. She adjusted her glasses to hide the sight of tears brimming the edges of her eyes.

You shook your head quickly. “No, I mean—I’ll visit, of course. I’m not disappearing forever. I just… I need to do this. For myself.”

Lilith reached out and squeezed your arm gently. “We’re happy for you, you know? It’s just… we’re going to miss you.” She was the first to squish you into a hug. Everyone else followed suit, attaching themselves to you as if they could somehow keep you from leaving by holding you close. It was overwhelming, the way everyone piled on with their arms wrapped around you—each hug a reminder of the bond you shared.

“We’ll be like one of those inter-dimensional friend groups!” Gus continued, his voice muffled by the group hug. “We’ll visit you in the Human Realm, and you can visit us here. It’ll be epic!”

Luz, still clinging tightly to you, added, “Yeah! We’ve got portals! Nothing’s stopping us from seeing you.” "You better not forget about me, your majesty!" King puff out his chest. "After all, who else is going to teach you about ruling the world? I can’t have my future co-ruler running off to the Human Realm without a plan!"

Hunter stood a little apart, watching quietly. His arms folded across his chest, but you could tell he was trying to process it all in his own way. He still held the palisman carefully, his fingers tracing the edges absentmindedly.

As for Hooty, he'd suddenly stretch his long, bendy body over to you, making his presence known with his usual unsettling enthusiasm. "OH, (Y/N), MY BEST FRIEND IN THE WHOLE WORLD! YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME!" He’d dramatically sob, then in a disturbing twist, he’d blurt out, "Do you need a Hooty-sized suitcase? I can pack myself inside and come with you!"

You looked at the weird creature. Hooty was… unexplainable. You were gonna miss him.

Eda, ever the practical one, ruffled your hair gently. “Kid, you’ve gotta do what makes you happy. We’ll survive without you... somehow,” she teased, but there was a glimmer of emotion in her eyes too.

As the hugs loosened and everyone stepped back, the weight of the moment settled in. You weren’t disappearing from their lives, but things would be different. There was a bittersweetness in the air, knowing that this was a goodbye of sorts—not forever, but for now.

As the group slowly dispersed, leaving you a moment to catch your breath, you faced the blond boy. He stood there quietly, his hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze shifting between you and the sky above.

"Hey," you said softly, trying to catch his eye.

He looked at you, his usual guarded expression softer than you’d seen it before. “(Y/n)…” he replied, though his voice was quieter than usual. It was like he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find the words. For a moment, there was silence—neither of you quite knowing what to say.

“I... I guess this is it, huh?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze finally lifted, and you could see the mixture of emotions swirling in his magenta eyes—uncertainty, sadness, and something else that made your heart skip a beat.

You offered him a small smile, stepping closer until you were only a breath away. “It’s not goodbye, Hunter,” you said softly. “It’s more like... see you later.”

He nodded, though his shoulders still seemed tense. “Yeah, but... it won’t be the same. I won’t be able to just... you know, see you whenever.” His hand clenched around the palisman for a moment before he loosened his grip, offering it to you again. “Here. Take it. You should have it.”

You reached out and gently closed your hand over his, pushing the it back toward him. “No, Hunter,” you said, your voice steady. “I want you to keep it safe for me. That way... I’ll have a reason to come back. To see you.”

Hunter’s breath hitched slightly, and his eyes widened in surprise. For a moment, it was as if the world had quieted around the two of you. Then, with a soft exhale, he smiled—a real, genuine smile that lit up his face in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“I... I’ll keep it safe,” he promised, his voice more certain now. “And... I’ll be here. Waiting.”

Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him in a tight, warm hug. He stiffened for a second, clearly taken by surprise, but then he slowly relaxed into the embrace, his arms wrapping around you in return. It was a quiet, tender moment—no words needed, just the unspoken understanding between you.

“I’ll miss you,” you whispered, your cheek resting against his shoulder.

Hunter’s grip tightened slightly, his breath warm against your hair. “I’ll miss you too,” he whispered back, his voice soft but full of sincerity.

As everyone murmured in agreement to start star gazing, Hunter tugged you along to a soft picnic blanket. As the night grew deeper and the stars twinkled above, a particularly bright one caught your eye. It shimmered in the sky, a little brighter than the rest, almost like it was watching over you. You recognized it immediately, your breath catching in your throat.

“The Wishmaker Star,” you whispered, pointing it out to Hunter.

Hunter’s eyes followed your gesture, widening when he saw it. “What would you wish for?” Hunter’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant, as he looked over at you. His hand was still wrapped in yours, grounding you in the present.

You looked up at the star, thinking about everything—your journey, the friendships you’d built, and the uncertain path that lay ahead in the human world. But then your gaze shifted to Hunter, sitting beside you, his face illuminated by the soft starlight. After a long pause, you answered.

“I don’t think I need to make a wish,” you said softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I already have everything I need. Friends who care about me... and people I’ll always come back to.”

Hunter’s expression softened, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “I think I’d wish for the same thing,” he murmured, glancing back at the Wishmaker Star. “To keep what I’ve found.”

A moment of comfortable silence passed between you, the star continuing to shine brightly above, as if blessing the quiet bond you shared. You leaned your head against Hunter’s shoulder, your heart full, and together, you both watched as the star slowly began to fade into the night.

And as it vanished into the sea of stars, leaving only its soft glow behind, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. Wishes weren’t always about longing for something new—they could be about holding onto the moments and people you already had. And under that starlit sky, you knew that no matter where life took you, this connection, this feeling, would stay with you—just like the legend of the Wishmaker Star.

Hunter whispered, almost to himself, “Maybe we didn’t need the star to grant our wish. Maybe it’s already come true.”

And under the vast, starry sky, with the warmth of his hand in yours, you couldn’t help but think he was right.

[isleofair]

🥀⚡🌞 For your asks! And for the sun one I would love to see a quote from Stereoscopy! ❤️

That is TWICE this evening you've made me squee into a pillow, now by asking for a quote from Stereoscopy!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥹🥹🥹 Thank you so much for this ask, I love it! 💚💚💚

🥀 favorite angst quote from a published work

Oh, gosh. There are a few I like... they'd all need context, but this bit I like well enough (and is certainly plenty angsty) even on its own. It's from Intertidal:

He held out his hand, smiling, as sweet and welcoming as ever, and Nathan went, her steps light, picking up speed, like gravity was inescapably guiding her to him. But before she could reach him, to her abject horror, faint wisps of smoke started to rise from his figure, a flicker of flame igniting on his open palm; the fire was lighting him up from the inside, burning through his flesh, turning his flawless golden skin into a charred, smoldering wasteland. Her outstretched fingers brushed against his, and at her faintest touch his hand crumpled into ash, followed by his arm, his body, his ruined, startled face; in just a few instants, Keith had disappeared, carried away on the wind until nothing was left.

⚡️ wild card: dealer’s choice of quote from a completed work

Oooh, spoiled for choice here! There's a chapter in Second Song that I love dearly; I plucked what I think is one of the prettiest quotes from it.

"You love peace," she murmured, unable to hold back a tiny, fond smile. "Yes," he said quickly, giving her a surprised, pleased look, like he hadn't expected her to understand him so instantly, so easily. "Yes, I do." Of course, he had no idea that she was cheating; that she'd had years with him, and not just minutes, that she knew him almost as well as she knew herself, and loved him even more. "But..." Keith sighed, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Lately, I've been thinking that maybe sometimes you need to fight, in order to protect peace." He opened his hands, palm up, and gazed down at them pensively. "I got into a college with a really good aviation program. But now I've got these powers, and..." "And you're thinking of becoming a hero," Nathan whispered, mesmerized. She felt like she was witnessing the birth of something beautiful, something precious; a cloud of luminous dust starting to coalesce into a future star.

