#but i cannot for the life of me not imagine link as quiet and bright-eyed and curious about revali

[amiharana]

revalink flower shop x tattoo shop omgg... who runs which shop how do they meet are they competitive with their businesses do they give each other cute things from their shops 👁

god it would work either way, but ultimately i think link would own the tattoo shop and revali would own the flower shop. i only decided it because revali seems like the type to have to do multiple sessions for the tiniest tattoo because his pain tolerance is low for tattoos LMAO bro is sitting there like "it doesn't hurt i swear" meanwhile his face is red and he's sucking in his lips trying not to burst into tears ready to shit his pants, but the needle hasn't even touched his skin yet ✋😭

this au could go in a couple different ways: (1) link and revali hate each other and fight all the time about being the better store (boring!), (2) there's no rivalry and link and revali are mutually interested in each other (better, but a bit ooc i feel), or (3) link moves in and becomes more and more curious as he catches glimpses of his (((attractive))) store-neighbor while secretly hopeless romantic revali is grumpy and annoyed about how off-putting a tattoo shop will look next to his flower shop and there's a very mild one-sided rivalry mentality on his end, but as link tries to get to know revali better, revali thinks, perhaps this wouldn't be so bad. you already know what i'm about to write about rn lmfao.

revali's flower shop "the meadow" has been open on tabantha street for a couple years now. he thinks of himself as a very good florist, probably the best in the entire city of hyrule, and he's actually won a couple floral design competitions??? revali inherited the shop from his parents after they passed and he gets fairly good business, especially because everyone who lives on this street are hopeless romantics who are always buying bouquets for dates or to bring home to their spouses. revali will roll his eyes and scoff lightheartedly to his customers about how mushy it all is (but inside, he wants the same for himself; to go home to someone he loves with a bouquet of flowers. revali wonders sometimes, when he watches customers leave with red roses in hand, if he was meant to ever find love. he looks over at the vase of forget-me-nots on the counter; perhaps, one day).

the retail space next to revali's shop has been empty for a couple years and revali is thinking about expanding into the space when suddenly, the space gets rented out and in moves some blond twink with a fully tatted up arm with his dumb little tattoo shop called "master ink zero" or some shit. revali comes in to work one day only for there to be construction going on in the empty space he's been eyeing for a while, and that cute blond twink is standing in front of it talking to one of the workers. what the fuck. all this construction noise is going to scare revali's soft-hearted hopeless romantic customers away! the blond notices him and holds a hand up to wave a little, but revali just glares and turns away to unlock the door to his shop. he could really let that kid have it, but he holds his tongue because he needs to open the store. (he is kind of cute though... stop it, bad revali!)

the day continues as smoothly as it can with construction noise muffled through one of the shop's walls giving revali a migraine. fortunately, his regulars still come but unfortunately, every single one of them comments on the construction.

"you're going to get a new neighbor!" amali says as revali rings up the regular bouquet for her husband kass. "how exciting! you won't be lonely anymore."

"what a curious mix," muses saki when she enters the shop. "a flower shop and a tattoo parlor next to each other. you know, my teba and i are quite the opposites ourselves and they say opposites attract, so—" and revali flushes, squawking and ushering her out. she only laughs at him and bids him well.

the moment his friend urbosa steps into the store to visit, revali knows that she knows and immediately regrets his entire life. "have you proposed marriage to him yet?" she asks, smirking and sits on the counter.

"get off of my counter, i just wiped that down," revali snipes at her, frowning. "whatever do you mean, propose?"

"to blondie next door," she says, cocking her head to the side towards the construction. revali rolls his eyes but she continues. "he's your type down to a T."

"and he's going to scare off my customers," he replies and returns to spraying his vase of forget-me-nots. "i could care less whether or not he's my type."

urbosa hums. "well he's cute and he seems like a nice kid." suddenly, her gaze shifts into something more serious and revali's shoulders tense. "revali... forgive me if i overstep, but i know you've been alone for a while. you've been running this shop for years, working nonstop. i don't think you've ever had a moment to yourself. it might be nice to take a leap of faith on this one, you know?"

revali reverts his attention back to the forget-me-nots and doesn't say anything else, touching the petals with gentle fingers. urbosa sighs. "just consider it, okay? i care about you and i want you to be happy."

"i know," he murmurs. "i know. i'll think about it. only because you asked me to, though. not because he's my type." urbosa smiles and punches his shoulder lightly, to which revali wrinkles his nose at her. he'll think about it.

somehow, the tattoo shop finishes construction in the next week (that bolson construction company sure is efficient...) and opens. revali should probably go over to congratulate his new neighbor with a bouquet of daffodils and white carnations, but he's already glared them down the first time he saw them. with an oddly uncomfortable feeling in his chest, he keeps to himself in his little flower shop, tending to his vase of forget-me-nots and all his other flowers.

(but just because revali doesn't want to visit doesn't mean that link won't 👁️)

the soft chime of a bell alerts revali that a customer has stepped into the store. "welcome to the meadow," he starts, looking up from his computer to the door, "what can i help you with—?" and the rest of his words are stuck in his throat. there, in the threshold of his store, is the blond twink with the fully tatted arm staring at revali with wide, bright blue eyes.

revali never actually got a good look at him when they saw each other the first time. the blond is wearing a loose green tank top, black leather jeans, and combat boots, and his tatted arm is fully on display, swirling with deliberate strokes of ink. he's quite toned and lean, now that revali has gotten a closer look. definitely not his type. he's not!

"hi," the blond says, his voice as soft as the doorbell. "i'm link. i'm the... owner of the tattoo shop next door." he's got freckles, revali thinks faintly before he can actually process any other words.

"really? i wouldn't have ever known with your entire arm covered in tattoos," he says instead. "perhaps you were actually a receptionist or a dog walker who stumbled upon my humble shop." revali cringes internally after the words leave his mouth; he didn't mean to come off that rude for their first proper interaction. he just wanted to be a little rude.

but link only smiles at him, small but genuine, and a feeling grows in revali's chest that he can't quite name. "i'm not sure i'd be very good at either of those things," he says and steps a little closer to the counter, hands in his pockets.

"and who's to say you're any good at tattooing either?" revali mutters, and he doesn't mean for link to actually hear it, but he does, much to revali's chagrin.

link cocks his head, still smiling. "you could come by and find out," he says, and revali blinks at him. they maintain each other's gaze for a couple moments, link's eyes bright and wide, until revali finally tears his gaze away back to his computer. he can't read a single word on the screen.

"revali," he says instead, still keeping his eyes on the screen. it's almost feels difficult to get the words out. "my name is revali."

"hi revali," link says, leaning against the counter now. "it's nice to meet you." then, he glances up at the clock mounted above revali's head. "i have to get back now, i just wanted to properly introduce myself to you now that we'll be working next door to each other. i hope to see you around." with that, link stands up, bows his head a little, and gives revali another smile before leaving.

(and if revali stared after him and the way those leather jeans hugged his figure quite nicely, no he didn't.)

and that's how it starts 😳 at first i considered having link also keep to his own shop at first, but i don't think that does his "character" justice in the game. if you consider us as players to be equivalent to botw link's character (i.e. how we maneuver link in-game, what dialogue options we choose, etc), then link has this natural curiosity about the world around him and wants to explore and talk to new people. so of COURSE if he sees that his neighbor is hot, he's going to want to come over and say hiiiii *twirls his hair*

revalink shenanigans ensue <3 in the beginning, link would randomly drop by during the week for a minute or two, to say hi and make small talk with revali and at first, revali wouldn't say much eyeing the blond. but his short responses and cold demeanor don't deter link; it seems to spur him on, the blond smiling brightly at him with every greeting and with every goodbye.

one day, link comes in and after he says hello, he starts walking around the store looking at the flowers like he's a customer. revali blinks and watches link walk around, dumbfounded.

"what are you doing?" revali says.

"looking at the flowers," link says. he gently touches the edges of the flowers' petals as he moves between the aisles, the same way that revali treats the flowers. "i want to put some on our reception desk. i think it would look really nice." he stops before a cluster of sunflowers and then looks at revali. "can i get some of these?"

revali faintly notes how well link resembles the bright flowers, before scoffing. "if you're going to get flowers to greet your customers, you might as well put some effort into it!" he snips, crossing his arms. "sunflowers are a good choice, but sunflowers only are bland. here, if you were to add some of these—"

he ends up walking link around the entire adding flowers to the ones in link's hand and talking about the different meanings and nuances of flowers, until the arrangement has become a bouquet of sunflowers, gladiolus flowers, jasmine flowers, and calendulas, surrounded by a bunch of little white chamomiles.

"there," revali says, putting his hands on his hips and puffing up proudly. "now that is a bouquet worthy to greet customers."

"it's very beautiful," link comments. he gazes at the bouquet and touches the flowers with those ever so gentle fingers skirting the edges of the petals. "thank you for helping me put it together. how much does it cost?"

and that stops revali in his tracks, his hands dropping to his sides. he totally forgot that link wanted to get flowers for his own store and came here acting like a customer. "yes, the matter of payment," revali starts, blinking and brain scrambling, "well, then, just think of it as a welcoming gift."

"a welcoming gift?" link echoes, cocking his head at revali with those wide blue eyes.

"yes!" revali says, his face beginning to flush. "because your store is still brand new and i hadn't welcomed you properly either..." revali looks away, feeling his cheeks burn. "it's the least i can do..."

when he looks back at link, that familiar smile has returned to his face, eyes sparkling. "thank you, revali," link says, voice soft. "that's really nice of you." and revali's heart flutters.

