#but as soon as youre in a town the snow just instantly gets gross

[cruelsister-moved2]

im really going to cry when summer is over i have to remind myself this when im melting and sweating and dying. creature that loves being outside but hates being a temperature -_-

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Can you do a part three of this?

For You Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

Thank you for asking for a continuation! I actually had one started, but thanks for the reminder to keep it going!

@forestfanders I didn't know if you wanted to be tagged again, but if you did here.

Warnings: cannibalistic behavior, implied sleep deprivation, fainting, mentions of eating animals in a gross way, vampires, blood, feverish whumpees, delirium implied, hospital setting, drugged mention, dead (minor) characters

~

Supervillain was knocked to the ground by a comet of murderous ferocity. Involuntary reflexes kicked in and there legs instantly shot up to block the attack, but Villain was quicker and was already clawing at Supervillain's chest.

Realizing that Villain had the upperhand, Supervillain grabbed the walkie talkie from their belt, pressed the botton and yelled,

"I need assistance in Villain's room!"

And then they went back to working on calming the thrashing villain down.

"Villain," Supervillain pleaded. Fierce yes, but also incredibly weak, the villain slowed their assualt.

Supervillain took the opportunity to grab one of Villain's wrists and twist it around. They stood up and flip Villain back onto their stomach.

Suddenly being completely vulnerable, Villain ceased all struggles and laid there limp, sobbing. Sounds of distress tore their way out of Villain's throat in animalistic tones.

"Villain," Supervillain released some of the pressure on Villain's arm and leaned close to their ear. They whispered soft words of comfort as a herd of henchman galloped into the room.

Instantly, the breathless cries coming from Villain were masked by the ramble of incessant questions.

"Are they okay?"

"What happened to them?"

"Have they... turned?"

"Why are you pinning them?"

"Oh my gosh, what happened?"

"Supervillain... are you okay? Tell me you are okay!"

"Should I call an ambulance? Or Hero?"

"Oh my, what do I do? I dunno what to do."

Supervillain didn't answer any of their concerned henchmen and gathered Villain into their chest, hugging them tightly while rocking back and forth. The movement made their heavy head drop, forhead nearly resting against Villain's head...

"Boss?"

Supervillain jerked, trying to remember what they were just thinking about. They must've dozed off for a second as they couldn't recall anything...

A hand was resting against their shoulder. A voice whispered something. But Supervillain ignored all signs of life outside their tunnel vision. They stood up on their knees, and clumsily shoved Villain back onto the bed.

They didn't notice a henchman help them.

Upon completing their task, Supervillain stood completely up.

Then it hit them. A wave of dizziness crashing down to make them stumble.

"I'm fine... f-fine... just lil'..." Supervillain slurred as they swayed.

"Boss?" Distant and cold.

As if they were buried under the snow.

Supervillain tried to step forward. "I-i-i... I..." they mumbled just as they fell to their side- limp as a wilted daisy.

"Someone, catch them!"

Two arms under their armpits.

And then they descended into darkness.

The door barged open and a steaming henchman entered the cozy bedroom that could also be described as a generous cell. Hero raised an eyebrow at the seemingly mad lackey.

"What can I do for you? Is it time for my blood to be mercilessly spilled for the sake of dear Villain?" Hero asked smugly.

"You mean the 'dear villain' that fed you, risked their life, and nearly died for you?" Henchman sassed back.

"I reckon that'll be the one," Hero confirmed, a smirk growing on their face. "Are they still sick? Or have they turned?"

Henchman replied with their own question, "How do you contain a vampire?"

And it kind of answered Hero's question as well.

"Well, you are containing me right?"

"A vampire that just wants to kill."

"Oh you don't," Hero said quickly. "Just give them a rat or something."

"We should feed you a rat, with mashed up worms as garnish."

"I'd prefer a cheeseburger."

"Well-" a sound of static interrupted Henchman's retort.

"Hello?" Henchman spoke into their walkie-talkie.

"Boss woke up, muttering something crazy. Looks feverish," came a reply from the other end.

"Figures. They wore themselves out pretty good," Henchman replied.

"Yeah. They said something about a magician, but we really can't trust anything they are saying right now."

"What about this magician?"

"Dunno, but apparently they know about vampires."

"So does Hero-"

"And how to un-vampire them."

"Oh," Henchman tutted, glancing at Hero who was unceremoniously making faces. "Knock it off!" Henchman growled.

"What's that?"

"Nothin'. See if you can ask where this magician is."

"As I said, we can't-"

"DO IT!"

"Okay, okay... hey boss, where is your magician friend?"

A bunch of garbled nonsense sounded from the other end.

"Someplace in the darkside of town," the henchman on the walkie-talkie said.

"Tell whoever assumed leadership that I'm heading out," Henchman said.

"'Kay."

Henchman turned to leave, but Hero's voice stopped them.

"If you don't feed Villain soon, they are gonna starve. They need to resume a human status soon. Can't you give them the pills?"

Henchman left without another word.

Henchman sauntered through the lazy streets, barely looking over their shoulder. They were somewhat accustomed to the creepy, dark and stagnant environment of the neighborhood.

The neighborhood must've got bored of whatever inactive game it was playing as a group of men and women jumped over fences and rushed at Henchman with guns in their hands.

Henchman pulled out their own handgun.

"What brings you here?" A classy man spoke, his voice taut with some kind of accent.

"I am searching for a magician."

Rumbles of murmured voices rang through the threatening crowd.

"We have no magician," the man spoke. Henchman raised their eyebrows- that was obviously a lie.

"Hmm. I see. What if I told you that Supervillain orders this?" Henchman asked.

There was no time for secretive whispers. An old man pushed himself through the crowd and hobbled over to Henchman. Despite the old, lethargic impression he gave, his voice was unnaturally deep.

"Henchman," he boomed. "Welcome to The Alley."

Supervillain woke up to flashing LED lights and the beeeeeep of monitors, signifying their awakening.

They coughed, trying to remember what just happened...

Villain. Attacking. Falling. Darkness... Supervillain shuddered. The hospital room surrounding them made sense now. They tried to sink back into the less than comfortable mattress, but a nagging reminder of Villain kept them from falling back asleep.

What if they were getting sicker? They didn't have anymore pills- that happened to cost ten grand a piece- so changing them back to human was not an option.

What if they attacked someone? Supervillain couldn't deal with three vampires. Two was more than enough.

Hero.

They thought of that insufferable luggage contently laying in a perfumed guestroom. Supervillain snarled. Once the drugs wore away, they turned into a little brat- sassy without a care for the world.

"Looks who's awake."

Supervillain's gaze shot to the door as Doctor and Henchman2 walked in. They craned their neck to look for Henchman, but discovered that they weren't there.

"Where's Henchman?" They asked, worry knitting at their voice.

"They went looking for a magician that you kinda fever-ordered them to pursue," Henchman2 replied. "They've been gone about seven hours."

Magician...

No.

"Gotta get them back," Supervillain speed-yelled. "They are in trouble."

Henchman2 flinched back towards the door instinctively.

"What do you mean?" Henchman2 asked.

"Magician, he..." Supervillain shook their head. "Never helps anyone."

(Flash foward in time)

Supervillain spat at the ground, wrists bound and tied above their head. Their henchmen were in a similar predicament, bound, or unconscious...

Or dead.

A voice cackled through the auditorium as a shadowed figure made its way through the red curtains.

"Welcome, my lowly servants." The voice, so familiar, yet so uncharacteristic rang through Supervillain's ears.

"Today," the voice continued. "I have a special demonstration."

The figure stepped to the center of the stage, dragging a bound and gagged hero behind them.

"I am going to show to you what happens when you mess with the master," the figure continued and drew a blade. They pressed it against Hero's artery.

But before they plunged the dagger, they whipped off their hood to reveal a pale, stony face.

Their eyes were sunken and devilishy black.

They were Villain.

[atlafan]

Take it Slow - Part Twenty-Three

a/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry.

Warnings: Mention of past abuse. Angst. Smut if you squint. And some nice fluff at the end.

Masterpost (all previous parts can be found in the masterpost)

Harry woke up around nine the next morning. You were spooning him, and he didn’t want to move. If he could stay like this forever, he would. But he knew you had to get up soon. You had to get back to your place for your family to come visit. He heard you snoring. You never snored before, or maybe he just never noticed. Suddenly, you clung to him tighter, pulling him closer to your chest. He heard you make a groaning sound, and tried not to laugh.

“Mm, Harry.” You said in your sleep. What were you dreaming about?

You let go of him and flipped onto your back. He turned over to look at you. Your eyebrows were pinched together and your mouth was parted. You groaned again, causing him to smirk.