☀️ asker’s choice of published work: request a quote from a published work

And here, as requested, is your quote from my beloved Stereoscopy:

There was no room around him; he was dropping from the sky, through the cold night air above Stern Bild. He was far higher than he'd ever flown on his own; he could recognize the shape of the city lights below him, but they were so terribly, achingly distant. And Fire Emblem wasn't there. Keith hadn't been afraid of falling for a very long time. But the thought of not being able to find his partner, the thought of losing him, filled him with the purest dread imaginable. There was only one person he could think of who might be able to help him. He wasn't wearing his helmet, but he did have the rest of his suit; he angled his limbs to take full advantage of the stabilizers, and directed his fall towards the golden bird glinting faintly above the river. Like he had been hoping, Nat was waiting there for him, perched on the very tip of the phoenix's beak. Her red coat billowed around her like a cape, its ends gilded in an illusion of fire by the light reflected by the metal under her feet. Keith's fall slowed as soon as he saw her; he floated down until he was standing in front of Nat, almost, but not quite close enough to touch. He resisted the urge to reach out; if he did, he knew, somehow, that he'd lose what he was looking for.

(the ask game)

[kingsnake101]

Orphanage?

So this one is pure crack. I couldn't stop giggling when I re-read them. I'm gonna share both of them because they're pretty similar. Also I've never played Majoras Mask or OOT, so sorry if there are inaccuracies :/

So these ones are almost finished, so I think I'm going to let them speak for themselves. The first one takes place pre-lu, and the second one happens during lu.

Orphanage

“Link?”

Link hummed a reply, staring up at the large sign reading “Castle Town Orphanage”. He had escaped from there a few times, if he remembered correctly.

Malon squeezed his hand, laughing lightly under her breath. “Come on, Link, it's okay. We're not making any decisions yet,” she reassured him, although it didn't escape him that she stayed rooted in place. Hypocrite.

“What, is the great ‘Hero of Time’ too scared to talk to a couple kids?” she teased, although her hand was holding his in a vice grip.

“I don't see Malon, ‘Hero of the Hero of Time’ running inside,” he teased back, the cheesy title bringing a grin to his face. She elbowed him in the side.

Link went back to staring at the sign, pondering. Was he ready to be a father? Malon had reassured him over and over, but he still had his doubts. Deep down, he still felt like the feral little child running around the Lost woods.

A shout interrupted his train of thought, and he spun, instinctually stepping in front of Malon and hovering his hand over the hilt of his sword.

Across the street, a short teenager writhed in the grip of two castle guards. He wore a tunic as colorful as the insults spewing from his mouth; the fabric was split into quadrants of blue, green, purple, and red. A green headband held back golden hair, framing a round face with large, angry eyes. He was currently being carried towards the orphanage, held between two guards, a third one hovering nearby. The guards seemed resigned, as if they had done this song and dance countless times. Intrigued and a little worried, Link jogged forwards to meet the group.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but is everything alright?” Link asked, which caused the kid to fall silent. Link met their eyes, a deep blue lake filled with annoyance and anger. Weird, but Link had seen much weirder.

The guards looked up, surprised.

“Ah! Sir Link!” the guard not currently restraining the teen greeted. “Everything is fine, we were just returning this one back to the orphanage,” he gestured to the restrained teen. The teen snarled at him, and the guard eyed him warily. “He keeps escaping, although we're not sure how. I swear, we might have to chain him to the wall at this point,” the guard chuckled dryly. The kid shot him a withering look that said “I'd like to see you try”. Link didn't miss the way he seemed to lean away from the kid. 

“Anyway, I believe we should get going. It was a pleasure seeing you, Sir Link,” the guard bowed his head respectively before walking towards the orphanage and waving the other guards forward. The kid didn't fight them this time, instead watching Link with sharp violet eyes. “Must be a trick of the light,” Link assumed.

“I like him,” Malon commented, a mischievous glint to her voice as she stepped up besides Link. Link nodded in response.

“He reminds me of you,” she grinned at him. Link rolled his eyes at that, but he couldn't deny that it was true. There had been a certain spark to that kid, one that reminded him of a feral child running around Hyrule in a quest to save the world.

He shared a knowing look with Malon. With only a moment's hesitation, she grabbed his hand, and started leading them towards the orphanage.

--

Link, or Four, stared out the window at the billowing smoke outside. The other link, also known as Time, stood in front of a roaring bonfire, expression blank. What looked to be a hand-painted child's bed crumbled to ash. A brightly colored balloon floated into the air, string singed, before being shot down with an arrow.

When Time found out who Four was he definitely lied about "sensing the hero's spirit" or something like that. Also, Time is now legally Four's dad. DO with that what you will (;

Orphanage 2

Four was abruptly awoken by three firm knocks on his door. Yawning, he slid out of bed, cringing slightly as his bare feet met the cold inn floor. The smith raised his arms above his head, sore joints popping into place. The night before had been rough. One minute, he had been sleeping peacefully in his bedroll, and the next, he was in the middle of Time’s Hyrule field. Alone. Thankfully, castle town was close and he had been easily able to find an inn. He quickly slid on his socks and shoes, just in case. 

The door creaked as he opened it, revealing a surprised castle guard with a fist poised to knock. Four blinked in surprise, opening the door fully.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Four greeted, voice cracking with exhaustion. “May I help you?”

“Good morning. We received a concerned message from the innkeeper, and we were here to ask you if you are traveling with your parents,” the guard stated, brows furrowed slightly in worry. Four sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I am sorry if my stature fooled you, but I am not a child,” he replied through gritted teeth, annoyance glimmering in his chest. Seriously, had they never seen a short person before? “Well, then again, everyone in Time’s Hyrule is freakishly tall.”

“Mhm. Is there anyone around that could confirm that?” the guard asked, clearly not believing him.

Four fought down the urge to slam the door on their face. “No, there is not, because I am fully capable of traveling on my own. Is there any other way I could prove it to you?”

“Listen, kid, how about you come with us to the orphanage and we can sort this out,” the second guard offered, stepping forward and reaching out a hand. “We'll get you a nice meal and a warm bath, free of charge, how's that sound?”

Right. Four realized that he probably looked like a drowned rat, his sleep clothes absolutely covered in mud. “I appreciate the offer, gentlemen, but I have places I have to be,” Four practically growled, barely managing to stay civil. He began to shut the door, only to be stopped by a gauntleted hand.

“Young man, that wasn't a suggestion. Please don't make us do this by force,” the first guard clarified, trying to push the door open further. Four pressed back, holding firm.

“Fine. Princess Zelda can confirm my age,” Four hissed, just barely holding himself back from punching this man in the face.

“Yeah right. Come on, kid,” the second guard scoffed, helping his coworker push the door open and grabbing Four’s arm. Four panicked slightly, trying to yank his hand out of the soldier's grip.

“Don't fucking touch me!” Four snarled, but the soldier held firm. Logically, he knew that he should go along with them and escape later, but the blue part of him refused to budge.

“Grab his stuff, will you?” The man holding him directed the other. Four watched in horror as the first guard wandered over to his things, reaching for the four sword.

“Be careful with that!” Four snarled, a sliver of desperation slipping into his voice. 

Thankfully, the man seemed to hear him, and carefully picked up the sword by its sheath. Four relaxed slightly when his sword was wrapped up safely with the rest of his items.

“Come on, kid. Let's go,” the second guard, or Denthead, as Blue had spitefully named him, tugged on his arm.

