#at least I had scrumptious tea just now

[thatcrimsonsun]

you ever have a day so bad you just sit down in the middle of a hallway staring at the blank wall being confused as to what the fuck have you just experienced in less than 12 hours.

[simplyafountainpen]

Red Looks Good On Us

{𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼}: Demon!M!Reader x Grell Sutcliff

{𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓬𝓻𝓲𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷}: (Y/n) was particularly rude today, and as much as Grell loved it, it seems like her adorable little girl would need some punishment for that naughty mouth of his~

{𝓣𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓼}: Sub!Top!Reader, Power Bottom!Grell, Demon!Reader, feminization (of reader), punishment, bondage, impact play, Mistress title, praise, Reader wears makeup, Grell's privates referred to as cock and pussy, (y/n) is the "Mourning Dove Demon"

"But belooovvveeddd!!-"

You sighed as you pushed your Master, Alois Trancy, behind you. Today was supposed to be a simple outing with the boy, a little walk through the city and perhaps even through a park to get him out of that stuffy office of his. He had been swamped with work recently, and even if he didn't want to, it had to be done.

For weeks you watched as his patience grow smaller until he'd snap at the slightest inconvenience. It grew annoying, and finally out of control when he decided it would be a great idea to throw an entire piping hot tea set at you and Claude. You quickly ushered him out of the house as the other demon cleaned the mess - also to allow him to calm down and not rip the child to shreds. He still needs the child's soul, after all.

It had been peaceful for a time, until you and the boy ran into a certain red head. You stuffed the boy behind you, ignoring his small noise of questioning, and stared into those chartreuse phosphorescent eyes of hers.

"Grell. I will not be abandoning my duties for you. What ever are you even doing here?" You grumbled. The both of you stared at each other, Grell biting her lips while you could feel the veins budging in your forehead. You had no time for this.

"Well, beloved, I saw you from across the street and I just simply had to say hello to the most scrumptious looking man in my life, right?~" Again, you grumbled.

"Now isn't the time you damned succubus, off with you." You waved her off with a hand, turning back to a less than pleased Alois only to feel her hands on your shoulders, causing you to growl.

"Now now dearest, is that anyway to treat the woman you loovvee?~" You shrugged her hands off, again turning to Alois with a mumble, asking him to go the opposite way as a fly seemed to be buzzing in your ear.

"Oh come now darling, don't walk away!! Let me join you at least!! I'm so very bored and haven't a thing to do for hours!!~" You turned to her.

"What of the paperwork I know for a fact you're putting off right now?" A smirk now laid on your face, and the woman sputtered. Alois chuckled at her face in your grip. Both immediately - but silently - noted that you seemed to puff up in accomplishment.

A fact about you was that you were a being of irony. A demon, yet you were based off a dove. A mourning dove, to be precise. Grell huffed and folded her arms. She leaned closer to your face, noses almost touching.

"Mmm... you're no fun around this brat." Grell mused. Her painted lips were creased into a pout. She stood up strait, looking you in the eye.

"Well then perhaps you should be off then? I certainly wouldn't bat an eye." You leaned even closer, foreheads touching. Both of you continued in silence, until Alois coughed into his elbow. You grunted, backing up quickly and turning back to the boy in question. You sent one more cynical smile her way, accompanied by a wave, and went off with your Master.

Grell stood there for a moment more. She knew you wouldn't truly belittle her or do anything truly physically damaging considering your... relationship, but she still couldn't help but shiver at how dismissive you were. And though she understood why you wouldn't stop to chat - you being under a contract, she couldn't help but feel slightly peeved at how quickly you brushed her off! No long winded insults, no pushing her, no attention, why, you could make a girl feel neglected like this!

She smiled with a dark chuckle. Oh, you'd be paying when you got home that night, she'd make sure of it.~

·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──

You entered the house quietly, a greeting and apology on your lips for how you treated Grell, only to be met by silence and no lights. Immediately you began lighting candles and flicking on lamps to fill the room with light. In doing this, you noted that the lights in the bedroom were on and abandoned your current mission, walking over to the closed door with light pouring from beneath it.

"Grell? Honey? Are you in there?" You knocked gently on the door, pressing an ear to the wood before gently opening it.

"I want to apologize for my... statements... today." Instead of a sleeping or a - hells forbid - working Grell, you found your girlfriend in nothing but her underwear and corset, a satin robe hanging scantily off her shoulders. She looked back at you with a smile, glasses glinting in the light of the many candles lit in the room, speaking of:

The room itself was dimly lit with said candles on holders and on the floor, rose petals delicately strewed throughout the room. On the vanity were a few open makeup boxes, all the makeup being red of course. The bedsheets had been changed to Grell's favorite scarlet ones, and carmine satin ribbons dangled from the headboard and footboard.

The most damning thing, however, was the set of blood red lacey thigh-highs, panties, and bra neatly folded at the foot of the bed.

You didn't notice her stand, but rather heard the door being closed behind you, Grell's fingers making their way around your shoulders, feeling her breath against her neck.

"Oh, so you wish to apologize, is that it?" You felt her lips against your neck, your sensitive skin picking up on the kiss mark left behind. Her hands trailed downward, crossing your chest and fliting over your sensitive nipples, making you suck in a quick breath. Not being able to find your voice, you nodded.

"Well, I think I know of one way you can make it up to me.~" She was by your ear now, lips lightly pressing against it for a moment. You shivered, eyes closing. She giggled.

"You you want to make it up to me, pretty girl?~" You clenched your teeth and turned away, her hands wrapping around your waist and meeting right above your hardened cock. She looked at you for a moment and sighed. Hearing this, you whipped your head around and nodded rapidly, to which she simply walked around you, now facing you with her hands on your ass. One left its perch and took your chin, forcing you to look at her again.

"I want a verbal answer, darling. You're free to say no, you know." Your eyes widened, then you took one of your own hands and placed behind hers, moving both to your cheek and nuzzling into them.

"I do..." Grell immediately smiled, grabbing your face and slamming her lips on yours. She overpowered you easily, tongue invading your mouth with you putting up no resistance. She turned you around and pushed you back onto the bed, forcing you to sit and then sitting in your lap. One of her hands rested on your shoulder, the other making its home around your neck. You whimpered into the kiss and she smiled, breaking it off.

You looked up through tear-laced lashes and she pecked you on the head, getting down on her knees. She began to remove your clothes, starting with your shoes and socks, kissing and nipping up you leg until she made it to your waist. Her fingers made quick work of your belt and the buttons on your pants, you lifting yourself up slightly to make it easier to slip them down your legs. Before you could sit back down, she slipped her finger into the waistline of your drawers, tutting. Wordlessly, she unbuttoned them and drew them down with your pants. You gasped as the cold air of the room hit your now exposed cock, whining. Grell planted a quick kiss to your inner-thigh and continued.

Your waistcoat was removed slowly, the woman above you massaging you shoulders and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. Languidly, she removed the rest of your layers, ghosting her painted nails over skin. Tears layered themselves in your eyes and she kissed them away, cooing at your nakedness. Then, she grabbed the laced thigh-highs and unfolded them, taking one and gently unrolling it, she grabbed one of your legs and slowly pushed the fabric up, fixing and smoothing it out, then doing the same for the other. She grabbed you by the waist, forcing you to stand. Grell then grabbed the panties and lightly bit your neck.

"Lift one of those pretty legs for me dearest, would you?" She whispered into your ear. You nodded, lifting you left leg, and she quickly pushed them up, running her hand over your ass and the small of your back while she slipped you through one hole of the panties. You both then did the same on your right side, and she gave you a quick kiss as a reward. You were then sat back down as she ran her hands over your chest, twisting your hardened nipples, causing you to moan.

She continued to play with your chest, making sure your skin was sensitive to the slightest touch. Grell hummed at her work, grabbing the bra and lifting one of your arms, sliding it into place.

"You know," she said as she slipped the other in and clasped the back, "I got the smallest size for you, darling. And look at this! You can't even fill it out!~" The lace brushed against your skin, forcing a few pants and moans from you. Another kiss was pressed to your temple as Grell helped you up, walking you over to the vanity and sitting you down.

"We're not quite done yet my dear, just a couple more touches and you'll be perfect.~ Don't you want to be perfect for me, dearest?~" You nodded rapidly, but Grell clicked her tongue. More tears filled you waterline as you gasped, quickly correcting your mistake.

"Y-yes. I do want to be perfect for you, M-mistress." Grell stared at you as those whispered words left your lips. Taking a strand of hair between her fingers, she twirled it around.

"Mistress hmm? I quite like that..~" She smiled at you and sat back in your lap, turning around and hovering a hand over a small box filled with red lipsticks, all different shades. The reaper choose a slightly lighter shade compared to your current attire, softly applying it to your lips, humming a turn you didn't recognize. Then it was an eyeshadow, mascara, then a blush, the soft brush tickling over your skin.

"Oh look at you!~ Such a pretty girl!~ Why, I don't think I could even tell you were demon if I didn't know better. I might even dare to call you an angel.~" Her hand was under your chin, forcing you to make eye contact. Your hands griped the arms of the chair beneath you, nearly splintering the wood. Your breathing became heavy as Grell leaned closer, lips caressing over yours.

"What do we say?~" She whispered, and you whispered in kind.

"Thank you Mistress."

With wild abandon, she smashed her lips onto yours, hands tangling in your hair and yours flew to her hips. Grells tongue forced its way down your throat, your eyes rolling back from the sensation. She broke the kiss, staring at your fucked out expression.

"Look at how sensitive you are.~ My good little girl." You whined, drool slipping from your lips as you felt her grind down onto your cock. Her hand began to stoke it through the lace panties, making you whine louder. The tip of your cock peaked from the top, pre bubbling from the tip and onto the lace trim.

"Already ruining your panties? Tut tut darling." Grell mused. She grabbed your upper arms and dragged you up, doing all but throwing you onto the bed. She gripped your hair in her hands, resting against the headboard. One of her painted nails ran over your lips, inserting her thumb into your mouth. Her other hand went down to her own panties, rubbing herself through the fabric at the sight of your disheveled form. Her manicured hand pulled her painties down till the rested beneath her balls, revealing her hardened cock, budging and red.

"Open wide, dear.~" Her thumb slipped from your lips, and her cock was rammed down your throat, effectively gagging you.

"MHMP?!?" "Hehe, look at how well your taking me, pretty.~" Grell's hand traced your throat, squeezing it lightly to feel her length poking out.

"Go on then," she pat your head, tangling her hands in your hair, "Show Mistress what this darling throat of yours can do.~"

You groaned, sucking her down and hollowing your cheeks, dragging your tongue up and down the side of her sex. Your lipstick stained the base as you bobbed up and down, breathing through your nose. Grell's hands landed on the sides of your face as you sucked, nails digging and nearly piercing your skin. Without warning she took control, slamming you up and down her cock, the tip touching the back of your throat and your drool slicking up her entire shaft, making it shine.

Grell continued, your lipstick smearing across her girth as the mascara she had applied ran down your face. She then shoved you all the way down, blocking your airflow. To add to it, she gripped one hand around your neck, making the dark spots in your vision grow faster. Your shaky hands gripped her thighs, eyes rolling all the way back as your throat constricted more, spit running down your chin. She held you for a moment longer, your shaking about to cease, moaning at how tight your throat had gotten. Just a second before your fully passed out - which would be a feat - she pulled you off, your head falling onto the sheets. Your tongue lolled out and drool pooled below you, breathing heavy. Grell quickly began stroking, slick noises filling your ears, and thick white ropes covered your face, some getting into your panting mouth. You whined and Grell chuckled breathily, taking some cum onto her fingers and tasting it.

"You make everything sweeter dear. I suppose white is also a good look on you, isn't it, dove?~" You cooed at the nickname, shoving your head into her thigh, which now had your spit on it. You kissed and sucked at her skin, pupils blown out.

"Oh? Is my dove okay?" Her voice had tilt of merriment to it as she lifted you, switching your places so that now you were against the headboard and she was kneeling on the bed. You cooed again, muttering nothings under your breath as you allowed her to wrap you wrists in the silk attacked to the bed. She tied small yet firm knots, tugging to ensure you could still escape if need be. The reaper pat you on the head, giggling when you nuzzled into her touch with hair puffed up.

"Dove, it's time. Are you ready to finally make it up to me?" you gave a mumbled reply. Grell smirked.

She fully slipped of her panties to reveal a already slicked up cunt, glistening with lube, strawberry scented. She positioned herself above you, spitting on your cock and rubbing it in good, she lined up the head with her hole, before giving you a quick peck on the lips.

"Good girl.~"

She slammed herself onto you, both of you letting loud moans from the feeling. Her hands gripped your shoulders, nails finally tearing into your skin, you hissing at the dull pain. She bounced up and down, walls clamping down on you with such force that you began to cry, the tears that had been welling up spilling over your lash line.

"O-oh dove - NGH - so p-pretty!~ Even w-ith your makeup all - UGH - ruined!!~" Grell complemented, her hips meeting yours with squelching noises. You were no longer comprehensible, borderline animalistic with the bird-like chirps and coo's you released. Your hands tugged fruitlessly on their binds, desperately clawing out towards Grell. Her thighs slapped on yours, her chest pressed to you still sensitive one, compelling a high-pitched keen to escape your throat, which only caused Grell to coo at you more.

She stopped bouncing and grinded on your cock, walls sucking you in and squeezing, your noises never ending, flowing freely from you lips. Grell pressed her head into the crook of your neck, kissing the skin softly and sucking hickies harshly onto your jugular, biting at it even.

You mewled and wailed at the attention, makeup nearly completely washed away by sweat, drool, and tears. Your head was rolled back as she continued to grind you into her, eyes showing nothing but the whites and jaw fully relaxed. After a moment of her slowing down, the stillness, she suddenly picked herself up and rammed you all the way back in, tip to hilt, in one quick movement. Grell's bouncing was much more aggressive than before, your arms reached back and grabbed onto the headboard. Your teeth grind together, and with heavy breaths you released the loudest whine yet.

"Are y-you about to cum, dove?" Grell groaned. Your nodded quickly, and she gave you a kiss on your cheek. "T-then cum for m-me dove!! CUM FOR M-ME!!-" You screamed, cumming hard into the warmth of her cunt. You gasped, sobbing, trying to catch your breath as Grell came in kind, cum painting your chest. She leaned against you, breathing hard and smiling. Her hands immediately went to your hair, tracing shapes in your scalp, giving you time to slow your breathing.

"Are you awake, dear?" You mumbled something, nothing of substance though. Grell smiled at you, before pulling you out of her. You huffed, watching your seed leak from her lightly gaping hole.

"Alright alright hold on..." She untied your wrists and rubbed them to sooth the dull ache she knew would be there - no matter how much you would deny it - and smiled at you.

"I'll go get snacks, water, towels, etc., etc. dear. You just wait right here." She booped you on your nose and you snorted. Grell then laid you down on the sheet and slipped on a pair of slippers, walking out of the room to the kitchen, though you couldn't help but watch the trails of white that flowed down her legs.

You snuggled deeper into the fabric of the sheets, beginning to nod off. All you wanted was for her to return and hold you. Eventually she did, holding a tray filled with aforementioned snacks, water, towels and set it down, leaving for a moment to grab new sheets and popping by the vanity to grab a few makeup wipes. She gave you some water before she began to wipe the streaked makeup off your face.

"You did wonderfully dear, I can assure you you've apologized fully." You giggled and she smiled, leaning in so the bridges of your noses were touching.

"I love you, Mistress." Grell chuckled.

"And I love you, Dove."

·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──

"What are those dark spots on your neck, (Y/n)?" You turned to the sound of Alois's voice, sharply keeping your gaze right above the eyes lest you end up like Hannah.

"Whatever do you mean, your Highness?" You asked, and he pointed to a specific part of your jugular, and after you ran a hand over the bruise, your eyes widened.

"It's nothing, your Highness I promise, nothing that should concern you anyway..." Though that only made the blonde pout and start whining childishly.

"Well now I simply must know!! What is it??" You looked over to Claude who only shrugged with the tiniest of smirks on his face, that bastard.

You were going to kill him one day, if you didn't die of embarrassment first, anyway.

{𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓼}: This is a bit longer than the last one. If you could not tell at this point, I adore Black Butler. Thank you for reading.

-🖋️

All publishings on this account belong to @fountain-pen-anon. I do not authorize my fics being altered, translated, stolen or published/reposted to other sites, thank you.

© fountain-pen-anon - all rights reserved

[captainkurosolaire]

Mother of Light

Raging snow petered from a tundra's onslaught, becoming soft bright a sight that'd encapsulated memories and nurtured them. Those flake droplet's fell upon a traversing shadow whose garb stained with old crimson. His cut's and wounds of shrapnel only felt relief when those of snow brought cooling reprieve. Determination carried him. Coming near destination, his mind blurred to multiple distortions, his leg's staggered, attempting to shake a concussion but wasn't able to ignore he collapsed aside a tree. Shortly by moment's a woman appeared crossing a bridge. She gasped, scolding. "Honestly!" With brisk entering his proximity, "You know most women when they've a date their partner tries to appear presentable! You've done the opposite, bloody rebel!" She teased, with life. The injured assailant coldly quipped, "I only came to inform you, I can't see you." She began salving wounds with old medicinal herbs crushed into ointment and surveying his wounds. Crossing over region's by feet just to say this? His dedication to attend, for certain was a silent flatter. "Is that because the blindfold, or because you think it's far too dangerous? Why must... why must, you go to these extents?" Compassion felt bared under his behalf her voice shook briefly. Within her shamanism she felt duty-bound to see the peace of damaged souls, aiding them in finding closures, to pass on and prevent them from being tortured and malevolent. He overpowered a wince as she created a tourniquet around his worst injury, scrapping, tear her own skirt's quilt. "I must, for the outcome larger. Think what you'd like, but I fight for an Age of Peace." Undoubtedly his cause laid noble, yet he fought alone in solitude. Were these his words? She disputed with simple words, that struck. "What of your peace?" Those word's held danger, reason... power. First-threat conceived ever recorded in any reality. Was not of murderous design. Threat was born in love's visage. Many interpret in their ways. Yet, Love encountered can change an entire existence, it's frightening... Invisible even striking the mightiest down. Misused, brought wars. Concern, feelings, he was trained against... He shot it down from his exercises... "I'm just a weapon." Wasn't idea to allow those root's to touch him, allowing an identity beyond his purpose. A tool as used by those who furthered him to exist. They claimed their hand's from the dark and gave him "life". Least, what it'd become believed... He attempted to stand but his body-declined. She shook a head baffled at the display of stubbornness. Her soft-tending hands aided him by wrists, "Come to my cabin, I'll finish ridding these injuries, then you can take off. You aren't off the case, Mister. See... Would someone classified as a weapon, decisively show to meet lowly ole' me? Were you wielded to do as such...? Or did you, act." Countering him. Was she a hidden sorceress? She slew him with mistakes. Why with her presence, did he falter? Invisible assaults, indescribable reigned. He didn't even recognize his body had taken a seat within her temporarily home. His nose took a whiff of a poured tea. "Drink this, it'll mend. You'll be out once again, slicing and dicing." Under those condition's he drank with no hesitation. Sure enough that scrumptious tea worked throughout his system, with renewal, all his symptom's subsided. Magical, delightful, exquisite. Emotion's were attempting to claim victory. He rejected and sat up, gathering his weapon fastening it across his waist. "You've my thanks... Farewell, what I said still, applies." Pushing against it all. He needed to retreat, now! As callous digit's touched the door, she intercepted at his stature. "I'm hiring you. Assassin!" Laughing warmly. Curious came to his brow, movement's paused. Yet he never declined... "Who do you want dead, or brought?" He spoke as a Black Miracle.