You were having a wonderful dream. Harry’s head was between your legs, and he was just going to town on you, making you come over and over, not giving you a second to catch your breath. Just as he was about to make you come again, you felt yourself waking up.

Your eyes burst open and you were breathing heavily. You got startled by Harry looking at you.

“Sorry.” He started laughing. “What, uh, what were ya dreamin’ about?” You hide your hands in your face.

“Ugh, you.”

“And what was I doin’?” He took your hands away so he could look at you.

“Your head was between my legs.” You felt your face heating up.

“Ah, I see.” He moved the blanket out of the way and sat between your legs. “And is that somethin’ you’d like right now?”

“First thing in the morning? Isn’t that gross?”

“S’fine with me.” He shrugs. “Answer my question.”

“Y, yes I would like that.”

That was all he needed, he parted your legs and began to lick you up and down. He started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” You lean up on your elbows.

“Nothing, you’re just super wet already. It’s cute. You had a little sex dream about me.”

“Harry, I will leave this bed.”

“Okay, okay.”

He dips his head back down and gets to work. Two orgasms later, and your whole body feels like jello.

“Shower?” He asks, wiping his face.

“Mhm.”

You jerk him off in the shower, letting him come on your chest. You felt like you were back in your normal routine.

“So, how are you feelin’?” He asks, diving into a bowl of oatmeal.

“About what babe?”

“Last night.”

“Oh!” You blush. “Well, I’m a little sore to be honest, but it’s alright. I was expecting it.”

“Was I too rough?”

“No, not at all. It felt incredible. Just a lot of, um, stretching.”

“Right.”

“Something we can definitely do again.” You kiss him on the cheek. “Is there anything, I could be doing for you?” You squeak. He smiles at you.

“Hmmm.” He tries to think of a sarcastic remark but decides against it. “I’m pretty content, actually. Love how deep ya take me down your throat.”

“Okay.” You wash out your bowl. “Just wanted to make sure, because you do so much for me.”

“I told you early on, I get pleasure from giving pleasure.” Your cheeks heat up. “I nearly come just about every time I go down on ya.” He kisses the top of your head. “We better get to your place.”

“Right.” You were flustered now. Even though you had been intimate only a couple hours ago, you wanted him again.

//

Around noon your mom and Nannie show up at your apartment.

“The place looks great, honey!” Your Nannie says hugging you.

“Thanks, see I put your paintings up over there.” You point to the paintings hanging in the living area.

“Harry, come here, come say hi to Nannie.” She says. Your Nannie had a funny habit of referring to herself in the third person. Harry chuckled, and gave her a hug and kiss. He greeted your mom as well.

“Are you kids hungry?” Your mom asks.

“Well, actually, I made that cauliflower you like. I thought we could just eat here.”

“Sounds good to me.” Your mom says.

As you prepare lunch, your mom and Nannie sit with Harry in the living area.

“How much longer are you in town for?” He asks Nannie.

“Only a few more days. It’s too cold for me here.”

“I can imagine. How long have you been in Florida for?”

“Oh god.” She looks to your mom. “Fifteen, sixteen years?”

“Sounds about right mum.”

“We started out as snow birds, only going for about six months. Then we stayed all the time except for summer. We actually had a summer home up in New Hampshire, in the Seabrook area.”

“Oh, I loved going there.” You say walking in with the food. “We would go to the beach for hours, it was so much fun. It was like going to camp, but better.”

“(y/n) got to spend the most time with us there. What grade were you in then?”

“You had the place from when I was in sixth through eighth grade I think.”

“That’s right, and then we started staying in Florida through the summer. We’d come up here to visit a couple weeks here and there. Traveling just got more difficult.” Nannie looks to the collage of pictures you have on the wall, and gets up to look at them. Harry just realized now he had never looked at them himself. “These are nice honey.” You get up to look at them with her.

You had pictures of you and your friends, and some of you with family. There was a picture of your and your grandparents in the center. You were just a little girl, couldn’t have been more than four.

“There’s his baby.” Nannie tears up a little bit, and so do you. “I miss him every day.”

“Me too, Nannie.” You put an arm over her shoulder. Harry really sees how this still affects you.

“Alright, we didn’t come here to be sad.” Your mom says. “Mum, come eat, please. (y/n) made a delicious lunch for us.”

You both come back over to sit down. Harry pats your leg to comfort you when you sit next to him.

“Harry’s invited me to England for Christmas.” They both look at you. Harry starts to feel nervous. “We’re booking our flights tonight.

“Oh, that’s great honey. How long will you be gone for?” Your mom asks.

“I’m not sure.” You look to Harry.

“Um, well, we’ll wanna leave a couple days before Christmas. We’ll be back before New Year’s.”

“You’ll still be around for the Hanukkah party right?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Harry, you’ll come to Hanukkah won’t you? We go to my uncle’s house, Nannie’s brother, every year, it’s so much fun.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Good.” She looks at Nannie. “So, England, that’s great.”

“My mum and sister are there.”

“That’s right.” The room felt awkward for some reason. The food was gone. “Honey, come to the kitchen with me, I’ll help clean up.”

You follow your mother into the kitchen. She turned the sink on, and spoke to you quietly.

“That’s kind of a big trip to take with someone you’ve only known for three months. It’s more serious than a weekend away up north.”

“I know. But he asked me, and I wanted to go. He really wants me to meet his family.” You look over your shoulder to see your Nannie talking with Harry. “We love each other mom.” Your mother sighs at you. “What?”

“It just feels a little fast.”

“I promise you, we’re taking this slow still.”

“Honey, I’m not stupid. You two are practically living together.”

“We are not.”

“Then why are five pairs of his boots in your hall closet?”

“Because he leaves things here. I leave things at his place too. Then we don’t have to pack as much when we stay at each other’s places.”

“How many nights a week is he here?”

“The time is split pretty evenly.” She gives you a look. “I don’t know, a few? And I stay at his place on the weekends. We’re not together every second of the day.”

“No, your jobs get in the way of that.” She says sarcastically.

“Why can’t you be happy for me? I met an amazing guy.”

“I know, and I am happy for you. I happen to like him a lot.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I just don’t want you getting caught up in some fairy tale, that’s all.” She sighs. “Look, you’re a big girl, and at the end of the day, it’s not my life, it’s yours. I learned long ago I can’t tell you what to do anymore. I’m just giving my opinion. I’m still your mother, I have the right to ask you what you’re doing.”

“I never said you didn’t, I would just like you to trust my judgement a little.”

“Sorta hard to do that.” She says without looking at you.

“Don’t even go there.” You say lowly.

“I’m sorry honey, it’s just hard to wrap my ahead around it. You really didn’t see any red flags after four dates?”

��Obviously not!” Harry and Nannie look over at the two of you.

“Keep your voice down.”

“I will not keep my voice down. Don’t talk to me like that. You’re acting like I wanted that to happen to me.”

“I’m not acting like anything. Obviously you didn’t want that to happen. I just can’t believe that you let yourself get into a situation like that, and I would hope you would be more cautious.”

“We’ve been together three months! If he was going to assault me it would’ve happened by now!”

“What the hell is going on in here?” Nannie asks walking into the kitchen with Harry. He’s by your side instantly. Your mom turns the sink off.

“Nothing mum, we were just having a discussion.”

“It’s not nothing, look at how upset you’ve made her.” Your face was red, and you were biting your inner cheek so you wouldn’t cry. Harry had a hand on the small of your back to try to calm you. “What did you say to her, answer me.” You and your mother look at each other. “You two have been keeping a secret from me for a while, and I want to know what it is.”

“I don’t think now is the best time for this.” Harry says. You look up at him. He has just entered the belly of the beast.

“Harry, it’s okay.” You sigh. “Nannie, something really bad happened to me over a year and half ago, mom and literally everyone else in my life feel the need to constantly remind me of it.”

“Because you act like nothing happened!”

“I do not! I’ve just learned to cope. I go to therapy. Would you prefer I walked around like a schlub all day? Depressed and angry?”

“Of course I wouldn’t prefer it, but-“

“What happened?” Nannie asks again. “I can take it.”

“I don’t want to tell you. Everyone looks at me differently after I tell them, I don’t want that for you too.” You start crying and rush out to your room, closing the door behind you. You felt like a child in your own home.

“Well that’s just great.” Your mom says.

“How did it even come up?” Harry asks her.

“As her mother, I have the right to be concerned about who she spends her time with. I like you Harry, I do, but you two seem to be spending a lot more time together than I thought. I need to make sure she’s staying safe.”

“She’s very safe with me, I can assure you of that.”

“I simply mentioned that she didn’t have the best judgement of character.”

“You were blaming her?”

Nannie walks down the hall to your room. The two watch her, Harry goes to follow, but your mom grabs him.

“Let her go, she’ll talk with her.”