“Fine! I'll go with you, you don't have to lead me around like a dog,” Four huffed, pulling his arm out of the man's grip. The man gave him a disbelieving look, but let go of his arm regardless.

Four begrudgingly followed the men out of the inn, making sure to send the innkeeper the nastiest stare he could manage. He felt accomplished when she looked away to study the guestbook.

He absentmindedly rubbed the aching marks on his wrist as he scanned the streets for escape routes.

Into the crowd? No, guards were everywhere and a bystander might catch him.

That alleyway? Possibly, but it didn't seem to go anywhere and the overhang would make it hard to get onto the roof.

Fruit stand? No, that lady looks like a snitch. Tavern? No, he'd be cornered too quickly.

A familiar tug of magic pulled him out of his thoughts. Looking around, he searched for the source of it, eyes eventually landing on a broken pot on the porch of a butcher’s shop. If he could get to that, he could escape.

Four glanced back at the first guard, a plan starting to form. He turned around, looking at the guard with the most worried eyes he could muster. The guard stopped, raising a slightly worried eyebrow.

“Sir? Can I tell you something?” Four whispered, glancing back to where Denthead continued to walk through the crowd. Four gestured for him to lean down.

“Um, sure. Just make it quick, we have to catch up to Lewis,” the guard leaned down, shuffling the items in his arms. Four saw the hilt of his sword peeking out of his tunic.

Four dramatically leaned forwards, positioning his head right by the man's ear. He leaned in, subtly grasping the very edge of the sheath.

In one smooth motion, he head butted the man as hard as he could and pulled the sword from his grasp. He lunged, sprinting for the portal.

Four threw himself at the porch, ignoring the shouts around him in favor of reaching the portal. The familiar feel of minish magic brushed his fingers, he was almost there-

A hand grabbed the back of his undershirt and yanked, throwing him backwards and into the metal-plated chest of the first guard. Four snarled, thrashing and kicking in the man's grasp. The guard seemed startled by his strength, but managed to hold on regardless.

“Shit! Anthony, what happened?” Denthead came running up, sword drawn.

“Kid tried to run away. Little bugger’s sneaky,” Anthony (or Jackass, as Blue had named him) grunted. Four stopped thrashing, realizing he had no hopes of escaping now. He gazed forlornly at the four sword, which laid on the porch, sheathed. Denthead went to pick it up, along with the rest of Four's stuff from where Jackass had dropped it.

“Let's get him to the orphanage, I don't want to be responsible for a runner,” Denthead snarked, turning on his heel and leading the way through the crowd. Four could feel Jackass huff as he followed.

One thing was for sure, Four hated this even more. Being bear-hugged by a complete stranger made his skin itch. The only old man that could hug him in full armor is Time, thank you very much.

Pushing any need to be mature aside, Four went boneless. He reveled in the way Jackass faltered, struggling to get a good hold on him.

“Come on, kid, can you be a little more mature about this?” Jackass muttered.

“Apparently, you think I'm a child, so I may as well act like one,” Four spat, trying to be as heavy as humanly possible. Jackass just sighed and adjusted his grip again.

“I miss my brothers,” Four thought bitterly.

“So, honey, what's your name?” The lady sitting across from him, Ms. Pori, asked. The guards had dropped him off with her, apparently trusting her to keep him in line. So here he was, sitting on a plush sofa across from a heavy-set woman with the most smile lines he had ever seen.

Four thought about it for a moment. What name should he give her?

“You can call me Four,” he decided. It sounded much weirder than Link, but it wasn't like he planned on staying here long. Surprisingly, she didn't react to the strange name, smiling at him and jotting it down on her clipboard.

“Alright, Four, and how old are you?” She asked.

“One billion,” he snarked, knowing she wouldn't believe him anyway. A distinctly red part of him felt bad for being rude.

Surprisingly, she laughed. “Alright then. I'll just put your age as unknown,” Ms. Pori smiled. “Are there any parents or relatives we can contact?”

Four sighed. He knew who to contact, but if Time told his brothers, he would never hear the end of it. He just hoped Time would keep this a secret.

“Lon Lon ranch,” Four answered. “My older brother, Link, lives there,” he clarified. 

“How old is your brother?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Four paused. How old was Time?

“Old enough,” Four decided. “He owns the ranch with his wife.”

“Alright then!” she chirped, standing up. “I'll contact him soon. For now, would you like to see your room?”

Four sighed, but stood up to follow her nonetheless. He didn't really care, he was escaping as soon as he could anyway. This was embarrassing enough and he really didn't want his brothers to have to pick him up from the orphanage.

A bell dinged as Time pushed the door open. It had been about a week since he had gotten the letter. Malon made up an excuse about having to go to castletown, leaving the ranch in Twilight, Sky, and Wild’s capable hands. Malon was currently leading the boys on errands around the other side of castletown. Time considered telling his boys about the situation, but then remembered that Four had blackmail on him from the truth serum incident. So, he decided to keep it to himself.

--

These ones were really fun to revisit! These are so stupid and I love them.

[dindjarinandlysakane]

The Sweetest Taste | Chapter 10 - Rescue

Din Djarin is happy on Nevarro. He has a home, a family, what more could he want? But when a woman turns up selling bread and cakes at his doorstep, how can he not fall in love? And how can he also stop her from getting hurt at the hands of her partner behind closed doors? Will the hero save the girl and get the girl? Warm and sweet fluff/romance/hurt/comfort fic.

Masterlist

Chapter 10

----

By the time Din arrived back to Nevarro, dawn had long since broken.

Peli Motto had kept to her word, and just a few long hours after he had arrived on Tatooine, the N-1 had been fixed up with a new fan belt.

But adding that to the time it took to fly back to Din’s new home planet, the sun was already high over the lava flats by the time the Mandalorian cut through the atmosphere of Nevarro.

Despite napping for almost forty-five minutes, late into the early hours, Din had gotten little to no sleep for several days now, and was almost running on empty.

All he wanted now was to lie low for a few days, and get some proper rest. As did Grogu, who had spent most of the last few hours napping on Din and was also very obviously exhausted.

But that’s what a Mandalorian’s life was. Exhausting. 

That was why Din had been happy to settle here in Nevarro. Happy to give Grogu the chance to play in the sunlight. To take the time to just be a kid for a while.

Din piloted the N-1 over the outskirts of the city, heading over to the lava flats where his little cabin resided.

But as he circled his ship a little way out of the city, the Mandalorian couldn’t help but notice a small plume of smoke coming from behind one of the low hilly lava peaks.

It was obviously a broken down ship, but Din was far too tired for any trouble.

Normally he would go and offer his help to anyone in distress but he was exhausted and for once he would leave the help to someone else.

He ignored the smoke, turning his ship as he headed to the South.

But on his lap, Grogu quirked his head, staring up at Din.

“I’m too tired, someone else can help,” Din uttered, taking his son’s noises as accusatory. Grogu hadn’t directly asked the question, but Din was taking it as such. His considerate conscience tugging at him.

Grogu gave a growl, more in reply to Din than anything else. His father having stayed silent for the entirety of his trip from Tatooine.

But at this, Din let out a long huff.

“Ok, fine,” muttered the Mandalorian, flipping a switch on the control panel before him before steering the ship back around to the left and heading east towards the plume of smoke.

He was so easily convinced. His feeling of duty to do the right thing since becoming a father was likely to be the death of him at this rate.

The smoke was now barely visible behind the short hill. And as Din flew his large N-1 Starfighter over the crest of the small peak to get a better view of the vehicle in trouble, his heart dropped suddenly into his stomach as he caught sight of the ship in question.

Not a ship at all, in fact…

...but a battered old landspeeder.