She let out a enthusiastic, pretend-serious voice. "Yes... Well..." Clearly she was clutching something behind, it smelled of beauty. "Protect this Flower!" He was handed a soft-fragile, flower.... Was she, serious? Known as the Sakurasou, It'd follow this duo throughout destiny. "Seven Sun's... It cannot know harm and you've to keep on you! Do this and you'll never see me again." An easy task, he thought. "Very well... I'll see you when the mission is done. Then our known connection, is void." Accepting these terms.

She moved satisfied, watching him depart and continue that unyielding march... into death. Unbeknownst a fellow predatory stare of another shadow watched this exchange, through the lens of a bird as ghost recon...

[Prev:Chapter]: Father of Shadow ~ ♪"Heart of Gold"♪

[owlespresso]

pollen, chapter 6 tags: fem!reader, reader has a personality, mind-fuckery, non-consensual kissing a/n: it's about 8.5k words. thank you all for your patience. read 1-5 HERE.

The thickets of the Eastern Shroud are labyrinthine. Tangles of bramble and clusters of thistle seem to dog your every move as you stumble through the brush. Whatever path you had been following is lost to you now. You’re not sure how long or how far you have wandered.

The thick canopy makes it nearly impossible to tell whether it is day or not. You have to squint to catch a few thin, silvery beams of moonlight, and they don’t even reach the forest floor. Instead, the ground is illuminated by large bulbous flowers and mushrooms which sport an unearthly glow. Some of them even seem to breathe, exhaling clouds of spores which you’re careful to keep your distance from.

The noises of the forest are suddenly cut through by a round of loud, whooping cheers. You rush towards the sound, past bundles of giant flowers, under and over stray branches and thick vines. Your heart thrums in your ears as you break through the treeline, stepping foot into a wide open clearing.

What first draws your attention is the long table, nearly large enough to touch both sides. It's draped in white, pearlescent cloth. Plentiful platters stacked sumptuously with scrumptious seeming snacks line the surface from end to end. Puffy pastries are unceremoniously snatched by Sylphs and Moogles. It’s a massive gathering of them, more than you have ever seen at once. Yet, most seem to pay you no mind, even as you gawp openly. They’re more interested in each other, their chatter already rising to a dull roar. They pour tea into mismatched cups and down olive-colored bottles of swill, lost to their own revelry.

You can’t entirely recall your reason for being here, but you are almost certain it has nothing to do with this mysterious trouvaille. 

Just as you turn to exit, however, a soft voice calls out from close by.

“Wait!” A Sylph of pinkish hue floats frantically towards you, looking awfully haggard. The disheartened slump of their posture makes them look like a puppet on limp strings. “Don’t go! This one cannot remember the last time we entertained a human guest!” They plead. “This one’s name is Lixio—delighted to make your acquaintance!

You frown. “My apologies, but I have business elsewhere.”

“And it can’t wait? Even for a few moments?” Lixio pleads. You hesitate. “Only a few seconds, even! Mixia and Xixia will not believe this one if this one tells them a human attended the party! Stay long enough for others to witness your presence, at least!”

Mixia and Xixia are this sylph’s friends, you hazard a guess. As desperately as you would like to get back on track and accomplish whatever you had come here to do, fostering amicable relations with the sylphs is crucial to keeping them peaceful. Gridania is already beset by the Ixal and the constant, looming threat of Garlemald’s invasion. You frown.

“I won’t be a very entertaining guest,” you inform them.

“It is the host’s humble duty to entertain,” Lixio chirps. “And you have already captured this one’s most vested interest!”

“You’re putting me on.” You accuse them flatly. They give a mock-gasp, pressing their hands to their cheeks in faux-astonishment.

“This one would never lie about something so important! You would have been shown the door without so much as a toodaloo if you were not so interesting!” they scold, turning around and beckoning you. “Come, come! This one spies an open seat just for you!”

For a reason beyond you, you stumble in tow, through the dark purple grasses and glowing patches of fungi. Lixio leads you to the tail end of the table, where another sylph is facing down two moogles, body shaking with rage as she shrieks.

“Such indolence! This one should banish you to the bogs! A hundred years of the mossy ones sneezing upon you!” they seethe.

“Our deepest apologies!” the moogle clad in a black, pointed hat shouts back above the noise. Several of his fellows at the table’s other end clink their bottles together. “We will replace it at the earliest convenience!”

“Meaningless! The party is happening now!” the sylph cried back in dismay. The moogles offered no response, another coming to tug the both of them into the dense crowd. Staring at where they had once been, you can’t help but take note of the way the black edges seem fuzzy and writhing in ways most mysterious. 

Towering pitcher plants of violet hue spit sparkling pollen clouds into the air above the side of the clearing where you’re seated. You’re not familiar with the species, but you know enough to not trust any of the region’s mysterious flora. You should move, but a steaming cup of tea is unceremoniously shoved in front of you. 

“Made from the best milkroot in all the Shroud!” Lixio crows with no small amount of pride. You swallow, observing the deep rosen liquid with no small amount of skepticism. Pink petals float on the liquid's surface.

“I appreciate it, but I’m not thirsty.” The corners of your lips twitch into what you hope is an appeasing smile. Is not being thirsty a good enough excuse to turn down a drink from your self-declared host? Should you have said you’re allergic? Lixio doesn’t seem to appreciate your refusal, little face scrunching up.

“It is most impolite to refuse your host’s hospitality,” Lixio fumes. Your lips press into a thin, straight line at the shrill pitch of their voice. With each moment, your tolerance rapidly dwindles. The cute charm of the sylph wares off with their newfound brattiness. It is one thing to be patronized by primals and Garlean commanding officers. It is entirely another to have this brussel sprout of a creature attempting to scold you. Why did you humor them at all? The voices around you grate your sensitive ears more with every passing moment, nose growing expeditiously agitating when combined with the bright luminescent colors which crowd every corner of your vision.

“I apologize,” you reply tersely. “But I am not comfortable—”

“Not comfortable!? What else must be done to please you?” Lixio inquires. They lean forward, into your space. One of their little arms knocks into the teacup they dropped before you. Several drops of the rosen liquid splatter onto the tablecloth. 

A shriek splits the air.

“You have ruined this one’s precious dining cloth!” the sylph who was tussling with the moogles mere moments ago turns their attention to your gracious host. They descend upon your gracious host, seizing and pushing Lixio by the shoulders. If not for their innate ability to float, they would have toppled out of their chair and onto the ground. “Ungrateful! Ungrateful, all of you are!”

“Fixia!” Lixio cries. “This one is sorry! This one will clean it—make it look all new and shiny! This one swears!”

“No! This one has had it with lies!” Fixia snaps, curling their tiny, leaflike fingers into the stained cloth. “No more! No! More!” With a strength belied by their slight frame, they pull at the cloth’s edge—and the entire table is upended. Porcelain flies into the air and shatters, drinkware clanging into sterling silver forks and spoons. Pale pastry cream slaps onto dry earth and dark dark grass, tea of scalding temperatures soaking the earth and splashing onto several, unfortunate bystanders.

They shriek and howl, the crowd thrown into immediate disarray. The fae folk dash and fly in all different directions. You slip away in the height of the panic, grateful to be seated so close to the thick treeline. The sounds of the chaos are soon in the far distance. The bright lights halo your silhouette in a smattering of kaleidoscopic color, fading in intensity the further you stray, diving back into the wood with less certainty than you had before the disastrous party. You hadn’t known Sylphs and moogles to mingle so freely. Perhaps they’ve been driven to cooperate by recent threats to the Shroud?

A matter to contemplate later, you decide. You can’t stray from your goal—which happens to be remembering what’s driven you out here in the first place.

In the distance, a river rumbles underneath a curved, wooden bridge. Vines of ivy and purplish leaves intertwine over the suspiciously thin railings. This is the deepest you’ve ever delved into the Eastern Shroud, often put off exploring by the hostile, tempered Sylphs which inhabit the wilds in great abundance. Whatever brought you here was deemed worth the trouble, but your memory remains out of your grasp. Perhaps Meteor would—

You freeze. Hardwood gives way to soft, loamy grass.

Meteor. Ardbert. Where are your teammates? How could you have forgotten them? Revulsion and white hot alarm begin to churn your stomach as you comb through the possibilities, but your thoughts come slow as molasses. Think—think, god dammit! You tap your fist into your temple as if trying to knock your head clear of whatever clogs it. It doesn’t work, of course, leaving you with a sore spot and the paralyzing dread of knowing something is amiss.

You stumble forward, rib cage throbbing dully as one urgent breath shudders out of the next. The air feels thick, like you can’t get enough of it at once—and soon you’re grasping in the dark, struggling to keep yourself upright.

It’s not a horrible place to collapse, you think through the haze. Maybe resting for a while will do you some good, maybe you’re too tired to think. 

You don’t realize you’re sliding down until your knees knock into the dirt. Surely, that too is fine. Surely, no bandit or other neerdowell would venture this deep into the Sylphlands, too terrified of fae magic and ferocious flora. From here, though, it's not too terrible. What you can see from underneath lowering eyelids is all beautiful in a strange, otherworldly manner. Dark purples coalesce with bright, pink petals and white shroom caps which glow soft in the peaceful dark. Yes, there will be plenty of light when you wake.

Someone calls your name. You huff and burrow yourself between the roots of the tree, bark scratching the thick fibre of your robes. You hardly mind the cold, damp bark on your cheek. Just a few minutes. Just a few—

Another shout, closer this time. 

Mere a few winks of peace—

A broad pair of hands seizes your shoulders and shakes, nearly throttling you against the trunk. When your eyes snap open, it's Ardbert’s concerned countenance which greets you.

“Are you with me?” he asks, leaning close. You can count his every eyelash. Relief crashes over you, nearly hard enough to render you breathless. Ardbert. You blink several times, just to make doubly sure that this is no cruel illusion borne of Sylph magic. But you reopen your eyes and he is still crouched in front of you, familiar face wound deep with concern.

“I’m up, I’m up—” you stagger to your feet, if only to avoid another jostling. His gloved hand wraps around your forearm, carrying an alarming majority of your weight. Too often, you forget just how strong your teammates are, just how easily they could snap bone if so prompted. “Are you alright? Where have you been, this whole time?” you gather your wits enough to ask. The adrenaline shakes away the worst of your weariness. 

Ardbert releases you with a haggard sigh, dragging his hand down his face.

“I should be asking you all that,” he begins, exasperated. “Do you have any idea what would have happened to you had you actually fallen asleep?”

“No, do you?” you rub a hand down your face, bleary eyes peering over your fingers as a beat of silence passes. And then another. And then—

“Well, no—but knowing the beasts which skulk around here, it would have been nothing good!” Ardbert blusters. “Now, come on. We have to find my brother.”

“You haven’t seen him?” you inquire. You have to jog a few paces to reach his side before he mellows into a slower stride, exhaling a long suffering sigh. You’ve known him long enough to peer beneath the hardened veneer he wears in the face of all challenges. He’s playing tough, but he’s just as lost as you are. The purple under his eyes is more pronounced than usual. He hasn’t been getting enough sleep. After all of this is over and solved, you’ll procure a tea or tonic to help. And maybe something for his flushed complexion.

His cheeks are a ruddy red, a thin sheen of sweat gracing his visible skin. You could have dismissed it as exertion, likely from roaming wild and reckless around the whispering wood, but the blush has only deepened since you began walking. Petal pink lips part around semi labored breaths.

“No. I haven’t,” Ardbert admits.

“Do you know how long ago you were separated? Did you come in together? I can’t remember a thing.” you confess. You’d not admit it aloud, but having another at your side—having someone to confide in and question is a reassurance you didn’t know you would miss. He’s firm and warm at your side, not as tall as some but still made steep by his warrior’s armor. 

He doesn’t answer. You glance over at him a second time. Still flushed. Feverish. Perhaps he’s allergic to some of the local flora? All manner of suspicious plant and flower populates the darkened boughs of the Twelveswood—each bearing their own fruits and pollen. Gods only know what those spores will do to a person.

“Ardbert? Are you alright?” you press gently.

“I’m fine. I just want to get out of this hellhole,” Ardbert insists brusquely, frown deepening. “Worry about yourself, for once.”

“I’m not the one who’s red as a tomato right now,” you huff, but otherwise keep careful to curb your sass. Quarreling will serve you no purpose in a place so hostile, you remind yourself. 

“It’s as humid as Ifrit’s arse out here,” Ardbert replies in kind, face twisted into a scowl. “And you were about to pass out before I found you—that’s worth more concern than a little bit of heat.” He argues, and you feel a near nauseating wave of deja vu was over you. It’s the beginning of a familiar dance, the steps of which only you two know. You don’t have the energy for it, right now. 

“If you say so. But if you start feeling off—”

Ardbert makes a rough, irritated sound. “You always do this,” he says, exasperated and angry, voice gravelly with the intensity of the emotion. 

“Do what?”

“You always get after both of us for not licking our wounds enough—but you never take proper care of yourself!” It’s an abrupt frustration that comes out of nowhere, like a flame jolting to life on a match. It reaches beyond the routine arguments you’re so used to. It weaves into the surrounding aether, not unlike the potent rage he involves on the battlefield. Pain cracks through the passion, the bottom of his lip beginning to wobble. He stops and turns on you abruptly. 

“What!? Where is this coming from!?” You stumble backwards, nearly tripping over your own coattails in the process. “You can nag me all you want, but let’s just focus on getting out here for now!”

He scoffs. “Really? Going to lecture me on focus when I just found you curled up in the dirt?”

“Oh, come off it! I was exhausted! I’ve been through a lot today, Ardbert, I don’t need you adding onto it—”

“Why not? You seem to have no problem adding everyone else’s rubbish onto your plate!” he snaps. 

Your eyes go wide as his shadow envelops you. “How do you think that makes us feel!?” Sticks and deadened grass crunches underneath his heavy leather boots as he approaches. “We watch you wring the near life out of yourself! Constantly! You forget to eat! You refuse to sleep!” He looms close. You don’t even realize you’re backing up until you bump into a gnarled trunk.

“Useless! It makes us feel useless!” he nearly snarls, fist pummeling into the trunk.  You flinch, withering backwards. The wood splinters beneath his gauntlet, pieces spat out onto your cloak. “We can’t ever help you because you keep letting your goddamn pride get in the way!”

“I’ve never asked for your help!” you splutter, fists clenching at your sides. Animal fear and righteous anger wrestle for dominance in your churning gut. 

“And that’s the entire problem! Your head is so far up your arse that you can’t even see when you need help!” he continues, voice pitching into a desperate shout. His chest is an iron wall, heaving with each labored breath. A wall in front of you, his arms bars. He’s right, you realize, and that’s the most irritating part of it. 

You can’t muster up an adequate reply, too busy searching for an opening. This has gone too far, beyond your typical quarreling. He’s not even a film away, face close enough to note each fine indent of his scowl. The warmth of his body seeps through his armor, even though it really shouldn’t—defying all reason to your muddled senses. The cloying heat that makes it harder to think, harder to wriggle away.

Broad palms cup your jaw. His fingers spread across your cheeks as he forces you to look up—up into glowing, pink eyes. Something in you shatters, then, utterly jarred by the unnatural neon you’re faced with. Only now do you clock how wrong all of him is, how the actors of this play aren’t quite fitting their roles. You open your mouth—to say what you do not know, but the words never quite come. They die on your tongue, because—

He’s kissing you. With warm, soft lips, pressing in and drinking deep of you. A hot tongue pushes into your gasping mouth, chases your own even as you writhe and push at his chest. Faintly, you’re aware of your hand around his wrist. You claw and scramble for purchase on his leathers, attempting to pry away from him. 

The difference in strength is too great, and the air is growing too thin. You’re making noise, little whimpers and whines which he swallows, steals them alongside each dwindling breath. Your consciousness begins to fade, black crackling at the edges—and it’s that which jolts you back into shocking awareness.

You cannot fall here. This is not your Ardbert.

Blind panic surges through your veins, levin crackling underneath your skin. The atmosphere trembles, the very fabric of the cosmos beckoned to your aid. A silvery sphere of raw aether sparks into existence behind him. The nearby foliage pulses, and is drawn into it alongside your companion’s devious duplicate. The fake is torn from you with an enraged animal sound.

You turn on foot and dash madly into the woods before the spell fully triggers, blowing everything it's drawn within to smithereens. You fumble over jutting roots and fallen branches, pulling lungfuls of precious air into your howling lungs. The world flies by in shadows of green and purple and brown, fluorescent mushrooms and flowers puffing clouds of suspicious spores. Only when you are alone do you at last come to a pause—bending over to gasp for much needed air. Your sweaty palm presses up against bark, wincing at the coarse bark against your slicked skin.

The situation is more severe and incomprehensible than it initially appeared. Something in the wood plays cruel tricks on you, to wear the faces of your companions. You’ll never forgive who is responsible, whether it be the Sylphs, the Moogles or any other manner of frivolous forest creature. You’ll slay them yourself, you decide.

With that vow made, you regain your breath and stomp back into the thickets, heading towards the gaping mouth of another treeline. Halfway, you pause, a sudden thought striking you.

If Ardbert had been a doppelganger, were either of your partners ever truly here in the first place?

The panic cooled into listless paranoia as you continued to roam. Desperately, you comb through every corner of your mind for some clue, some context as to why you arrived here in the first place. Your probing turns up frighteningly little. You can recall disembarking an airship and meeting with an official at the Adders Nest. The air was tinged with ripe lilac and honeysuckle until you took the ferry east, over murky waters and through verdant masses of algae. The skiff’s bow cut through the tranquil lake like a knife through warm butter.

That’s all you’re able to discern. The finer details pull away when you reach for them. Something, or someone, has purposefully obfuscated your memories. And all you can do is lumber exhaustedly through their crafted labyrinth, out of options and tools and sapped of every after casting impulsively and without a focus.

A flicker of familiar scarlet teases at the edge of your vision. You snap your head towards it, fears temporarily forgotten. Your gaze darts around in the dark, only to find more of what surrounds you. Deadened trunks and berry purple leaves.

Your shoulders slump, more exasperated with your own eyes for playing tricks on you than affected by the vision itself. A Warrior of Light can’t quake and crumble at the slightest of provocations. You’ve dealt with worse than this, fought stranger foes and outwitted politicians and enemy generals and gods alike. If you can’t surmount this—

A bell-like laugh echoes up and down the wood, a sound you never thought you would hear again.

“Come now, hero! Are you really going to let me run off a third time?” 

Familiar agitation sweeps through you at his mocking lilt. It feels nostalgic, in a way, but you know better than to chase a dismembered voice off in the distance. No matter how achingly familiar. You turn away, and you keep on walking—

“Really? You would ignore me after all we had together?” his voice is in your head, now, flat and disappointed. You whirl around, trembling fist clenched, but your dulled reflexes are but a moment too late. You’ev shoved backwards, and where you swore there had existed solid should is instead a slope covered in sticks which snag and leaves which crunch loud underneath your tumbling body. A pained shout wrenches from your chapped lips, flank landing hard on the dirt. 

You scrape your hands on bark and stone as you pull yourself to your feet. A mere film away is a tangle of bristling brambles. Count your blessings where you can find them, you suppose. Your hands raise to brush the clumped soil off your person. They never get that far.

The dark, still edge of a familiar blade tucks underneath your chin. You can’t remember seeing or hearing anyone approach, but you have often noticed that Meteor moves quieter and more discreetly than anyone in armor has any right to. But he’s keenly aware of that, too. He always makes noise on purpose, just to let you know he’s coming. To not scare you.

But not this time. His eyes are wide and wild, hair knocked into tangles, dirt and blood smudged across his face. The crimson is slick with its freshness. He’s a terrifying vision, hunched above you like a wolf looms over a wounded lamb.

“Meteor,” you rasp, quietest you have ever been, “It’s me—” you find the stones to continue after a long moment, spent in sheer disbelief that he would raise his weapon at you. His face twitches, but the eerie stillness there remains. There’s something anguished in his eyes.