Nannie taps lightly on your door before entering. You’re sitting cross-legged on your bed, with your baby blanket pressed to your stomach. She sits next to you.

“You still have these things?”

“I keep them in a box for when I need them. Think they still smell like your old house.” You give her a half smile.

“Now honey, you have always been able to talk with your Nannie. What can’t you tell me?” She gives your hand a squeeze.

“A year and a half ago I was r…assaulted, at my old apartment.” She cupped a hand over her mouth. “I had been seeing this guy for a few weeks, and well…we were starting to get intimate. I didn’t want to sleep with him, but he had other plans. I didn’t feel safe enough to say no, so I just let him do what he did to me. It was awful.” Tears roll down your cheeks. “I was not in a good state after. My friend Niall basically saved my life. He helped me tell mom about it. He helped me get into therapy. I stopped going for a while but I started up again when Harry and I got together. I thought I had moved on from everything, but we bumped into him one night. I had a lot more to work on than I thought. But, I really do feel better now. I never should’ve stopped going to therapy. And Harry…” You smile and wipe your face. “Harry is so wonderful. He treats me so nicely. We’ve been taking things really slow, in that department.” You gesture to your bed. “But I know on the outside it looks like we’re moving fast. We made things official three weeks in, and we said I love you about a month after that. We stay over at each other’s places all the time too. Now I’m going on this big trip with him.” Nannie takes you in her arms for a long hug, she wipes her eyes after letting you go.

“I am so sorry that happened, and I am so sorry you didn’t think you could talk to me about it. Sometimes your mother is a blithering idiot. She’s my kid, and I love her, but she had no reason to bring this all up today.” She sighs. “And what do you care what other people think of your relationship? Did you know your Papa and I went on one date and we never separated? I know we were older than you and Harry, but still. He had me moved into his apartment only after a couple months, maybe less. We lasted for thirty amazing years, would’ve been longer if he hadn’t gotten ill.”

“You two had the best relationship.”

“It was a good one for sure. What I’m trying to say is, plenty of people told me not do it. They loved him, but he was eighteen years older than me. But, I loved him and he loved me. I didn’t care what anyone had to say because I knew what was best for myself. I can understand your mother wanting you to be cautious, but I don’t think Niall would have set you up with someone who would hurt you.”

“That’s what I said.”

“So? No problem then. You go on your little vacation with your boyfriend. He’s so sweet. We were having a nice conversation before all the ruckus started.” She sighs again. “My precious girl.” She puts a hand to your cheek. “I don’t see you any differently. If anything, I see a strong young woman sitting next to me.”

“I love you Nannie.”

“I love you too my doll.” You hug again. “We better get out there, I think Harry had some words for your mother.”

“Oh Jesus.” You laugh and get up, putting your blankets back in your box under the bed.

You two walk out to see Harry and your mom watching TV, some cooking show. Harry gets up when he sees you’ve calmed down.

“Did she tell you?” Your mom asks.

“Yes.” She swats an arm at your mom. “This was not the time or place for you to jump down her throat, especially not in front of her boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry, honey, I feel terrible.”

“It’s fine, we’re done with it, okay?”

“She has a good head on her shoulders. She’s your smartest child you know? You should trust her more.” You Nannie winks at you. “You should’ve trusted her immediately bringing this handsome young man home.”

“You should visit more often Nannie.” You say with a giggle.

“The next trip you to take on a plane better be to come see me, understand?”

“Yes.” You and Harry say in unison.

“Good. Alright, well I’m exhausted now, I think we should go.” You bite the inside of your cheek again. This happens every time you say goodbye for a while. You give her hug and kiss. “I love you so much, precious.”

“I love you too, have a safe flight.”

She gives Harry a hug and kiss. You give your mom a hug too, and she gives Harry a hug. You walk them to the door. You stand there after it’s closed, and you lose it. You can’t stifle the sound of your tears, and Harry comes rushing to you. You press your head into his chest. He wraps his arms around you.

“I’m so sorry your mother upset you like that.” You sniffle.

“That’s not why I’m crying.” You say trying to catch your breath. “I just, I already miss her. I love her so much, and she’s always so far away. And I always have to share my time with her. She’s everything to me. I have these like weird attachment issues with them, her. Her.” Your voice cracks and you cry harder.

He stays there holding you, letting you get out what you need to. He rubs your back and rests his chin on your head.

“Sorry, this must be so weird for you.” You peel yourself from him. He wipes your eyes for you.

“S’not weird, love.” He says in a calming voice. He walks you to the couch so you both can sit. “I think it’s sweet that you have such a special bond with her. And you clearly had a special bond with your grandfather.”

“They just always found a way to make things better. The nights where my parents were having the really bad fights, or when my dad would just go off on us, I used to prey they would just come let us live with them. Or that they were my parents.” You feel like you want to scream. You look over at the picture of your papa. “And he’s gone now!” You look back to Harry. “Do you know how much it kills me that you’ll never get to meet him? He would have loved you! Because I love you!” The tears are pouring out of you again, and Harry takes you back into his arms.

“Grief is a real beast.” You scoff.

“That’s an understatement.” You look over at the clock and roll your eyes. “Jesus, where did the day go? I have so much laundry to do.”

“Let me take care of it for you.”

“Harry, you are not doing my laundry for me.”

“Why not? You do mine all the time. And I’ve seen you do your own, I can handle it. You just sit tight, I’ll throw a load in. Then, I’m gonna make ya a cup of tea, yeah?”

“Alright.”

“Just try to take slow breathes to calm down a bit. She’s in the area til Tuesday, if you want tomorrow after work we can go to your mum’s house so you can have some more time with her.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. Maybe I can preoccupy your mum so the two of you can go get dinner together.”

“You would do that for me?” Harry tilts your chin up.

“There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for you, love.” He kisses the top of your head, and goes down the hall to start your laundry.

Your Nannie was right, your mother was a blithering idiot. You hit the jackpot with Harry.

[negare-boshi]

HQ!! Secret Santa: DaiSuga for Sisa

Ho, ho, ho! This is my present for @sisaturday for the @haikyuusecretsanta!! I struggled a bit with this one, because I wanted to write you the most fluff as possible but it took me some time to manage. I really hope you like it! These two are adorable. And Sisa! I hope you have an amazing New Year’s Eve and that the next year brings you all the most beautiful of things and experiences.

// @ellehletoile

Title: Warm White Winter Pairing: Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi Word count: 2.5 Rating: Teen Potential Trigger Warnings: Kotatsus Weren’t Hurt, A Ton Of Fluff, hope ur teeth r ok

// AO3 //

 (fic under the cut)

Warm White Winter

There’s a blistering snowstorm when Koushi steps out of his house. White swirls around, covering every shape and color from the deserted street. It slaps him with such force the hangover still lingering in his system disappears instantly. And so does the sensibility of his nose and the tip of his ears.

Koushi’s pretty sure he’s about to freeze to death, and shivers as he hugs himself as tight as he can.

He’s been living in Tokyo for too long. Miyagi’s winters are something short of unforgettable, but enough snow nights in the blue glow of the big city can paint over any memory. Koushi’s college life has overwritten enough of those for him to know how certain that is.

And so had the night before. It’s impressive how two years of living away, of crossing the line of adulthood, of long hours of classes and part-time jobs and finally tasting alcohol can change a person. Koushi hadn’t really thought about it until yesterday night when, wiggling, he’d made his way home with eyes big as moons and a knot the size of Okinawa stuck on his throat.

Probably something akin had been stuck in his stomach, but after the long trip he’d taken to the bathroom, he couldn’t be sure if it were old feelings, or just the bad settling of cheap sake.

After that,  Koushi had spent half the night wide awake, unable to tell if what still felt warm on his lips had been a drunken reality of a foolish dream, too close to his wildest fantasies to be anything but painful.

He walks through town like a ghost, feet dragging and pale as the snow surrounding him. Koushi moves purely out of will, the weak muscles sore after a long day of ice skating, of falling over and of regretful acts he still has trouble thinking of. Curse him and his vivid memory. Curse his muscles and their tactile memory. One would think a kiss would last less than a handful of falls ending in bruised skin.

Well, as Koushi knows now, one would be wrong.

Not even the frozen breeze can kill off the soft reminder of what branded Koushi’s mouth last night. Even with his hand gloved, when Koushi brings the tip of his finger right on his mouth, he still feels it. A burning mark never fading.

He rushes his steps on instinct then, and his balance breaks in the slippery road. Like a bird trying to take land, Koushi opens his arms and his eyes in equal amounts, and magically manages to keep himself standing. His heart pounds like drums, but the warmth in his lips never eases.