He saw the pilot stood nearby, gaze up at him, hand up over her eyes, her familiar golden hair billowing all around her, as Din’s ship circled overhead.

Lysa Kane.

Of all of the people on this planet it had to be her.

Right now there was no one Din wanted to see more than her, and yet at the same time somehow wished it could be anyone else but Lysa.

And he could tell by how she stared up at him with wide eyes, likely recognising his ship instantly, that Lysa felt the same.

But what could he do now? Circle around and go home? She had very obviously broken down. And what kind of person would he be, to bare that much of a grudge? Especially to her.

Din’s heart began to thud a beat inside his chest.

This was the first time he had seen her since that day on her doorstep and feelings he had tried to push away this past week or so, began to rise to the surface once more.

Din landed his ship about thirty feet or so away, as Grogu chirped on his lap, trying to climb up Din’s torso to get a better look at the awaiting figure.

Din gave a huff, reddening a little beneath his hemet, before he slowly exited the ship, holding Grogu in his arm as he did so.

Hopping down from the N-1, he saw Lysa look down at her dusty hands for a moment, brushing them together, looking apprehensive.

She was today in a pale blue belted tunic and white breeches, her warm honey-coloured hair loose around her shoulders.

To Din she looked like heaven incarnate, and he felt his heart pound just that little bit faster as he approached her.

“Hey,” he muttered through his modulator, coming to stop just a couple of feet away from her.

Din immediately saw her cheeks flush pink, and for the briefest of moments her gaze met with his beneath his beskar mask, before she tore her eyes away.

“Hi,” she replied in a quiet voice, before a hush fell over the pair of them.

Neither really knowing what to say to the other.

Din internally scolded himself. Dank farrik. He was a fully grown man. He should be better than this.

But it was Grogu who luckily broke through their silence, suddenly jumping from Din’s arms and into Lysa’s.

She caught him quickly, pulling his tiny body into her.

“Hi, little guy,” she said with a soft smile, her gaze now warm as she stared down at the small child, running her finger over the tip of his soft ear. She gave a laugh as he gurgled. “I missed you too.”

Din swallowed hard, as he watched the pair of them interact. And found himself yearning for a life he knew he would likely never have with someone who, right now, had already made it clear her priorities were not with him.

He watched them for a few seconds more, before clearing his throat and speaking, trying to make conversation.

“You…uh…you run into some trouble?” he said, taking a wide step toward the still-smoking speeder and eyeing it carefully.

The trunk was up on the front of the landspeeder and part of the engine was pouring out a thick plume of smoke.

At his voice, Lysa turned to Din. Balancing Grogu, who was playing with her long hair, on her hip she wandered over and came to stand at his side.

Din felt himself tense a little at her close proximity to him.

“I don’t know, I was just coming back from a delivery and I heard a bang and then-” she gestured to the engine with a wave of her free hand, before giving a sigh. “I still have six more deliveries to make today before the end of today…there’s no way that’s going to happen.”

Din stood still for a moment peering into the engine.

“This isn't a good place to break down,” he uttered in a low voice, before standing up straight and gazing about. “We’re close to Jawa territory . They’ll have your speeder for parts if they see that smoke. I think there’s a way I can-”

And with that, he reached over and twisted a large black valve with his gloved hand.

Immediately the black smoke stopped billowing.

From the corner of his eye he saw Lysa stare at him.

“D-Do you think that worked?” she asked gently.

She placed a hand on the rim of the speeder absent-mindedly, right beside his gloved one. Their smallest fingers touching lightly.

Din swallowed.

“No, I think your primary gasket has overheated and blown,” he replied, shaking himself and leaning over the engine, peering in to where he could just about make out the gasket and the part that needed fixing.

“Oh,” said Lysa quietly, her voice full of worry.

Din understood at once that without her speeder she would indeed struggle to make anywhere enough money to live off. Her income relied on this vehicle. Just as Din had relied on his Razorcrest and now his Starfighter.

Making up his mind, and giving up on getting any rest anytime soon, Din stood up straight and turned to her.

“But…. I think I might be able to fix it for you,” he uttered in a low voice. “Looks like it just needs a new relay washer.”

Lysa stared at him for a long moment, tilting her head slightly, her greeny-hazel eyes searching over his beskar helmet, a look of genuine disbelief passing over her features.

Almost as though she couldn't believe that anyone would be that kind. Especially to her.

It killed Din to think that someone like Crix had made her feel like she didn't deserve kindness like this from others.

“That would be-” she said, before quickly giving a shake of her head, a frown sitting between her perfect brows. “A-Are you sure?…I just I know you must be busy…and-”

But Din gave a shake of his head.

“I’ve got the tools in my ship,” he said in a firm voice, wandering back over to the N-1.

Behind him Lysa remained silent for a long few moments as Din fetched what he needed from the slim storage trunk at the base of his ship.

Din was quick in retrieving what he needed and by the time he turned around Lysa was standing there beside her speeder with Grogu now at her feet, chomping on a ripe-looking warted lime.

“Thank you,” she offered suddenly. “I honestly-” But Lysa gave a visible swallow as she trailed off.

The tops of her cheeks reddened again and her eyes fell to the ground for the briefest of moments before she lifted her gaze. Her eyes once again meeting with Din’s.

As though carefully choosing her words, Lysa licked at her top lip slowly - Din catching the movement, causing him to let out an involuntary huff of air.

“Just.........thanks,” she said again in a kind voice, and for the first time today she offered him a warm smile.

A smile that Din returned in relief, despite Lysa not even realising it.

“Don't mention it.”

------

GIFS ARE NOT MY OWN.

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2023 Day 3 - Inspired

It had been the day from hell. Nothing had gone right on a hunt which was supposed to be easy-peasy: a simple salt and burn; a no brainer for a seasoned hunter like himself. Dean was supposed to return to the Bunker in triumph, not bruised and limping, covered with graveyard dirt and weary to the bone. Sure, the ghost had eventually been laid to rest, but at what cost?

“I'm getting too old for this.” Dean sighed, and rested his head against the Impala's steering wheel, trying to summon up enough energy to get out of the car.

All he wanted to do was grab a quick shower and tumble into bed. He was hungry, but food could wait till the morning. Head hanging low, he headed towards his room, so lost to introspection and self-recriminations that he almost stumbled into the surprise that literally lay at his feet.

Scented candles lined either side of the Bunker's hallway, pointedly illuminating a path that was meant to be followed.

“Damned fire hazard,” Dean griped, blowing out candles one by one as he slowly made his way to the bathroom door. His eyes were watering from the curling plumes of smoke by the time he reached the trail's end. The cloying scent of the candles, and the exertion necessary to extinguish them all, left him slightly short of breath.

“At least they're sandalwood, not some frou-frou flower shit,” he muttered. “Sam had that much sense at least.” Obviously, his little brother was planning on getting some, and had gone all out to impress a lady friend.

But Sam was miles away, working a case with Jody... Was this Sam's idea of a joke?

Dean turned the doorknob and warily peeked inside. He was met with a billowing cloud of steam which revealed yet more candles once the mist lifted. Candles of all shapes and sizes perched on every available surface: lining the perimeter of the room; balancing on the edge of the tub; reflecting in the mirror, giving the room a soothing, golden glow.

A fluffy white towel lay on the counter. An equally fluffy white robe hung from a hook on the bathroom door. Scattered rose petals laid an inviting path to a steaming hot bubble bath. Lavender scented water, if his nose correctly identified the smell

“What the hell?” Dean exclaimed. “Who the fuck used up all the hot water if it wasn't Sam? Cas? Since when does he bathe?”

He trailed a hand through the bubbles; the temperature was perfect, offering the much needed relief his sore muscles craved.