“I’ve heard that, before,” he says ruefully, breathing heavily. “You won’t fool me. Not again.”

“You—what are you talking about—” you stammer. Realization crashes into you a moment later, fast and brutal as a Coerthan gale. “How many of me have you seen?” you can’t help but ask, swallowing against the pinprick of his blade.

He licks a bead of sweat from his lips. Mindlessly, you track the movement.

“Two, now. Ran them both through,” he admits, equal part confession and threat. There’s no wobble in his voice, though. No regret. Sympathy juts through the haze of your fear.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “That you had to—”

“No. Don’t even start.” he mutters, shifts closer.

“I’m real, Meteor. I can prove that I’m real,” you fumble backwards, pulse rumbling in your ears. Your back meets the unyielding stone of a nearby ledgeface, trapped between it and his unforgiving steel. “Ask me something only I would know!”

Meteor’s jaw ticks. “The second one said the same—and they were right,” he swallows. “—when they answered.”

“Then—Then I can just leave!” you exclaim, unable to keep the panic from your voice. You can’t even begin to fathom the implications of what he’s disclosed to you, not while the edge of his blade inches forward, kissing the column of your throat. “I won’t show my face again. I swear it!”

The space between his thick brows scrunches, for the first time breaching his glazed, wild expression. The sword wobbles against your skin, threatening to break it, before he heaves a great sigh and lowers it. You slump against the craggy wall, erupting into a series of sputtering, shaky breaths. You must make a pitiful picture, but the relief is so palpable that you can’t bring yourself to much care.

He remains there, looming and still as a statue, deadly weapon still clutched in his hand.

“I’ll—I’ll just be doing, then,” you assure him once you’ve regained your breath. It kills you to leave him here, distressed and alone, but you can’t solve this conundrum if you’re dead. You’ll have to come back for him, and in the meantime hope he isn’t visited by any other spectors wearing your face.

Though, maybe you should worry more for yourself. The phantom feeling of Ardbert’s hands sticks cold to your skin, a poignant reminder of the danger that lurks.

“There’s an Ardbert imposter running around,” you inform him, wincing as you pull yourself to your feet. A piercing ache throbs in your left side. No doubt it’ll be a nasty bruise, later. “I know you don’t believe me I’m real. I just thought you should—”

His hand cups the underside of your jaw, the cool metal of his gauntlets firm against your overheated skin. The clawed tips prick your cheeks. You blink stupidly, numbly as he seizes you, lifts your head to meet his imposing, keen gaze. He’s analyzing you, you think, searching for something you cannot quite name. Your pulse thrums against his forearm, in your throat, skin brushing against the metal with each throb of blood through the vein.

“Meteor—” you rasp, frozen in place by the weight of his attention alone. A beast brays somewhere in the far distance. The forest squirms and shivers despite a lack of wind.

His eyes shut. He exhales, trembling. He’s testing your measure, yet to what parameters you do not know. You can only linger in the space between the seconds, awaiting his judgment. 

He opens his eyes. “You’re real,” he murmurs. His thumb strokes across your lower lip, careful to mind his claw. His eyes flutter shut, brown lashes tucking against pale cheeks. “I’m sorry—”

“It’s fine,” you reply automatically, rising to your feet. You know full well that he would never raise arms against you unless under significant duress, unless out of his mind. 

“It isn’t,” Meteor replies coolly, raking a hand through his hair. “But now isn’t the time.”

You don’t reply nor do you give into the sweet relief his presence brings. He looks like he’s struggling with what else to say, lips pulled into a straight line.

“So, let’s pool our information,” you speak up, just to spare him the agony of his own thoughts. There’ll be plenty of time to wallow in his guilt later. You don’t need any more platitudes or pleas for forgiveness—the moment has passed and neither of you should live in it.

Meteor heaves a sigh, “After we arrived in the Shroud, a fog settled over the entire area. I could hardly see my own hands—”

“Forgive me, but why did we come to the Shroud in the first place? I…” you chew on the inside of your cheek, warmth rising to your cheeks. The idea of you forgetting the specifics of a mission is completely out of character, and horribly humiliating. The question gets stuck in your throat, stubborn pride warring with your own rampant need for context, for information. “I can’t seem to remember.”

“We…” Meteor pauses, blinking. His gaze crawls from you, eyes glazing as he stares across the empty clearing. “Came to gather milkroot.”

“...Milkroot?” your eyes narrow. This is a poor time for jokes—the notion that the Scions would send you here to do chores is laughable, but Meteor nods. Dead serious as he’s ever been.

“Over the past moon, it’s grown out of proportion. It’s making the tempered Sylphs come out from deeper in the wood.”

“Alright. So you happen to know where this particularly intrusive patch of milkroot is?” You’re still not sure if you believe him. And if you do happen to believe him, you’re still miffed at being deployed for pest control, of all things. You’ve felled three primals and beasts of equal strength. You are above getting on your knees in the dirt to clean up some random mess.

“I do,” Meteor nods. “But the thicket… It's hard to navigate. I’ve already been lost twice.”

“I can only imagine,” you mumble, sympathetic. “Well, given it's our only lead, we can head there first. Does that sound alright?”

And Meteor nods, by far the most well-behaved tank you have ever met, both in and outside of battle.

He does, taking you through winding pathways, skirting along the very edges of the darkened deepwood. In the distance, you spy purple sylphs and tall plants with wide, spikes maws. Their broad stems rise and fall as if breathing. Clouds of poison expel into the air with each breath. 

“Meteor—” you say, and then swallow. The ambient aether pulses around you—and suddenly you are in that far off distance, surrounded by them on all sides. The air is sickly sweet and sparkling ripples of bright purple glisten through the gloom in undulating waves. You stagger, boots scuffing on the dark dirt. Everything seems to breathe now. Thick trunks and brambled branches, expanding and shrinking. Your gaze lifts to the canopy.

Meteor says your name. A firm hand clasps your wrist, firm and grounding. Your lungs feel tight, throat constricted. Dazed and unfocused as you are, you manage to find his gaze among the swimming dark. Have his eyes always been so bright?

But it’s not enough. You feel yourself crumple, not all at once. one part of the body after the other. Mere moments feel stretched into minutes, your world condensing to stuttered snapshots. Meteor, distraught. An oversized log up top the slope. A lone sylph, faced away from you. Strands of green and stiff purple grass, which tickles your cheek.

And then, the eerie black.

There is no time between when you shut your eyes and reopen them. A fraction of a moment at most. Your eyelids pry open and you are back on your feet, mid-step. 

“Drowsing on the job again, are we?” G’raha Tia says. Your brain stutters, struggling to piece together his presence. It’s beyond jarring. It’s like seeing your smallclothes laid out on the Rising Stones’s Bar. A piece of you, something so close and intimate, dragged out and misplaced for all to see. 

He looks different then the last time you saw him. Both of his eyes are blue. His hair is longer, fastened into a thick but wild braid. A greatbow slung across his back is emblazoned with golden accents and striking blue gemstones. One half of his shirt is blue, the other black. The neckline hangs low, the fabric bunched by a red and black sash wound around his waist. Sheathed daggers and miscellaneous pouches hang off two belts slung underneath it. Another is fastened around his thigh. Some of the gold bangles tied round his arm gloves and thigh high boots sport beads in the shape of the sun and stars. A bard, you think.

“I…” you begin, tongue heavy in your mouth. What had he asked of you, again? You blink, attempting to clear away the lingering haze. 

“You know how that old saying goes—sleep late and you lose the worm and all that,” he says, eyes glimmering. Playful. “And if I’m not mistaken, this will be the third such occasion in which you’ve missed the goal.”

“The third?” your lips peel into a frown, familiar agitation sparking within you. “What are you counting as the first two?”

“If it truly mattered to you, you would have remembered by now,” his smile turns wry, blue eyes so bright and bitter. Your jaw locks, awareness washing over you like grains broken from an hourglass, sands of time settling heavy and suffocating atop your chest. The anger, the pain, the loss—it tastes coppery. 

“It wasn’t my fault,” you protest.

His gaze softens. “You don’t believe that.”

“How would you know? You’re the one who left without so much as a word! You couldn’t even be bothered to leave a note behind, G’raha!” The anger erupts from you all at once, typical restraint worn by the day’s events—the day’s events, you realize. 

This isn’t real. G’raha Tia is long gone. This is another cruel illusion conjured specifically to waste your time and demoralize you. You need to leave.

“Why would I write a note to someone who clearly couldn’t stand me? From the moment we met, you made it painfully clear that you wanted no part of me. You only tolerated my presence, as though I were a coworker’s child getting underfoot. You despised me, but you despised the fact that you needed me even more.” Every word drives into you like a rusty prong of steel, wounds just begun to close reopened and stung, skin split and stitches burst. All at once, you feel speechless and small, no better than a child.

“And you never bothered to examine why I behaved in the manner that I did! Did you not once consider that I only wanted to impress the vaunted Warriors of Light!? To prove that I was worthy to stand at your side!?”

“Stop,” you gasp, and it feels like getting sick, the back of your throat for some reason rubbed raw—like you’ve been running a marathon or screaming out your bedraggled soul. 

“Perhaps, if I felt I could confide in you, I would have told you. Perhaps you could have convinced me to stay.” G’raha continues, voice soft again. The anger and agony is gone, now. Only the stillness of a soul lost or given up, looking out across the short tale of his life in pensive reflection.

 “Perhaps I could have gone on to be an adventurer, too.” His voice is nearly smothered by the sound of wildlife, groans and chirps and howls and clicks erupting around you. The shadows reach out like spindly fingers. Every hair on your body stands on end. Your instincts scream for you to rush forward and shield him from the malignant presence which haunts this horrible, wild place.

Not this time, though. Not for this delusion. Your jaw clenches as the bleak, empty dark encloses on him like a flower’s petals. You stand there, and comfort yourself with the knowledge that this is too a phantasm, a vision spun for the sole sake of your distress.

You blink, and the murky depths disappear. Meteor is standing in front of you, eyes bright and face hard with concern.

“I’m alright,” the words are out of your mouth before you can even think. Automatic, at this point. “We can keep going.”

“I can carry you, if you’re tired.” he informs you. His barely flat delivery makes you wonder whether he’s offering or simply telling you a fun fact. 

“You don’t have to. I’m fine,” you sound weaker than you would like, reedier. “And we should both be concerned about the doppelgangers running around. They’re likely Sylph illusions, but simple magicks cannot explain how they knew such intimate details about us.” And about your relationships. The illusory Ardbert’s words had been weighed by honest, clear agony. 

“Perhaps the culprit is no mere Sylph,” he suggests.

“Who would it be, then?” you scoff, kicking a large brand off the path, which has started to thin. Up ahead lay another dark bridge, the river churning below. The area leading up to it is no larger than three films across, and populated by several tangles of bramble. It’s little wonder that the tempered Sylphs of the deepwood don’t make their own fortresses. Nature is more than willing to supply it for them.

Meteor provides you with an informative shrug, leaving you to stew with the possibilities. Frankly, you cannot name a single person who would be privy to the innermost workings of your troublesome trio. Most enemies don’t get close enough for a chance at conversation, and most allies are kept at a strict arm’s length. By you, at least.

You shut your eyes for a moment as your mounting headache returns full force, but a moment is all it takes for you to stub your toe on a stray root. You curse, voice echoing up and down the misty boughs.

Meteor looks at you pointedly, head tilting. You glare.

“No.” you say. 

He takes a step closer. Into your personal space. It takes all of your healer’s patience not to unleash a volley of crass curses directly into his face.

“No, I’m fine,” you firmly insist. “I don’t need any coddling.”

Meteor looks remarkably unimpressed. “What’s your plan, then? Please, enlighten me.” he says, completely flat. “Wander aimlessly through the woods until you twist your ankle on another vine?”

Your face crinkles like you’ve just eaten a serving of Archon Loaf. Since when has he been… so sassy? So prone to backtalk?

No—it makes sense. Being forced to slay even an illusion wearing his face and speaking in his voice would shake you, likely leave you rattled for weeks. So of course he’s on edge, snappier than usual. You take in another deep breath, count to three, and exhale, willing your tempestuous temper away.

“I won’t lie. I am… unsure of the specifics of our situation. However, I have a few theories,” you lean up against the closest tree trunk and roll your head back, shutting your tired eyes. G’raha Tia comes to you in flashes, blue eyes deep and haunted. You settle for staring at the dark canopy instead. 

“We could be inside a sealed space which repeats itself, where elements of terrain are randomly placed to give the illusion that we are genuinely traversing the forest. Such a complex spell requires a skilled caster and a bevy of aether at their disposal. The Sylphs are, for the most part, natural born casters and obtaining the crystals required could be as simple as leading a few unlucky merchants astray from the trodden path.” you finished with a grimace. “A likelier theory is that we’ve been trapped in some kind of dream.

“All three of us together?” Meteor inquires, placid mien betraying no skepticism. It’s a relief that your hypothesis hasn’t been met with immediate disbelief. Some of the tension melts from your body as you open your mouth. 

Before you can speak, someone calls to you from across the clearing.

Meteor shifts into a defensive stance, clean steel of his greatsword aimed at the approaching, darkly dressed figure. It takes you a moment to see it, to genuinely sew the embellished black plate, the eyes deep and wide and hauntingly blue. The tips of his ruffled hair kisses the space where his stubble begins.

No, oh gods, no—the forest fades into black nothingness, silent but it must be laughing. Laughing, because you were foolish enough to not anticipate this. The air struggles to stay in your lungs. Your ears pound, your chest thuds with white hot panic, rolling up your spine and forking into the base of your skull. You can’t handle this, right now. You stare numbly at the approaching form of a second Meteor.

You should have expected this. If the mastermind was able to so seamlessly replicate Ardbert, then it is only reasonable to expect the same of Meteor.

“Stay behind me,” Meteor says, quiet yet uncompromising. As if you plan to step in front of the hulking slab of metal he calls a sword. “Leave us alone. We know you’re an imposter.”

His doppelganger, rather than responding to him directly, looks at you instead, concern writ plain across his furrowed brow. Meteor stands taller to block his view of you, black pauldon sheltering you from that pained, beseeching stare.

“You’re as bold as I expected a Sylph-borne simulacrum to be,” the doppelganger begins. He calls your name, then. 

“Bold accusations from a shade with no proof.” Meteor rebuffs. “I’ll not warn you a second time. Leave, or your Sylph masters will receive what remains of you in hand baskets.”

Traveling together begets familiarity. Yet, you would never claim to know Meteor’s every facet. Yet, you cannot suppress the wave of wrongness that sweeps through you. It’s a sudden chill. In all the times he has stood firm between you and the enemy, he has never been so verbose. No, he cuts down the enemy before they can even spit a word. The sprout of dread burgeons within you, renders you near breathless as you stare at his back, desperate to get a closer look at his eyes.

The other Meteor calls your name a second time.

“I lack the time to bother with paltry words. You know that.” he says, desperate to be known, to be believed. And it’s true. It’s completely true. An idiosyncrasy that only he would be aware of. You step back, instinctively reaching for a weapon that isn’t there. Your boots scuff the dark dirt, and the Meteor who you’ve been accompanying whirls around. He looks like you’ve knocked the wind out of him, staring at you in disbelief.

“Don’t tell me you believe him,” he says. His eyes are wild and wide with horror.

“I—I—” It’s much more difficult to defend your position when he’s looking at you like that. It’s a look he only fixes you with on the rare occasions that you get a scrape or cut in battle. Scrutinizing and perhaps annoyed, but feral with concern. Like he’d reach his hands inside of you to fix any misaligned inners. Like he’d sink his teeth into the throat of those responsible. All gnashing fangs and frayed bangs, blood and soot and dirt smudged on his cheeks.

You take another step back. Where there was once a blank dirt road, there is—something, something which slithers around your ankle and pulls, sending you tumbling to the earth. You wince at the initial impact, earlier injuries sent spasming.

A few fulms away, you can see him start in your direction, outline of a curse on his lips. He’s lowered his greatsword by a hair, head craned to snatch a brief look at you. But that’s all it takes.

Sabled steel slices clean through his middle. Blood gushes onto the ground. His armor dents where it’s been cut through, gnarled metal groaning as he crashes to the floor—spasming. Bile rises in the back of your throat as you watch his lips open around strained wheezes. Here, in the dim dark, you are forced to confront your worst fear. The life bleeds out of him, the wound too gaping for your feeble aether to mend. You try, anyway, crawling over dirt and twigs to reach him. A clammy palm presses against the cold, cold curve of his chestplate.

The aether sparks feebly at your fingertips. The skin stings and burns but you push through—it is a mere fraction of the rest of the pain you have been put through today, after all. Beaten and bruised, you try and pour everything which remains into his shuddering body. His torso twitches like a fish brought to land. Fervent even now, in the throes of death. 

His eyes glaze. He stops moving. He’s looking at you, still. 

You choke back a scream.

The body explodes into a sparkling cloud of purple aether, before vanishing altogether. Another imposter, this entire time. Twice now, you have been so thoroughly fooled. You cannot claim to be close friends of either brother, but you know them. You know Ardbert leaves extra tips for bar keepers and inn maids and checks the doors and windows twice each before retiring to bed. You know Meteor only ever haggles in Ul’dah, and that he runs errands for the folk of every settlement and city which you visit. You know when Ardbert is close to lashing out because his jaw locks and he gets this little line on his chin. You know when something is troubling Meteor because he fidgets, most often with his gauntlet straps.

All of that, and still you readily believed their imposters, even made excuses for them! Your hands curl into fists, strands of grass crushed between them. Your eyes stay wide open, the imposter’s last few moments ingrained in your mind’s eye. You will see it every time you blink.

It was a fake, sure, but it still wore his face. It looked at you with his eyes and called out to you in his voice.

Much like the voice that calls to you know. Meteor is wearing a grimace as he makes his way over to you, no doubt disconcerted at having to bring his own doppelganger to the sword.

“I’m sorry,” he says, lips pulled into a disgusted frown. “You shouldn’t have had to see that.” He doesn’t bother asking if you’re alright, because you’re not and you know that much is obvious. You have faith that you look as much of a wreck as you feel. 

You swallow, and do not take his hand, because even this too feels wrong. If you were an ilm less wise, you would reason that paranoia from today’s ordeals has set in. But you now know that nothing in this horrible, labyrinthine place adheres to reason or empathy.

A nearby cluster of tall, bulbous flowers glows bright yellow. The light catches on his armor, his sword and his eyes—which gleam that horrible, acidic violet.

“Stay away from me!” you push yourself to your feet and scramble backwards. “I know what you are, now! Stop hiding behind someone else’s face, you spineless wretch!”

It inhales deeply. Patiently.

“You’re afraid, and it’s affecting how you see things,” he coaxes, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “There’s no need to be afraid. If you would just let me—” His eyes flash a hot pink. He goes silent, arms dropping back to his sides. His expression loses his desperate candor, glazed and empty. You don’t stick around to wonder why. A searing ache burns at your walk-weary legs, exhausted muscles crying out for sweet reprieve. You heave yourself to your feet regardless, ignoring the stubborn pain. The myriad cuts and bruises you’ve amassed since this all began sting and throb. 

You still don’t know what “this” is. You’re still at square one, without a clue or a hope to get you by. All that matters now is getting as far from this newfound imposter as possible. You rush across the clearing, gritting your teeth through the agony.

The imposter says something, then. You’re too distracted to hear, but you can clearly make out the sound of his boots thudding as he gives chase. Animal fear sets your body aflame, bolts of levin dancing up and down your spine. Every heaving gasp burns the back of your dry throat, eyes watering against  a sudden gust of wind. You cannot die here.If you were in better shape, if you hadn’t been run so ragged, perhaps you’d be able to claw your way out of this. But he bridges the distance between you with pathetic ease.