It’s almost thirty minutes later that Koushi makes it to Daichi’s door. He’s breathing heavily, and his feet are one second from falling off. A burning feeling has started crawling up his nose and around the sides of his face, but Koushi can’t quite tell if it’s anger, shame or a fever.

He rings the Sawamura���s household’s bell anyway. In the haze of his current mindset, there’s no regard for any of Daichi’s relatives, or the weirdness of Koushi, being up so early morning, walking around in the mid of a snowstorm.

Koushi wobbles. The door opens.

And the burning feeling lights up. Koushi’s not red anymore. He’s in flames.

“Suga,” Daichi musters, voice broken and hoarse. There’s sleep in his eyes still, and Koushi darts his eyes down to see he’s still wearing his sleeping clothes —a blurry memory of Koushi dropping a glass full of oiled paint on that shirt flashes as soon as Koushi sets eyes on it. “What are—”

“Let me in before I die. And I explain. Later.” Koushi manages to say, but he’s surprised Daichi understands at all, given the way his teeth chatter.

He’s been holding his upper arms for so long, he has trouble letting himself go even once he steps inside Daichi’s house and the warmth from it starts clearing his muscles. Koushi’s brain must have frozen partially, because he’s already spilling his guts out before Daichi can even lock the door.

“I’m so pissed at you.” His teeth rattle, and the words come out uneven and low. Daichi stills a second before turning around. Koushi can’t but grimace at the sight of him, right out of bed, still warm and soft from sleep. Something weird swirls in Koushi’s stomach. “I’m really, really mad right now.”

“I can see that.” Daichi arches an eyebrow, but there’s no way Koushi can answer him the same way. The muscles in his face are barely following any of his orders at this point, and Koushi can’t assure he has any at all. “You’re mad enough to kill yourself in a snowstorm. Smart.”

“Cut–cut the bu–bu–llshit. Dammit, I need–warmth.”

Daichi grabs his hands and pulls them away from himself, finally ungluing his fingers from his own arms. Koushi sighs in relief, and tries to wiggle himself out of his coat when Daichi takes it off him. Before he knows, he’s been pushed through the corridor, his gloves and scarf forgotten together with his coat and shoes. Koushi’s knuckles are purple when he dares to glance at them.

“Get in. I’ll make you tea,” Daichi says, pointing at the kotatsu. Koushi’s a bit ashamed of the way he moans at the sight of the blessed table and the heavy futon surrounding it.

He’s shameless when he jumps in, and Koushi couldn’t care less. Legs, thorso, arms and even his nose go under the table, all weirdly packed and together with the most loud of pleasure sounds. Koushi could cry from the soft sting of his limbs coming back to life thanks to the heated table and the heavy futon.

“I see you made yourself home.”

“Yes,” Koushi musters, eyes narrowed, from under the blanket. Daichi stares at him, fists at his hips, a shadow on his gaze. Koushi wants to take the tea, waiting for him on the table, but that would mean facing Daichi and the cold. “Thank you.”

Daichi sighs. Loudly. It’s not a happy sigh.

“Get in?” Koushi mumbles, futon still over his mouth. If he makes a weird face I’ll play dumb, but Daichi frowns before doing as told. His feet are warm against Koushi’s shins. Koushi doesn’t move. “Thanks,” he says again, and Daichi nods.

“Are you gonna drink your tea?”

“In a sec.”

Resting his head on his hand, elbow on the table, Daichi’s eyes never leave Koushi’s. It’s another warmth, one clearing the bitting cold from Koushi’s inside better than tea ever could. “You don’t look as hangover.”

“I did walk through a snowstorm for an hour.”

Daichi’s lips twitch. Koushi wants to kiss them. Instead, he wiggles under in the kotatsu.

“My head’s a bit…”

“It was an interesting night.”

That arched eyebrow again. The heat’s getting dizzy. Koushi has the most astonishing need of standing up and kissing Daichi. And that eyebrow. Gods, he’s gross.

“That’s an understanding.”

“Are we gonna do this all day?” Koushi asks, halfway exasperated, halfway amused. “Talk around it till we are so tired of it we will just leave it for another day?”

“What do you wanna talk about?”

Koushi sits, finally. He slides up slowly, intently brushing his legs with Daichi’s. Electricity flickers. Koushi keeps his gaze stubbornly locked with Daichi’s.

“How you told me you’ve had a crush on me since our third year after you were dared to kiss me.”

Daichi’s shoulders stiffen. “It was since our second year, but keep going.”

Koushi wants to throw something at him. And then kiss him. His mouth burns, and the more he thinks of it, the more intense the feeling becomes.

“You should have said something before.”

“Well,” Daichi shifts in his sit, and his knee brushes Koushi’s. Something heavy and bright goes from where they touch through every part of their bodies. Koushi’s breathless by the time Daichi says, “I didn’t. I never thought— You know why I didn’t.”

Koushi knows. Still, he can’t care one bit when the knot in his stomach is starting to feel exactly like the knot he’s had in his heart since their years of high school. One should get over a crush when there’s almost no contact with said crush over two years, but here Koushi stands, with a worryingly heavy light stuck where his heart should be. If it beats a bit faster, it will probably explode.

“It stings that you only kissed me because Oikawa dared you,” Koushi musters, and he’s so surprised by his words his hand actually cups his mouth, as if trying to catch them. He hasn’t meant to say that. In fact, he was about to say something salty and uncaring, maybe something sexy enough as to steal Daichi’s lips a second time.

“Oh.”

Koushi regrets not being under the futon. His heart stutters, and unable to answer Daichi’s gaze, he grabs the cup and puts it in front of his face. The warmth of the tea kisses his skin. Koushi pretends the blush now painting it red comes from the heat, and not from the overwhelming shame of knowing himself discovered.

“Suga…”

Koushi shakes his head.

“Suga, can you please put the cup down?”

“No, thank you.”

Daichi’s sigh is so heavy it shakes Koushi’s bones. Or maybe it’s not Daichi’s exasperation but Koushi’s nervousness, what’s shattering his nerves’ control. The hot cup brands Koushi’s palms, the prickleing of the contrast between his still cold hands and the heat travelling up his arms. Koushi bites his lower lip. Daichi grabs his wrist, so tenderly it almost a ghost touch, and forces Koushi to put his hands on the table.

Koushi stubbornly avoids his gaze. The table have several marks and burns he learns by heart, so aware of Daichi’s fingers still locked around his skin his heartbeat starts matching his.

And it’s going crazy.

“Suga— Koushi.” Koushi’s heart stutters as his eyes, unbidden, jump up and into Daichi’s. There’s a glow of softness and fear and things Koushi doesn’t dare hope for. “Why did your really come here?”

Daichi’s eyes are mesmerizing this close, with the swirling heat of the tea painting them, with the quiet fall of the snow outside. Koushi has no control. He’s looking at him, drowning in him, and before the question registers properly, he answers, “I wanted to kiss you again.”

The blush doesn’t surprise anyone. Koushi’s sure it hasn’t left his cheeks since he stepped inside anyway, but now it burns like a candle lit right on his skin. Daichi leans forward, and Koushi’s lips part because they are treaturous things.

“Suga…” Koushi makes a strangled sound and he tries, gods, he tries so hard to tear his eyes away from Daichi’s lips, but they are magnets Koushi can’t fight against. Ah, the promises they hold. “Yesterday’s dare?” Koushi manages to nod. “I asked Oikawa.”

“You asked what?” Koushi’s lips burn with the memory.

Daichi huffs, a ring of amusement. “The dare. I asked Oikawa to dare me to kiss you.”

That does it. Koushi stares back up, Daichi’s eyes filled with glee. “Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.”

A second ticks. It’s soundless, just how snowstorms ought to be. They stare at each other, as if they hadn’t already memorized to the bone how they look. Daichi’s lips twitch. Koushi doesn’t even think.

They meet halfway, a kiss on the corner of a warm kotatsu. It’s better, way better than the sloppy, drunken kiss they shared last night. As innocent as it is now, the simple touch of their lips is enough to lighten a whole city. Koushi’s bones shake. His heart shakes. When he closes his eyes, there are fireworks in their darkness, and nothing has ever felt more perfect than this moment.

Daichi barely gives him a second to breathe when they part, for he’s already on his mouth again, teasing his lips with his own, digging his nails on the back of his neck, deep into his hair. A mist takes over Koushi’s consciousness. Who needs to think, when one’s been kissed to oblivion.

They kiss and kiss and kiss, and at some point Koushi crawls out of his side of the kotatsu and into Daichi’s. Narrow as it is, Koushi has given himself the perfect excuse to be all over Daichi. The heat of the table has started to be insoportable, but the uncomfortableness of it barely registers.