"well, of course!" he stammers, willing his face not to burn brighter than it already is. "you're fortunate enough to be neighbors with me, the kindest, most benevolent, and gentlemanly florist in all of hyrule." link smiles brighter at him, holding the flowers to his chest and revali looks away, the pounding in his heart so intense he wonders if it will punch through his ribcage out onto the floor.

link starts coming in on mondays and wednesdays during his lunch break just to talk to revali, and gets him to talk more about the meanings of the flowers and the nuances of different colors, the best way to arrange flowers, etc., link happily listening along. it takes some time for revali to get used to, the sound of their voices filling the usually quiet shop for that sacred half hour but once it's set into place, revali looks forward to it every week (though he'll never admit it out loud).

"don't you eat during a lunch break?" revali comments once, after finishing a spiel about invasive flowers to never plant. link hums questioningly at him. "it's a lunch break. aren't you hungry?"

"oh," link says. "i guess?" and right on cue, a rumble comes from the blond's stomach and he looks up at revali with a sheepish smile. "ahah... i got so caught up talking to you i forgot i had to eat."

revali rolls his eyes, then sighs looking up at the clock. "we still have 20 minutes," he says. "come on, let's go to the cafe."

"cafe?" link repeats, as revali grabs his phone, wallet, and keys. "there's a cafe here?"

"had you paid much more attention to anywhere else but me, you'd have known," revali says, but link still stares at him with his head tilted, waiting for an answer. "one of my regulars, amali, runs the 'birdbath' cafe just down the street. she has an assortment of meals for you to choose from, you can just get one to-go."

they enter the cafe and amali starts greeting them until she realizes it's revali and then realizes it's revali with a guest and she's like IS THIS YOUR NEW NEIGHBOR??? and he's reservedly like Yeah... and now amali is fussing all over link and asking him about how he's settling in, is everything going okay, is revali nice to you, you can come in anytime you'd like! revali is like Pls....... we have 15 minutes until link has to go back to work just give him food girl

link is very excited about the entire menu because everything looks really good. "i'll have to come back here to try everything!" he tells amali and she's ecstatic. "i'm telling you, come back anytime! you're always welcome here," she says warmly.

and when link gets ready to pay, revali brushes him aside and offers his card to amali. amali gives revali a knowing look and accepts the card, but link looks up at him confused. "you don't have to..." he starts.

"i'll pay for you this time," revali mutters, averting his eyes. "i'm the one who dragged you out here after all." and link stares with those huge blue eyes.

"thank you," he says softly. "you're so kind, revali."

"that's our revali!" amali chuckles, handing revali his card back. "he might seem like all high and mighty, but he's really just a softie inside. why do you think he runs a flower shop?"

"amali!" revali gripes, flushing. "please just get link his food." he glances back at link, who's still gazing at him with an expression that revali doesn't know how to read. he looks at revali so softly, so tenderly, and... fond. revali swallows and adjusts his collar. is it hot in here or is it just him?

god this post is already so long but there is so much potential for so many revalink shenanigans in this au 🥺

link coming to get bouquets every week for his own store and learning how to make bouquets with revali

link showing revali his portfolio of tattoos and offering to give revali a tattoo for a discounted price only for revali to decline and link gets sad, until revali quickly says that he's scared of needles and link is like ohhh (but he's still kind of disappointed because he likes the idea of tattooing revali)

link secretly sketching and designing tattoos in his off-time that he think would look really beautiful and fit revali really well. and fantasizing about touching revali's biceps to tattoo him LOL

what if link had a tramp stamp. link with a tattoos on his ribcage and groin. tattoos behind his ear. he shows revali all of these irl in the shop and revali's face is so red he's just like Um. Yes Those Are All Very Nice. Yes. Please Put Your Clothes Back On.

link coming in to buy a bouquet of lilies for zelda and revali goes all tense and upset and is like. is that your gf. and link is like GOD NO that's my twin sister and lilies are her favorite flower and revali relaxes and is like oh. that's nice of you to get her some (but is secretly pleased that link doesn't have a significant other)

urbosa coming to visit the store at a time when link is there on his lunch break, and they get to introduce themselves to each other properly. revali is sitting there sweating the entire time and when link tells urbosa about how he comes here to spend his lunch breaks, urbosa smirks at revali, who's ready to shit himself

(urbosa texting revali later congratulating him on tapping that ass. revali screams at her that he has NOT done that. and she replies with "yet?". he threatens to block her)

everyone else on tabantha street realizing that link and revali are kind of having a Thing™ going on between them. and they all start planning to try to get them together. there's a reason why i have "i won't say i'm in love" from disney's hercules on my revalink playlist because everyone is getting in on Operation: Revalink trying to push revali into asking link out and he's like no nothing is going on between us i swear except he's spends all his breaks and off-time with link, taking him to cafes and paying for everything link orders, sitting in on tattoo sessions because link invites him over, teaching link how to make bouquets... ok so maybe they have something going on, leave me alone saki, i'm not going to ask him out

THIS WILL BE THE LAST SCENARIO I TALK ABOUT bc this post is so damn long now, but i imagine a scene where link asks revali about the vase of flowers on the counter and what kind of flowers they are. revali looks over at the forget-me-nots he's been carefully tending to and inhales, and tells link.

"those are forget-me-nots," revali says, in a voice that's uncharacteristically soft and vulnerable. it makes link sit up, becoming much more attentive to revali's demeanor. "they're perennial hardy flowers that die in the winter but regrow again during the spring. there's an old story about these little ones, where a knight and his lover were walking alongside a river. the knight reached down to pick the flowers that were growing near the river, but his armor was too heavy and he ended up falling in, only to be swept away by the river's current. if you ask me, it's a foolish way to go; why was he wearing such heavy armor anyway? but as he floated away, he threw the flowers he picked to his lover and shouted, 'forget me not!' and the flower was named as such."

revali reaches over to pull the vase closer and places it in between him and link. the flowers are small and delicate little things, a sweet shade of blue with a yellow center. both he and link touch the flowers as they do, with gentle fingers against the edges of the petals.

"these were the flowers that my father offered when he was courting my mother," revali says, gaze faraway. "as you can see, it worked out." he gestures to himself and link smiles. "they're supposed to represent everlasting love, a love so true and strong that it can't be forgotten." he pauses, rubbing a petal in between his fingers before continuing. "i've always wanted to offer a bouquet of these to someone that i love, in the same way my father did for my mother. as sentimental as it is, it's... romantic and meaningful."

"it is," link agrees softly. "whoever you give these flowers to will be very lucky to have someone like you." and revali makes the mistake of looking up to meet link's gaze, because that's where everything about him changes.

when he looks at link, the sun is shining through the windows of the shop, casting a golden glow over the blond. he gazes at revali with those wide blue eyes, the ones that revali has become increasingly enamored with in the time they've spent together, the same color as the forget-me-nots. beautiful, revali thinks and this time he doesn't shy away from the thought because it's true.

then, he takes a flower from the vase and reaches over the counter to slip it behind link's ear, tucking his hair as he goes. link stills, his eyes growing wider and his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink as revali's fingers touch his skin, gentle and featherlight, and for a moment in time, they're the closest they've ever been to each other since they've met. revali could probably count all of the freckles on spread across link's nose and cheeks. in this moment, revali wouldn't mind if they got closer than this. he'd like it a lot, actually.

but he pulls away and sits back down, admiring the way the flower sits prettily behind his ear, contrasting against link's golden hair and tan skin in the sunlight. link is still wide-eyed and pink-faced and it makes revali smile (just a little!). "yes, they'd be very lucky," he murmurs. "blue is definitely your color, by the way. you should wear it more often."

"th-thanks," link whispers, reaching up to touch the flower in his hair. "i'll keep that in mind."

yes, they could be closer than this. revali hopes that one day they could.

[fireheartfaery]

Day 7: “You’re a bad liar did you know?”

masterlist; my links

college AU

TW: panic attacks, mentions of anxiety

Yrene is late. Again. In her twenty three years of life she has strived to be as punctual as her aunt, early by exactly three minutes. But in the last week, with finals looming over her like the death towers they used to sneak into in their teens, she has pulled all-nighters that haven't quite managed to turn into all-dayers. In short she's exhausted, and so is her alarm. Which is why, at 8:02 in the morning she stands in the line at their university café, waiting rather impatiently for her turn at the counter. Her foot taps on the ground, unconsciously, fingers drumming on folded arms. Calculations and anatomy are spinning in her brain as she visualizes the huge whiteboard covered in notes above her bed. Strategically placed their in case gaining information by osmosis may suddenly become a thing and she can actually get smarter in her sleep.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket and with an irritated frown she whips it out.

How are you feeling? Chaol's name flashes across the screen.

She smiles as she slides the screen open and types out a reply to her best friend. Like if i don’t get a liter of coffee i’m going to keel over and die.

He sends wide eyed emojis, please don't drink a liter of coffee. You will die.

hey, She laughs at his worry. Always worrying. who's supposed to be the doctor here? Me or you?

Before she can read his reply a throat is clearing behind her, and a hand is waving in her peripheral vision.

She looks up and realizes there's no-one in front of her. She's holding up the line. Her cheeks burn like coal as she stumbles to the counter. "I'll uh, I'll have my usual." Why is her heart beating so fast? "Large black with a dash of hazelnut."

"Sure, is that all?"

She cannot even breathe, the scratchy fabric of her polo neck is tightening around her neck. "Yes thanks!" She chokes out, laying far too many notes on the counter and dashing out.

Air, the colour of glaciers and mirror fragments, snaps at her skin. She let's it. Her breathing, erratic and struggling fogs, up the pretty world. She sinks to the floor, back grazing the rough brick of the coffee shop. The world is moving in and out of focus. Toffee being stretched and molded around her throat.