“This a terrible shame to lose someone so skilled,” he says. He shoves an elbow into your mid-back, harsh plate slamming into your spine. “You could have served on His Majesty’s court.”

You crash to the ground for what feels like the thirtieth time today, shuddering and clawing at the dirt, feet kicking out as you attempt to delay the inevitable. Oh god, you realize belatedly, deliriously, that this is where you die. In the dark and alone, covered in sweat and grime, last moments spent wriggling in filth like a pig. This is how they will find you—if anyone even does, rumpled and beaten and bloody—no partners to lend you aid or shield you. No one to fret over your wounds or nag you to rest. 

Ardbert  was right. Black spots swim at the edges of your vision. Behind you, the whoosh of a blade winds through the air.  May it be swift, you pray, and shut your eyes.

The blow never reaches you. 

The sound of a thousand windows shattering nearly blows out your eardrums. The noise is almost a physical force, erupting from the space only a few fulms ahead of you. Tendrils of blinding daylight reach in as the darkened skies seem to fall to pieces, starlit canopy cracking and crumbling to the earth in crystalline shards.

A blur of brown streaks past your left side, but the enraged roar it makes is familiar enough to make your eyes water with tears unshed. Steel screams against steel. In that instant, you drop. All fight leaves your body, head thunking into the soil. You turn your face to the side to avoid a mouthful of dirt. 

You cannot see the full scope of the fight, because a pair of arms circle around your prone body. You’re lifted fast enough to make your head spin, nausea churning in your gut. All you can do is swallow down the acid bile, lest you stain Meteor’s dark plate and leathers. 

Instead you let loose a dry, rasping sob. The nightmare is over. You have nothing else to fear. All of the mysteries you have agonized over will be explained in due time. 

You fall to pieces. Above you, Meteor’s lips are moving, but you can’t make out a word over the shattering and screaming and thrumming of your traitorous heart. He looks down at you, and you would feel guilty at the abject horror and concern written plain across his face if you were not so, so relieved. You cry, and cry, and cry, not even caring when the points and hard flats of his armor jostle your wounds because he is here and he is real. He is so achingly, endlessly and utterly real.

It is relief, not fear, which blurs your vision and runs down your cheeks. Relief deeper than you ever thought you could feel. So deep that you submerge into it, sinking into the merciful empty of a well-deserved sleep.

[sukehiroselei]

YAMICHAR in the final arc

At the end of the day, this blog is still dedicated to Yami and Charlotte. So of course everything that's happening in the story, I'm gonna relate it somehow to my OTP of OTPs. Some possibilities that I think could happen during the final arc, in order of best-case to worst-case scenarios:

1. Yami and Charlotte are totally fine, indestructible, and kick paladin ass together.

The best I can hope for as a shipper is that they somehow avoid the raging death flags and manage to win, together, then finally have that adult conversation over tea about what it is they've got going on.

They fight together like they did during the Elf arc, except this time it's much better since Charlotte will be in full-control of her body. We get proper development of their relationship during battle, either Yami surpassing his limits because her life is in danger, or Charlotte overcoming her insecurities about not being strong enough to stand by him, because goddamn it, they're knocking paladins left and right, showing these knights how it's done (or both, honestly?).

I want Charlotte to unlock the full extent of her powers, realizing that loving someone isn't a sign of weakness, but is a source of strength. Watching Yami fight his hardest because he loves his squad finally gets her to see what it is that makes him so strong, and it's because of his heart. That in spite of the pain he's faced in his life, Yami chooses to love the people who matter to him—it just so happens that his love language is kicking the asses of those who hurt the people he cares about.

Best-best case scenario??? A kiss. But that's just never gonna happen now ahaha.

2. Yami turns into a monster

There's something about that devil heart... Tabata wouldn't have put it there if it isn't important, right? And Yami being a punching bag key character of the series, there has to be a breaking point.

This man's entire life has been a tragedy. He had an abusive father, a sister who was coerced into killing his family and then choosing to shoulder the blame on her behalf, washing ashore on a strange country then being treated with racism, looked down on by members of society in spite of his achievements; now slowly losing the people he loves....

No wonder this man has so many vices. I'd be super stressed too, if this was my life. It's honestly a wonder how Yami's worst habit is just smoking??

So yeah, this seems most likely to me rn. I feel like this development would absolutely destroy Asta. That this world is so broken that even the seemingly infallible Captain Yami has fallen victim to it. Also, the role reversal in the Elf arc would be interesting; Charlotte trying to get Yami to snap out of it along with the Black Bulls? What a scrumptious idea.

3. They both die

Now listen, this isn't my favourite outcome, but it's still not as bad as the next one. If both of them die, I'd of course be devastated, but at least neither one has to live the rest of their life alone & wondering what could have been.

To me, it would be better to face death with hands adjoined than to be left pining for a ghost, especially if it was Charlotte who survives and not Yami. That would just be beyond cruel, I think. But this is of course, my personal opinion.

4. One of them dies

I love a good angsty fic, but I would absolutely be crushed if only one of them dies. Sorry if people think that this is childish. I think if BC had established itself as a manga with high stakes from the get-go, then I would kind of understand, but one of the things I liked about the series is the minimal-amount of deaths so far?? Idk.... I'm just fiercely protective of my fav characters (and I honestly love a lot of them). So yeah, either Yami or Char dying would leave a bad taste in my mouth.

I would also like to add that Charlotte dying to spur Yami's devil heart transformation would absolutely be a worst-case scenario for me. We've built her character up for so long and then at the end she becomes fodder for one of the male protags??? I'd be livid lol

Bonus Super Duper Crack Theory That Has A 0.00001% Chance Of Happening:

When Charlotte and Yami had dinner to discuss her curse, she said that 'The curse had altered the shape of her soul'. And her being cursed has hindered her from fully mastering her magic.

Additionally, it was explained that all curses are born from Megicula. In her fight, she had combined the knowledge of magic runes from the Heart Kingdom to modify her curse, allowing her to wield both blue and red roses.

We also know that Lucius's power involves the transformation of souls. He explains that 'The soul is the source of human life, spirit, and magic.' He can manipulate someone's soul and implant directives that they cannot disobey. BUT we did see that Sister Lily's resolve falters as she fights against Asta, so Lucius's magic isn't as infallible as he believes it to be. Therefore, his magic can be negated by anti-magic OR by strong emotion.

So what the hell am I rambling on about? Well, what if Charlotte becomes a devil along with Yami? Would Lucius's magic work on her, as her soul has already been affected by another devil (Megicula)? Being cursed changed the quality of her magic, yet in the Spade arc, Charlotte was able to work around a spell that altered her damn SOUL. I think it would be pretty sick for Charlotte to fully embrace the darkness of the devil's curse on her metaphorical heart. Plus, you know, Devil!Yami and Devil!Charlotte kicking "angel" ass is sexy to think about.

[queenmothermp]

Indeed, she had found quite the companion in Athena; no doubt the Greek goddess could introduce her to a great many places on the island! Naturally, Xiwangmu would be more than happy to pay her fair share--and obviously able to afford such things--but she would not protest if her new friend insisted on spoiling her now and then. She could consider this lunch as a simple 'welcome to Mount Phoenix' meal at least. But she had meant it when she would pay for their next lunch, truly if it meant they would be making this a weekly endeavor.

She was fascinated to learn more about Athena, with how she appeared to alternate between Mount Phoenix and Athens. "Oh but that sounds lovely. I have heard the Aegean Sea is so beautiful it even has its own shade of blue named for it. It must be quite the sight." Not to make her new friend feel homesick or anything like that, not at all, but the empress offered genuine compliments to what she had heard. Her smile brightened upon the acceptance of tea at her estate. "Delightful!" she chimed happily, pleased with the idea of enjoying her tea along some of Athena's own treats.

A bite of her sandwich was taken and it was just scrumptious! A pleasantly humble bite, truly. Once swallowed, she continued. "A replica of the Parthenon? Exquisite! Yes, certainly, yes. That would be a delight to see. Once you are comfortably settled, of course. I wouldn't want to impose," she insisted.

But upon discussing her visit to the goddess of wisdom's classes, her eyes shimmered at the idea of witnessing the deity in her element. "Oh yes, of course, that would be an honor. I look forward to it."

Athena had been the one inviting the Chinese goddess, it was normal that she was the one to offer the meal. And, really, it wasn't much. Once they would know each other better, they maybe could plan a dinner at Noona. Some fine dining would be quite a nice little treat to share between friends. "You are welcome" the Greek goddess answered with a gracious smile. "This is not necessary but it will be greatly appreciated." Money wasn't a problem for her so treating friends was an honor.

"I agree. I return to Greece regularly but I still miss it. Mount Phoenix is beautiful but I sometimes miss the charm of Athens and the blue of the Aegean Sea. I will gladly visit your home and bring sweets from my country to share with the tea." She had heard of the Golden Palace and its elegance. "Oh, I just moved out of the Manticore Apartments a few days ago ! I live in a replica of my dear Parthenon in the mountains. I am still getting settled but you can visit whenever you want." Having a concrete piece of her beloved homeland was making her life on the island even more perfect. 

Athena smiled. She was always delighted when seeing others being interested in learning and teaching. Seeking knowledge was always a good point in her book. "It is ! I am glad that most of my students are extremely smart. It is a delight to tutor them." She took a bite of her sandwich, smiling at her companion. "If you come to my classes, I would be delighted to hear your opinion about them."

[roboticspacecase]

anxious-multishipper replied:

zhongven al fresco lunch

“Did you really need to bring an entire tea set out here?” Venti lifted his empty teacup up to his face, looking over the painted details that had no doubt taken hours to do. His boyfriend had probably spent a pretty penny on them. “I think we could’ve gotten away with going to someplace and getting it to-go in paper cups.”

Zhongli tutted at him, shaking his head as he set the teapot down in the center of the large blanket they had laid over the lush grass, waiting for the tea to steep. “Now, Venti, just because you don’t appreciate the art of tea as much as you do wine, doesn’t mean you can give me lip for my love of doing this right.” The taller man sat with his back straight and legs neatly tucked under him, a stark contrast to Venti, who sat crossed-legged and curled up like a shrimp.

“Alright, fair, but still. When you asked me out for a picnic, I didn’t think we would be making it this difficult.” Venti set his cup down and watched the steam flow from the spout on the teapot.

He and Zhongli had been on more than a few dates at that point and he knew the man was all for doing things the way they were intended to be done, but a date where he watched him make tea wasn’t exactly super thrilling.

“Did you at least bring snacks that are quick to make and eat? I sorta skipped out on lunch because I knew we were doing this early dinner, so I’m starving.” His last few words were whined out, trying to stress that he was wanting to get to the food sooner rather than later.

The dark-haired man rolled his eyes, grabbing the basket from beside him and setting it closer to Venti. “I brought what I know how to make best.”

Just at that, Venti’s mouth began to water. If there was one thing Zhongli knew how to cook, it was slow-cooked bamboo shoot soup. Before meeting the man, Venti hadn’t been a huge fan of the flavor of bamboo. But after tasting his special soup, Venti didn’t mind it nearly as much, and even sometimes craved it.

“How could I say no to such a scrumptious meal?” Venti licked his lips and grabbed at the basket, pouting when it was snatched away from him.

“Wait a moment, it’s not exactly something that was easy to bring in a basket. I’ll put together a bowl for you,” Zhongli chuckled.

Venti kept his exaggerated pout while he watched the taller man put the ingredients together since they had to be packaged separately. Well, in Venti’s eyes they didn’t have to be. Soup was meant to be mixed up anyway, so having to wait for Zhongli to place everything just so was a nightmare to his grumbling stomach.

As soon as he was handed the bowl, Venti took his chopsticks and mixed it together, not out of spite but because he wanted a little bit of everything out of his first bite. Which is exactly what he got and it was heaven.

The pork had been cooked to perfection, not too chewy and not too tough. Even the bamboo wasn’t too bitter and Venti smiled while chewing it rather than cringing.

“Perfect as always, Zhongli,” he said around a mouthful of food.

“Swallow before speaking, dear,” his boyfriend laughed.

Venti wiggled his eyebrows, his mouth still not empty. “You like it when I swallow, don’t you?”

Zhongli’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, the man down at the tea as his shoulders grew stiff. “I- You shouldn’t be so bold outside,” he choked out.

“Why not? No one’s around to hear.” Venti gestured to the field around them, the park where others played or sat at far enough away to be background noise mixed in with the slight breeze. “Besides, it was funny, if someone did hear, they should laugh!”

“Still...” Zhongli grabbed the teapot, filling both his and Venti’s cups. “Perhaps you could be bold like that when we get back to your place?”

A sly smile came over Venti’s face. Zhongli seemed to notice that Venti was right about no one being able to hear them, emboldening the man to nearly directly ask him to get down and dirty with him after their date.

It was endearing how shy Zhongli acted in public. The things they did in the bedroom proved that he was anything but niave or bashful when it came down to the act itself, but Venti liked that the man wasn’t always like that. It offered a nice balance that he was happy to have in his life.

“I would be more than happy to be bold when we get back to my place,” he said with a wink. “But food first. I’m starving and there’s still a lot left in this bowl!”

Zhongli laughed, preparing his own bowl of the special soup. “Of course. Food first.”

[notathingjustthere]

Obstinacy

Writer’s note: I posted this last year to start a writing blog but deleted it because of school. It’s summer  and now I wanna try again so here is this angsty bit, until I write something new.

Pairing: Jumin Han / Reader

Word Count: 2523

“You kept my clothes?”

It had been years since you stepped into this house. His house. You’d thought three years was long enough to get over someone, expecting him to have moved on. Hoping his desire for you had tired out after the long empty wait.

Here you sat, in his bathroom, a towel covering you as you inwardly worked toward sobriety. Shared memories with him kept bombarding through, some were of the space you had once called your own.

Jumin was pleased in his own way when your contact had popped up on his screen. For a moment he felt a tinge hopeful before answering on the fourth vibration.

“Hello?”

You were drunk when he arrived and he was disappointed, to say the least. Being so vulnerable in such an establishment did not settle well with him. Of course, you would never indulge in such menacing situations unplanned. You had called him sober, with the intent of being intoxicated upon his arrival.

You were almost at your goal before he walked in, too distracted by your conversation to notice him walking toward you. The bar had been fairly crowded, as he disregarded your “little friend”, as he had referred to it, and gently grabbed your arm. Jumin whispered harshly into your ear after helping you up, then made way to the exit.

You had giggled when he led you out, his face remained stoic as he was clueless about what was so amusing.

“Hi Mr. K-kim” you waved at the familiar awaiting driver who held the door open. He smiled whilst shutting the door, and you fixed yourself comfortably next to Jumin, who still would not budge. The ride back had been silent and short, time had lost you until the door opened again with him ready to help you out.

Now you sat in the same bed you shared years ago, facing him in silence as he stared at you testingly. The loud ticking of the clock served as a nuisance as you still tried to get your thoughts straight. Deciding you had waited long enough you gathered yourself onto the bed, preparing for sleep.

“If you’re not going to say anything then goodnight”

Jumin remained seated with his eyes still directed at you, he watched you throw the sheets over yourself and adjust yourself comfortably. It did not take long to hear your light breathing and occasional soft snores. After minutes passed of stillness, he sighed and made his way towards the bathroom, calling it a night.

He had emailed Jaehee about cancelling his meetings for the day as he would not be available. She would eventually give him a hard time for the short notice and inconvenience but that didn't seem to matter at the moment.

He joined you in bed, laying down behind you, hesitant to touch you as if you were so fragile and would break. Building the confidence, he wrapped an arm around you, fixing himself closer to embrace your scent and welcoming warmth.

Varying thoughts clouded his mind, making it difficult for him to fall asleep. Why had you just now appeared after disappearing all those years? Had you been in the city all this time? Were you still as curious of him as he was of you?

You moved and turned to him unconsciously, your eyes still closed. He smiled when he noticed you getting comfortable in his arms, wanting to be closer. He had missed your restless sleep habits, he had missed you so much and hoped you felt the same. He caved into a cuddle not wanting to let you go again, deciding his thoughts could wait another day. All that mattered at the moment was you in his arms.

***

It was sunny when you woke up to the subtle sweet smell of pancakes, his favourite. Although you preferred waffles to the latter the delicious gesture was always appreciated. You felt the gentle brush of Elizabeth the third, who was laid comfortably on your legs when you attempted to stretch.

Your face turned towards the nightstand instinctively for your phone, an eye roll seemed called for when you noticed it was not there. You had an idea as to where it was so decided to pay it no mind.

The walk to the kitchen was slow as your body kept to its morning sluggish movements. You stood at the door, abstractedly admiring the man of the hour’s take at domesticity. He was so focused on preparations, you thought he didn't hear you come in.

“Good morning love”

You hummed airily in response as you sat at the table. The guilt ate at you, it was selfish to call last night after leaving him for so long. You didn't know if you planned to stay either, but you knew he had decided otherwise.

He was so decisive, always knowing what he wanted. You envied it. The uncertainty endured over the years left you hollow. It didn't help that he was always so ready to love when you couldn't decide if you wanted to love. Maybe it was unfair of you to lead him on, or maybe he had been naive to think of you more than a friend. To fall for you.

You had been happy. No, content. The long-lived friendship had mutually developed into this unspoken intimacy you both allowed to remain unacknowledged. Maybe that's why leaving had been somewhat easy for you.

Your disappearance had been a spontaneous decision, Jumin who never expected it was left underwhelmed. He had also been happy alongside you, content as well. The trust he had built throughout your shared childhood always kept him going, so he had been pained when you just upped and left. He played it cool over the years after your vanishing, forcing a numbness that only you could reveal.

“Here you go” he placed a neatly plated stack in front of you along with the kettle of black tea. He sat across from you with his own scrumptious plate and passed you the milk and maple syrup.

You gave him a cheery grateful smile as you helped yourself to some breakfast. It’d been three years since you last shared a meal with him, the pleasure from the first bite in your mouth was gratifying. The moment was pleasant, but you knew it could only last for so long with the look he gave you.

Attempting to divert from his obvious curiosity, you asked about his father.

“Father is well, and so is yours. We all shared dinner the other night.”

“Mmhh” You nodded as you helped yourself to another bite.

“What, no work today?” You followed up, playing innocent after a few more aimless questions

“I see you are still stubborn” Jumin’s sudden harsh response was of no surprise, but you wished the distraction had lasted a bit longer.

“I can say the same for you” You challenged.

“Why do you insist on escaping this?”

You calmly sighed, taking a sip of your milk tea. “We are too much alike and you know that”

“What's so wrong with that?”

Your sigh was louder this time and you murmured to yourself, regretting not going against the phone call.

“Where did you go? Where have you been?”

“Far”

It was his turn to roll his eyes at your vague response. Jumin’s instant reactions were anticipated and he failed to not disappoint as he bombarded you with questions.

“Why did you come back then?” He chose to conclude with his assault.

“I don't know you tell me.” You knew he could answer most of his questions with a simple scan through your mobile device, which you knew he had already done.

The last time he left you home alone, had been the last time he saw you in three years, as you had made sure to leave no traces for him. You had your own resources but chose against using them as you wished to dissipate from existence.

You were successful, given the new chance to start over somewhere else. You never understood why you felt that way or why you still did, yet somehow you did know?

Jumin placed your phone on the table, sliding it over towards you in return. He had the serious look in his eye that he always wore, his semi-empty plate pushed to the side.

“My first and last question still stands”

You never did like confrontations or anything that you considered to be mentally or emotionally strenuous. Neither did he, yet here he was justly contributing to your headache.

Before any more words were exchanged, or any chance at a proper conversation the elevator dinged and a woman stepped out with one of the guards attempting to hold her back.

The scene before you served as a great diversion, you coyly smiled as your attention went towards the unexpected magenta haired guest.

***

Jumin’s palm took to his forehead, his annoyance evidently loud. The uninvited guest walked in forcefully, greeting the man she seemed so desperate to see.