The tea is already cold when they finally stop, panting and gasping, chests raising in sync in uneven breaths. Koushi rests against Daichi’s arm, both laying on the tatami staring at each other. Their legs tangle. Koushi smiles, wide and warm and glowing, and softly pulls Daichi closer to him.

“Hi,” Daichi musters, a soft red on his cheeks. Koushi doesn’t stop the urge. He leans forward and kisses them both, left, right, the tip of Daichi’s nose.

He giggles softly when he goes back to Daichi’s arm. Daichi has the sweetest of expressions. “Hi.”

Koushi didn’t know staring could be so… meaningful. Yes, he wants to kiss Daichi some more, and then maybe snuggle against him and take a long nap, but. This here, simply staying close to each other without needing to contain his own feelings… this is what Koushi has been yearning for. After years in high school holding his need to let his touch linger, of darting his eyes away during practice and camp and everything in between, of keeping the words bottled down scared of what they’d entitled if they ended up spilled. This moment sums up to be the best result Koushi could have ever imagined from that painful path.

So simple. So charged and yet so beautiful.

Daichi grabs Koushi’s hand. Their fingers meet and fall against each other and Koushi’s fascinated by the way it feels.

“You’ve warmed up.”

“Yes, thank you,” Koushi says with innuendo, and Daichi laughs before pulling from his hand.

“I didn’t know—” Daichi closes his eyes for a second. Koushi, as if he’s been doing it for years, brushes his knuckles with his fingers, reassuringly. “I didn’t know this could happen.”

“That’s a thing, you know.” There’s confusion gleaming in Daichi’s eyes when he opens it. Koushi smiles. “Talking. If you talk, you actually figure things out.”

“Thanks, smartass.”

Koushi laughs at him. And he’s still laughing when Daichi kisses him, trying to quiet his amusement. And again, when it doesn’t work the first time. Koushi lets himself be kissed, because having Sawamura Daichi pinning him to the floor, all muscles and heat, has been the number one in his list of fantasies.

“Koushi,” Daichi musters at some point, between kiss and kiss. Koushi’s head spins a bit at the sound of it. No one has ever said it with such intent, as if Koushi’s name meant something more. “Koushi, Koushi, Koushi.”

Koushi kisses Daichi senseless as a reward. They end up knocking on the kotatsu more times than not, and Daichi hits his wrist trying to turn their positions. Koushi laughs, and Daichi kisses his laugh away.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Daichi explains when Koushi complains about this rain of shut up kisses. “Kiss your laugh. It tastes better than I imagined.”

Koushi doesn’t complain anymore.

Not about the shut up kisses, at least.

He does complain about the warmth, and Daichi turns the kotatsu off.

He complains about him being the one making the first move, so Daichi proclaims them boyfriends (one can’t deny Koushi’s joy is as if witnessing the most beautiful of sunrises at the sound of that).

Koushi complains about Tokyo and how they’ve managed to spend two years without seeing each other. Daichi just kisses him, because that’s a stupid remark and an even stupider fear. Koushi lets himself be kissed shut, because he might have just said that just for that kiss.

The day goes by with a storm of kisses and whispered confessions; just the tip of the iceberg, but the gleaming promise of what’s hiding underneath. Koushi tells Daichi, I’ve dreamt of you since second year too. And Daichi tells Koushi, I looked for you in every train I ever took while I lived in Tokyo.

Koushi drinks from those truths, and from the ones unworded, and from those yet to come. At nightfall, Daichi puts his coat and his boats and takes Koushi home, always holding his hand. As if it were the most normal of things. As if this has been their routine since the very beginning.

“Well, here we are,” Koushi says in white, nose buried in his scarf.

“Lift your head.”

Koushi does. The kiss tastes of cold and dry lips and of promises and a love so old and yet so new it’s almost palpable.

Koushi wants to say, thank you, but instead he says, “Daichi. Pick me up for breakfast?”

“I’ll be here.” Daichi’s smile could be categorized as wicked. “See you tomorrow, Koushi.”

Koushi shivers and smiles and glows and can’t keep his heart from beating furiously happy for the rest of the night.  

[occasionalfics]

The Arrow and the Flame, xv

part xiv

Summary: Things fall apart. At least you have Yondu, who’s seen the worst the galaxy has to offer.

A/N: Because I’m so ahead on writing this, this chapter feels like NOTHING in comparison to what I just wrote today XD I’m sure you have some idea of what I’m getting at if you’ve seen both movies. So, ya know, there’s lots more drama to come.