A hand lands on her knee.

"Hey," The voice is gentle. It sounds like a muffled echo in her ears. "My name is Mor. I think you're having a panic attack. Is there something I can do to help?"

Yrene looks up, she sees blonde waves and pretty brown. Her throat tightens. She's definitely not breathing. Where has the world gone?

"Okay i’m going to ask you to do something for me." That voice is still so soft. Sweet like her aunt's candied apples.

"Can you try to take a deep breath for me." If she was listening she would have scoffed. "And while you do that I want you to point out five things you can see." There's a beat. "Can you do that?"

She wants to ask how she's supposed to talk when her lungs have been squished like grapes. They will not make flavourful wine.

"Just point with your finger." Mor says.

Yrene sucks in a breath. It is as shaky as a smoker's hands.

She points her index finger at the woman in front of her.

"One." The blonde says.

She points to the ground; can feel the cool under her nails.

"Two."

Her finger catches on the book that had spilled from her bag when she collapsed against the wall.

"Three."

She looks at the sky. It is grey. It is there. She points.

"Four." The quiet smile on her golden lips is back. "Just one more."

Yrene wants to point to her ribcage. To show it isn't expanding. She is going to die. She points to the necklace hanging around her throat instead, the owl pendant warm from her skin.

"Five." Mor holds her hands. She cannot feel the heat radiating of her skin. She cannot feel anything. "Can you tell me four things you can touch?“

She is faster this time. Confused, but clearing. The wool of her jumper. The sunshine locks of the girl in front of her. The fluffy keychain Elide had got her at the start of the year. The plant stubbornly growing out of the sidewalk.

"Three things you can hear?"

Her voice is croaky, strangled in a way she hasn't heard before. She uses it anyway. Because she can.

"The bell above the coffee shop." It tinkles in acknowledgment. Students walk out laughing. "The cars on the road." There's an expensive car in the midst of traffic. She can hear it's soft purr. "My breathing." It is loud and full of life in her ears. She is grateful.

"Two things you can smell?"

She takes a breath, let's the university fill up her body. "The melting snow. It smells like rain puddles, muddy and dirty and fun to play in."

"One more?"

“You." Her senses are all over the place. Her common sense has disappeared entirely. "You smell like cinnamon, and the faintest hint of soap."

The laugh is enough to settle the last of Yrene's frazzled nerves. It is bright and full and carries happiness like a bouquet. She settles, heart rate slowing, lungs expanding, contracting, skin feeling the first nips of cold once more.

"Does that mean you like the way I smell?" The blonde grins, squeezing their still joined hands.

She thinks about it for a second. "Yes." Her earth brown eyes collide with Mor's caramel gaze. "I think I do."

"Can you give me one thing you can taste?"

Yrene knows she's lost it when the first thing that's pops into her mind is the woman's lips. She shuts her eyes to the thought, feeling her bones sludge inside her. Everything aches. She's held herself up for so long.

"How about this?"

The bitter smell of coffee wafting between faint hazelnut greets her. She opens her eyes to see her order dangling between slender fingers. Taking the cup, she tips its back, letting the hot liquid spill down her throat. It warms her from the inside. It burns away the dregs of the panic, hiding in the folds of her. Waiting.

When the cup is drained she looks to Mor, who is sitting their patiently, observing the world.

"How did you know to do that?"

"I suffer from panic attacks and anxiety attacks. It works for me." She shrugs as if it is not a constant and exhausting force. "Also," A bright smile takes over her face, "I'm a psychology major."

"Can I book you as my therapist when you graduate?"

There's that laughter again. The one that lights up all her insides. "I have a while to go before I get to qualified therapist status."

"Really?" Yrene frowns, "How long does it take?"

"I have to get my masters before I can practice."

"Wow," Her mind is a little blown. The med students are so cut off from the rest of the faculties- maybe by choice, maybe by design- that learning about other degrees always blows her away. Just the other day Feyre was telling her about the art students and the portfolios they have to submit. She can't imagine sitting down to pick a topic and then pouring your heart and soul into it. Med school made sense. There was no grey slate, at least for the most part. This is where the ulna is. This is how to tie off your suture. This formula tells you how to blow up the lab. The last one had been an honest miskate... the first time.

"Do you think you can stand?" Mor gets up, as graceful as a flamingo, and then offers a hand.

Yrene takes it without hesitation. She marvels at the contrast between her earth brown skin and Mor's burnt gold. The richest colours in the world. The ones that glow under the sun.

"Can I walk you to your dorm?"

"I have to get to class. If I rush I can be there for the second half of the double."

"Uh," She winces, looking at the hello kitty watch on her wrist. "It's been an hour?"

Her eyes widen to the size of planets. "It's been what?" Her voice is high pitched. "Oh gods oh gods oh gods. What if I missed the exam briefing? What if prof said something vital? What if—"

"Hey!" Mor clamps down on her shoulder, turns her so they're facing each other. Yrene only slightly shorter. "You were in no state to go to class. You still aren't. You should go to your dorm and rest. Maybe eat some carbs. Is there anyone who can take notes for you? And relay information?"

She frowns, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "Well I guess Rowan is in that class, and Nesta."

"They will help you?"

She nods. She breathes.

"Wonderful." Mor smiles. It's is pretty enough that Yrene sees stars. "Then we'll walk to your dorm and I'll make sure you're settled with some chamomile tea and some cheese sandwiches and then I'll go to my own classes."

They start walking, sludgy snow squelching under their boots.

"Won't you be late for class?"

The blonde just grins. She decides not to ask.

"You know I don't know your name?"

"Guess," It's her turn to be all mysterious and cheeky.

Mor looks at her closely, eyes traveling unashamedly from the top of her screwed curls to the tops of her black wellingtons.

"Irene."

She stumbles over herself. Looks at the woman alongside her. There isn’t enough oxygen in the world for her gasp of shock. "That's not it."

The blonde scrunches her nose in amusement. "“You’re a bad liar did you know?”

She sticks out her tongue. "How did you..."

"My friends call me Truth-Speaker."

"That's creepy." She raises a brow. It just makes Mor grin wider. "It's Yrene with a Y not an I."

"Pretty," She mumbles. "My full name is Morrigan."

"Pretty." She echoes. "Hey, you want to come drink chamomile tea and eat carbs with me?“

The blonde clasps their hands together beaming at the leaking blue sky.

"I'd love nothing more, Yrene."

She sees, touches, hears, smells, and tastes the happiness that clings to them as they step into the dorm.

------------------------------------------------------------

When i originally thought up the idea for this Mor was supposed to be the new barista and Yrene the regular and they would meet-embarrassing when Mor gets the order wrong. Do not ask me how it turned into this?

I hope i have been sensitive about this topic and portrayed Yrene and her panic attack properly.

Tags:

 @nishlicious-01​

[hyper-fixate]

You wouldn't believe the dream I just had about you and me - Nicolo POV

First part from Yusuf’s POV here.

Chapter 2 now up on AO3.

[I’m not entirely sure how this chapter happened. It wasn’t meant to happen, I had no plans for it to happen, but here we all are. I ended up writing till 1 AM the other night, woke up, hated everything and ended up having to rewrite this. Then had an on going fight with myself to take out the lines that yes, objectively, were really awesome sounding but did not belong here! And now I’ve got about 3000 words of meta that I gotta come up with another soulmate AU to write about, I guess.

A week ago, my husband jokingly told me to write my own fanfic if I’d read everything else and I brushed it off. But I’m so glad these two burrowed into my brain because this fandom has been so welcoming and so lovely. Every person who reads, likes, reblogs or leaves kudos has made me smile ALL WEEK. And special thanks to ever single person who took the time to leave comments. I am honestly so overjoyed that anyone wants to listen to me wax on about these two adorable nerds.]

——

One of his earliest memories of the dreams were not of the dreams themselves, but rather of the talk about them with his sister, Anthonia. He could not have been much older than four. But he remembered waking to the first of the sun’s rays and he felt such a lightness in his chest. When Anthonia came to get him from his bed, he nearly felt as though he was floating.

‘You are excitable today, dear Nico.’ She smoothed down his tousled hair and pressed a kiss to his crown. He had always been a quiet, solemn child and she found the change in him that morning endearing.

‘My dreams were laughing at me Thea.’ He grinned and dutifully held his arms over his head for her to remove his nightshirt. He didn’t catch her biting her lip or glancing towards the door as she tugged it over her head. ‘And such a laugh! So big.’ He held his hands out to mime a pot belly. ‘Like when Father Manuel laughs.’ He went to show her, breathing in deeply, but she placed a hand over his lips to still him.

‘Nico. My dear. This is wonderful. This is something very special.’ She lowered her voice, with another glance at the door. ‘But we do not speak of our dreams.’

‘Why?’ He asked, with all the wide eyed innocence a child could muster.

‘Because the laugh, it belongs to the love of your life. The person who will fill the other half of your soul.’ She touched his hair again, her eyes going wistful. ‘One day, you will hear it from another’s lips and it will be as if all of God’s graces have come at once.’’

‘That sounds wonderful Thea.’ He looked at her so wide eyed. With eyes so like her mother’s. Anthonia sometimes imagined she heard the ghost of Mama’s laughter, and Papa’s too she supposes, when Nicolo turned those eyes to her. Nicolo could not hear it, but one cannot listen for a sound they never got to hear.

‘Yes, my dear one. It is.’ She cupped his face in her hands and rubbed her nose against his. ‘And I am glad it brings you such joy. But here, now, it is not to be discussed. Not in this house, do you understand? Rafael and the twins know this too. We do not talk about the dreams. Especially not to father. Not ever.’ Nicolo nodded, but he didn’t understand. Not really. Not yet.