“No sense in letting all this go to waste.” he said and quickly shrugged out of his clothes, leaving them in a pile well back from any flame.

“Ahhhh,” he sighed, as the welcoming water enveloped him. He tilted his head back and relaxed. He could easily have fallen asleep, and maybe did doze off for a few minutes, but the cooling water and sputter of dying candles roused him enough to crawl out and dry himself off. The towel was indeed soft and fluffy. His clothes were too disgusting to put back on...

The white robe wasn't really his style (he preferred his dead guy robe), but it was there, it was clean and dry, and it proved to be even softer than the towel.

Barefooted, he shuffled across the room and opened the bathroom door.

The candles in the hall were burning brightly again.

“Huh,” he said, and followed their lead back to his bedroom. “There better not be rose petals on my bed,” he grumbled.

There weren't.

But, of course, there were more candles. And, on his nightstand, a hamburger was carefully centered on a plate, an opened bottle of beer standing beside it. Clean sheets were on his bed, the covers folded back, ready for him to crawl in.

Castiel was there too, his back turned to the door. He must not have heard Dean's silent approach. He was too intent on removing a box from a grocery bag without tilting the contents.

“Ha! Caught you!”

Castiel spun around so fast the box almost flew out of his hands. “Dean!” he said.

“Whatcha doin', Cas?”

“Uh... I-- I just--” Castiel sputtered. “Before he left, Sam mentioned you've been tense lately. I found a magazine that suggested various methods of reducing stress. It inspired me. And I thought... I thought maybe...”

“Is this a seduction, Cas?”

“W-what? I-- No! I--” Castiel's cheeks turned an alarming shade of red.

Dean folded his arms across his chest and unsuccessfully tried to suppress a smile.

A frown creased Castiel's brow as their eyes met and held.

“Would... Would you like it to be?”

“That depends. Is there pie in that box?”

“There is.”

Dean crossed the room and gently took the box from Castiel's hands, setting it down next to the beer on the nightstand.

“Then my answer is yes,” Dean whispered, as he took the angel in his arms. “It's always been yes. All you had to do was ask.”

[todderwodders]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Enver visits a special brothel

This place seems intent on never making sense to him. Each visit seems to vex him, turn him around in the winding halls and corridors of this sprawling once-estate. He passes by rooms shaped to look like ancient baths, the waters green with dye and perfume and the grime of bodies. He passes by sprawling rooms he knows for a fact were once two smaller spaces merged into one, shaped and forced to look grand in the old way of the Gate.

He passes by smaller parlors, with hookahs and rugs and pillows and billowing drapes that lead to color gardens and smooth, silkily dressed girls and boys. He has been in some of them, spending hours dining with the girl or smoking to his heart’s content, eyes fixed on a spotty, pink ridged horizon over high walls and carefully kept trees and flowering bushes. He is led, as he always is, by a slight boy of ten, his ears bearing the gentle point of watered down elven heritage, right past the familiar, up and up one set of stairs that curve dangerously into narrow passages, natural choke points where the light is poor and the steps harrowingly narrow. This is where he can remember that this place used to have some kind of pragmatism, and still does - servant steps. He feels his lips press together, head turning to a muffled cluster laughter that could almost be who he is looking for.

“Boy—“

“It is the right way, sir,” he says gently, calmly. It is almost in the same affect as the girl’s voice, save for the fact that his voice crackles with puberty. “Patience, please.”

The boy is not as charming as the girl. He raises a hand, just slightly, and the boy does not flinch, does not even blink as he smiles at him, the warm, almost amber brown of his eyes setting his stomach to churning. “Please?”

He slides his hand over his coat, thumbs a button open. “Walk.”

The boy leads him down another passage, now grander and almost akin to the ground floor holding the line of bath rooms and pleasure parlors. Rugs are thick and imported, tastefully worn down but on the verge of being trashed should they be neglected for another few years. The walls are bare, stained windows flooding the place with wild color and heats Enver, in his thick autumn coat, up almost instantly. He smells the thick scent of frankincense and sage, crisp and heady and almost nauseating. He passes by doors, painted in jewel tones, golden filigree shifting and merging in different geometric patterns. Somewhere, perhaps by magic, perhaps by a carefully hidden bard, a lyre is strummed in a lazy haze.

The boy arrives to a door painted cornflower blue. There is a small knot of pink beads tied around the handle, and the boy unwinds it with a practiced motion, winding the stones around his hand and brushing them over the knob before a lock clicks open and the door swings open. Enver arches an eyebrow, wondering how expensive that trick was, and how someone such as Fredi, with her expensive rings and fat earrings that glitter as genuine stone in the light, would find the time to pay for such things.

He thinks of her tacky red lips, painted too bright to be fashionable. He thinks of how the door is painted the wrong hue to match the girl, and how the filigree seems to shudder, like a cog grinding against its brother, as the door swings open.

“My mistress will be arriving shortly, sir. There is wine in the decanter, fruits selected in consideration of your noted preferences, and your brand in the small box on the table,” the boy says, bowing lightly as he names the amenities off. The boy must be the girl’s understudy of sorts.

Enver steps into the room. It is bathed in the semi dark of many, but not enough candles, their white bodies hidden behind colored glass orbs hanging from the ceiling at uneven intervals. The windows are high, probably original to the very first sections of the home, when the Gate was just a fishing village. A bench sits in the middle of the room, rounded and heavily padded, almost simple. It is surrounded by pillows and mattresses, a thin table meant for ease of access next to it, hosting his fruit and wine and even a loaf of bread, along with tapered, stoppered beakers and a small, ornate box that must contain his cigars. He spots at least one of the sources of the incense that reek in the hallway in the shape of the silver stand that holds the delicate sticks.

“Good - do not let your mistress make me wait, or—“ He turns, the boy’s face losing it’s soft sensuality from earlier and instead being met with the flat, unamused look of his mistress in miniature.

“Yes, milord,” he says, before shutting the door with more force than his little body should be able to muster.

[candycandy00]

The Dark Carnival Chapter 3: Twice x Reader Part 2

AU fic about the League of Villains as members of a 1920’s traveling circus/carnival, and everywhere they go, people tend to disappear. Each chapter will feature a new Reader getting mixed up with one of the members. This is a dark fanfic so please don’t expect happy endings!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Smut. 18+. Gender neutral reader (they/them pronouns used to describe them). Twice’s split personality manifests itself as his ventriloquist dummy as this AU has no quirks.

You were awakened by a sound you couldn’t quite identify. Was that a scream? A loud voice talking? One of the many circus animals housed in cages around the carnival grounds? There was no way to be sure. 

Blinking in the darkness, you tried to figure out how long you’d been asleep. Jin was lying next to you, so close your entire bodies were touching each other from shoulder to foot. He was lightly snoring, his face turned away from you. You carefully slid out of the small bed, praying it wouldn’t suddenly roll across the floor, and then walked over to your pile of clothing in the corner of the tent. 

You dressed quickly and then went to the dresser to grab Jin’s matches. You struck one to provide enough light to check your watch, but you’d completely forgotten about the third “person” in the tent. As the flame ignited and a small golden light lit the area in front of the dresser, Jimmy’s large eyes came into sudden view, glaring at you hatefully. You were so startled you almost screamed, and the match fell from your fingers to the floor, where it went out. You felt around on the dresser for another match, struck it, and made a point of avoiding looking at the dummy as you checked the time. 

It was past two in the morning. You’d been asleep for nearly three hours! That came as a minor shock to you, but you couldn’t waste this opportunity. You let the match extinguish, then hurried out of the tent as quietly as possible. 