Tags: @thewildomega @pitrymcbride @overwatchemporium

Words: 2,648

~~~

The closer you and Yondu became, the further your parents got from one another. You built one relationship up into a sturdy place to call home and watched another crumble at the same time. It didn’t seem fair or right, and you almost never wanted to talk about what you were watching, but it was happening nonetheless.

You and Reyus spent most of your days helping Yondu control himself and the arrow. He learned quickly, and you were proud of him. The only thing holding him back, at the end of the day, was himself. After a few months, he came to terms with the fact that maybe he would never be completely free from the defenses he put up as a battle slave, though. The anger was still there. The desire to let go of himself still pushed through in every fight.

“Survival instincts are hard to change,” you said, as if you knew what it was like. You tried to understand, though, and you hoped he saw that.

Judging by his nod, rather than a harsh rebuttal, you thought he might.

The three of you left the sparring room, heading toward the cafeteria. You ignored the sweat that covered each of you, knowing you wouldn’t be the only ones smelling in the communal eating space. Maybe it would be gross, but Ravagers were known for worse things.

“Captain Ogord sees your progress, Yondu,” Reyus said. They smiled, you hoped for Yondu’s sake. Without ever having spoken about it with them, you knew they were still loyal to your mother. You were just nervous about what that was soon going to mean, given how volatile your parents were.

“Don’t feel like progress,” Yondu said. “Feels like I been fightin’ this my whole life.”

You grabbed his hand, almost on instinct. “Maybe you have,” you said. “Maybe you’ll fight it the rest of your life. But you won’t be alone.”

He smile at you, nodded, and squeezed your hand.

When you left the sparring corridor, you saw Kraglin running toward you. He stopped short and, between heavy breaths, said, “Cap’n’s docked on Contraxia for the night. Cafeteria’s a ghost town.”

You looked at Yondu. “Up for some noodles?” you asked.

He nodded.

You looked at Reyus, then Kraglin and asked them, as well. Everyone gave affirmative gestures, so you smiled and said, “In that case, I’m gonna go get a shower. Meet by the main door in 30.”

You and Yondu walked around Kraglin and headed to the stairs to the second deck. It was still unoccupied, so for the most part, the two of you had moved up there. You had soap and towels in the bathroom (and frequently indulged in the luxury of the bathtub), and you’d brought changes of clothes and little trinkets to one of the bunks along the hall. Sometimes you woke up staring into the face of the little naked Troll Reyus had given to Yondu months ago.

You took a quick shower together with little distraction - which was an oddity - then got dressed. You’d hung a tight black dress on the back of the bunk door a few days before, so you changed into that and paired it with your usual boots. Maybe they were a bit mismatched, but you didn’t care much. Yondu’s face - a wicked smirk, a raised brow, and a fire in his eyes - told you exactly what you needed to know: he approved.

“I guess we’re goin’ dancin’ tonight?” he asked, stepping close to you.

“I’d like to,” you said, assessing his outfit.

He was wearing the shirt he’d worn under his maroon suit to the promotion ceremony and a pair of light trousers, with the same standard boots you had, of course. He pulled on a short black jacket, pushed the collar up, and winked at you.

“I like this,” you said, running your hands over the sleeves of the jacket.

“Kraglin gave it to me,” he said. “Said it was too big on ‘em.” He turned and held his elbow out for you.

You wrapped your arm around his and followed as he lead the way down to the main door. “We’re eating first,” you said. “I’m starving.”

“Ya ain’t,” he said, but the good natured smile on his face told you he was just joking. “Yer just cute.”

“Yeah,” you said, “and it’s exhausting! I need my spicy noodles!”

“Spicy noodles sounds fantastic,” Reyus said as they came down the hall. They looked at you and Yondu and wiggled their eyebrows. “Well hello, you two look hot!”

You shrugged. “Tell me something I don’t know,” you said.

Kraglin came around the corner, still in his Ravager garb. “We’re good, right? I could eat a whole Xandarian hog right now.”

“We’re good,” you said. “But you didn’t want to change?”

He shrugged. “The Bots here don’t care if I’m in leather or denim.”

You stopped. You’d forgotten about the bots - not that you needed to worry about them. It was just odd to think of Kraglin, who was still a kid to you, with one of them. Still, he was a Ravager. Just… a young one.

“Fair enough,” Reyus said as they lead the way off the ship.

It was, of course, snowing on Contraxia. You immediately regretted the dress, even if it did look good. It went past your knees, but your calves were instantly cold. At least your toes were covered. It’d be a bit before you started shivering.

Still, you wrapped your other arm around Yondu’s and stayed close to him as you made your way out. The four of you were rather quiet as you passed the red light district - honestly there wasn’t much room to talk there. The music was loud, the Ravagers were loud, and the lights were bright. It was everything anyone wanted on Contraxia, but it wasn’t quite good for conversation.

When you made it to the diner, you sighed at how warm it was inside. You found a booth, slid into it, and waited for everyone else to go through the menu. Within a couple of minutes, everyone had ordered.

Reyus sighed. “So… how come you’ve never brought any of us here?”

“I been here,” Yondu said.

Reyus lowered their gaze. “You brought the newbie here but not me?”

You shrugged. “You’ve never shown interest in this place,” you said. “From the time we were allowed off the ship here, you always went with the rest of the crew.”

“I like to dance!” they said.

“I ain’t been here, if that makes it better,” Kraglin said.

“Thanks, but it doesn’t,” they said. “(Y/N), we’ve been friends for our whole lives!”

“And I like noodles,” you said. “I’ve tried to get you to come here with me. You were never interested!”

They paused. “No you haven’t.”

“Yeah, I did,” you said, nodding. “You basically told me what you just said. You like to dance!”

“You been comin�� here all alone for years?” Yondu asked, looking at you.

You shrugged again. “Not a lot of us make it past the Iron Lotus. I’m not that big of a fan of it.”

“You sound just like your dad,” Reyus said, sitting back against the booth.

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“He swears he hates that place every time we go. No one believes him, though,” they said. “He’s the first one in and the last one out.”

“He’s...the captain,” you said.

“Dependin’ on his mood, he could spend the most money there, too,” Kraglin said.

“Yeah, and at least we know you come out and do normal people things instead of, like, Ravager things,” Reyus said. “Aleta’s tired of hearing him complain if he just complies anyway.”

You crossed your arms and looked out the window. The last thing you really wanted to do was talk about your parents. They had enough drama between them to keep the whole ship entertained for a year - and you wanted to be left out of it. It was easier, that way.

“(Y/N),” Reyus said.

You didn’t look at them.

“Did I say something wrong?” they asked.

Yondu threw an arm across the back of the booth, his fingers landing on your shoulder. “Maybe don’t bring the ship drama out here, yeah?” he asked. He rubbed your exposed shoulder gently.

You shut your eyes and sighed. Of course it was going to follow you. All you saw behind your eyelids was your mother throwing punches at your father because she felt left out of important decisions. They weren’t partners, like they let on. That, more than anything, really bothered you.

“Sorry,” Reyus said.

You heard the clanking of plates and felt the table vibrate slightly in front of you. Turning back to the table, you opened your eyes and dug right into your bowl. No one spoke for a while, or at least you don’t remember anyone having said anything. When everyone was done, you split the bill and headed back to the Iron Lotus.

“What’s so special ‘bout this place anyway?” Yondu asked as Kraglin and Reyus headed in.

You crossed your arms and shrugged through a shiver. He looked at you with concern in his eyes as you huddled closer to him.

“Cold?” he asked.

You nodded. Without hesitating, he took his black jacket off and put it over your shoulders.

“Guess we ain’t goin’ to that lil’ park ya like,” he said.

You smiled but shook your head. “I like dancing, too,” you said, walking up to the bar.

He followed you inside as you went to the bar. You ordered a drink, Yondu ordered one for himself, then you waited. Even though the Iron Lotus had an open entrance, it was much warmer among all the bodies than it was outside, in the snow. The room got even warmer when you had your drink to sip.

Drinks in hand, you pulled Yondu to the dancefloor - or what was meant to be a dancefloor, you thought. There was a DJ in the corner playing a song you didn’t know, a song that felt and sounded like any other song this establishment would play at any given moment. The floor was trashed and full of bodies - some dancing, some flirting, some kissing and groping. It really wasn’t your ideal place to be, but you’d grown up with it. You were used to it.

You held tight to the glass in one hand and Yondu’s hand in the other, turning yourself around beneath your arms until you faced him. He brought you close with that free hand, keeping it at the small of your back. You moved together - against one another, around the room (as best as you could), and to the bar to get more drinks. This time you made sure to pay with your own credits - Yondu as well, now that he had a good amount saved.

Three drinks and too many songs deep, and the two of you were on your own planet. You didn’t care that people kept bumping into you when you danced. You didn’t care when some Targonian spilled their drink on your boots, mostly because the drink didn’t seep into the material. You kept your body close to Yondu’s, loving the feel of his hands all over you in time with whatever beat was blasting at any given moment.

Somewhere in the midst of everything, a loud fight started. You tried to pay it no mind; it wasn’t out of the ordinary on Contraxia. You wanted to keep dancing, to keep kissing Yondu like the grungy world around you didn’t exist. But then the music cut off, and Yondu stopped dancing. You looked him in the eye, saw how serious he’d become, and turned around to face the rest of the room.

In the middle of everything was your mother, standing on a table, her hair falling all around her in a heavy curtain. She was screaming louder than you’d ever heard her.

“You fucking liar! I stuck by you my whole damn life, and for what?!” She looked down, watching as your father approached her from the rentable brothel rooms.

“I don’t know, Aleta, you tell me!” he said.

“We gave you everything, Stakar. We gave you your name, your rank, your money. We gave you the means to start a faction, the Alliance, a goddamn Ravager empire, just for you to fuck me over in favor of your selfish ambitions!” she screeched.

“You deluded yourself into believing any of this,” he said, holding his hands out to gesture around the room, “could be led by two people!”

Your mother stepped down from the table slowly, one contemplative step at a time. Her back arched back and forth, meaning her breaths were heavy and ragged. She stood right against your father so you had to walk around the crowd to be able to see them.