‘The person who laughs is to make us happy?’ He asked and she nodded. 'Then why?’

'Sometimes this world can be a harsh and unjust place, Nicolo.’ Her hand strayed to a chain on her neck; the locket that held a plait of their mother’s hair. ‘It’s by God’s grace we have our happiness but others may not. And it may be a kindness to them, to keep our happiness here.’ She gently placed her palm on his heart. 'There is so much in this world that is beyond our knowing Nico, so much that is for God alone. But we can choose what we do. And we should always choose to be kind.’

So Nicolo kept his secret. A bright, wondrous secret, that felt so warm in his young heart. And every night he heard the laughter in his dreams and awoke with a smile on his lips.

Nicolo was only six when he began to understand God’s plans did not always match his own. It could be argued the unfortunate coupling of Nicolo’s birth and his mother’s death was a clear sign God and Nicolo’s plans had never properly aligned, but that blasphemous thought did not occur to him until later. Anthonia came rushing home from the beach, her cheeks ruddy and wind chapped. She brimmed with so much energy he felt dazed by the proximity. He felt the warmth in her smile and in her eyes and it hit him as a dizzying blow. His father’s house, like its master, still mourned and this joy felt so out of place here.

She had met a man, Giacomo, and she had made him laugh.

They married in the spring and Anthonia was beautiful, like an angel from scripture. She took Nicolo’s face in her hands and bent down to rub her nose against his. There were glittering tears in her eyes but they did not spill, even as Nicolo’s were rushing down his cheeks. She kissed him goodbye. She promised to return, but he knew that it would never be the same.

Nicolo did not have the heart for much laughter then.

It was Nicolo’s tenth birthday when divine intervention plagued him once again. Anthonia had promised to come, with his nieces, and Nicolo could barely contain his glee. A strange energy seemed to fill the house and everyone felt it. The twins, always a handful, felt whipped into mania and decided to steal the cake from the cook. With great whoops and hollers, they raced through the halls, tossing it between them. Nicolo ran deliriously alongside. As the twins turned a corner, they decided to include Nicolo in the fun. Shrieking, he dove blindly for his prize.

Only to run directly into their father, Offredo, and priest, Father Manuel. Nicolo ended up on the floor. The cake ended up in Manuel’s hair and Offredo’s coat.

Nicolo could not help himself. He laughed. A loud noise that almost seemed to crack the very air in the house.

The two cake-covered men shared a look that instantly cut the laugh from Nicolo’s lungs. Within two months, Offredo di Genova oversaw his youngest child take his vows.

Nicolo found even less reasons for laughter then.

He answered Pope Urban II’s call to retake the Holy Land because he felt called to do God’s will. This, he reasoned, was where he and God could agree. Which would finally, hopefully, be enough to earn his rightful place in the kingdom of heaven. Nicolo never considered that heaven might spit him back out.

When he awoke after his first death, clutching at his stomach, pulling apart his tunic to check for the gaping wound he can reflexively still feel, the one stupidly clear thought he managed to knock together was this: Must I always be born from death?

And then a rather familiar, bloodied blade cut into his vision and everything went dark again.

God, it turned out, didn’t even have the decency to send Nicolo back alone. He spat back out his enemy as well. Nicolo, in his admittedly limited earthly experience, had looked at the events before him and assumed the two events to be linked. So Nicolo killed the Muslim again. And again. And again. Until, woozy from the stench of their combined blood, he looked up to an outstretched hand instead of a blade and, without really understanding why, he took it.

Learning Yusuf spoke Greek was a pleasant surprise, though, admittedly, Nicolo had not used it for many years. The speed at which Yusuf picked up zeneize was also a pleasant enough happenstance, and Nicolo told himself he was not in any way jealous. But the language that Yusuf spoke refused to lie still on Nicolo’s tongue. It slipped and flowed like poetry out of Yusuf’s mouth and seemed to tumble out of Nicolo’s, heavy as mud.

But then everything about his companion was poetic, his mind unhelpfully supplied in the long march through the desert. The darker man’s movements with his sword or on a horse were always measured. The soft words that he whispered as he prayed five times a day soothed something in Nicolo’s worried soul. The easy way Yusuf made friends in the villages they passed. The endless patience in which he repeated any word Nicolo asked.

How that first night, after they had come to the agreement not to murder one another in their sleep, Nicolo had woken to find Yusuf’s cloak draped over his shivering frame while his companion had begun his morning prayers.

But we can choose what we do. And we should always choose to be kind, Anthonia had said, during a life he no longer recognised. Sometimes, when Nicolo looked at the endlessly kind Yusuf, all he could see was the blood he’d drawn from him. And he was ashamed.

This blood was so familiar to him. He imagined he could tell the difference of it’s hot spill across his face, his side, to the bandit’s blood from only moments before. His mind was racing, his body no longer under his command as one hand pressed desperately to Yusuf’s chest and the other gripped the arrow he had just pulled from Yusuf’s throat.

‘Please wake up, my friend. Please Yusuf.’ He saw his hand moving, touching Yusuf’s neck, his cheek, the rough curve of his beard. He did not remember telling his hand to move. ‘You cannot leave me here alone.’

Yusuf awoke with a violent gasp. Nicolo felt his own heart thump widely. His breath seemed to rush from him, leaving him dizzy. ‘What happened?’ Yusuf asked, his voice rough from pain, but strong. Nicolo sat back on his feet. He had been on his knees, bending over Yusuf as if in prayer. He could not remember the last time he had prayed.

‘Bandits.’ Nicolo willed his voice to be even, but he didn’t think he managed it. He indicated towards the bodies he knew would be there, but didn’t look. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Yusuf. ‘They shot you with an arrow.’ He held up the arrow, still clutching it so hard he thought it might snap. ‘You did not wake up. Not until I pulled out the arrow. I had thought-’ He was babbling now. A sharp pain in his chest cut him off. Nicolo had a sudden vision of himself sitting there, bowed in prayer, as the night passed and the sun rose. Waiting for a breath that would not come. ‘I was wondering if your stubborn refusal to die was just at my hand.’

Nicolo had not meant to say that out loud. He had not meant for the fear he had felt to force itself from his lips. But the way Yusuf looked at him now, the softening of the other man’s eyes, made him feel naked as a babe.

‘Are you well?’ Yusuf reached out, as if to touch him. Nicolo felt the tension in every inch of his skin. Would he know that touch, as he knew the other man’s blood? ‘Did they hurt you?’ Yusuf asked softly, pulling his hand back.

‘This is mostly yours.’ Nicolo said, still feeling the sticky heat across his skin. ‘It sprouted out of you like a fountain when I pulled this out.’ He threw the arrow from his hands then, unable to bear the weight of it any longer. He rubbed a hand across his cheek and felt the smear of blood. He grimaced ‘How bad is it?’

‘For you? It’s an improvement.’ Yusuf said in absolutely perfect zeneize, completely seriously. The adrenaline and fear shimmered out of Nicolo’s blood. He felt almost drunk with relief and he couldn’t help himself.

He laughed.

The next moments were so sudden, so unexpected, Nicolo’s brain took almost a full thirty seconds to catch up to the reality of what was happening. Yusuf was in his lap. Nicolo was painfully trapped with his arse half on his feet and half his pack. Yusuf’s hands bracketed his face. His mind spun. His hands grasped instinctively for a weapon that he knew was out of reach. He wondered if Yusuf would rub his nose to Nicolo’s as Anthonia used to do. He unhelpfully acknowledged that he did know the feeling of Yusuf’s skin just as intimately as his blood. And then he wondered why he was thinking about that at this exact moment.

Yusuf was shushing him, softly, gently. He pressed Nicolo’s hair away from his face with trembling fingers and stared into his eyes as if he could divine Nicolo’s very thoughts. Nicolo wished to blink. Looking at Yusuf’s eyes like this was as if staring into the endless night sky.

‘What are you doing?’ Nicolo wanted to moan at the dismal way the Arabic toppled from his tongue. His mind was writing poetry and his mouth refused to bring the words to fruition. He huffed out a small laugh at his own absurdity.

And with that small sound, Yusuf seemed to find what he was looking for. He smiled and Nicolo re-evaluated his previous reflection. Having the full enormity of Yusuf al-Kaysani’s smile turned upon you, that was as if being blinded by the sun.

Yusuf threw his head back and laughed.

Nicolo’s entire mind seemed to narrow to one point. One bright, flashing moment of understanding. Energy sizzled in his veins and for a moment he felt as he had done at first death, trapped between two worlds. The one that had been, and the one that would be.

‘Mio Dio.’ Nicolo gasped. Yusuf laughed again.

And Nicolo finally knew, in that moment, what it meant to be born from joy, not death.

Prologue (kinda)

‘After my first death, when I did not dream of any laughter for those many months. I worried my death meant my soul was no longer bound to the same man.’ Nicky says slowly, sipping his coffee

‘Ha, as if you could get rid of me, hayati.’ Joe leans back in his chair and nudges Nicky with his foot.

‘I would never have tried.’ Nicky replies easily. ‘I used to rush to bed after Compline so I could get to sleep, just to hear your laugh. It was the best part of my day.’ Nicky reaches across the table, offering his hand palm up. Joe takes it.

‘Okay, come on Nile.’ Andy screws the lid back onto her liquor and shrugs into her jacket. ‘We’re off.’

‘Why?’ Nile asks, standing up as Andy pulls her t-shirt and moves her towards the door. Behind her, she hears the sound of a chair scraping across the floor and a low voice.

‘And now, tesoro? Is being in bed still your favourite part of the day?’