“It's rude to keep me waiting at the gates, that's no way to treat your fiance.”

Her eagerness faltered when her eyes turned to you, a frown now played on her face.

“And who is this?” She asked, seemingly disgusted by your presence.

“Oh, I’ve heard so much about you! The supposed future Mrs. Han!” You jumped to reply lightheartedly, moving your hand in for a handshake.

Jumin could not decide what exactly he sensed from your act but he knew it was something different. Were you joking? Or were you serious? He could no longer tell, with you.

“I'm sorry sir, she wouldn’t wait at the gate” the nervous yet vexed bodyguard apologised.

Jumin waved him away and turned towards the nuisance that stood in his presence. He had hoped the day together would be progressive as emotional issues were being sorted out, but apparently, life had its own ideas.

“Sarah, was it? Chairman has said so much about you”

“And when exactly did you talk to my father?” Jumin asked you curiously.

Was he not the first person you contacted on your return? He would never admit it but the idea of not being first to hear from you was rather upsetting.

Three nights ago you had arrived home at an ungodly hour, your parents were not aware until that morning when the help had prepared breakfast for three. They had questioned the extra seat until you walked in still in your pajamas. It was an interesting morning nevertheless.

“Oh, may I see the ring? I just want to see if it's as lovely as the one he gave me.” You coyly smiled.

Sarah looked up at you confused, the silence did not help soothe the awkward tension. Jumin did not understand how he missed the ring on your finger, the one he had picked to ask your hand. You had agreed at the time, then disappeared without a trace. Now you stood in front of him playing with the item as though customary.

You always wore the ring so blithely before but had been wary. You were unsure of what to expect with your departure, whether he had been heartbroken or if he would ever move on. Each day you were reminded about the life you could have had with him, a life you may have wanted.

It was not that you were jealous but rather self-assured. Jumin had waited as you selfishly expected, by exploiting his fondness you got something you might have wanted. You never did find whatever it was that you set out to look for, nonetheless here you both stood next to each other.

Jumin’s possessiveness never sat well with you, but slowly you learned that maybe you were just as proprietorial as he was. It was so subtly instilled that you denied it for so long. Reality had come crashing when he asked for your hand in marriage, and even though you expected the gesture you somehow were still unprepared.

The gradual passing comments from either parent had made prospects seemingly clear. Perhaps it was your distaste for the arranged marriage that called for fleeing. Years of grooming and preparations done for the both of you were beneficial towards your legacies. Despite that your planned union was the foundation towards a future empire, you both cared for each other and showed it in your own pernicious ways.

“What is this Jumin? A joke?” Sarah had finally found words to share her annoyance.

Jumin’s eyes were focused on you, his initial indifference had faltered and he was now very amused. Sarah’s fuming had left her face a bit red, neither of them had entertained her remark.

“I had lunch with your father two days ago, he seemed very pleased to see me back”

“So you’re staying then,” Jumin asserted. There was silence at that, you were unsure of a decision and had withheld from giving it any thought.

“You met with my father before contacting me.” He was bitter, and that much was evident in his statement, when you did not respond he turned to his unwanted guest.

“Fortunately, I cannot see you off. I will call for someone to escort you out.”

“You can’t do that to your future wife! It's not right!” she snapped.

You had heard about the alleged engagement when you returned home, your parents inevitably brought it to your attention that morning.

“As you can see I already have a fiance.” Jumin moved towards you and wrapped an arm around you. “It is strange how delusional you are. I don’t even know you”

The elevator dinged again, Sarah screamed obscenities as the guard from before led her out forcefully.

When the doors closed, you let out a breath you unconsciously held in, Jumin tilted his head to look at your face as he hugged you from behind. You embraced the hug, silently battling your overwhelming thoughts. You both did not know what would happen from that second going on but decided to simply revel at the moment.

“You still wear my initials,” You noticed the customised watch you had gifted him at some point in your arguably deploring relationship. He chuckled and rested his chin on your head.

“And you kept the ring”

You released his arms around you and turned to face him, you had dragged out your stubbornness long enough and after the interaction with Sarah, you were exhausted. Meeting his eyes, you rested your arms around his neck and prepared your thoughts to speak, something you had been avoiding for so long.

“Look, you have every right to hate me. I know It was very selfish of me to call you last night, and as much as it was, I just didn't know how to properly address this”

“I know love. V tells me I can be very overwhelming” Jumin attempted to console as he chuckled.

Elizabeth the Third’s purring interrupted the very short-lived moment, however, it relieved the long felt tension. You both had a lot to discuss and figure out, but until then it seemed that things would be okay in your own baffling ways.

Thank you for reading! :)

[bluecatstory]

The fortunate one

Boy met a tea kettle genie. Unfortunately, this wish-granting genie did not get to grant a single wish. This is an AU 100% based on Neil Gaiman's The October Tale. Also, the main pairing here is GoYuu (Gojo Satoru/Itadori Yuuji), so please click back if you don’t like it. 

---

“Ahh, this feels great. I haven’t got this good stretching from a longg timeee.”

Yuuji Itadori had had a fair share of abnormal things in his life. Like how he had weird tiger markings (?) on his face and genetically non-dyed pink hair. Like when he used to have a jellyfish imaginary friend. Like how his friend Megumi may or may not have the ability to summon dogs. Or, like sometimes, he could still see his family talking and laughing in the house like they never left. 

Yuuji figured he might not be normal as well. But it was not really a problem for him. He had found a way to ignore it and keep on living. 

So back to where he was, lying on the floor as he looked up to the white-haired man fly (?) - floating on-air, black cloak fluttering and his eyes covered with blindfolds. The only thing not depressing and stuffy about him, Yuuji thought, was his constant smirk. 

“Are you a genie?” Yuuji asked out loud. He was even surprised by how straightforward he sounded. 

“Hmm, what makes you think of that, sakura boy?” The strange man’s smirk widened into a mischievous grin. 

“Because when I rub the kettle, you appear in a puff of smoke? Like a... tea kettle genie? Or you’re at least a magical being. You can float and see through your blindfolds, I guess. Your clothing is not similar to the genie that I know, but it may just be how people reimagine them. All in all, the highest chance is still that you’re a genie.” Yuuji rambled. 

The man seemed like he was about to burst into laughter. 

“Well, I was about to introduce myself as a dark overlord or some sinister being to scare you a bit. But… Ding ding ding! You got it, smart boy! This is a genie-in-the-flesh!” 

The man - or genie twirled around in the air. And like a grand performer, he ended it with a cool pose like a hero in Yuuji’s shounen manga. He folded his hands and bowed deeply. 

“Rejoice! Through heavens and earth, you are the fortunate one. I am the genie of the tea kettle. And I have the power to grant you three wishes. A very helpful tip: Don’t even start with the “I wish for more wishes.” That doesn’t work, and you’ll lose a wish. Ok, go!”

Yuuji just stared at the overly-enthusiastic genie. 

“If you have problems thinking, I can give you some suggestions: Money? Become the richest? Find One Piece? You ever dream of flying—”

“Umm… sorry, Mr. Genie, sir.” The boy suddenly raised his voice. “It’s ok. I don’t have any wishes. I mean, thank you and all that. But I’m good.” 

The white-haired being just made a face like Yuuji’s answer was the most outrageous and grabbed his left chest as if he had a heart attack. “Honey, sweetie, I’m THE genie. Just say a word, and the world will bow down to you. Come on. You definitely have something you desire. Just say whatever.” 

“It’s fine, really. Just like I said. I don’t have anything.” The boy with tiger markings smiled at him. “Do you want anything to drink? Is chamomile tea fine with you? Or water? Do you get thirsty after a long time staying in that kettle?” 

“Well, yes, I am thirsty, but hello? Genie? Three wishes? Anything in the world?”

“Come with me. I’ll make you some.” Yuuji’s smile grew as he led the astounded floating man. 

...

“Thank you. Can you add sugar to it?” 

“No problem.”

“But I don’t understand. Everyone, literally everyone I've met - they always ask for a bigger house, power, control, a big harem,... Ooh, I get one! Do you want a girl, like someone tall with big butts, to love, hold, and cherish you? Or if you bat for another team, I can definitely arrange that—” 

The pink-haired boy just cracked up. Never before have the genie heard such a cute laugh. 

“Sorry I’m good. And please call me Yuuji. I’m not sweetie, honey, or dear. Do you have a name, or should I just stick with Genie?” 

The silence suddenly filled the room. The boy nervously reached out and waved his hands in front of our current neighborhood genie. 

“Did… did I say something wrong, Mr. Genie?”

“Not wrong, very strange, though. People always want things. And you insist that you don’t. Are you absolutely sure? And you can drop Mr. Genie. Call me Gojo.” 

“100%. No wishes. But if you need me to free you, I’ll make my wish right now. Uh… Is it ok, Gojo?” 

“No need for that, my cute Yuuji. It’s just community service. Now, I’m not entirely convinced so! Guess who’s gonna stick with you for the time being till you say yes: Me!”

Yuuji laughed again. This time was soft but hearty laughter. If there were an award for the best smile/laugh, Yuuji would surely win, Gojo thought. 

“Sure, sure. How’s the tea?”

It was the finest tea Gojo the Genie had tasted for centuries. 

Like a curious kid who just got a hand on a new toy or witnessed a magic trick for the first time in his life, Yuuji’s questions came like a flood to the genie. He asked where Gojo came from, whether Genii had families, if he felt the need to please everyone, or just doing his job as a community worker who happened to grant wishes. Gojo calmly answered in his most genie way. That Yuuji should not think of him as a mortal, for he was a powerful, magical, and omnipotent being. 

“Ok, but do you like pancakes? You hungry?”

Although Gojo was stuck in the kettle for you-don’t-know-how-long, he was very, very updated with the current world. So yes. Yuuji just flashed to the fridge and whipped up the batter. After a few minutes, hot buttery sweet pancakes were already presented on the plate. 

Gojo poured all honey on the pancakes as he ate with delight. 

He jerked up suddenly. The sugar rush must have given him an idea. 

“I know! Just make a wish, and all specialties from around the world would be on this table in a snap. Each will be the most mouth-watering, scrumptious delights served on golden plates. All for you!”

“Yeah, I’m good. Actually, would you care to buy some groceries with me? There’s nothing left in the fridge for two people.” 

“Urggghhh. Fine. Take me to whatevs, Good.”

“Gojo!”

Chapter 1 - End. 

[ohthatsviolet]

Annual Tradition - Caustic’s Birthday Fic

Words: 1,130

Summary: Caustic doesn't celebrate his birthday often but he does have one tradition for this day that he upholds every year - writing to his mother. 

Link to Ao3 mirror will be in the RBs

It was just another day for Caustic as sat on the ship on the trip back from the arena. Today’s game had been quite successful and he had much to note down. Of course, he was aware it was his birthday today but he’d chosen to ignore that fact. He’d never enjoyed such celebrations and saw them as a tremendous waste of time. Last year, Natalie had convinced him to do something lowkey with her to mark the occasion which he didn’t hate as much as he thought he would. She hadn’t made him a similar offer this year considering their strained relationship of late. Which is why he was so surprised to see the young electrician standing before him when he finally looked up from his notes. “Miss Paquette?” he asked inquisitively, setting his notebook to the side. “Are you in need of something?” “Not from you, Doctor,” she replied firmly. “But I did remember it was your birthday, and since I haven’t noticed anyone else wishing you a pleasant day...I will.” Caustic never quite understood how or why Natalie was always graceful towards everyone, despite what she thought of them. He was about to thank her for her kind words until he heard the sound of stirring coming from the room next door and Octane’s masked face was suddenly peering around the corner at them. “Whoa! It’s your birthday, compadre?! What are you now? Like eighty?” Mirage’s head of curls soon followed, squinting over the speedster’s shoulder. “Wait...he can’t be that old. Right?”

Caustic was beginning to wish that Natalie hadn’t approached him at all, now that he had to listen to all of the half-hearted well wishes from his fellow Legends for the rest of the trip. It was a huge relief when he finally returned home and was able to have the peace and quiet he craved. He kicked his boots off near the front door, stored his game gear away in its storage unit and put the kettle on to boil to make himself some fresh tea. This was his usual post-game ritual but today was going to be slightly different. He eased himself into his office chair and tucked himself behind his desk, pulled out a clean sheet of paper and smoothed it out with worn hands before clicking his pen. He let out a deep sigh, preparing himself to begin the only tradition he’d kept for this day for the last decade; writing to her.

Greetings Mother,

I hope   I trust you are keeping well.

I trust you are still engaging in your New Age nonsense. I, myself, am well as I write this annual correspondence. Since I last wrote, I have decreased my body fat by 2% and increased my muscle mass 3%. I have been preparing myself for this coming year. My greatest research is yet to be conducted. Soon...Once everything is in place.

Though, I suppose you would not care about that, would you? You would detest it, I’m sure. Always concerning yourself with your ignorant, hippie nonsense instead of scientific fact. Tell me, mother; those rosa rubiginosa that you were so fond of...have they perished as I warned you they would? How do your crystals and menial attempts to tempt fate through manifestation, keep away the pests? I jest-

If you had seen it...what I’ve created. I do not doubt that you would not see the beauty in it. I have been continuing to perfect my pesticide, using some of my own plants for testing. I have seen many pests have a vast range of different reactions after coming into contact with it. They may crumble or contort, but the result is always the same. If you had been more open minded to my ways I could have tended your garden with

Of course, human subjects share similarities when meeting their demise to a more concentrated variant. Observing...it never loses its luster. Perhaps, you might see it too if you happen to watch the Games some day. I hunch that you do tune in to watch that boy. If it brings you any comfort I do find him most obnoxious. Initially, he impressed me mildly Miss Paquette seems to find him

I must return to my work now. I have much to do and prepare. I am sure if this were under other circumstances, you would wish me to engage in frivolous birthday activities, like we once would like the other mindless simpletons I am forced to associate myself with here. Their attempts of camaraderie are all for nought. Though last year Miss Paquette insisted on preparing lunch for us both. It was not as insufferable as I I prefer my time in solitude, as you well know.

Regards, Your son, Alex.

Caustic leaned back in his chair, setting his pen down while his sterling-green eyes skimmed over the inked paper in front of him. He pushed himself away from his desk with some force, causing the wheels of his chair to squeak slightly on the flooring. He stood and made his way towards the bookcase across the room and stooped down to begin searching on the lowest shelf. He shoved some folders to the side, reaching towards the back to retrieve an old, battered folder made of mustard coloured cardboard. Caustic took it back to his desk and lay it flat before tucking the letter he’d written inside to rest amongst all the similar ones from previous years, that had gone unsent but unforgotten. He stood over it with his hands placed on his hips, until a heavy knocking on his door disturbed him.

Caustic grumbled to himself as he made his way to answer the door, huffing heavily when he found no-one on the other side. It’s not that he particularly wanted visitors but he didn’t take kindly to feeling like someone was trying to waste his time; probably Silva or Witt’s idea of an idiotic pratical joke. He was about to slam the door shut when something on the ground caught his eye - a small white box. Upon picking it up for inspection, Caustic discovered an envelope attached with a card inside.

“We don’t always see eye to eye but as long as you’re around, we’re bruddahs. Happy birthday. Here’s something to sweeten you up a little.”

He opened the box to find a scrumptious looking cream cake inside adorned with a variety of fresh fruits scattered over the top. Caustic peered around the hallway outside his home suspiciously for a moment before stepping back inside and closing the door. He held the box tightly in his hands. There may have been no sign of his not-so-mysterious gift-giver, but at least now he had something to go with his tea.

[nyctolovian]

Oh my goodness! My first Good Omens fic!! I finally did it! So yeah uhhhh enjoy this weird thing

Summary: A pair of wedding rings had somehow come into Crowley’s possession (it was purchased) and she decides she might as well do a marriage proposal while she’s at it.

It was an entirely human concept—marriage, that is. If anything, this was an attempt at blending in. They were already so often mistaken as a married couple. They might as well play the part. So yep, the pair of rings Crowley bought was a front. All to fool any onlookers and play the role they have already been assigned to by the humans.

Surely, Aziraphale would understand.

Or at least, that’s what Crowley told herself as she sat in her Bentley, practically bouncing in her seat with nervous energy. It was a lazy Tuesday afternoon, many months after the Not-pocalypse.

No angel nor demon had ever bothered them since and the two have settled back into their previous lives before being so rudely interrupted by plans for war. Perhaps “settled back ” was the wrong term because it had felt more like coming home for the first time, shucking off a stiff coat they’ve been wearing all this while and flinging it onto the coat hanger at the end of a terribly long day.

They were finally able to simply be without worrying about how they should take their next breath. No need to think or overthink.

So it was no surprise that between spotting a lovely pair of rings, and envisioning slipping them on (one on a spindly, nail-bitten finger and the other on a plump, manicured finger), Crowley found herself outside the angel’s bookshop with the pair in her pocket. Completely without proper thought, on autodrive, drunk on serendipity.

After all, it was a well-known fact that while Crowley was brilliant at coming up with ideas, she was godawful at thinking them through.

Gingerly, Crowley fished the pair of rings out of her pocket. Crowley couldn’t be blamed for her impulsiveness. They really were quite gorgeous. Perfect for them even.

Crowley collapsed further into the driver’s seat with an aggravated sigh. Oh, who was she trying to kid? This was most definitely a selfish romantic gesture that bordered on possessiveness. Unbecoming of a demon, really. Or perhaps rather appropriate given that greed was a sin. Not that anyone was keeping track of her demonic work anymore.

But what would Aziraphale say?

Somewhere between the not-pocalypse and present day, they had silently settled into a romantic relationship. The Day After The End, something—some sort of clear dividing line between the two of them—dissolved. And somewhere between then and now, they had settled into a romantic relationship. The tipping point was not clear but where they’ve landed was immensely so. A result of literal thousands of years dancing around each other in overly complex rituals and choreography for fear of being caught red-handed. It was difficult shaking off certain habits, and the two still found safety in playing out their usual game of implications and knowing glances so it simply continued past the need for it.

These rings however… Quite frankly, it would utterly shatter their defensive veil of pretense and dance. The nature of the relationship would be out in the open, and that wasn’t even getting to the fact that the rings were a direct request for something more; greedy demon that Crowley was.

With a noise between a groan and a growl, Crowley grabbed the box of cheesecake in her passenger seat, threw the car door open and sauntered to the bookshop with conviction.

“Hiya, Angel!” she said as the door to the bookshop swung open at the snap of her fingers.

A rather exasperated Aziraphale was attending to a red-faced young lady, who clutched an ancient-looking book in her hands. The corners of his eyes, however, wrinkled with delight at Crowley’s voice and he spun around, hands clutched together in front of his belly. “Oh, Crowley! I didn’t know you were coming!” he said. “I love it when you tie your hair up like that. It’s very lovely.”

“You say that no matter what I do to my hair,” Crowley muttered. She felt a blush grow on her cheeks nonetheless.

“That’s because it’s always true,” he replied. Primly, he turned back to the agitated lady and said, “I’m afraid we will have to close shop this instant. Seeing that we cannot come to an agreement, I’m afraid I cannot sell you this book.” He slid the book right out of her hands and pushed it into the bookshelf.

“But—” The lady’s face got even redder. Crowley wondered how much blood this woman had in her to turn this shade. “Just tell me what price you’re willing to sell this for!” she yelled.

Pursing his lips in annoyance, Aziraphale said, “As I’ve said, you decide what price you’re willing to pay and I’ll decide if that’s the price I'm—”

Throwing her hands up, the lady let out a screech of frustration. “This is impossible!” she screamed as she marched towards the door, shoving past Crowley with a scowl.

“Do come back another day if you wish to re-negotiate,” Aziraphale called.

“I’m never setting foot into this bloody shop ever again!” she yelled back from the door. “Go to fucking hell!”