“You selfish, ungrateful bastard,” she said. “We should have left you on Terra where we found you.”

“Maybe,” your father retorted. “But that doesn’t make you any more of a Captain. You are not a Captain, Aleta. You are not my partner or my equal. You’re a pisspoor excuse of an Arcturian, at best.”

Your mother didn’t waste time with slapping. She pulled up one of her pre-balled fists and slugged it across your father’s face. He was bleeding again, but this time, you didn’t want to intercede. Not even a little.

“You hate me so much you come out here to fuck your little toys, then you come back and insult me in front of our people. People I helped you get, Stakar. Remember that the next time you lie to a pretty girl with a head full of dreams,” she said.

You weren’t sure why she was going so easily on him now, in relative terms anyway. Her words meant nothing to you, but they obviously meant something to your father. He held his bleeding nose between two fingers as his eyes widened. Everyone watched as your mother spit at his feet, turned on her heels, and left the Iron Lotus behind for the night.

You wanted to scream. You could have, if you weren’t frozen in place. You’d tried so hard to avoid seeing them together, knowing something like this was inevitable. And yet, it still followed you. It was like the Stars wanted you to know what a sham your parents’ marriage was. Maybe they were setting an example, but it was one you hated seeing.

“You wanna leave?” you heard over your shoulder.

You turned to face Yondu, unsure of what to do at first. You didn’t know where your mother was going, but you didn’t want to be wherever that was. The Iron Lotus didn’t really offer you anything anymore, since there was a semi-permanent sour taste in your mouth. Alcohol wouldn’t be able to wash it away. Maybe he could, though.

You nodded. He took the glass from you, put it on some dark surface, then led the way out. You swore you heard someone calling your name behind you, but you refused to look back. Everything behind you was in shambles, but there was a bright blue light ahead of you, and that was much easier to focus on and follow.

You stayed as close to him as you could, pulling his jacket around you. The wind on Contraxia was barely existent, but the air was freezing and you were past buzzed at that point. You just wanted to sit down, have Yondu hold you, and sleep for the next year.

He found a place to stay for the night. You couldn’t tell if it was the same place you stayed before, but it didn’t matter. It was a small room and a small bed, but you were asleep before you could think about either of those things.

[icantivanbelieveit]

day one - sneaky witch-thieves

The Wicked Aunt

Isolde takes on more than what she bargained for when she agrees to babysit Cullen’s young nephew for the day. Little Bran has got it into his head that Isolde is a witch, so Isolde decides to tell him the story of just how her hand came to glow green. Let’s just say that some stories are a wee bit too scary for a three year old.

I only just found @dahalloween today so trying my hardest to make up for lost time! 

“You sure you’ll be alright?” Those were Cullen’s parting words as he turned at the doorway. Isolde smiled, nodded - she had this… or, well, she thought she did…

It turned out that caring for a three year old was a lot harder than Isolde had first thought. Little Bran Junior was somehow here, there, and everywhere all at once. Isolde soon regretted her decision to volunteer to babysit. She had offered to do so with only the best of intentions, hoping to prove herself a useful part of Cullen’s family. She had instead proved little, other than her inability to keep up with a toddler.

“Get back here, you little monster!” she exclaimed, and she was not exaggerating. Bran was all blonde curls and dimples, but with his father and aunts out at the market with his Uncle Cullen, he was proving to be a nuisance to this newcomer.

She cornered him just about, clambering up the bookcase in the living room, knocking books down as he did so. Isolde caught him easily around the middle, but not before the little brat knocked her on the head with a particularly thick book. One of Varric’s, presumably.

“I told you to get back here!” Isolde grunted, holding the struggling boy against herself. “You’d have hurt yourself.”

“I want Dada!” Bran screamed and wailed. “I want Uncle Cullen! I don’t want you!”

“I don’t want you too!” Isolde snapped - and she instantly regretted it. If he was going to parrot anything she said, it would be that. Plonking the toddler down onto a nearby chair, she took a deep breath and crouched to his level.

“I’m sorry,” she said, slowly. “Would you like a story?”

Bran folded his arms and pulled a face.

“I don’t want a story!” he snapped.

“A cake?”

“No cake!”

“A game?”

That caught Bran’s fleeting attention span. The little boy paused and thought on it.

“Yes, Auntie Izzy,” he said, all blonde curls, big eyes, and dimples again, “but not chess.” He pulled a face again. Isolde smiled at that; she too would happily miss yet another game of chess.

“What game should we play?” Isolde struggled to think of any. She tried to remember the games she played with her siblings before she was sent to the Circle, but she could only remember that one time Fee won hide-and-seek by hitching a ride out of Ostwick and disappearing for days. Hide-and-seek was off the menu then.

“Templars!” Bran exclaimed excitedly. He jumped up off of the chair. “Where’s my sword?”

Isolde struggled to hide her distaste at that: “Let’s play something else…”

Bran curled his lip, but Isolde was adamant. She held his glare easily; it was the toddler who broke first.

“Fine!” he said, eventually. “Let’s play…” But before he could come up with a suggestion, Isolde’s hand began to flare up.

Throughout her long vacation at Cullen’s family home in the Southreach, the Anchor had not bothered her once. Yet the moment she was left alone with a small child, the damned thing woke up again, sending out flares of green light and causing her to have an awful cramp in her wrist.

“Blasted thing!” she snapped, struggling to close her fingers over it. Months had passed since she had defeated Corypheus, yet she was not truly free of his actions. She looked up to find Bran watching her, his mouth agape.

“No, no, no…” she went to say, doing her best to hide her glowing hand behind her back. “That’s nothing! Don’t you worry about it…” But Bran was not worried. He was anything but.

“You can do magic?” he whispered, eyes wide, amazed. “Are you a witch?”

“No! I mean, yes. I mean I’m not a witch... I’m a mage, but that… that’s something else. Did you say you wanted cake before? I swear your aunt Rosalie had some fruitcake leftover…”

“Fruitcake’s gross.” Isolde could not fault his judgement there. “Let me see.”

Isolde kept her hand behind her back, feeling the energy pulsate beneath her clenched fist. All she had wanted to do was make a good impression on Cullen’s family, joining them in the run-up to Funalis. It was not as if things had got off to a good start.

Cullen’s family were polite and kind - but Isolde still felt left out. She wondered at first if it was down to her being the Inquisitor - running an international organisation and defeating Corypheus was a big deal - but, as time went on, she realised it was more down to her being a Marcher than anything. Cullen’s family were Ferelden to the core and there was only as much Mabari hair that Isolde could take.

Matters could not be helped if Bran started spouting out about Isolde practicing magic. Isolde being a mage had not raised any comment among Cullen’s relatives, at least in her earshot, but, from what Cullen had told her, the family had long ties with the Templar Order. She knew Cullen would understand, him having been with her throughout her journey first as Herald then the Inquisitor, but she could not trust his family to be so understanding.

“Bran,” Isolde said, before pausing. She did not have much experience with children - scratch that, she had no experience with children. She had no idea how to explain any of this to a small child, but, looking into Bran’s frank gaze, she realised that there was no way she could talk down to him.

So she sat down onto the chair and pulled him onto her lap. Her hand had stopped making a scene of itself and rested, quietly, by her side.

She explained to him first how she met his uncle, downplaying parts of the story where she thought necessary. How his uncle had helped her fight her way to the temple ruins to fight the Pride demon there and close the rift above it. She explained to him that her hand behaved like that when a rift was close… Bran’s eyes certainly widened at that! But she hastily explained that it also went off for other reasons. Reasons she was not so sure of herself.

She explained to him her time at Haven and then facing Corypheus and his dragon at Haven that wretched night. Bran listened attentively, his little nails digging into her arm, as she told him of her escape through the tunnels beneath the town and how his uncle had found her lost out in the snow.

Next, she told him about Skyhold, having to pause to answer Bran’s sudden pleas to visit. Of course he was welcome to come and stay, so long as his father had no problem with it… Isolde could only hope Branson was better than her at saying ‘no’ to a three year old. She may have had little experience beforehand in child-minding, but she had the sense to know that some stories of desk adventures were not suitable for little ears.

By the time she got to the part where she faced Corypheus in the final battle, Bran could not keep his eyes open, no matter how much he tried to. His eyelids drooped, his mouth opened into a yawn, and, before she knew it, he was fast asleep, his little head resting on her chest.

It was like that Cullen and his siblings found them, Bran still asleep on her lap. Branson thanked her profusely as he lifted his young son from her, while Cullen gave Isolde a hand back up to her feet.

“He wasn’t too much trouble then?” Cullen said, with a sly grin. He had been the one who had tried the hardest to talk her out of volunteering.

“Piece of cake,” Isolde retorted, folding her arms. “Didn’t think that I could do it?”

“I knew you could do it,” Cullen retorted, and he pulled her close to him. It was one of the rare alone moments that they could find in this crowded house of Rutherfords. “The toddler-whisperer,” he teased in a low voice, his breath tickling her lips as he leaned in to...

They were interrupted then by a Branson, arms folded, followed by a red-faced, tear-streaked young Bran.

“I had a nightmare,” he wailed, dragging his blanket behind him. “Cor- Cor-fee-us was coming with his dragon to eat me!”

All eyes in that room turned then to Isolde, who stood, flummoxed, under the combined weight of their appalled stares. Seems perhaps some stories did not make suitable bedtime stories for young children...

[theliterateape]

Hagatha the Dog Witch

By David Himmel

Hagatha was new in town. This was her third time moving in as many years. Most recently, she had been run out of Salem, Massachusetts for displaying characteristics held by women with an interest in the dark arts of magic. The people were right in accusing Hagatha of witchery because she was, in fact, a witch. She thought that Salem would have been a good place for a modern-day witch to reside in the way Germany was now perfectly safe for Jews to live. That Salem would be accepting to a fault in order to correct its terrible history of mistreating witches. Hagatha was very wrong.