Nile speeds up and practically throws herself out the door as Andy laughs.

[belladxne]

i will see you where the shadow ends | chapter 3

[see notes for ao3 and ff links]

part of the put your faith in the light that you cannot see series AU: Breath of the Wild pairing: KiriBaku word count: 4,454

chapter 3: who do you follow when there’s no one else around you? (tell me where i need to go)

Eijiro’s quiet while they prepare lunch, but Inko doesn’t press him. She seems content to wait for him to express what’s bothering him, while they both go about their parts. She keeps up a constant commentary, explaining the steps to everything she does to prepare and cook the food, and all the seasonings she uses, even though Eijiro hasn’t asked.

She’s either determined to teach him to cook, or just to keep him distracted from the thoughts weighing in his head, but either one is appreciated. At one point, he struggles to keep his hair out of his face as he cuts up the pork he’d hunted down earlier for their meal, and she jumps up from her seat with more agility than he’d expect from someone her age, proclaiming that she has just the thing.

She rummages for only a few moments in a pot at the other end of her small, one-room home, before coming back to him with a few short lengths of string and handkerchiefs.

“Here, sweetie,” she says, as she folds one of the handkerchiefs a few times until it’s a thin strip, and then helps him secure it around his hair as a headband. “You can keep these. They’ll come in handy with that hair of yours.”

She’s maybe the absolute kindest person in all of Hyrule, and Eijiro’s so glad she was here when he awoke. One hundred years—in which he’d been… been resurrected, apparently. And in which the kingdom had fallen apart around him. He could have woken up alone up here, with no help, but instead he has Inko, and he’s so grateful.

He must have been silent too long, though, because eventually as she’s just finishing up the cooking, she sighs gently and asks, “Eijiro, dear, what’s on your mind?”

“Oh.” He echoes her sigh, though his is a lot heavier, and looks down at his hands. He’s been thinking about it, too much, on and off ever since he saw the words on the map. “Well, it’s… I found out the name of the place I came from, the one I was asking about. It’s, um, it’s the Shrine of Resurrection.”

He knows what that word means, okay, he knows—and—and why else would he need to sleep for so many years? And how else could he sleep for so long and come out of it so young? He looks up at Inko, chewing nervously at his lip.

“Inko, do you think I’m dead?” he asks, somewhat pitifully.

She stares at him for a couple of moments, before “Oh, honey,” escapes her abruptly in what sounds like a laugh, though it’s not unkind. She just sounds sympathetic, if a little amused. “No, no, sweetheart. Of course you’re not.”

“But… I mean, what if...”

How could they know, really? He can feel himself pouting again as he looks at her with big, worried eyes, but she tilts her head at him with a fond, if concerned expression. “Eijiro, trust me. I’ve been in this world a very long time. I’m probably one of the most qualified people around to tell you you’re not dead. By the time you get to be my age, you’ve learned a thing or two; I promise I could tell if you were.”

Eijiro nods, but he continues to gnaw at his lower lip in thought. A slightly amused huff escapes Inko, and she stands, wiping her hands clean on a rag she’s had set aside, before she marches around the table to pinch at his cheek teasingly.

“Ow, ow!” he whines, wiping at the spot she’d pinched even though it hadn’t hurt that bad. She chuckles, moving back around the table to move their lunch—sautéed mushrooms and herbs, with seared pork—onto plates for both of them.

“See?” she asks, the laughter lines around her eyes deepening once more. “Couldn’t feel that if you were dead. You’re flesh and blood and very alive, dear, I promise.”

He sighs again, but he does feel better, and he manages a small smile that he’s surprised to realize is genuine.

Gods, Eijiro loves meat.

Inko was right, and he’s glad he waited to eat before tackling the shrine. There’s a monster camp just outside of it, and he’s downright gleeful about getting to have that fight on a full stomach—and he can’t imagine how much worse it’d have felt, to have to fight past them with arms still shaky and achy from the climb down the Great Plateau Tower.

When he finally steps up onto the level surface before the shrine, admittedly, his shoulders and muscles all feel sore and protest at most movements, but they’re still steadier than they might have been. There’s a pedestal, just to the side of the gate into the shrine. The gate looks similar to the doors that had kept him sealed into the Shrine of Resurrection, with interlocking panels pressed together—but these ones lie horizontal, instead of vertical.

He hears a tune sound from the Sheikah Slate, and as he pulls it from his hip to approach the pedestal, he sees that the map now displays two new emblems—another bright blue one, where the tower is, and an orange one here, at the shrine. It also displays a name over this shrine—Oman Au Shrine.

It’s a little less straightforward than ‘Shrine of Resurrection’, but it doesn’t really matter, he guesses.

He looks down at the pedestal, and the incredibly helpful advice of, ‘this isn’t complicated,’ flashes through his mind, making him chuckle as he moves to press the Sheikah Slate to this pedestal, the same as he did to get out of the Shrine of Resurrection. This time his slate has to confirm instead of authenticate, whatever either of those things even mean, and then the voice delivers another new phrase.

“Travel gate registered to map.”

He wonders what travel gate means, turning to look behind him curiously as the large circular emblem in the platform behind him lights up blue, again with that strange blue energy clouding off of it for a moment. And then, after a chime of “Access granted,” the door just past the pedestal begins to open—this time the panels swiveling in, instead of sliding past each other.

It’s… just a hollow little nook? He expected maybe a stairway or passageway leading down, but it’s empty in there, but for another slightly smaller circular emblem on the floor inside. It’s patterned differently, but it’s also lit up. Cautiously, Eijiro goes to stand on it—gods, he hopes this structure isn’t about to shoot up into the sky, too.

Instead, the circular marking on the floor shifts, and smoothly—and gently, thank the Goddesses—it begins to sink down. Eijiro watches, wide-eyed as this apparent platform just—floats? Seemingly suspended by nothing, as it slowly lowers him through a dark tunnel, lower and lower into the ground. He can’t quite see yet where the platform is taking him, so he cranes his head instead to watch the sliver of sunlight up above slowly shrink with distance.

When he finally emerges from the bottom of the chute he’s been descending down, and the shrine opens up around him, it’s—

Oman Au Shrine is otherworldly. It’s hard to believe that the rest of the world even can exist, somewhere far above this.

It’s not dark and claustrophobic like the Shrine of Resurrection was, and there isn’t a thick layer of dust choking the air or the same atmosphere of abandonment, despite what Inko had said about no one being able to enter. There’s an unnaturally bright, blue-ish light that beams down from the entirety of the ceiling. Unlike the Shrine of Resurrection, this space is—it’s huge, much more open, and instead of the curved walls of the Shrine of Resurrection sealing him in, nearly everything here is angular, compiled of rectangles or squares.

Something… something about the structure reminds him of a child’s construction out of blocks—like not all of the shapes fit together quite how they’re supposed to, bits of black and tan stone jutting out just a little farther here and there. It adds all the more to the unreal feeling of this place.

An altogether new feeling hits him as soon as he steps down from the platform—unlike with the voice that calls to him from the castle, which he almost hears, though the sound is more in his mind than in his ears, now a sensation of words washes over him, but it’s not at all like hearing them. It’s barely even like feeling them. It’s like the words are just… appearing in his mind.

To you who sets foot in this shrine… I am Oman Au. In the name of the god Bakusatsuo, I offer this trial.

There’s a sensation just ghosting at the edges of his mind with the words, something that feels ancient, but… not malicious, at least? It’s deeply unfamiliar and unsettling, and he knows he’s never experienced anything like it in his life, but he gets the sense that whatever entity or force just—spoke?—to him, it’s very, very old.

Off to his left is another pedestal with a black, somewhat-pointed stone suspended above it, just like at the tower, so Eijiro gets to work.

This time, when the glowing fluid drips onto his Sheikah Slate, it’s not a map that appears on the screen. It says it’s a... rune? He doesn’t know exactly what that means in this context, but he does know that Sheikah use runes in their magic—is that what this is? Is this gonna let his slate do magic? Let him do magic? Oh, he so wants to do magic.

Eijiro can fucking do magic.

He’s never felt this cool in his life, slinging giant chunks of metal around like they’re weightless, through the power of whatever odd tether forms out of the slate when he activates the rune. After he’s worn out the fun of marveling in his new unchecked power—(okay, it’s a little checked; he can lift anything made of metal, but he can only move it so fast and only up to a certain distance, and he can’t even lift metal objects that he’s standing on, which is lame)—he finally moves on to the trial that’s apparently set before him.

It feels like less of a trial and more of a hands-on lesson to get him used to the rune. There’s more than a few opportunities for him to get creative about moving obstacles, finding things that are out of his reach or not immediately visible without use of the rune, and stacking or arranging things to get around to places he otherwise couldn’t reach.

He quickly feels like a pro at toppling walls of obstacles, making metal bridges, and climbing metal boxes. It gets almost boring fast, and the only things that throw him off, and that he could have done without, are the automatons sprung on him about halfway through, when he still has the slate out and isn’t suddenly ready for combat.

By the time he’s using the rune to heave open the hulking metal gates at the end of his trial, wincing from the results of that battle—the machines had shot lasers at him, lasers! And though he’d hardened in time, his skin still stings, feeling burnt and raw where the beams had hit—he feels like he’s been here ages. The slate says it’s been more like only an hour and a half, but he’s still way too ready to be done already.

Past the gates is an odd, elevated—platform? Or altar, or something like that. Eijiro freezes in his spot when he lays eyes on the spectacle before him. There’s two tiny sets of stairs, only six shallow steps to each, leading up to the odd platform, which is encased on all sides by some glowing blue screen or window. But it’s what’s inside that transparent blue wall that gives him pause, because—

Because that’s definitely a dead guy. Oh, gods, that’s so a dead guy, sitting there.