“I already have,” Aziraphale, the cheeky bastard, looking much too pleased with himself, replied as the lady slammed the door shut.

As he flipped the door signage to “Close”, Crowley stuck a hand in her pocket nervously. After clearing her throat lightly, she said, “Arrived at a convenient time, didn’t I?”

“Oh,” he said, “you have no idea. That lady has been badgering me for the past hour. I admire the tenacity but I’d appreciate it if she didn’t use it for acquiring my books.” With a small pout, he looked at Crowley. “Can you imagine parting with a First Edition Oscar Wilde?”

Crowley let out a grunting hum that conveyed a simultaneous sort of non-understanding and sympathy. She raised the box of cake and said, “Got several gifts.”

“Ah!” the angel said, clapping his hands together, his frown disappearing altogether. He peered into the bag before heading towards the kitchen. “Do take a seat, my dear. I have just the right tea to go with that lovely cheesecake.”

Crowley nodded stiffly and crumpled into her armchair. She shifted in her seat anxiously, unable to find a comfortable position. Where were legs supposed to go again? Surely her skinny jeans were never actually this tight. And perhaps wearing her hair in a loose bun like this was a terrible idea, too much fringe and curtains.

Before the snake demon could sort herself out, Aziraphale returned with a tray of plates and tea and slid it onto the table. With nimble fingers, he opened the box and cut out two neat slices of the cake. As soon as Crowley took his plate of cake, Aziraphale wasted no time and gently used his fork carve out a bit of the cheesecake. Crowley watched intently as he popped it between his lips and moaned around the mouthful, his eyes fluttering shut with pleasure. He slid the fork out of his mouth and his pink tongue ducked out to lick off some of the cream coating his lips. How on earth the angel could make eating practically pornographic was beyond Crowley’s comprehension, but she absorbed the view like a dehydrated sponge.

Aziraphale noticed her gaze. “This is absolutely scrumptious,” he said after swallowing.

A smile slid onto her face with ease. “Hm. ’s that so?”

Crowley proceeded to devour her slice, and then spent the rest of the hour watching Aziraphale slowly work his way through the rest of the cake.

Despite the lovely distraction, however, Crowley found her mind wandering back towards the tiny ring box in her pocket. She squirmed as the thoughts invaded her mind again, like locusts upon a field. It wasn’t too late to just let the day go by and never mention the rings. This was far too impulsive anyway. Aziraphale might not even appreciate it. Maybe Crowley would be going too fast for him again.

But, her mind also supplied, Aziraphale was the one who gave Crowley the keys to his flat above the bookshop. Not that Crowley needed it—she could always miracle her way into his flat if she needed to—but it was about the symbolism and implication. An invitation. An invitation that she took because ever since, she had only entered her flat at Mayfair to collect her belongings and settle scores with the plants.

Maybe Aziraphale wouldn’t mind. Maybe he’d be delighted. Maybe the keys to his flat were the hints. Maybe he was waiting.

But what if she was reading it all wrong? She never was good at reading, snake eyes and all. He could very well be—

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, startling her. The plate clinked lightly as he placed it on the table. “Is there something wrong?”

“Hnk! Nothin’. Nothing’s wrong. ’s all fine. Why d'you ask?”

“Your sunglasses…”

Crowley made a punched out noise and writhed a little in her chair. “Angel, I—” Her voice snagged on her throat and her lips flapped open and close silently.

It was now or never. And never was a dreadfully long time for an immortal being.

She raised her ass off the seat so she could reach into her jean pocket and yank out the tiny box. Aziraphale’s bottom lip jutted in confusion. With a deep breath (which Crowley’s corporation frankly didn’t need), she slid off the couch, ripped off her sunglasses and dropped to her knee before opening the box.

There, neatly sat a pair of rings with identical feathered-wing designs at their open ends. Aziraphale’s name was neatly engraved on the inner curve of the silver ring and Crowley’s on the black one.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Crowley,” he breathed. “You don’t mean—” Cheeks tinted pink with surprise, he leaned forward.

Crowley swallowed the uncomfortable lump in her throat. Her arm gradually lowered as she muttered, “If… it’s too much—”

“It’s not,” Aziraphale said quickly. “This–” He cleared his throat. “This is a… um… proposal, yes?”

Crowley nodded.

“Fancy that. Getting married,” Aziraphale mused, fondness dripping from his voice. “Wouldn’t it be lovely?”

Crowley let out a huff of relief and she fought against the soppy smile tugging upon her lips. She fumbled with the box and her trembling fingers were barely capable of holding the black ring. Gently, she cupped the angel’s hand. Those soft hands curled lightly over her fingers and she swore she must have been blessed or something because a shock ran down her spine.

This must be a dream, she thought giddily as she slid the ring onto his fourth finger. She glanced up to see Aziraphale’s radiant glee, a grin that wrinkled his cheeks and the corners of his eyes and spread into his temples.

No dream could match the ethereal blessing of that smile, Crowley knew. This is absolutely real.

“Humans and their little inventions, y'know?” she whispered in reverence.

“Indeed,” Aziraphale replied. “I do quite enjoy it when they do that. It can all be rather, well, exciting.”

Crowley couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “S'pose that’s one way to put it,” she mumbled.

He leaned down to pick up the ring box. The cool ticklish sensation as he slipped the silver ring onto Crowley’s finger drew the most delicious shade of rose out of her.  “Do you suppose we should have a wedding?” the angel asked.

The demon faltered, pulling back with a slight frown. She twisted in her spot, struggling for a coherent thought, before she mumbled, “Anything’s fine, honestly. As long as there are no churches involved.”

Aziraphale burst into the most pleasing belly laugh as he pulled her into a tight embrace. “Of course, my dear.”

[ardentmuse]

37 with George Weasley? And congrats love! You’re a phenomenal writer!

The Perfect Potion

Harry Potter - George Weasley x Reader

37. I’d say it’s like 50 million simultaneous orgasms, but better.

Wordcount: 1.2k

Warnings: implied sexual content, kissing and flirting, lots and lots of fluff

Masterlist

A/N: Aww, thank you, sweet! I am so glad you think so and so happy to tackle this request for you. Georgie is one of my all-time favorites. I love his sweetness partnered with his confidence, his strange ability to tote the line between cocky and cute. He’s such a gem! 

“Babe, taste this,” called a voice from the back rooms of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

Most people couldn’t tell the twins apart with their identical hairstyles, similar dress, and duplicated mannerisms. But the one thing that had always made it clear to you who was who had been their voices. Fred had a jovial modulation, like he was ringleader to the world’s greatest circus and you were just hoping to be gifted a ticket. George, on the other hand, while still pleasant and chipper and just a tiny bit conspiratorial, had a slight throatiness, almost a rasp, the kind the reverberated in your chest when he held you close and spoke directly into your ear. It was the kind of huskiness – especially in these early sleepy hours – that sent shivers along your body.

The fact that this voice called you “babe” only added to the confirmation.  

You set Fred’s coffee down upon the counter and carried yours and George’s beverages with you into the cramped workspace George often hunkered down in before the store opened for customers.

When you entered, the room was surprisingly organized, only a few vials of ingredients, only some of which you recognized, set upon the counter beside the cauldron George was leaning over. The smell that permeated the room was intoxicating, like citrus and honey.

“Now what am I tasting?”

George turned around to offer you his brightest smile. He was surprisingly chipper these past few mornings; so different from the cuddle monster he could be sometimes when the morning light threatened your time together. Whatever he was working on, it was something for which he was taking great pride.

“I hope the most delicious thing your mouth has ever known,” George grinned, raising his wooden spoon to you.

Your eyes took in the vials beside him. One contained what looked like spider’s legs and the other something that looked like living smile, moving and molding to its container as it glowed a brilliant blue. You felt your stomach turn at the sight, but then you registered that smell again – that glorious, delectable smell – and you decided to ignore your vision. George loved you. He wasn’t about to poison you; at least not on purpose.

You took the steps towards your partner, the man you couldn’t help but love even when he was doing his best mad scientist routine. His smile only grew as you stood chest to chest with him. You handed him his tea as you took the spoon from his grasp, running your fingers up the length of his rose colored sleeve before plucking the object gently from his fingers.

You took in the liquid, a swirling mass of silver hue, and something in you yearned to taste it. Before you knew it, you had the spoon against your lips and the liquid tossed back down your throat.

The trail of it warmed your throat even though the liquid was cool. Your forehead knitted in confusion and your mouth fell open.

“That bad?” George asked, his fingers fidgeting with his cuffs.

You blinked back to your senses to address him, “I’d say it’s like 50 million simultaneous orgasms, but better.” You lifted the spoon and reached around George to dip it again in the cauldron. The tingle in your throat at the scrumptious potion was just dissipating and you needed to sense it again, to taste the fruity, sweet, sharp spark the liquid gave you.

Before you could reach the pot, George’s fingers wrapped around your wrist.

“Okay, okay, I think that’s enough now.” He pulled the spoon from your hands and set it back on the counter before holding your shoulders to look you in the eyes.

You pouted at him.

“What? I don’t want any more competition in the pleasing you department.”

You laughed heartily as his hands stroked you through your coat. The fall had truly hit now and the chill in the morning air made your daily beverage runs all that better for waking you up. George’s hands ran down your chest to find the buttons amongst the wool. He flicked only one before speaking again, his eyes growing lidded as he leaned into you.

“Perhaps I might dissuade of the lies that pretty little mouth of yours feels like telling, hmm?” He flicked another button and let his fingertips brush against your stomach underneath. “A man could get a little jealous if you keep talking about the products like that.”

Your breathing had grown short as his attentions and at the thrill of George showing you just the kind of pleasure he could give you that no potion could. But at the word, product, your eyes shot open and you took a step away.

“What’s about to happen to me, George? Am I going to grow a second head or start breathing fire?” Your fingers ran against your own lips as you clung tightly to your stomach. You never once thought about the consequences of tasting a Weasley concoction as it was usually followed immediately with an antidote once the desired effects were seen. But George didn’t seem eager to offer you any alternative. He only prowled forward, like an big cat stalking a drinking gazelle.

“What’s about to happen to you is your boyfriend is about to ravish you on top of this counter before we have to open shop.”

His hands found your waist again and pulled you flush to him. The hard expanse of his broad chest was a pleasant retreat for your frightened form.

“No weird effects?” you asked again.

“None,” he promised with a kiss to your nose, “Just a base I was working on, a treat for our anniversary that I thought I might apply to some love potions. Though if it tastes the way you say, then—“ George cut himself off for a moment as the red grew strong in his cheeks, hiding the beautiful freckles that decorated his face. He coughed a little before adding, “I mean, I know they taste the way you said. I modeled the taste after you.”

You raised your eyebrow to ask the question but George simply wouldn’t let you.

“No more talking, love. We have,” he looked up at the grandfather clock that stood in the corner, “seven minutes.” He lifted you up with ease unto the counter top, pushing away any remnants of ingredients that he may have been using.

One vial rolled towards you and hit your hip. You picked it up as George began trailing gentle kisses down your neck.

You read the label, “I taste like gurdyroot to you?”

George hummed against your neck, “Had to improvise.”

As he licked the skin of your collar bone, you felt a new kind of burn in your throat. Maybe you had been rash with your words before. Nothing felt better than the man before you. Not even magic could compare to him.

George moved to kiss your lips, you suddenly felt how short seven minutes truly were.

And it was only made worse when he whispered against your lips.

“Mmm, cloves.”  

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt,  @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98, @bananafosters-and-books, @cutie-bug, @igotmadskills, @hazelandcoconuts, @yallgotkik

Harry Potter tags: @tessimagines, @0-lost-in-stereo-0, @whysoseriouspadfoot, @eldritchscreech, @luckyvirgo, @hellizhelusive2, @lexrius, @sapphireorchid, @amazingwonderlandnapkin, @garbdump

[raendown]

For the @madatobiweek prompt the was only one bed. 

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 5104 Rated: T+ Summary: Hashirama runs in to an old friend unexpectedly and Tobirama - well. Tobirama would like to have a firm chat with life's manager. No way is it fair for any human being to look that delicious.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Woodn’t It Be Nice

‘Just an old friend from middle school’ Hashirama had called him. Tobirama didn’t doubt that part, his brother had a habit of befriending every person that crossed his path by sheer force of will, but he found himself slightly upset that Hashirama hadn’t seen fit to warn him even a little bit before introducing him to the human wet dream known as Uchiha Madara.

Madara had, at one point, big plans to follow along with the dreams his family had for him to become some big business exec. Evidently those dreams had been cast aside at some point when he realized the high stress lifestyle was not how he wanted to spend his years. Tobirama didn’t really see how anyone went from business school to taking up a career in lumberjacking but he was hardly about to complain. Living in the deep woods and hauling trees for a living had clearly done wonders for Madara’s figure. 

And Tobirama really wanted a piece of that.

It was truly unfair how good that man made tartan look considering how many times Tobirama had snuck in to his brother’s closet only to despair that such patterns still didn’t suit him. Also high up on his list of unfair things was the sheer mass of all that thick dark hair falling in wavy tangles and how utterly scrumptious he looked without, apparently, having yet discovered the socially accepted function of a hairbrush. Given time and a good keyboard Tobirama was sure he could have produced a thesis length paper on why he should be allowed to bury his hands in all that hair. Two on why he should be allowed to touch that chest.

Because wow the chest. With a rib cage the size and general shape of a barrel and a waist line built for standing his ground against at least a smaller sized tank, it was almost enough to distract Tobirama from the thick muscle outlines clearly visible under the flannel – almost, but not quite. If he looked any harder his eyes might actually fall out of his head but he couldn’t seem to stop or even convince his mouth to close. 

Using his mind to juxtapose the image of an ax over those stubby thick fingers, Tobirama swallowed hard and wondered how many people had tried to pick this man up with some sort of bad wood puns. And more importantly whether that would work for him too. He definitely had some wood sprouting up that he wouldn’t mind letting Madara take care of. 

“What do you think Tobi?”

“Glorious…”

“Right? I do have good ideas sometimes!”

“Huh?” He turned to find Hashirama beaming at him but his brother was already turning away without giving him a moment to clarify that he hadn’t actually been paying attention to the conversation. 

Clapping his old friend on both shoulders, Hashirama smiled so wide he nearly split his own face in half. “You’ll love staying at our house. And you’ll love sharing a room with Tobi!” 

“Wait, what!?” Maybe he shouldn’t have taken quite so much time to admire that chest. 

Hashirama laughed. “You didn’t think I’d make him sleep on the couch did you? Not when you have a perfectly good spare bed in your room!” 

“But that- that’s Itama’s bed. What if Itama comes home?” Growing up with four boys in the same house, each only a few years apart from the others, it still felt wasteful for all of them to sleep in separate rooms even now that they were older and Hashirama’s job at the hospital had paid for a much larger house. It didn’t matter that Tobirama had actually been getting a little lonely while their two younger brothers were off at university in another city. Extra space or not there was no way he would survive sleeping in the same room with Madara unless he was granted an hour or so of alone time first. And knowing his older brother’s enthusiasm for socializing that wasn’t likely to happen. 

“Itama called last night,” Hashirama reminded him with an absent smile. “He’s off this weekend with his roommate to some concert happening a city away from them. I would ask Madara to sleep in Kawarama’s room but he’s still not over that cold he’s been fighting all week. We wouldn’t want our guest to get sick!”

“Appreciated,” Madara grunted. 

Slightly panicked, Tobirama cast about in his mind for any other excuse he could think of. “What if I’ve caught it too? He'd still get sick.”

“Nonsense, Kawa hasn’t let anyone near him except the dog. Neither of us is sick.”

“I don’t know, Anija, I feel pretty warm.”

“Maybe because it’s like a hundred degrees out,” Hashirama laughed. “Come now, Tobi, if you keep saying stuff like that I’m going to think you don’t want Madara in your room!” 

One look at those massive flannel-clad arms and Tobirama quickly swallowed his next words. The man could probably crush his head without thought and as delicious as it was to imagine being caught between those biceps he was also quite fond of living. While his brother threw an arm around broad shoulders Tobirama forced his eyes to look elsewhere, contemplating the restless night ahead.

Thankfully for his sanity he was at least able to sit alone in the backseat on the drive back from the hotel Hashirama just happened to spot his old friend going in to. Madara sat up front and nodded or grunted along to the man’s endless chatter. The backseat was quiet, free of tempting muscles, and gave Tobirama all the room he needed to stretch his legs across the width of the car. He noted Madara stealing glances at him in the rearview mirror several times but it was hard to tell what expression might be hiding under that scruffy beard. The fact that it was apparently due to be shaved off at the first opportunity was probably one of the greatest tragedies this world had ever seen. 

As a history buff Tobirama felt particularly qualified to make that call. 

When Madara was finally encouraged to speak more than a word or two strung together he told them how he had come to be in town with no plans and nowhere to stay. Apparently his younger brother Izuna still lived in Konoha and he’d planned his vacation to make a surprise visit. Except he was the one surprised to discover the house locked, one of the neighbors calling over to him that the whole family had left on a vacation of their own just a few days before. 

“Good thing we caught you then!” Hashirama declared. “No point in spending money on a lonely hotel room for two weeks when you could be catching up with me! I can’t believe how little you’ve changed!” 

“Really?” Tobirama muttered under his breath. If Madara had looked like this back in middle school he definitely would have remembered a face like that. Puberty would no doubt have smacked him in the face several years earlier. 

After a slow blink Madara grunted, “Beard.” That was, apparently, all he had to say on the matter. 

Never before in his life had Tobirama been quite so grateful to arrive home as he was that day, spilling out of the car and heading for the door as if all the devils of hell were chasing him. He made it in to the kitchen with enough time to set the kettle boiling and slip back out towards his bedroom before the other two even made it inside. The planet earth itself would fall out of its heavenly rotation before he let Madara walk in and see the absolute mess he typically lived in, research notes strewn here and there, clothing left on the floor where it was shed after yet another twenty hour binge on the latest project. No one needed to know the shame of his bedroom during the months when Itama was gone.

Just as he kicked out a foot to steady a precarious stack of textbooks the door opened and Hashirama cheerfully invited their guest in to a room that wasn’t even his. Madara blinked around, eyes pausing on the one bed that had clearly not seen any recent use. 

“Hope you didn’t clean up or anything,” he said. “It’s just me.”

“Oh don’t worry, Tobi’s always really clean!” Hashirama chirped, oblivious to his brother’s uncomfortable shifting. 

“Right. Where can I drop this?” 

Madara held up the duffel he’d been carrying when they spotted him on the street. When told he could put it anywhere he liked it was tossed on the floor with little care, a sure sign there wasn’t anything too breakable inside. A moment later he seemed to think the better of his actions and asked where the bathroom was as he stepped across to riffle in one of the duffle’s pockets. 

As quickly as he had hurried to his own bedroom Tobirama was gone again just like that. The kettle should be going off any second and he was pretty sure if he stuck around for Madara to come out of the shower all damp and delicious and possibly half naked - well, suffice to say the police probably wouldn’t accept any of the excuses running through his mind just then. 

Like it always did, a large hot cup of tea helped to settle him in his skin, leaving him feeling much more in control of his own reactions by the time Hashirama came back downstairs. His brother gave vent to a gusty contented sigh while he poured a cup for himself. 

“It’s hard to believe Uchiha Madara of all people is upstairs in my home!” he said. “Honestly I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. But, isn’t it funny, i was just thinking about him the other day!”

“Whatever keeps you going when Mito tells you to bite the pillow,” Tobirama murmured. 

“No! Ew! It’s not- hey! She doesn’t make me do anything like that!” Hot tea sloshed all over the counter as Hashirama slammed his cup back down and bent double to gag exaggeratedly. Sometimes it was hard to believe he had failed drama in highschool what with all the dramatics he filled every day with. 

Tobirama let the poor idiot catch his breath a little before daring to ask, “He taking a shower before dinner?”