The grounds outside were slightly better lit. The full moon shined brightly against the night sky, and there were several lanterns hanging from wooden posts scattered around the carnival. Thankfully, it was still dark enough that you wouldn’t be easily seen as long as you kept to the shadows. 

You crept toward Touya’s tent, every step making your heart pound more rapidly in your chest. You couldn’t afford to be caught for numerous reasons, the main one being that Touya was probably dangerous and the second one being that you didn’t want Jin to feel like you only used him to get back into the carnival and snoop around. 

As you neared Touya’s tent, you passed a strange metal contraption. It almost looked like an old steel garbage dumpster, but several times larger than any you’d seen. It had a door, locked with a huge padlock, but no windows. It had several seams with bolts, you assumed so that it could be easily dismantled for travel. At the very top was a round metal chimney, from which smoke was billowing. Were they burning off their trash each night? 

You were suddenly assaulted by a terrible odor, and you instinctively covered your nose. What the hell was that?! What were they burning that could smell so awful? To avoid throwing up, you turned to leave, but you collided with something hard in the dark. You backed up and squinted at the obstruction. 

Dark clouds were lazily drifting in front of the moon, and as they passed by it, the hazy silver light spilled onto the person you had run into. 

Touya, the fire dancer himself, was standing in front of you. Unlike his gaudy look as a performer, the man before you looked oddly plain. He was wearing simple black pants and a thin white undershirt. All the dangling chains were gone, leaving small silver piercings dotting his face, so small that they could almost be missed if the moonlight wasn’t glinting on them.  His stark white hair looked almost blue in this lighting, matching his eyes. He stood with one hand on his hip, a somewhat tired expression on his scarred face. 

“Finally got back in, huh? I figured you would eventually,” he said. You were surprised by how bored his tone was. You expected him to be angry. 

“I came back in to see Jin,” you admitted. 

Touya looked mildly surprised then, raising his eyebrows and regarding you with a hint of a smirk. “I see. Good for him. But you’re pretty far from his tent now.”

“I was looking for a bathroom.” You almost winced as the words left your mouth. Such an obvious lie!

Touya laughed, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what you’d said. He probably didn’t. “We all just piss in the woods,” he told you, gesturing toward the line of trees behind him. Then he looked you up and down appraisingly and asked, “Need an escort?”

You blinked. “To… pee?”

He laughed again, then patted your shoulder. His hand was uncomfortably warm, and when he gave a squeeze, it was entirely too hard. 

“Don’t wander around the carnival alone at night,” he said. “It’s dangerous. Jin doesn’t have any friends outside the carnival. It’d be a real shame for him to lose you.”

And then he walked away, toward his tent, leaving you standing there with your mind racing. Was that a threat? You decided it would be best to go back to your hotel room, so you left the carnival immediately. Besides, you didn’t know if you could stand that horrible smell any longer. 

The next evening, you went to the carnival again. You watched Jin’s show, as usual, and again he stopped you after it was over.

He seemed a little less shy this time when he said, “Do you want to come see me again tonight?”

“Yeah, of course,” you replied. 

He grinned, looking relieved. “I was worried when I woke up and you were gone, but I guess you had to leave, huh?”

“Oh, sorry, Jin. I should have left a note. I’m staying at the Motor Inn just down the road.”

He leaned over and gave you a quick kiss on the cheek. “That’s okay, I’m just glad you came back!”

You smiled at him and promised to visit him in his tent later, then left to go see Touya’s show. You didn’t mention your run in with Touya to Jin, and it didn’t seem like Touya had mentioned it to him either. You didn’t want him to know you were sneaking around last night, but you had no clue why Touya had remained silent. 

Just as you’d done the night before, you left the carnival with the other patrons and then came back in a few minutes later. This time the men watching the front gate simply gave you a glance, then a nod, before motioning you in. 

Jin’s tent was exactly as you’d left it, crumpled sheets on the small bed and all. Jin wasn’t arguing with Jimmy this time, but was instead sitting on the foot of the bed, as if waiting for you. Jimmy was on the dresser, watching. 

When Jin heard your footsteps, he looked up with a bright smile. He stood up quickly and walked over to you, not even hesitating before wrapping you in a hug. It felt good, being in his arms. It felt right. 

You kissed him as his grip loosened and his hands began to wander, sliding down to squeeze your ass through the fabric of your clothes, then moving back up to your face. Your own hands were unbuttoning his shirt. You were eager to see his body again, to feel it pressing against you without these pesky clothes in the way. 

Once his shirt was completely unbuttoned, you pressed your palms against his toned chest and slid them down as you sank to your knees in front of him. You looked up at his face while you opened his pants and pulled his large, rapidly hardening cock out. His eyes widened when he realized what you were doing, and he stared at you with breathless anticipation as you took him into your mouth. 

A groan escaped his lips as your warm tongue massaged his tip and your hands gripped the base of his shaft. Then you began pumping his cock in and out of your wet mouth. You could feel the muscles in his thighs tensing up as you increased your speed and moved one hand to gently squeeze his balls. 

Jin’s husky voice came out strained as he said, “I’m… I’m about to…”

You pulled back and smiled up at him. “It’s okay. You can cum in my mouth,” you told him, before gobbling up his cock again. 

Jin looked surprised, but also extremely relieved. Within seconds he was shooting his load down your throat, his fingers softly running through your hair. You were struck once again by how tender and sweet Jin was with you. He made you feel special. 

After you stood up, Jin suddenly picked you up and carried you over to his small bed. You were surprised by his strength, but your heart raced as he laid you down and climbed on top of you. 

The two of you made passionate love, becoming a mass of tangled limbs, hungry mouths, and mussed hair. The bed creaked with the motions of Jin’s thrusts, and once again you fell asleep afterwards, your brain empty of all thoughts that didn’t revolve around him. 

You awoke this time to find the lanterns in Jin’s tent already lit, casting a warm orange glow over the interior. Jin wasn’t beside you, and as you rubbed your eyes to wake yourself up, you realized someone else was in the bed with you. 

Or rather, something else. 

Jimmy the ventriloquist dummy was sitting at the foot of the bed, facing you. The sight startled you, and you instinctively scooted back away from the dummy. That’s when you noticed a very alarming fact: Jimmy was holding a large knife in his hand. 

Was this some kind of prank? Or was Jin perhaps practicing a new routine with Jimmy to use in his show? You sighed and regained your composure. After all, it was just a dummy… right?

Suddenly wanting to lighten your own mood, you laughed and said, “Hey there, Jimmy. You surprised me.”

The last thing you expected was a reply, but a rough voice emanated from the dummy.

“Shut your mouth. You don’t belong here.”

The smile you’d plastered onto your face vanished immediately. “What?”

“You heard me. Get the fuck out of here! Jin doesn’t need you!”

The voice seemed to be coming from Jimmy, but you knew it was Jin throwing his voice. Which meant he had to be in the tent somewhere. 

More concerning was the way Jin was speaking to you as Jimmy. You’d always thought he took Jimmy’s crass nature a bit too far, but it had always been directed at Jin himself, never at anyone else. Was he thinking of trying something new? Maybe letting Jimmy heckle the audience? If so, you would have appreciated being told about this ahead of time. 

You glanced around the room. With the furniture and curtains and boxes, there were numerous places Jin could be hiding. “Where are you, Jin?” You specifically addressed him by name to let him know you were no longer playing along with whatever ruse this was. 

“Jin isn’t here. It’s just Jimmy right now.”

You looked back at the dummy. Naturally, it hadn’t moved an inch, but the fact that you even checked for that said a lot for Jin’s ventriloquist talents. 

“Well I don’t want to talk to Jimmy anymore,” you said loudly, feeling a little annoyed. “I want to talk to Jin.”