Eijiro only continues forward very begrudgingly, closing in to notice that this freaky, shriveled and mummified form with long white hair is in some sort of meditative pose, with his hands shaped together to form a triangle. He’s also pretty distinctively wearing clothes that remind Eijiro of traditional Sheikah garb, a hat slung over his back that’s of obvious Sheikah make, and, oh, Eijiro shouldn’t neglect to note the shadow people’s symbol painted blatantly on this man’s forehead. He’s also shirtless, which Eijiro can respect.

Reluctantly, he climbs the steps, coming to a stop at the small, railed-in landing at the top of the second set. Oh, he’s way too close to this dead guy for his liking. Is there something he’s supposed to do here…?

There are a few seconds spent shuffling awkwardly in place, hoping for something to happen as he alternates between looking at the mummy and the Sheikah eye that hovers between them on the glowing window, before Eijiro finally sighs. He’s gonna regret this, but fuck it. He clearly is supposed to do something, so he—with every instinct in his body screaming at him not to—reaches up to touch the Sheikah symbol on the partition in front of him.

The whole thing shatters, and he jumps.

Again, he gets that suggestion of words, not heard or felt but still somehow there, and he knows without a doubt that their origin is this dead Sheikah before him. They’re a little stronger now that he’s closer to the source, but still a foreign and indistinct feeling.

You have proven to possess the resolve of a true hero. I am Oman Au, the creator of this trial. I am a humble monk, blessed with the sight of the god Bakusatsuo and dedicated to helping those who seek to defeat All For One. With your arrival, my duty is now fulfilled. In the name of the god Bakusatsuo, allow me to bestow this gift upon you. Please accept the strength of my spirit.

Eijiro blinks, brow furrowing as he wonders what that means—but then he sees what it means, as suddenly, a compact, hazy cloud of purple—he doesn’t even know, energy?—seeps out of the monk’s chest, and—and begins to drift towards him.

A little alarmed, Eijiro staggers half a step back in a probably less-than-manly move, eyes flicking between the monk and the approaching haze—but before he can make the decision to bolt, unsure what the hell that substance is exactly, it touches his chest and begins to absorb into him. He yelps, one hand reaching up to clutch over his heart like he can somehow pull the essence back out of himself, the other clinging at the railing like a lifeline so he doesn’t tumble down the stairs in his attempt to reel away.

He feels… he doesn’t know, something blanket and course through him, the feeling deeply unsettling and he wants to ask this guy to take it back.

May Bakusatsuo smile upon you.

As Eijiro watches, the monk before him starts to—to disintegrate, freaking him right the hell out as the mummified Sheikah dissolves into greenish particles that float away upwards. His eyes feel like they’re about to bug out of his head and he’s half a second from hyperventilating as he stares, mouth agape.

Oh, gods. Oh, gods, did he just get possessed? He doesn’t want to be possessed! He does not want some weird ancient monk to pilot him around! Not cool! It’s not cool!

He needs to sit and have a moment before he can make his way back to the platform out of the shrine.

Inko is waiting for him when he does get out of the shrine. He steps out into the sunlight, still unsettled but comforted by normal fresh air and surroundings again, and she steps up onto the surface at the entrance of the shrine, meeting him.

“How did it go, sweetie?” She looks him over, eyes crinkling warmly in the way he’s used to. “You have a different sense about you. You look a little heartier.”

This is the last thing Eijiro wants to hear right now, and he looks at her in alarm. “I seem different? What do you mean? Different how? Do I still seem like me?” Oh, he’s so possessed. He’s so possessed by a weird old dead monk man. This is the worst.

Taken aback, Inko blinks owlishly at him. Concern coloring her expression, she steps closer with furrowed brows. “What do you mean? Of course you do.”

“But are you sure?” he asks, a little desperate.

“Yes! Eijiro, sweetheart, what happened in there to have you in this state?”

The story comes pouring out of him all in one breath, voice only getting more hysterical as he goes. “I don’t know, I—I went in there and there was a trial? Sort of? It wasn’t really hard at all it was just kind of teaching me how to use a new thing on my Sheikah Slate and there were machines that attacked me and then there was this weird old dead guy at the end of it and he said he’d give me ‘the strength of his spirit’ and then this weird purple stuff came into me and now I think I’m possessed!”

Inko stares. Eijiro stares back, probably a little wild-eyed and frightened. Not for the first time today, Inko’s eyebrows lift high on her face, and then she shakes her head as she reaches out to place a hand on his arm. “Eijiro, honey, don’t you think you’d notice something different about yourself if you were possessed?”

“Maybe?” He’s so desperately hoping she’s right, but he’s just a little freaked out right now. “Just—I don’t know, what if, like, my own thoughts are different so I’m not even thinking like me and that’s why I don’t notice?”

“I think if you were possessed by something that made you think differently, you wouldn’t be worried about being possessed at all,” she reasons, firm in her stance. After a beat, she tilts her head and asks, “Are you always this paranoid about silly things?”

“No!” He can’t help but be defensive. “I mean. I don’t think so?” Given a moment to process the whole conversation, he finds himself a little embarrassed, dropping his face into his hands with a groan. “I’m sorry, I’ve had a really weird day, Inko.”

She chuckles sympathetically, patting his arm comfortingly. He doesn’t want to come out from behind his hands, but he appreciates the gesture nonetheless. “How about we get to thinking about your next step, hm? What happened while you were in there? Did your voice speak to you again?”

Eijiro doesn’t even want to get into the happy little jump his heart performs when she refers to the voice he’s heard so much as his, so instead he focuses on taking a deep breath and removing his fingers from his face. He shakes his head, trying not to be disappointed.

“No, I haven’t heard from him again.” He’d really been hoping that using Sheikah technology was the key to prompting him to speak but… apparently not. “Um… okay, so. I got down into the shrine, and this, um, really old Sheikah monk, who was like, shriveled up and mummified? He said it was a trial. And when I finished the trial, he said...”

Eijiro’s brow furrows as he tries to remember, exactly. He’d gotten pretty distracted and weirded out, afterwards, so the words hadn’t exactly had time to stick.

“He said… that I have the resolve of a true hero? And some stuff about Bakusatsuo, and that he was supposed to help anyone who wants to fight All for One.” Thinking back on it, Eijiro definitely starts to feel a little silly, now. Obviously, the monk wouldn't possess him if he wanted to help him. “And then he said he was giving me a gift, and he, like—disintegrated, after sending some weird purple… stuff into me, I don’t know, that’s when I got weirded out.”

Inko hums thoughtfully, considering. Just when she’s opening her mouth to respond, Eijiro spots an old, battered metal crate nearby and remembers.

“Oh!” He’s already whipping the slate out in his excitement, activating the magnesis rune. “And I can do this now!”

He uses the slate to grab the box, lifting it into the air—Inko lets out a quiet cry of, “Goodness!”—and moving it away from them, before dropping it with a heavy thud and beaming at her.

“That looks awfully handy,” she admits with an indulgent smile. “Just be careful with it. So, if that shrine gave you an ability like that, and was placed there to help you fight All for One, it stands to reason that the others will probably help you, too? There are a few more shrines even here, on the Great Plateau. Maybe you could go to them, while we figure out how to get you down?”

Moving to clip the slate back to his belt, Eijiro’s eyebrows raise. “There are? Where?”

Admittedly, he’s not exactly eager to have more of that weird purple… mist, or whatever, thrown at him, but this magnesis thing is cool. If the other shrines have other runes for him… maybe one of them could be something that grants him the ability to get down from the plateau. So, even if the thought of dealing with that again makes him a little uneasy, he knows he has to man up. He’s not going to save anyone if he’s too scared to even face dead guys trying to help him.

“You could probably see them all from the top of that tower you raised,” Inko suggests helpfully. “Your Sheikah Slate should also have a scope feature that will let you mark the shrines on your map from far away.”

“Really?” He hasn’t even found that feature. It’s not his most pressing issue though, because he finds himself looking dubiously at the tower in the near distance, ahead of them. He sighs. “Man, I’m not looking forward to climbing all the way up there. Down was hard enough.”

Inko chuckles agreeably, clearly understanding of his plight. “Your slate has something for that, too. To help you travel places faster.”

“You mean the map?” he asks, brow furrowing. He guesses that would make sense; having a map that moves with you and shows you exactly where you’re facing in relation to your destination probably speeds things up a lot more than using a regular map and constantly having to orient yourself.

“Oh, you know about the fast travel on the map already?” Inko asks, sounding pleasantly surprised, and Eijiro blinks. The shrine had said something about a fast travel gate, right?

“Um… no?” he answers honestly. “Wait, how do you know all this about my slate? I thought you said you didn’t know a lot about Sheikah stuff?”

An amused huff escaping her, Inko gives him a chiding look. “Sheikah Slates were around one hundred years ago, young man. I may not know much about Sheikah buildings or how they all work, but your slate is another matter entirely. I’ve heard quite a bit about what they’re supposed to be able to do. Now, pull out your map.”

“Oh.” He does as she says, but as he’s bringing up the map he can’t help but furrow his brow as he realizes her wording. She made it sound like she was around one hundred years ago. But she still doesn’t look old enough for that—unless she was, like, a baby, and aged really well, and even then, a baby couldn’t work a Sheikah Slate. Probably.

“All right,” she begins, moving beside him to peer at the map with him. He notes with some interest that the emblem for the shrine where they stand is no longer orange on the map, but blue like the other emblems. “So if you tap on the tower on the map, it should let you move there quickly.”