“Um, I guess so. He didn’t say. What would you like to eat?”

Dinner - fish, of course, since the choice was left to him - was about as quiet as meals in their house ever got with Hashirama chattering endlessly. Amazingly Madara actually seemed to be listening to it all, nodding in the right places or humming in tandem with Tobirama whenever it was needed. It was nearly impossible to tell what was actually going on in his mind and Tobirama hated himself just a little for being so desperately intrigued by it. He’d never loved anything more than puzzles, taking things apart to see what made them tick, digging and digging until he ran out of questions to answer. People like Madara were exactly the sort of rare person who were able to hold his attention. 

Even more so since their guest came down for the evening meal with a clean shaven face, dark shaggy beard sacrificed to the waste bin upstairs, and Tobirama came to the horrifying conclusion that it needed to be glued back in place as soon as possible. Surely it had to be illegal for any human being to walk around looking as delicious as this. It wasn’t fair.

Under normal circumstances he would have said that going to bed was a relief, being allowed to crawl between familiar sheets and allow the privacy of his own room to unclench the tensions in his body. With Madara stumping in to the room after him he knew that he had nothing to look forward to but a few hours of restlessness until he gave in and snuck off to shame himself in the bathroom down the hall. Itama’s ancient bedframe gave a mighty creak the first time its new resident sat down. Normally it bore a much lighter load than all the rippling muscles clinging to Madara’s frame but it held up alright and the two of them were able to lay their heads down with goodnights murmured in to the darkness. 

Tobirama lasted only an hour and a half. He really hoped the other man only thought he was getting up to pee. 

During the day things weren’t so bad. For the most part Madara spent his time with Hashirama getting dragged from one end of the city to the other to re-experience all the things they had done in their childhood together. It was actually somewhat of a relief not to be the center of his brother’s attention for a while, left blissfully alone to work on his research and occasionally greet the ghost of Kawarama whenever he ambled past for food or water before holing up again. With one sibling down for the count and the other away for university the task of indulging Hashirama’s ceaseless energy had fallen entirely to him and it wasn’t until he was finally able to be productive again that he realized just how little he’d been getting done lately. 

Even meal times weren’t too terrible if he kept his eyes on his food instead of the tasty meal he would rather be having across the table. It was the evenings when he truly suffered. Getting Madara to come out of his shell and actually engage in conversation had taken a couple days, out of practice as he was from spending most of the few years quietly knocking and hauling lumber, but once he finally opened his mouth long enough to say more than two words together Tobirama was exasperated to discover a mind as beautiful as his face. Was there any way this man wasn’t perfect for him? The universe must be having a grand laugh at him, that was the only explanation he could think of. 

Still, as much havoc as it wreaked on his libido it was wonderful to have someone else to converse with who could actually keep up with him. Madara understood the basic concepts of his research, asked intelligent questions, even offered a few philosophical insights that Tobirama himself hadn’t thought of. If he didn’t want the man in his bed so badly it hurt he might have been tempted to offer him a job as a research assistant. 

He saw the signs coming from a mile away of course. Stopping it was impossible, though he still gave it the old college try. Catching feelings for his brother’s friend, a man who was only in town for a few weeks and then would likely never be back again, was probably one of the stupider things he had ever done. Tobirama wanted to be mad at the idiot for not just being a pretty face he could seduce and then let go of but it wasn’t like it was Madara’s fault that he checked every box on a lonely albino’s list. He probably wasn’t even aware of how tempting he was. Tobirama really hoped the poor man hadn’t noticed all the drooling and staring and whatnot. 

For a little over two weeks things went on like that, so close and yet so far, sleeping in the same room and slipping away to the bathroom for a while just to get himself to sleep. Even as a teenager his body hadn’t ruled him this much. If their family hadn’t been raised to be so frugal it was entirely possible that nothing would have changed, that they would have parted ways as nothing more than a what-if. But Itama loved that old bed no matter how it creaked and groaned and so none of them had ever thought of replacing the ancient thing until one night Madara flopped down on to the mattress and with a loud protest the entire frame shattered underneath him. Almost more shocking that that was the indignant squawk that gurgled up his throat, so unlike the smooth deep baritone he usually spoke in. Tobirama could do nothing but stare from where he stood halfway through the motion of getting up, one arm outstretched, and try to process what had just happened. Apparently all that muscle was too much for the bed to handle. 

He could relate.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Madara blinked up from the center of the now very lumpy looking mattress.

“I’ve been better.”

“You didn’t hurt anything did you?”

“No. Well, I think I hurt the bed.” With a groan he rolled off the mess and stumbled to his feet where he stood looking down with a wry expression. “I’ll pay for that.”

Money was not exactly the most pressing concern on Tobirama’s mind at the moment. “That, ah, is that just some of the frame pressing up from underneath?”

Praying to all of his ancestors that the mattress was still usable even if it had to rest on the floor, he watched the other man haul the entire thing up with one hand like it weighed no more than a feather and tried not to whimper. With no light but the moonbeams twisting around the curtains it was easy to see there was nothing directly under the mattress that would make such shapes. 

“Bunch’a springs broke under the pressure, I think,” Madara concluded. When he let the whole thing drop back down it did so with a muffled thud much like Tobirama’s heart inside his chest. “Guess I won’t be sleeping there anymore.”

“Not unless you want metal springs digging in to your spine all night long.”

Madara nodded slowly. “Couch it is, then.” 

“I don’t think that’s going to be an option,” Tobirama reluctantly called the man back before he could get halfway to the door. He tried not to be obvious about cringing when Madara turned to pin him in place with dark eyes turned obsidian by the shadows around them.

“Why not?” 

“You’ve been here an entire week and I’ve never once seen you sit comfortably on the sofa. It’s just not built to hold someone of your...stature.”

For the space of three heartbeats Madara did nothing but stare and blink. Then he sighed and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose with one hand because it was true. Hashirama had bought most of their living room furniture for his tiny wife and his three whipcord thin brothers; he himself preferred to disappear in to the single cushy armchair that could actually hold his tall frame. If Madara went to go sleep on either of the two couches he would probably roll off the first time he tried to take a full breath in. 

Genius that he was, Tobirama had already done the calculations. He already knew what doom was about to fall upon him. In their house there were four beds for four people and two couches. One of those beds already had two people in it, Mito quietly arriving home from her work trip earlier that evening. Another contained one highly contagious whiny Kawarama and stank of dog after several days of the two curled up together in it. Now the third bed had collapsed, frame and mattress and all, leaving only one other place left as an option for sleeping.

Tobirama squirmed. Why had he ever thought it was necessary to buy such a roomy bed? He was only one person, surely a twin mattress would have held him and saved him from eyeing the several feet of unused space at his side with defeat in his bones. It was this or ask Madara to sleep on the floor. 

“So if I can’t sleep on the couches then where the hell am I supposed to sleep?” He even eyed the carpet as though wondering whether it was plush enough to let him get some rest but one night wasn’t the problem. Laying flat out on the ground for several days in a row would do murder on anyone’s back and just because his job left him in the wilds for months at a time didn’t mean he had to play at camping even in his off time. 

“I’ve got room here,” Tobirama forced himself to say.

“You don’t have any sort of air mattress or anything?” 

“Not anymore, no. Our dog got in to the closet and chewed them all last summer.” 

He watched the other man nodding slowly, a small frown drawing his brows together, and wondered if the option was really so detestable to consider. The offer was on the tip of his tongue to ask if Mito would share a bed with him instead for a few days so Madara could rest beside the friend he had much better reason to trust but the words never had a chance to be spoken. 

“You don’t kick or anything, do you?” 

“No,” he murmured, hardly daring to breathe. 

“Right.” 

Then Madara snatched up the same pillow he’d been using for the last couple weeks since Tobirama only had the one on his own bed and stumped across the room with all the grace of a bear. As unsexy as that image was Tobirama still managed to find his thoughts in the gutter, privately thinking that he wouldn’t mind taking up bear wrestling if this was his opponent. 

Somehow he managed to keep such thoughts to himself as the mattress dipped to accommodate more than double the weight it was used to. Convincing the anatomy inside his trousers that it was not Go Time was a little more difficult to do. Tobirama carefully rolled on to the side facing away from his new bed partner; at least in this position he was only tenting his own clothing rather than the bedding as well. Nothing could possibly make his desires more obvious. After a moment’s pause he felt Madara shifting around and finding a position to settle in to as well, hopefully facing away from him though he couldn’t exactly see what was going on. When the movement finally stopped he cleared his throat. 

“Night,” he mumbled awkwardly. Madara grunted, which he had learned was about the equivalent of him saying it back. 

In the silence that followed Tobirama dearly regretted leaving the curtains cracked. Just that small amount of light made shadows on the wall for him to trace with his eyes and glare at as though they were the source of all his problems. If there were shadows on the wall that meant there was enough light for Madara to see if he threw back the covers and tried to escape to the bathroom. Not to mention that it would be much harder to sneak off even after the man had fallen asleep when there was a chance any shifting of the mattress could wake him again and alert him to Tobirama’s nightly embarrassment. 

He smothered a groan and curled a little tighter in to himself. Sleep was an impossibility when all he wanted was relief and there didn’t seem like a safe way to achieve that with the source of all his delicious miseries lying so close. It seemed he was doomed to simply lie here while his balls turned bluer and bluer. 

“Alright?” The word rumbled low in the space between them and Tobirama nearly leapt out of his skin. 

“What?”

“If you’re not feeling good I don’t want to catch anything.”

Clenching his fists he grumbled, “I’m not sick.”

“Seems like you’re not alright though,” his companion mused. 

“Oh and how would you know?”

A beat passed before Madara answered. When he did his tone sounded almost hesitant in a strange way. “You don’t usually sleep all curled up in a ball. Is it your stomach? Maybe dinner doesn’t agree with you.” 

Pausing in his prayers for death to take him in a localized strike of lightning, Tobirama frowned in to the darkness. It wasn’t such an unusual question - or it wouldn’t have been if they had known each other for any appropriate length of time. He struggled over whether or not to say something until finally his curiosity couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Do you...watch me sleep?”

Choking sounds accompanied the sudden brush of air against the back of his neck, startling enough that he instinctively shot up on to one elbow so he could twist around. There he was greeted with the sight of Madara spluttering and cutting his way through several disconnected syllables. It was hard to parse which part of the scene before him was the most shocking, the fact that Madara was quite obviously embarrassed or the fact that he had apparently settled down to sleep facing the center of the bed rather than away towards the wall. 

“I’m just...observant!” He finally managed to choke out. 

“While we’re both lying down on opposite sides of the room you somehow manage to observe my position every night when your eyes are supposed to be closed?” 

Madara flushed visibly. “I have trouble sleeping a lot. Sometimes I sit up for a while!” 

Fascinating as it was to see a new flustered side to such a composed man of so few words, Tobirama couldn’t truly enjoy this rare opportunity when he was distracted with yet another devastating revelation. 

“How long does it usually take you to get to sleep?” he whispered. 

“A couple hours.” The words had already passed the man’s lips before Madara seemed to realize what he had just given away.

“Oh.”

The two of them stared at each other, wide eyed and silent, as they both processed what the other now knew. If Madara was awake each night long enough to observe what position Tobirama fell asleep in then he was awake each night to observe him slipping out of bed and down the hall for much longer than one would need for a simple nightly piddle. He knew. And he hadn’t said anything. 

“It’s not every day,” Tobirama blurted without thinking. “I’m not some kind of obsessed nymphomaniac or anything.”

“Right.”

“I’m not!”

“Okay. So. Is it just...me then?” 

The twitch in his pants said yes but the flaming heat in his face, well, that probably also said yes despite what he would have preferred. All the genius in the world couldn’t help him think his way out of this particular spot, lying in the same bed with a man he could already feel himself developing very ill advised feelings for while that very man stared back at him processing the knowledge that he was very interested in taking up certain physical activities together. What would Hashirama do, he wondered, if he woke up tomorrow morning to discover that his little brother had been smothered to death by those glorious and very strong biceps?

“Didn’t mention it to your brother yet,” Madara finally spoke again. “Wanted Izuna’s opinion on the idea first. But I’ve been thinking about moving back in to town lately. I got a job offer at one of the factories.” 

“O-oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Think maybe you’d want to grab a coffee or something sometime?” Somehow the man was able to project both flawless confidence and an adorably unexpected shyness at the same time.

Tobirama nearly swallowed his own tongue trying to rein in his own frantic nodding. “I’d like that.” 

“Good, good.”

All plans for throwing himself off the edge of the earth were put on hold. How the hell he had missed his dream hunk returning any sort of interest was beyond him but the last thing he would be doing was complain about it. Who was he to say no when being handed everything he thought he couldn’t have? All wrapped up in a pretty package with gorgeous unruly hair, naturally pouty lips, and thighs he would be happy to have his head crushed between. Whatever small fragment of the universe had taken pity on him deserved a massive ethereal fruit basket in thanks for giving him this. 

“You wanna make out?” Madara cut in to his thoughts. “Or do we need to wait for that first date?”

“Now is good,” Tobirama breathed, already twisting the lower half of his body to face inwards as well. Maybe later he could take the time to be ashamed of his own enthusiasm but right now he had an entire beefcake to throw himself on and judging by the appreciative moan that greeted him it didn’t seem like Madara had any problems with that. 

He had already managed to roll himself on top of this woodsman adonis and gasp at the stretch in his thighs for how wide they had to open just to sit astride those hips when he paused, pulling away from quite possibly the most mind-bending kiss he’d ever experienced in his life.

“What’s your opinion on wood puns?” he mumbled. 

“I will kill you,” Madara replied with absolutely no inflection. 

“Noted. Can I wear your shirt tomorrow?” 

“You would look absolutely terrible in tartan.” One dark eyebrow lifted slowly, something like hunger gathering in the man’s eyes. “Sure.” 

Tobirama shivered and decided if he said anything else he would probably spill every dirty possessive thought his brain had ever come up with. It was much safer to dive in again and tremble under the feeling of large hands curling around his bottom. 

Maybe - maybe - he was glad that Hashirama had decided to take a different route home that day and happened to spot his old friend. A reward this good was definitely worth the torture of thinking it was all beyond his reach, that he would suffer through the stages of falling in love and then be forced to ssay goodbye when Madara left, to never see the man again. Whatever it took to convince him that moving back in to town was a good plan he would do it. Even if he had to track down this Izuna fellow himself and beg on his knees for a little support. 

For now the only thing he planned to do on his knees was moan, however. Possibly beg. That depended entirely on how far Madara was willing to go before they even made it out for a simple coffee or discussed anything between them with any sort of depth.

Whatever the case, he just really hoped his brother was well and truly asleep down the hall because he had zero plans for staying quiet after finally getting his hands on such a perfect dream. 

[lilyvandersteen]

The Christmas Guest Chapter 2

Author’s Note:

One year ago, I started this story for @hkvoyage​‘s birthday, intending to finish it by Christmas. Well... That proved to be an over-ambitious goal.

So here I am, one year later, with chapter 2. I fully intend to continue this story as soon as possible.

Happy Birthday, @hkvoyage, and I hope you enjoy some more Christmas fluff out of season :-)

Chapter 1 can be found here.

Chapter 2: Feeling Right at Home

Blaine pocketed his phone and cursed his own optimism. Of course his parents hadn’t thought of him while planning their end-of-year holidays. When had they ever? More than once, they had made him stay at Dalton for Christmas break, because they were on a business trip.

But now his father was retired, and his mother had cut down on her hours, so he’d been confident he would get to spend some time with them. He’d missed them, and he’d hoped they’d missed him too. Yeah. Clearly not.

He headed to the help desk to book a ticket back to New York, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. He was ready to snap at the person disturbing him when he saw who it was: the cute guy who’d been sitting next to him on the plane. He introduced himself as Kurt Hummel, and was… What? Offering to take Blaine home with him, for a family Christmas? A total stranger?

Blaine was so flummoxed he didn’t know what to say, and probably was gaping unattractively at Kurt, who was now blushing and apologizing for his impulsivity.

Blaine had only just started reassuring him that it was okay when Kurt’s father arrived, mistook Blaine for his son’s boyfriend, grabbed Blaine’s luggage and disappeared with it.

Ten minutes later, he found himself in a car with two strangers, heading to their home, where apparently, he was going to spend the Christmas holidays.

Kurt had chosen to sit with him in the back rather than in the shotgun seat, and had sent him such a calming smile that Blaine took courage. And Kurt’s hand. What? He was supposed to be the guy’s boyfriend, so he might as well play the part, right?

Kurt made no objection whatsoever, and did his best to keep his father from interrogating Blaine, especially when Burt speculated that Blaine had wooed Kurt by serenading him in his workplace, and Blaine froze, thinking of Jeremiah and how spectacularly that had backfired.

With Kurt’s comforting presence next to him, and catchy tunes on the radio, Blaine found himself relaxing, and by the time they arrived at the Hummel residence, he’d made up his mind to enjoy this impromptu experience.

He felt awful, though, when Kurt’s stepmother greeted him like a long-lost relative, and he didn’t even have a gift to thank her for her hospitality. When he apologized, she waved it off, though, and took him and Kurt to the kitchen for a snack to tide them over until dinner, chattering about Kurt’s stepbrother and her colleagues at the hospital and Burt’s employees.

Kurt nursed a cup of tea with honey and hummed occasionally to show Carole he was listening. He looked exhausted, but the tea apparently helped, seeing as he was coughing a lot less than he had on the plane.

Dinner was absolutely scrumptious, and Carole nodded and smiled at Blaine encouragingly when he helped himself to some more meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Her cookies proved just as good, and Blaine had to stop himself from eating until the cookie tin was empty.

He felt surprisingly at home sitting on the sofa watching a Christmas movie with Kurt leaning into him and holding his hand. He found himself smiling at his supposed boyfriend, who was fighting a lost battle against sleep, yawning until his jaw popped and struggling to keep his eyes open.

He took a mug of tea from Kurt’s hand before it could fall and break, and put it on the coffee table.

Then he put Kurt’s head on his lap and tucked him in snugly with a blanket Carole handed him, whispering, “Sleep well.”

By the time the movie ended, Blaine felt rather sleepy himself, but he didn’t dare move for fear of waking Kurt. Also, he had no idea where he was supposed to sleep.

Luckily, Burt’s thoughts ran along the same track. “Well, kiddo, I was going to make you sleep on the sofa, but it’s already taken by Kurt. So I guess you can have his bed tonight. I don’t think he’ll mind. I’m sure you share his bed in New York too.”

Blaine’s mouth fell open and heat flared up in his nether regions as he pictured Kurt spooning him in bed. Yes, that certainly sounded appealing, but the truth was he’d only just met Kurt and wasn’t dating him whatsoever, and he had to tell his host about this misunderstanding. “Uhm, sir, about that… You see… I’m not actually…”

Burt interrupted his halting explanation with a booming laugh. “Oh, no need to lie about it. I know he’s not my little boy any longer, he’s a grown-up, and I trust him not to throw himself around like he doesn’t matter. I Here, put a pillow under his head so you can escape.”

“Thank you, sir… uhm, Burt.”

“You’re welcome. It’s great to have you here. Kurt thinks the world of you, I can tell. And you’re just as smitten, huh? The hearts in your eyes are beyond obvious. I’m so happy you found each other. I was getting a bit worried about Kurt all on his own there in the Big Apple.”

Blaine fumbled with the pillow and ducked his head, not knowing what to say. It looked like Burt wouldn’t even believe him now if he told him he wasn’t dating Kurt. So he’d just have to roll with it a little longer.

He lifted Kurt’s head carefully and put the pillow under it, smiling when Kurt smacked his lips and mumbled something unintelligible in his sleep.

A warm hand touched his shoulder. “Come, I’ll show you to Kurt’s room and the bathroom.”

Twenty minutes, he was lying in a comfy bed, marveling at how this didn’t feel in the least weird to him. This family was so welcoming that he felt like he’d known them forever, and like he belonged with them.