“Too bad. You’re stuck with me. Now leave, before I get angry and start stabbing.”

Your eyes darted to the knife. “Jin, this isn’t funny. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

“I told you Jin isn’t here. Are you fucking stupid?”

You stood up and backed away from the dummy, staring at it as if you’d catch it moving. “You’re just a dumb puppet,” you said. 

“No I’m not,” the voice said. “I’m alive. And I’m the only person Jin needs.”

You thought for a moment, then said, “Okay, if you’re really alive, then you should be able to answer this question. What did I do last night that only you would know about?”

“You fucked Jin,” the voice instantly replied. 

“No, this is something only Jimmy would know about, not Jin. I did it behind Jin’s back.”

There was silence in the tent, for so long that you wondered if Jin had given up on this prank altogether. Then the rough voice exploded into the air. 

“Get out! We don’t need you! You think you can be with Jin just because you sucked his dick? Get out before I gut you like a fish!”

You reeled back as if you’d been slapped. The words stung worse than a hit. “That’s enough,” you yelled, wide eyes looking around, trying to find the man who’d said such terrible things. “Even for a joke, you took it way too far! Fuck you, Jin!”

With speed that surprised even yourself, you threw your clothes on and ran out of the tent.  You didn’t snoop around the carnival this time. You didn’t even spare a thought for Touya or anyone else. You just wanted to get away from Jin’s tent. 

You ran straight for the gate, the cool night air soothing your red, heated face. You hadn’t been this angry since Marie had disappeared. You slowed as the men who watched the gate came into view, then paused to compose yourself before they could see you. 

You took a few moments to catch your breath, then smoothed your hair and clothes. You wanted to walk out with as much dignity as possible. Though considering the men knew exactly what you’d been doing, dignity was probably going to be hard to come by. 

As you took another deep breath and stepped toward the gate, you suddenly felt warm, rough hands wrap around one of your arms and clamp over your mouth. Then you were dragged into the shadows of the carnival. 

[fearlesstigerquotev]

Winterkälte

A Horror Oneshot

Warnings: Mild goreNotes: Reader pronouns used are he/him, written in third person POV. masterlist

The golden rays of dusk had distorted into drab grey by the time they arrived at the alpine hut. A father, his son, and their dog stumbled forward—fur jackets drenched with sweat and melted snow. It clung to their bodies like leeches, biting into their flesh and stinging their skin. The boy's complexion mottled an ugly puce, splotches of purple had already formed on his lips. His shrill complaints drilled into his father's ears before the latter threw him a tiny sausage to satiate his hunger. Only the dog showed no signs of discomfort—it rolled around in the snowbed without a care in the world; typical behavior.

(Name's)—the father's—trained eyes scanned the horizon. From North to South, craggy peaks rose as far as the eye could see, draped in a sheet of ice and snow. He recognized some of them, he had visited this alpine hut with his father and grandfather before. Schreckhorn and Kleiner Schreckhorn were the names of the distant peaks, if his foggy memory served him right. If he squinted, he could see his mountain village nestled in the valley below—smoke billowed from multiple chimneys. He wondered if his extended family had already gone to bed.

Unbroken white covered the land, only broken by the occasional dark patch of forest. It was foolish of him to have strayed away from the established trail, but his son had insisted that they take the longer, more scenic route. Not that he blamed him—it was his first time joining his father on this trip. Eyes lit up with awe and wonder, the father could not resist the temptation of letting his son explore the wilderness. After all, he needed to become acquainted with the route—his son, his grandson, and their sons would need to maintain the hiking trail for generations to come. Every curve, every dip in the road had to be hammered into their minds in case they ever met a lost traveler in the mountains. Then, they would have to guide the lost soul back to the alpine hut and prepare them a warm meal, provide them with medical attention, new clothes.

The wind picked up, and the dog barked. His son tugged at the sleeve of his jacket, yelling at him to open the door. (Name) turned and twisted at the ice-covered doorknob, the metal slipping between his fingers. Strange, this used to be easier in his youth. After many attempts, the trio floundered into the dry hut. Almost instantly, the boy disposed of his drenched jacket and ran into the rickety kitchen in search of water and food. The dog stood guard outside, scratching its ears with its hind legs; typical behavior. Meanwhile, the father grumbled and placed both their jackets in front of the fireplace, before sparking a flame. 

The fledgling flame sputtered at first, wavering against the chill that permeated the hut's bones. Yet (Name) nursed it, feeding it tender scraps of timber and brittle tinder. Gradually, it took hold, orange tongues licking up the logs akin to how his dog licks up the scraps thrown its way. A comforting warmth blossomed from the hearth, banishing the pervasive cold. It caressed the father's numb, frozen skin, thawing the icy ache in his old joints. He exhaled in satisfaction as feeling returned to his fingertips, the fire's heat penetrating deeper, massaging away the day's exertions.

Like a moth attracted to the flame, the son came bouncing toward the hearth, holding a batch of biscuits in his hand. Annoyed, the father scolded him for eating the food reserved for travelers. But the boy complained that there was no more food left in the pantry, nor water. And even that was infested with worms, rendering it undrinkable for the lowest vermins of Earth. Only a few bottles of whiskey sat in the cupboard, and the boy refused to let the alcohol slip past his purple lips.

This wasn't normal. Had a fox found its way inside and ate the dried meat? Or a wolf? Did he forget to fill the barrel with fresh water from his last trip? The man pursed his lips and swung his jacket over his shoulders—they had been given barely enough time to soak up the fire's heat. With a gruff cough, he told his son to stay indoors, and not open the door until he returned. The boy asked where he was going. "To the creek," replied (Name), "to gather fresh water for us." "How about just melting the snow from outside?" "No. Too dirty. Besides, I'll bring back some fish if I'm lucky. Yes, fish stew will warm us up in no time." The creek flowed all year round inside a forest, so there existed no fear of it freezing over. There was no need for the boy to worry, it was a short walk away, and besides, the dog would keep him company.

The boy protested, he wouldn't let his father walk off into the endless woods. Especially not with night approaching. But (Name) dismissed his concerns, securing his son's survival was more important. Parental instincts were such a strange phenomenon—he couldn't let his son die of thirst. The father had walked that path at least a thousand times during his youth; saying that he was well-acquainted with the mountains was an understatement. (Name) grabbed a flask and was almost out the door when he had a second thought. Maybe he should bring a lantern? No need, he'd make it back before darkness settled, or so he convinced himself.

The boy and the dog watched him leave for the forest. He was right—the boy could hear a little trickle of water running in the distance. Or was it the wind? He wondered when his father would return.

Above him, the clouds darkened, covering the sky in black ink.

(Name) continued through the level forest for several kilometers. Then he went down a bank to the frozen path of a small stream. Around him stood towering pine trees, their short leaves and pinecones glistening with a soft powder of snow.

How peculiar, the stream had frozen over. Maybe the weather was colder than usual. The man speared the ice with a wooden branch. Then he bent down and filled his flask with fresh water. Internally, he scolded himself for not bringing a second flask. Perhaps the boy could come here tomorrow with the barrel. 

The clear water burbled merrily as it flowed over the sheet of ice and smoothened pebbles. But its cheerful demeanor concealed its biting chill. As the man dipped his flask into the stream, icy droplets sprang forth and spattered his mittens. The wet wool clung to his skin, soaking through to his flesh beneath. The cold was a knife's edge, slicing into his numb fingers. It stole the meager warmth he had regained, replacing it with an aching, bone-deep freeze.

He grimaced, flexing his fingers within the sodden mittens. Oh, how he longed to cast them away, but that was out of the question.