He does as she directs, watching as a message appears on the screen, bearing two words, each separated and outlined: ‘Travel’ and ‘Cancel’. “Like this?” he asks, finger already moving unthinkingly to tap the word travel.

Before Inko can answer, Eijiro is ripped violently out of his body.

Describing the sensation of fast travel would probably be impossible. One moment, Eijiro is normal, and the next—it’s like he’s blacked out, except not at all because he can still think and panic, but he can’t feel his body, like at all. Can’t keep track of any part of himself. He feels so disjointed, unable to gain any sense of equilibrium or awareness of his surroundings or the orientation of his own limbs, and the whole while he feels like he’s hurtling through the air at horrifying speeds.

And none of that comes close to describing the discordant sensation of all of his senses reassembling themselves all out of order, as he’s placed on the circular symbol on the top of Great Plateau Tower—placed gently, but that’s too little too late.

The instant his feet hit the surface, Eijiro topples over, and it’s all he can do to scramble to the edge of the tower before he’s emptying what’s left of his lunch over the side. Oh, gods. That was the most jarring experience of his life. That was so bad. What the fuck.

Pressing his forehead to the tan stone that ridges the edge of the tower, Eijiro groans, wind whipping his hair all around his face.

“I’m never doing that again,” he swears under his breath to himself, voice thick and arms wrapped around his stomach. He fucking means it, too. That was godsdamned awful.

It takes more time than he’d like to admit to compose himself after that, but once he’s finally pulled himself to his feet he can at least say that the scope feature is way easier to find and use than it could have been. There’s tons of shrines, it turns out—he can make out so many from up here, but most of them are well out of his reach, until he can get off of the plateau. It’s not even a full minute before he has the three shrines Inko had told him about marked down on his map, with glowing beacons that appear on the scope when he moves it over them.

One of them, he notes eagerly, is easily reachable, too; not far at all where it sits surrounded by ruins.

It’s just… he can’t help but despair, just a little, because now begins the process of climbing all the way back down. After the worst ascent of his life. Again.

[xxbyimm]

The Redeemer - Fíli x Elf!Reader

Link to my Masterlist.

This was a (song) request by a lovely anon. It took me so long to write it (I am sorry for that), but once I did the words just flew on paper. Fíli is such a wonderful soul to write about and let me portray this soft side of him that I LOVE! I couldn’t wait to show y’all, that’s why I did not edit it as much as I usually do. It still can be a bit rough, but I think that adds to the charm. 

Also: I used the requested song Redeemer by Paul Cardall  to write this fic. Though it doesn’t appear in the story that explicitly, I tried to pour the deeper layers of the melody in this story. I highly recommend you listen it while reading. 

The Redeemer - Fíli x Elf!Reader

Summary:  It’s love at first sight when Fíli meets this elven reader. She plays the violin for him and Fíli makes a promise.

Warnings: Fluff, teenie tiny bit of angst.

Taglist: @soradragon​ @pistachiozombie​ @legolaslovely​ @tomisbaeholland​ @swoopswishsward​ @fizzyxcustard​ @deepestfirefun​ @ruthoakenshield​ @mariannetora​ @thequeenoferebor​  If you don’t wish to be tagged anymore, please let me know! Or if you’re not on the list and want to be tagged: check out my lists and I’d like to hear which list you want in on!

Everyone else was vast asleep.

Save for one. Fíli, the eldest son of Dís, lied wide eyed on the soft grass. His gaze was fixated upon the sky, where he admired the constellations and the soft light they emitted. On the ground, the little green blades beneath him tickled his feet and the prince smiled. Though the quest for the lonely mountain had just begun, Fíli already felt an overwhelming tiredness.

Not physically, no.

Fíli was a strong dwarf, used to physical combat and the harsh ways of the wild. He had spent enough time on the road with his uncle to know what it was like. No, this exhaustion was more of a spiritual kind. He loved his kin more than anything and he still was honored that Thorin had asked him to come along with the group, but… their constant bickering and loudness was taking a toll. Sure, even he knew he could be loud and annoying sometimes, but to function normally he also needed some time alone. A quiet place where his mind could wander, and where he eventually could let go of all the never ending clattering in his head.

One would say that the valley of the Imladris was the perfect place to unwind, but Thorin had kept his eldest nephew busy enough by barking around various orders. After a dreadful dinner with the elves, which had dragged on and on for hours, Fíli also had to endure all the impolite remarks the others made about the food, their hosts and the music that had been provided. Though not all had been the prince’s taste too, his amad had taught him to respect other cultures, even if it concerned elves. He knew Thorin and Kíli must have felt the same, but somehow they handled it a lot better than the golden lion did.

No, for now he had enough of the quest. And for the first time since he had left home, he longed for the blue mountains.

The golden lion had been lying on the grass for ages when soft, musical sounds reached his attention. Fíli pushed himself up his elbows and listened. The melody was gentle and light, but in that softness he found a profundity that touched his heart. A shiver went down his spine and the prince rubbed his arms. To him, the music spoke of gratitude and hope, but also of loss and a deep sorrow that time cannot mend. Fíli bit on his lip and without thinking further, got up on his feet and moved towards the source of the music.

She was absolutely the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Though she was quite short for an elf, she had this long H/C hair that framed her fair face and flowed over her shoulders up to her hips. Her purple dress was typical elvish: simple and majestic. Her eyes were closed as she swayed along with the melody she was playing. Fíli could have stayed hidden behind the trees forever, watching her skilled, long fingers play -no it was more a kind of caress- the violin, but his morals made him step into the clearing and thus make himself known. 

Not that that she gave any inclination that she noticed his presence. Fíli stood there for a few moments and when he was about to clear his throat, when…

‘Oh, hello.’ She greeted him with a small curtsey and the music stopped.

‘Good evening, fair lady.’ The prince said. ‘I came to thank you for playing such a beautiful composition.’

‘I called it the Redeemer. It’s about hope and kindness.’

‘And about a great loss.’ Fíli added breathlessly. ‘Something time can’t mend.’

A faint smile appeared on her face. ‘You’re being too kind, master dwarf. My father said that your comrades didn’t seem to appreciate our musical arts during dinner and that he doubts if he can endure such insolence again.’

Oh, this again.

Fíli grimaced. ‘Please let me apologize for my comrades’ behavior. They don’t always appreciate the gentle things life has to offer.’

She inclined her head. ‘And you do?’

The prince shrugged. ‘I think I do, but how would I know? I mean, if one doesn’t have the ability to observe those things, one cannot appreciate them anyway. I think we all lack some perspective in a way, but that blindness doesn’t mean that the things we miss are not worthy of our attention.’

Her E/C eyes flashed with a passion he had not seen in an elf before and Fíli felt a tingly sensation in his stomach.

 ‘You’re different than the others.’ she said. ‘Why is that?’

The golden lion smirked. ‘You’re awfully inquisitive for someone who doesn’t even know my name.’

‘You are Fíli, son of Víli and Dís.’ She told him. ‘You are a prince of Durin and you’ve been invited by your uncle Thorin Oakenshield to join the quest to retrieve your homeland.’

‘Fine.’ He smiled. ‘You do know who I am. But can I at least know who you are in return?’

She nodded slowly. ‘You may. I am Y/N, youngest daughter of Elrond and Celebrían.’

‘Ah, an highborn elf.’ Fíli mused. ‘Sister of Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen.’

She gave him a knowing look, but somehow decided that she would not pursue the matter. Instead, she strolled towards the other end of the clearing and just when she was about to disappear behind the trees, she called.

‘Will you join me for a walk in the moonlight, prince Fíli?’

The golden lion cocked a brow. ‘I could.’

The night was passing more swiftly than they both liked to admit. First they had strolled through the garden where Y/N had showed him her favorite flowers. Then they admired the same fountains where Fíli had enjoyed a good bath earlier that day and when he told Y/N about it, she confessed she had seen them bathing. When they finally settled down next to a small runlet and she tentatively laid her head on his lap, Fíli knew something for sure.

Not only was she the most gorgeous lady he had ever encountered, her mind was even more beautiful. She was wise and kind, proud of her heritage, but unlike others she could see past that pride. She was clearly an intelligent creature, her imagination like a wild horse that does not like to be tamed. She possessed a moral compass and her view on life and the universe was intriguing. Fíli found himself hanging on her every word, and though some part of him found it ridiculous (she was an elf, after all), he couldn’t help but wanting to know more about her.

Something clicked. Something filled all the empty parts of his soul that he did not know he had missed before. Upon realizing that, he suddenly understood something very important. He had been looking for someone like her all his life, for she was his One.

‘I think my kin can be horribly distant and cold.’ She was telling him quietly. ‘Like they’re not a part of this world. But they are wrong about that-’

‘You are so beautiful, amrâlimê.’ Fíli whispered, his left hand slightly trembling as he brushed it through her hair. ‘Body and soul…’

‘What?’ she breathed, barely audible.

He purred and brushed his fingers over her pronounced cheekbones. ‘You heard me.’  

She blushed gracefully. ‘Fíli…’

‘I’m merely stating that what I feel.’ The prince told her as he slightly bent over her.  

‘So soon?’ she mumbled, her gaze flashing up and locking with his. ‘How can one be sure…?’

The golden lion smiled brightly. ‘You lot have thousands of years to figure things out. As a dwarf, I can’t afford the luxury of endless time. We know how fickle life can be, that’s why we act certain and swiftly.’

‘That must be so fulfilling…’ she said softly. ‘Living life to the fullest. Enjoying every moment, because you know you’re alive.’

‘It is.’ The prince promised. ‘Of course there’s sorrow and pain. But at least we have love, burning bright in our hearts, joy and laughter in between.’