He startled awake in the middle of the night and didn’t know where he was at first. Then he heard loud coughing, and he remembered. Kurt! Who apparently needed some more tea with honey…

Blaine quickly put on a pair of jeans and a sweater and followed the noise until he arrived in the living room.

Kurt’s eyes were closed, and he seemed to be asleep, but every few seconds, he let out a barking cough and winced. He was also tossing and turning, and when Blaine put a hand on his forehead to check his temperature, he felt scorching hot.

Blaine ran back to the guest room for his travel stash of Advil and some sore throat lozenges. He also took a bottle of water from his backpack, and hurried back to the living room.

He put his hand on Kurt’s cheek for a moment. “Kurt… Kurt, please wake up for a minute, you’re running a fever. You need to take something to get your temperature down.”

Kurt let out a weird snorting sound and opened his eyes the tiniest bit. “Wha?”

“Sit up for a moment, yes, that’s it.” Blaine helped Kurt up, supporting his back. “Now, here’s an Advil for you, and some water to wash it down. You can go back to sleep straight after.”

Kurt obediently swallowed the pill, making a pained noise as he did so. “Hurts.”

“I know, I know, sweetie. You’ve been coughing so much your throat must be raw. Do you want a lozenge or do you want tea with honey?”

Kurt blinked at him sleepily and didn’t answer.

“You just want to sleep, huh? Here, pop this in your mouth, that should make your throat feel better.”

As soon as he had the lozenge in his mouth, Kurt closed his eyes again, and he started to snore almost instantly.

Blaine chuckled. “Well, it’s better than the coughing. I’ll leave the lozenges and water here for you just in case.”

Right outside the living room, he bumped into Carole and squeaked in surprise.

“Sorry, honey, didn’t mean to scare you!” Carole whispered. “I came down here to give Kurt something for his cough, but I can tell you’ve already taken care of that.”

“Yes. I hope he’ll sleep better now.”

Carole giggled. “Certainly sounds like it. Well, good night again, honey.”

“Good night.”

[luvuwite]

all, go

i hate you

1. What was the last present you gave?

uMMMM probably a commission i gave to pancake (archie/vivi)

 2. What was the last present you received? 

i dunno? if its a doodle then i got that a week back!

3. What animal best represents your personality? 

from the oOoOO spirit animal tests i took im a snek

4. What are you most afraid of? 

sometimes my own mind EYES EMOJI

5. Who is your favourite villain? 

HMMMMMMM probably like,, megamind i love him

6. Who is your favourite family member? (we all have one, admit it)

MY SISTERRRR

7. If you could name your own planet what would it be called? 

myanus

8. Stars or Moon? 

stars!!

9. Do you have/want kinds? 

if my other partner wants them, sure

10. What is your greatest life goal? 

making it this far

11. What is something you can’t live without? 

soup

12. What is a place you associate with your childhood? 

one of the parks near the store-area

13. How was your first kiss/how would you like your first kiss to go? 

i never kissed, so i wouldn’t know, but pls,,,ask for consent,,, and warn me if we gonna kiss or not,,,,,

14. What is some life advice you have acquired? 

ive learned a lil’ bit, but one of em probably has to be to just be like,, dont cry over something you know is fake, at least thats what i remember atm HAHA

15. Who in history has influenced you? 

bruh i dont like history idk

16. What is something strange that you think about often? 

h,,,hopless romantic noISIJEIORQ AHHAHA i like to think about weird scenarios in my head basically

17. Baths or Showers? 

showrr i get shy with myself in baths

18. Tea of Coffee? 

coffee

19. Alcohol or soft drink? 

alchohol bad brisk brisk brisk

20. Writing or typing? 

typing since its easier

21. What is you most favourite thing in your bedroom? 

my bed its sexy and comfy

22. Spontaneous holiday! Where are you going and with who? 

wait what UH I DONT KNOW probably just close close friends and family

23. Introverted or Extraverted? 

i have my moments with both

24. Describe yourself in two words. 

small and aggressive

31. What do you think of when you hear ‘portrait’? 

a picture or image of someone/something

32. Tell me about your partner/ideal partner? 

i mean no one is perfect yeah? i just want them to be honest with me and accept my AHEM struGGLES with relationships since im not the best partner

33. Tell me about your siblings, if you have any? 

my sister is what you call a “girly girl”, she likes disney movies, outdoors, being loud and running around, yknow just like any other child ever

35. What are you a big advocate for? 

my friends!!

36. If you’re comfortable to answer, what is the sickest you have ever been?

migraine + stomach bug + mental in trash +  stomach pains + lil appendix pain

37. When were you the most scared in your life? 

when i broke my arm

38. Ever had a paranormal experience? 

ACTUALLY YEAH i thought i heard someone yelling help outside my window and i peaked out and realized it was nothing and i figured i was just tired but i was still kinda freaked

39. Biggest celebrity crush at the moment? 

im not like other girls,,,,....

40. What is something happening in your life right now? 

uhhh just general anxiousness/paranoia(?) tbh

41. What is your favourite mythological creature? 

DRAAAAGOOOOOON

42. Marvel or DC?

dont know what those are

43. What object would be on your family’s banner? 

soup

44. Favourite flower? 

pink rose

45. One characteristic you like in a partner? 

s,,,support/reassurance pls

46. What planet/star would you travel to if it were possible? 

i wanna,,,, actually i dont know i think i would just enjoy floating around in general 

47. What is your favourite meal… ever? 

soup

48. First time…. doing anything. Describe your first time doing something? 

first time i drew was twiggit sperkl and that was the most proudest i ever felt

49. Who is your favourite superhero? 

bRUHHH I DUNNO I DONT WATCH THAT STUF

50. What is your favourite poem? Recite it?

i dont read

51. What is an exercise you despise doing. 

burpees

52. Secret talent? 

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

fite

53. Current song on replay replay replay? 

[x]

55. If you weren’t in your current occupation what would you be doing? 

sleeping probably

56. What is the first thing you notice about the person you fancy?

,,y,yo they kinda,,,, scrumptious,,, AHUIWRWQI 

57. If you had one wish that would definitely come true, what would it be? 

yes

58. If you could time travel, when and where would you visit? 

i would go to future bc i wanna see what i look like

59. What is your lucky number? 

5

60. If you adopt a pet what would it be and what would you name it? 

a cat!! and i actually am planning a name and calling them clementine!! 

61. Do you believe in fate/everything happens for a reason?

i believe your fate is decided by ur own actions/words

 62. What is your favourite thing about your personality? 

im not too hard to get along with,, i hope

63. What is your favourite thing about your appearance? 

uhhhhhhhhhhhhh

64. What is your favourite clothing store? 

primark bc everything is like 2 bucks

65. What is your favourite online store? 

i dont do online shopping too much

66. Use one word to describe your most favourite person? 

observant 

67. How do you usually have your hair?

down with a clip, then ponytail next day

 68. What was your favourite subject in high school? 

math

69. What makes you feel empowered? 

power over something/someone(as a joke/in games, not in a bad way)

70. What motivates you to do something? 

a prize at the end

71. What advice would you give someone who is going through a rough time? 

it gets worse before it gets better, and in the worse ill be there for you so you dont have to go through this alone

72. Ideal date? 

wendys!!! sweater weather!!! cuddle!!! left 4 dead!!! comfy clothes!!!

73. What is the best date night movie? 

i am not that attractive to be taken out on a date

74. What is something you are currently looking forward to? 

nothing atm tbh im just here bc i have to beIEOJRWIOE

75. Tell me a funny joke? 

oo wa oh wa ooh

76. Do you like musicals? If so, what’s your favourite? 

never listened to one actually

77. What is your favourite song currently? 

sweater weather. always.

78. What song never fails to make you dance? 

POP EYED JOEEEEE IVE BEEN LIVING???? LONG TIME YOOO

79. What is your favourite “classic?”

gnomeo and juliet

 80. What is the best advice you have ever been given? 

obese paragraph and comfort doodles? lets go

81. Where did you ancestors come from? 

puerto rico

82. What have you learned from your parents/guardians? 

be tough nugget and dont take shit seriously till you have to

83. What is a phrase you heard a lot growing up? 

dont step on the crack or youll break ur mothers back

84. Do you believe in magic? 

nnno

85. What reminds you of your best friend? 

overwatch

86. What are you passionate about? 

dance dance dance

87. Tell me a story from middle school? 

one time

the end

88. Who was your favourite teacher and why?

i love my bio teacher rn bro shes such a sweetheart

 89. Can you roll your tongue? 

yes

90. What made you pursue what you are studying? (including school subjects) 

my little pony

91. Where would you like to travel to? 

japan for those toys gimme gimme

92. What is something on your bucket-list? 

i wanna see coral reef

93. What is home to you? 

place that brings feeling of comfort/security

94. What do you do in your free time? 

draw

95. If you could buy anything right now, what would it be? 

food

96. If you could see anyone, living or dead, right now, who would it be? 

probs one of my online friends

97. If you could choose, what would your last meal be? 

soup dumplings brisk and rice

98. How would you like to die? 

happy

99. List five of your favourite pieces of art (paintings, books, songs etc) 

ruby eyes / sweater weather / ponyo / wall-e / idk

100. What would you change about this world?

global warming SHOOO U FAT

[sushiandstarlight]

“Cardinal”: NaNoWriMo 30 Days of Prompts

Prompt One / Prompt Two / Prompt Three

This one is a bonus!

Read this story on AO3

After it was over they purchased a cottage in South Downs, but they didn't settle there at first. No, first they traveled. They went to places they had been before, but couldn't enjoy because they were there on official business. They went to places that hadn't been official business, but they hadn't been to together. They traveled to cities that they had watched spring to life, but were altogether different now than they had been at the beginning. New places that didn't exist until now.

Somehow, they wound up in a tiny town in the northeast of the United States just before Christmas time. The town was a tiny place, barely a dot on Google Maps. They didn't have their own newspaper, nor their own post office. And yet, they were in full swing for the holidays. A towering live tree dominated the town square, reaching towards the clouds and covered in as many lights as it would hold: a dazzling array of whites and golds and reds and greens. Garland dripped from every telephone pole and streetlight. A small red and green hut sat dwarfed beside the evergreen, proclaiming that Santa would be there for the good boys and girls of the town between the hours of 5pm and 7pm right up until the day before Christmas. There wasn't a night in the twelve before Christmas that the jolly voice of carolers couldn't be heard drifting from one street or another. Most houses offered them cocoa or cookies as payment and protection from the cold. Every house fought the darkness of night with thousands of tiny lights.

“Crowley, dear, it's more about good will towards all men, loved ones, gifts, and warm bellies nowadays. We should enjoy the revelry. It's thanks to us, at least in part, that they're still getting to enjoy it!” Aziraphale was delighting in the season whole-heartedly. He'd booked them a room in the only tiny little bed and breakfast near the town (which had taken a miracle and a half, let him tell you, with all the people returning home to be with family for the holidays!) and, while there, spent every evening baking sweets with the elderly lady that ran it. In the morning, he'd find them both tuckered out and snoring away on the matching oppressively floral recliners in the sitting room, sugar and icing-covered aprons still on.

Crowley would sip his black coffee and perch in the bay window, watching the snow gently falling against the backdrop of the rising sun, and he would want to hate it. He would really, really want to. But, he couldn't quite manage it. There was something different about celebrations this year. Maybe it was the newfound freedom they had. It pushed him to feel that little bit more human. They were here by choice, not assignment. They could leave if they so chose, and they chose not to. The energy the humans were exuding was positively contagious. The snowy weather made him cold to his very bones, yes, but watching Aziraphale enjoy himself? That warmed him well enough to be worth the chill. He blew a warm breath on the window pane in front of him a drew a snowflake. Then, smirking, he drew a serpent slithering around it.

“I made you something.”

Crowley jumped and hissed, nearly spilling what was left of his coffee.

“Sorry, I thought you would hear me coming.”

Crowley grumbled and shrugged. Normally, he would have. Something about this place had made him drop his guard. He blamed all the damned coziness. He set down his coffee and turned away from the window to face Aziraphale and held out his hand.

As he had suspected, Aziraphale placed a cookie in his palm. He hadn't expected the cookie to be delicately piped in a non-christmas design. Turning it to face him, he supposed the original shape was to be Santa's toy sack. It was a lumpy shape and he couldn't imagine what else it might have been. But, Aziraphale had re-imagined the shape. Now it was a coiled black snake with a red belly and golden eyes. A lump formed in his throat and he tried, desperately, to swallow it. His eyes were stinging, too, and that just wasn't fair. Not over a cookie.

“I thought, well you know... The whole Santa myth is nice. And angels and Christmas trees and presents are good and well. But, my Christmas wouldn't be right without you in it, Crowley. Christmas is about time with family.”

“Th-” Crowley coughed and cleared his throat, “piping's pretty good, Angel. We might have to put you to work.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale waved him off, “you should see all the cookies that didn't make the cut while I was figuring out how to do this.”

“Could I see them?” Crowley just knew.

“Certainly not, they're all...” the angel sniffed, “disposed of.”

“Meaning you ate them.”

“To remove the evidence!” He was puffed out like an agitated bird and it took every bit of Crowley's self control not to laugh.

“Too right, can't have the evidence laying about.” He looked back at the cookie, the idea of eating it made him a little sad. Aziraphale had obviously put a lot of work into it.

“You can eat it, I won't be upset. I made it for you. Her recipe really is positively scrumptious.”

Crowley peered down at the cookie, glanced back at the expectant angel, and then back at the cookie. He then did the only thing that seemed right: he stuffed the entire thing in his mouth and chewed.

“Now, really.”

“Wuff?” Cookie crumbs went everywhere.

Aziraphale just laughed and cuffed the back of his head gently before turning back towards the kitchen.

“Wuss good, Angel, fanks!” Crowley called after him, gulping his coffee to help ease the cookie lump down his throat.

-

That night, everyone left their homes late in the evening. There was almost no need for the streetlights-although they were lit- the festive houses shone in a rainbow of Christmas revelry that did more than enough to fight the night back. Families came out and greeted one another, walking together. Adults laughed at the children as they squealed and threw snowballs at one another. Grandparents tutted about wet clothes on a cold night, but still smiled as if remembering what it had been like to not care about such things.

Crowley joined the crowd that left the bed and breakfast together, but lingered behind them. He had hoped Aziraphale would join them, that he was only lagging behind for some reason. But, the angel was nowhere to be seen. So, he followed the group to the square, wondering what this was all about.

Arriving in the square, he saw that there were lines of tables on either side of the Christmas tree. One side was laden down with dozens of baskets of ornaments. Old ones, clearly antique (and probably ridiculously breakable. New ones, covered in gaudy glitter that somehow looked beautiful when placed near the twinkle lights. Strands of garland, tinsel, and popcorn- the birds were sure to have a field day with that! The other line of tables were covered in all kinds of treats: one contained warm beverages from coffee to tea to cocoa. Another contained festive foods: turkey, ham, stuffing, rolls, mashed potatoes, and gravy. And, nearest the tree, was one covered in cakes, pastries, pies, and hundreds of cookies. Behind that table he spotted Aziraphale next to the woman that ran the bed and breakfast. They were laughing as they watched a small child eat one of the cookies, getting more icing on his face than in it.

Something relaxed in his gut, just seeing the angel again. Just knowing he was here, after all. Aziraphale had said that Christmas wouldn't be the same without Crowley. Crowley was beginning to think none of his days would be the same without Aziraphale. All the time they had spent apart over the last 6,000 years and now he didn't want to spend more than an hour or two without him.

“What, no Christmas snakes for the table?” his breath puffed out into the air between them and dissipated.

“As it just so happens, I did make you one more.” Aziraphale reached for a tiny paper plate that was hidden behind the other mounds of goodies and handed it to Crowley. It was another snake, like the one before. But, this one had cookie crumbs delicately placed all over it's snout.

“You know what, Angel?” Crowley could feel the laugh bubbling up from his belly and twitching at the sides of his lips.

“What, you old serpent?”

“I absolutely deserve this.”

Aziraphale's laughter rang out over the square, traveling into Crowley's ears and, somehow, curling at the bottom of his spine and making his limbs tingle. Or, you know, it could be frostbite. He would blame frostbite, for sure.

They both turned, smiling, to watch as the town folk gathered around the ornament tables. Everyone plucked up something, small or large or gaudy or delicate. The children grabbed whole baskets and skipped merrily to the tree. Someone was high above on an electric company lift, hanging giant baubles around the top. Everyone down here would only be able to decorate, at most, to the seven foot mark. Still, by the time they were done, the whole bottom half of the tree glittered and twinkled with so many decorations you could hardly find any tree beneath them.

As voices rose together in song between the tables and the front side of the tree, Aziraphale joined Crowley around the back side, handing him a steaming cup. Crowley sipped it: coffee and cocoa with marshmallows. Not his usual fair, but still good. He took a big swig, feeling it warm him from the inside out while the voices warmed him from the outside in. “I'm glad we stopped here for the holiday.”

“Hmm, me too. Though, I wasn't exactly expecting you to enjoy it.”

Crowley shrugged and took another deep sip, licking the melty marshmallow from his upper lip.

“I have one more thing for you.”

“You didn't have to get me anything.”

“I know, but I wanted to. It's half store-bought and half homemade. Little chintzy, really. You don't have to pretend to like it if you don't.” Aziraphale was dithering and shifting on his feet.

“Well, let's have it, then.” Crowley put out his hand and waited.

Aziraphale eyed him seriously for a moment then reached into his pocket and pulled out a little box covered in red paper, tied with a opalescent white ribbon. He passed it over and then turned to face the tree.

Crowley drank the last of his cocoa-coffee and sat the cup on the ground at his feet so he could open the box. Inside, nestled amongst some tissue paper, was an ornament: it was a green wreath and inside it were perched two birds, a cardinal and a dove. The cardinal had clearly been a part of the original design. Whatever had been perched next to it- probably a second cardinal- had been carefully removed and replaced with the dove.

“Didn't know you could sculpt.”

“I had some help from one of the innkeeper's grandchildren, to be honest. Do you... do you like it?”

“I think it's lovely.”

“Really?” Aziraphale seemed to let out a breath he had been holding and relax, “Oh, I'm glad. I mean, it would have been okay if you didn't...”

“But, I do.”

“Yes, good.”

They spent another moment looking at the tree instead of one another before Crowley broke the silence.

“What does it mean? I'm sure there's meaning here.”

“Well... in a literal sense, cardinals are said to be messengers of love and signs that angels are near. Or angel, as the case may be. Doves are a sign of peace. Peace and love, Crowley.”

Crowley looked from the ornament to Aziraphale and back.

“And, figuratively?”

“It's our first Christmas together... as, well, as family. Our side. And, this is our reward... peace and love. That's what we're free to receive. Well, from one another.” The angel swallowed, staring pointedly ahead.

Crowley side-stepped closer and hooked his arm in Aziraphale's.

“I like that even more.”

Aziraphale shot him a glance and his stormy eyes were glistening, but he smiled.

“Let's put it on the tree then,” Crowley tugged him along by the arm, “we'll find just the right spot... Ah, here!” he removed a glittery red and green plastic ball and hung the new ornament in it's place, right next to a golden light. He pulled Aziraphale closer into his side and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. A moment later, the angel relaxed and tilted his head to rest on Crowley's shoulder. Crowley placed a kiss on his forehead and rested his own head on top as he gazed at the ornament.

“Happy Christmas, Angel.”

“Hmm, Happy Christmas, dear boy.”

The voices on the other side of the tree dropped off one at a time as people dispersed to their warm homes, ready to crawl under covers and greet the bounty of gifts that were to be found in the morning. The couple stayed behind, content in their closeness, until everyone else was gone. Then they held hands as they made their way back to the bed and breakfast by light of the moon and the towering Christmas tree.