Being in a new place is always hard. Hagatha was used to this difficult adjustment period but this time had proven to be far more trying than ever before. Hagatha, upon arriving in Chicago, had developed an allergy to cats. She tried Zyrtec, Claritin and Allegra, and all the potions and spells in her Witch Craft: Curses & Remedies book. Nothing helped. Her eyes watered, which made her face melt a little. Her nose ran constantly, and witch snot is essentially acid so she kept burning through her handkerchiefs and shirt sleeves. The only solution was to put her beloved cat, Gomez, whom she had had since she conjured him to life two centuries ago, up for adoption.

She took him to Paws. As she was walking out, tears melting her cheeks as they streamed down her face, she passed a volunteer finishing a walk with a terrier-hound mutt. He was only slightly bigger than Gomez. He was mostly black with brown markings on his feet and a tuft of white on his chest and neck. He looked playful and happy.

“Excuse me,” Hagatha said to the volunteer. “Is this dog available for adoption?”

“Yes, he is. Are you interested? And what’s happening to your face?”

“Oh, that.” She had forgotten about the whole water melts witches thing and that she’d been crying. She waved her hand over face and said quietly and quickly, “Restore, restore. Tears melt no more.” She responded to the volunteer, “Sorry about that. Yes, I’m interested.”

The adoption process went quickly thanks to a time lapse spell Hagatha cast. At home, she sat on her couch with her new pet sitting at her feet. Their eyes were locked.

“The mortals at Paws say your name is Sammy. That you’re about eight years old.” Sammy cocked his head a tad to the left and perked up his ears. “I don’t like that name. You’re more of a… Let’s see… What are you? Ah! Got it! Your name is now Gabriel.”

Hagatha waved her hands over the dog’s head and said, “Your name as you knew it is now gone. You will answer to Gabriel from now on.”

Hagatha often had trouble making friends. Mortals were put off by her strange appearance—she was a dead ringer for Stevie Nicks. And it was rare that she would find any other witches in town. If she did find someone like her, there was often resentment because those witches looked more like the evil queen in Snow White disguised as the old woman when she gives Snow the apple than a less obvious stereotype like that of Stevie Nicks. For all witches’ powers, there is a strict rule on transforming their Satan-given appearance permanently or for reasons of vanity. Hagatha was one of the lucky ones, if you’re into coked up rock stars. The only exception to this rule was healing yourself in the case you should have a run in with your own body’s watery fluids.

However, Chicago was different. Call it Midwestern politeness if you want, Hagatha found a group of friendly witches rather quickly. The Bucktown Athletic Club had a witches spin class. There were nine of them. They were all Bewitched witches so they looked like either Elizabeth Montgomery or Nicole Kidman. Hagatha signed up for the class right away. The Montgomerys and Kidmans took a quick liking to Hagatha and soon she was being included in more than just spin class.

“The meat is a variety of smoked and cured woodland creatures, and the cheese comes from the dairy bats and nefarious bovines of the eighth realm.”

 Morgana, a Montgomery witch the others looked to as the leader of the coven, invited everyone to her apartment for dinner and drinks after class one night.

“Martini Tuesday!” Morgana announced as the witches gathered their things after they all rebuilt their melted skin from all the sweating they had done in class. “Next Tuesday, my place. I’ll conjure up a scrumptious meal and we’ll have martinis to welcome our new friend, Hagatha! Please bring your pets! Our little furry friends should get to know her, too!”

A few days later, it was time for the dinner. Hagatha brought a bottle of Lamb’s Blood wine from New Zealand as a hostess gift. “Ooo! A 1736 vintage. That’s a great year,” Morgana said graciously. “Um, what’s that?”

“This is Gabriel. My dog.”

“Your dog!?”

“I’m allergic to cats.”

Morgana’s attitude changed immediately from welcoming to suspicious. “A witch who is allergic to cats? Whoever heard of such a thing?” She invited Hagatha in. The others were already there, drinks in hands, kitty cats—all black—resting on shoulders, rubbing against legs, and broom sticks leaning next to the well-stocked umbrella stand by the door. “Girls, this is Hagatha’s dog, Gabriel. She’s allergic to cats.”

The friendly party vibe instantly left the room. Hagatha tried to explain. “I wasn’t always allergic to cats. It happened shortly after I moved here. I love cats! I miss my cat every day. I mean, this may not even be a permanent thing.”

“Did you try taking Allegra?” asked Isobel, a Kidman witch.

“I tried everything,” Hagatha said. “Wow, Morgana, it smells amazing. What’s for dinner?”

“Change the subject. Good idea,” Isobel said.

“An old family recipe,” Morgana said as she snapped her fingers making a martini appear in Hagatha’s hand. “The first course is charcuterie and cheese. The meat is a variety of smoked and cured woodland creatures, and the cheese comes from the dairy bats and nefarious bovines of the eighth realm. Our main course is roast woodsman with a German-inspired Hansel and Gretel glaze. For dessert, ice cream sundaes.”

Hagatha could sense the others questioning her loyalty, her value to the spin coven. She did her best to remain calm. She forced an aloofness that she knew came across as awkward. Gabriel was a perfect canine. He sat at her feet and never once begged for any table scraps. The cats, however, would occasionally hiss at him from across the room.

“I dated a guy with a dog once,” Isobel said as Morgana used her magic to clean the dinner dishes and refill everyone’s martini glasses. “He was incredibly handsome. A doctor, so we often fought over the value of science versus magic. We were in love for a while there.”

“What happened to him?” Hagatha asked.

“I put a hex on him. Over the course of a week, he slowly turned into a dog. A werewolf, really. He came to me desperate. First he accused me of doing that to him, which I denied, of course. Then he begged me to cure him, to which I said, ‘No, James. Here’s your opportunity to prove to me that your fancy science is actually worth something. Go on and cure yourself.’ That’s when he went into a feral rage and tried to eat me. So I shot him through the heart with a silver bullet and fed his remains to Sacha here.” Isobel stroked her cat as it purred loudly on her lap.

“Why’d you put the hex on him in the first place?” Hagatha asked.

“Hags, weren’t you paying attention? He was a dog person. I mean, really.”

The others cackled.

“Dogs aren’t so bad,” Hagatha said.

“Tell that to Isobel,” said Morgana. One tried to eat her!”

They cackled again.

“Really, what’s so bad about dogs?”

“They’re so subservient,” Morgana said. “They’re so needy. Even in the wild. Wolves travel in packs. But a cat can thrive on its own—coming and going as it pleases, doing as it pleases. Cats are quiet and deadly hunters. And can you imagine riding a broom with a dog hanging its head off the bristles? And what in Lucifer’s name is with those pugs? Gross.”

More cackling.

Hagatha took a sip of her martini and scanned the room. It was clear that she had lost them. Being allergic to cats was one thing but being a dog person was apparently an unforgivable sin in the witch world. She thought she saw all of the cats begin to stalk toward her and Gabriel. Backs arched, teeth showing, hisses hissing. But she wasn’t sure since her allergies had made her so groggy and light headed. It didn’t help that she was six martinis in. Still, she recognized the threat. It was all too familiar. The witches' dinner party was beginning to feel like Salem all over again. She had to act. And fast.

"Fuck you. Dog witch."

Hagatha sprung from her seat on the chaise lounge. Her arms spread, wind began swirling around in Morgana’s Lincoln Park apartment. Hagatha’s flowy black dress moved in concert with the wind the same way Stevie Nick’s dresses moved with her while spinning in circles on stage with Fleetwood Mac. She levitated two feet above the floor, her raven-black hair turned to flames. Gabriel transformed into a hulking beast with eyes of solid onyx, three-inch long fangs and a tail of razors that sliced the chaise lounge in two.

The ten cats lunged at Gabriel. He fought them off with the demon’s talons in his large paws, piercing their backs and pulling their spines from their bodies. He whipped them with his razor tail shaving away at their pelts. Sacha, Isobel’s cat, attacked. Gabriel caught her in his giant jaws and chomped down liquefying the feline—her guts and fur spraying all over the room.

Before the other witches could make sense of what was happening, Hagatha cast her spell. “Here kitty kitty, so clever, so pretty. From friends who met on common grounds to pets of mine—eternal hounds!”

Lightning bolts erupted from the floor. Morgana and Isobel, and the others tried to scatter but the curse had been laid. One by one, the witches of Hagatha’s Bucktown spin class transformed into small, clumsy, adorable puppies. A golden retriever, a black lab, a huskie with one blue eye and one black, a miniature schnauzer, Spuds MacKenzie and so on.

Isobel defended herself with a force field of flames. Hagatha conjured a bathtub filled with water. She flicked her wrist and doused Isobel extinguishing her defense before turning her into a fluffy white Lhasa Apso with an adorable under bite.

“You bitch!” screamed Morgana who had transformed herself into sixty-foot long serpent with fangs of swords drenched in blood. She struck out at Hagatha. Still a beast, Gabriel deflected the blow and sunk his teeth into the serpentine scales. Morgana the serpent screamed in agony and fell limp to the floor. Hagatha hovered over her while Gabriel held her down. Black, bubbling sludge bled from her wound.

“We could have been such good friends,” Hagatha said.

“Fuck you. Dog witch.”

Hagatha tilted her head back and shrieked. The apartment exploded in dark red blood, the sound of children being tortured filled the streets before everything fell into silence and blackness.

Hagatha was standing again, her hair returned to normal—long, luxurious. The wind and lightning gone. The apartment exactly as it was when she arrived earlier that night except that instead of there being nine witches and their nine black cats, there were only eight puppies wrestling with each other and chasing each other around the main room. Gabriel had returned to his normal form and was playing with the puppies. Hagatha smiled at them. Then she turned to Morgana who was human again, a bloody hole in her stomach.

With an insulting wiggle of her nose, a la Elizabeth Montgomery in Bewitched, the strong, fierce, deadly Morgana was transformed by the great power of Hagatha into the most hideous and vile creation any witch could ever conjure: an old pug.

“Now then,” Hagatha said. “Who wants to go for a ride?”

And off they went into the night, each puppy on the broomstick it once owned in its human form. Hagatha rode with Gabriel hanging his head off the bristles. Morgana, the old pug, tried to howl at the moon but was unable to breathe properly and ended up popping her left eyeball from its socket.

Being a dog witch really wasn’t so bad. It certainly beat being a crazy cat lady. Hagatha needed to make friends, and no one likes the crazy cat lady.