So he endured, grunting as the cold sliced his skin like a butcher's blade. He focused on thoughts of the fire, recalling its tender kiss on his frigid skin. The memory sustained him as he secured the now-full flask and rose on creaking knees.

But when he turned to return, his heart sank into his frozen boots. While preoccupied, a fresh coat of snow had stealthily fallen, concealing his footsteps in a featureless blanket of white. The sun had dipped below the horizon, abandoning him to the pitch-black night.

Had it always been so dark? Did the stars shift, or was his imagination playing tricks on him?

Panic rose in his throat. At the sub-zero alpine temperature, hypothermia could set in within a moment's notice. How long did it take him to reach the creek? Half an hour.

He had to move, now.

Though his mind churned with rising panic, the man forced himself to focus. (Name) noted each twist and turn of the frozen creek, etching the landscape into memory. The silhouette of the treeline, branches clawing at the night sky. They reached out to grab him. The positions of the stars overhead, their faint light just enough to illuminate hazards underfoot. The crunch of snow beneath boots, the wet chill needling his skin, the faint whiff of woodsmoke teasing his nostrils.  Step after precarious step, he pressed forward, trusting his honed awareness to preclude a misstep. His life now hinged on keen sight, touch, smell—senses locked in a singular purpose, to spit in Death's face and live to see his son.

His knees buckled without warning, spilling him face-first into the snow's embrace. The powder swallowed him greedily, soaking through his jacket, saturating every fiber with mind-numbing cold. The wet fabric clung to him, heavy and constricting, leaching away his fading body heat. He gasped as the chill pierced his skin like a thousand frozen needles, freezing the very marrow in his bones. Violent shivers wracked his exhausted body. Bleak despair flooded his mind, the cruel mountain indifferent to his cries.

He cursed himself for leaving in the dead of night, for being too arrogant to turn back sooner. Visions of his son and dog huddled by the fire taunted him—so close, yet hopelessly out of reach. He laughed at his own foolishness. As he laughed, he noted the numbness in his concealed fingers. He wondered whether they were warm or whether they were numb. He moved them inside the mittens and decided that they were numb.

Fire. He needed fire. 

Was this the panic his ancestors felt? Hopeless to the whims of Mother Nature? 

Clenching and unclenching his hands, he forced a sliver of feeling back into his hands. He didn't want to look at them, he knew they were frostbitten. With a loud grunt, the father forced himself to his feet and trudged toward one of the pine trees. Around him, the blizzard raged, the winds howling in his ears. In the distance, he swore he heard the dog barking, and his son shouting for him to take another step.

One.

Two.

He couldn't anymore.

(Name) collapsed against the side of an ancient pine tree, chest heaving up and down. A few pinecones lay scattered around, which he picked up promptly. Fishing out a box of matches, he soon had a little fire going. The pinecones burned reluctantly, the resin snapping and popping as (Name) coaxed the balky tinder alight. Flames sputtered from the cones in fits and starts, writhing weakly before being smothered by wisps of inky smoke. The meager fire crackled and hissed, devouring the cones in smoldering, lackluster gulps. The smoke, pungent and cloying, clawed at his throat and stung his eyes. He could taste the acrid pine tar coating his tongue. It certainly was still cold, was his thought. But he was safe.

First, he melted the ice off his eyes and nose—or, at least tried to. The heat was nowhere near enough to remove all the icicles, but it was a welcome change nonetheless. (Name) rubbed his hands in front of the fire, praying that it would give him strength to breathe one more breath, walk one more step, live one more second. He looked like a newborn fawn, struggling to move, dependent on warmth.  He fed the flame with pinecones the size of his finger. In another minute he would be able to feed it with larger branches. Afterward, he would throw in a log, then a tree, then another tree another tree—another tree—burn down the forest—melt the snow; bask in the warmth—laugh in the face of the Devil; laugh in the face of Death—see his son and pet his dog—walk—back down the mountain; back to the village, soak in a hot tub and eat the finest meals known to mankind—just another pinecone—another one—

There were none left.

No more. None at all.

Please, if there's a God, save me! thought the man as he desperately blew on the embers. 

But before he could blink, it happened. It was his own fault, or rather, his mistake. He should not have built the fire under the pine tree. He should have built it in an open space. But it had been easier to pick the pinecones from the base of the trunk and drop them directly on the fire.

Now, this tree in particular carried a sizable amount of snow on its branches. And even his son would know what happens to snow in the presence of fire.

High in the branches, a single mound of snow slipped loose, crashing down on limbs below. This triggered a chain reaction, the impacts shuddering through the tree, dislodging more of the frozen white. It built into an avalanche that plummeted without warning upon the unsuspecting man and the fire. The fire died. Atop its grave lay a lump of fresh snow.

The man was too stunned to speak.

He was all alone. 

Alone.

Shivering.

In the Alps.

Without a fire.

In soaking clothes.

Caught in a blizzard.

Had the air always been so cold?

Yes. No. Always. Never. Yes.

No more cold. No more cold. No more cold.

In one swift motion, he ripped the sodden mittens from his hands with chattering teeth. Cradling the matchbox, he sandwiched it between his bare palms - the only part of him not yet frozen stiff. Arm muscles burning with exertion, he scraped the box forcefully along its rough striking edge. The matches erupted in a single brilliant flare, all ninety igniting at once! (Name) blinked against the sudden flare, eyes stinging. But something was wrong. The flames, fueled by an unholy force, engulfed his hands, searing the flesh and melting the sinew. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, and the smoke rose to the high heavens. From the comfort of the alpine hut, it must have looked like an ordinary campfire.  The father screamed in agony, his eyes watering from the acrid stench. Could his son see him? Hear him? Or could the dog catch a whiff of his blood and flesh, leading the boy to his location? But wait. None of that mattered anymore. He had fire. He had warmth. And it felt so damn good.

Nothing could stop him now. His battered knees sprung to life as he raced through the woods. He felt as though he were flying. He grew a pair of wings and zipped through the trees. Faster and faster. In the corner of his eyes, he saw a wolf. A big one. Black. Black eyes. Black fur. I'll race you! You'll never catch me! Not you, or your pack!

(Name) cackled as he ran. Before he knew it, he had reached the alpine hut. The man threw aside the matches and banged on the door with all his might, yelling at his son with a sing-song voice to open the damned door. His hands were red, purple, blue, blistered, frost-bitten—anything and everything at once.

Bang!

The skin peeled off like wet paper.

Bang!

Revealing the muscles underneath. Pulsating muscles, glistening with a sickly sheen.

Bang!

Then the muscles fell off, and the bones clattered against the door frame. Brittle bones. Clattering to the floor like splinters.

He heard the dog barking inside. It was alive! But why won't his son open the door! Open up! I'll gut you up and plunge my hand in your stomach if you don't open the door this instant! I need warmth! My skin is burnt! I don't care! Your muscles and skin shall be used to make a new hand, new body—your soul shall become one with mine! I see you staring at me through the window! Why are you scared! It's me, your father! I have the water! In the flask! From the creek! See! You want my clothes? Take them! I don't need them anymore! Damn it! Son! Open the door!

He stopped. It was useless. The wolf had caught up to him. But it didn't snarl. (Name) looked down at his hand—now a charred stump. Bone. Cracks in the bone. Bone marrow. Ha. Ha. Ha.

He slumped to his knee and the wolf did so as well. Strange, why was this wild animal so docile? Like a dog. His dog. Good boy.

Would his son ever find his body? Would the dog lick him awake? And what is this wolf doing here? 

Ah, no matter. This is comfortable. There are worse ways to die.

Snow fell from the roof above. In front of the door stood a lump of snow. And next to it, lay the wolf.