 They both fell quiet. Y/N lifted her head from his lap and rose, only to curl up on his lap once more. If she moved forward, her lips could kiss his forehead. Fíli gazed slightly up. His eyes darted along her exposed neck before he got lost in her beautiful E/C eyes. Y/N’s mouth opened slightly and her tongue wetted her lips, causing Fíli to groan.

Mahal save his soul.

He would lose his sanity if he had to continue staring (and doing nothing!) at her like this. With a strangled cry he surged forward, his mouth greedily taking in the soft flesh of her neck. She smelled as sweet as a flower. Her skin was hot under his touch, like the rocks in the wild feel when they have been baking in the sun the whole day. Y/N moaned, her hands reaching out and fingers digging in his clothing. He knew she felt the same way as he did and it was only a matter of time before she was his.

‘You are so perfect.’ She breathed when the prince kissed his way up to her jaw. ‘How is it- ah!- possible you exist?’

‘So soon?’ he teased with a smirk, lazily trailing over her jawbone. ‘How can one be sure?’

She laughed and it was the most beautiful thing he ever heard. Not even her violin could match that. That’s why her kiss that followed, took him by surprise. But the shock quickly died out, as it was a most welcome surprise.

‘Come with me.’ He begged against her lips. ‘Please.’

A soft gasp. Her cheeks flushed again. ‘I can’t.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’ he pressed.

‘We’re so different, you and I.’ she stated. ‘I don’t think your uncle would approve of an elf no less, tagging along. And my father-’

‘Oh live a little, you pointy ears.’ He jested while his thumb caressed her cheek.

‘Think a little, master dwarf.’ She grinned.

‘So we’re at a stalemate, huh.’ Fíli remarked. He didn’t want to admit it just yet, but the thought of leaving her behind was just horrible. How could he ever? He just found her!

She heaved a sigh. ‘I…’

‘No, I won’t ask such a thing of you.’ Fíli decided. ‘But then… I need to know if you will wait for me.’ he told her, his voice slightly trembling. ‘Here. In Rivendell. I swear to Mahal I’ll come back to you.’

‘Oh Fíli…’ Her eyes were swelling with emotion. ‘If you want to swear on anything…’ she breathed, reaching for the hem of his tunic. ‘Then swear on me.’

He was going to die.

The hateful, pale orc had him firmly in his grip. Fíli was swinging in the air, like a ragdoll, when Azog taunted Thorin Oakenshield with his latest catch. Fíli could see the hurt in his uncle’s eyes, the regret. Uncle would blame himself for the rest of his days for ordering his nephew to search the lower levels. But it didn’t matter. Fíli knew Thorin could not have known that he and Kíli were walking down a trap. Uncle wasn’t to blame. The piece of shit that was about to kill him, was.

The blade that stuck from the filths’ right arm came into view and Fíli knew that this was the end. He braced himself and managed to scream a harsh ‘RUN!’ to his kin. If he had to die to save the others, he would do it in a heartbeat.

His life flashed before his eyes. Amad, Kíli, uncle. Growing up in the blue mountains, causing mayhem whenever he and Kíli went. Amad at her wits’ end, uncle Thorin acting stern, but somehow always smiling too. Fighting lessons from Dwalin. Balin boring them to death with administrative tasks. The gullible but also sassy Bilbo Baggins, who turned out to be more resilient than anyone had thought.

Then her face came into view and Fíli smiled faintly. Y/N. If he had to regret one choice in life, it was that he had not taken her with him. She would have loved the wild and he would have loved to watch her discover the real world. On the other hand, now she didn’t have to witness him dying. But what would she do if the news finally would reach her? He had made a promise…

The blade moved. But somehow it never protruded his back, nor did it slit his throat…

 First, there was a whistling sound which Fíli recognized as another blade, a small one. His favorite blade, to be exact. The one everyone underestimated, because it was small, but it was swift too and could move unseen.

Though that wasn’t possible, because he gave it to Y/N, before departing from Rivendell. It had been a promise, not made by prince Fíli, son of Víli, but by his own soul.

A howling sound followed and Fíli smacked on the ground. He growled in pain and rolled to his side. In a blur, he saw a slim figure jumping on the pale orcs’ back, screaming something he could not comprehend. His dagger was penetrating the orc’s right arm. The wound bled viciously, but Azog was accustomed to pain and reached for the elf.

Fíli saw a flash of H/C hair and his stomach turned. Then he gritted his teeth, got two of his knives and went for the orc’s feet.

‘Don’t you dare to die on me, you reckless dwarf!’ someone hissed. ‘I did not leave Rivendell only to bury you.’

‘I won’t.’ he murmured before opening his eyes.

He was lying in a soft bed, by the looks of it in a hastily set up infirmary in Erebor. Around him, injured dwarves, elves and men occupied the other beds. Y/N was sitting next to him, her hand grasping his. Her thumb stroked lovingly over his wrist. Mahal, she was here. It hadn’t been a dream.

‘How…?’ he managed to ask, eyes brimming with emotion.

‘Sssh.’ She hushed softly.

‘But…’

‘You liberated me, prince Fíli.’ She said quietly. ‘From a beautiful, yet shallow life. How could I not have come after you?’

‘You promised to wait.’ He said. ‘I would have come back. Didn’t you trust me?’

‘Of course I knew you would, but I was fed up waiting for something to happen. I’ve done that for far too long.’ she told him. ‘It was like you said. The world is out here, with you. I wanted to tell you that before you would…’ she fell silent.

‘Before what?’ the prince nudged.

She shook her head. ‘I feared you would forget about me.’

‘Oh, amrâlimê!’ He carefully got up and ignored her judgmental looks. ‘I’ve got this.’ He huffed. ‘I want to kiss these stubborn pointy ears, that’s all.’

‘You could have asked, you know.’ She smiled, while pushing him gently backwards against the cushions. ‘I’ll gladly assist.’

‘How could I ever forget about you?’ The prince inquired softly, moving his hands to cup her cheeks. ‘You are my One and I love you.’

She bit her lip and grinned. ‘You forgot to mention I saved you, reckless dwarf.’

‘That too.’ He chuckled and then grimaced in pain. ‘You saved my life.’

She hummed, lips brushing over his. ‘Are you going to kiss me or not?’

‘One thing, Y/N…’ he breathed. ‘Will you save me from being a reckless dwarf and make me the luckiest dwarf in middle earth instead?’

She blinked. ‘How?’

‘Well…’ he grinned. ‘By marrying me…’

Thank you so much for reading my humble story. Feedback is always welcome.  Did you like my work? Spread the love and reblog! :) And here’s my Masterlist.

[webcricket]

Castiel Imagine

Imagine: Eavesdropping on your beautiful singing - something you do when you think no one else can hear you - is Castiel’s guiltiest pleasure until he gets caught in the act (ft. Dear Abby, aka Dean Winchester).

Requested by: @earl-grey-cafe

“Dean-” Castiel pushes the bedroom door inward; widening the sliver of an inch the hunter left it open, he swings it all the way to the gaping limits of the hinges.

A wall of pepperoni grease, malt hops, and gun oil - none of which he finds alarming or unusual - accosts the angel’s senses; nor does the sight of Dean in boxers and socked feet scrambling to mute the horror film scream of the television whilst simultaneously shoving a half empty pizza box under his pillow and sloshing beer onto the bed sheets while he sits up provoke any special interest beyond the fleeting thought that Dean’s dietary choices, perhaps, are not ideal for his long term cardiovascular health.

Cas pauses after stating his friends name to allow Dean’s threading pulse a moment to recover from the surprise of the sudden intrusion. Not that Dean should be surprised by the suddenness of the intrusion after nearly a decade of friendship spent unsuccessfully trying to teach the celestial being to knock first.

The seraph takes Dean’s grumbling around a mouthful of coagulated cheese and irately glistening green eyes as an invitation, if not into the space itself, as one begging expedience to clarify whatever the hell he wants in order to beat a hasty exit. He speaks both without apology and without further delay, “I need to ask you a question.”

Dean swallows hard to dispatch the gummy wad of pizza. He swipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Do you ever knock?”

Cas ignores the query, determining Dean to be employing sarcasm on account of the obviousness of the answer. He moves on to the matter on his mind; namely, you. He overheard you singing in the shower again last night when you couldn’t sleep, which - the singing and the sleeplessness - happens often enough to pique his concern.

It’s a habit of yours to stretch your voice - a heavenly voice if the angel ever heard one, and he would know - only when you believe no one is listening. “Have you ever heard Y/N sing?”

Dean’s glower wobbles and weakly rolls, his temper consoled and conversely further incensed at the lack of seriousness in the situation. He makes a mental note to have a conversation with his friend about what does and doesn’t warrant the disruption of his preciously rare me time; not - Cas’ idea of urgent often dwelling in the empiric satisfaction of curiosity over the human condition - that it will make any difference.

“Yeah, I’ve caught a couple notes here and there, and-?” Dean’s huff accentuates his annoyance.

You’re talented - talented and shy. You keep your gift to yourself and Dean, having sacrificed much for family, respects the need to shroud some things in a shield of selfish pleasure to preserve the status quo of inner sanity; for example, a double cheese double meat deluxe deep dish Chicago-style pie from Gianni’s in central Lebanon on a Saturday night.

Cas’ gaze narrows; some of his friend’s snark refracts in the brightness of the blue; he feels Dean knows the unspoken remainder given what he knows regarding the angel’s especially interested affections toward you and is playing a game of chicken. In retrospect, he thinks he should have sought out Sam.

Dean sighs, and concedes to the seraph’s silence if only to be quickly rid of him to restore his peaceful pepperoni and slasher movie solitude. “Listen up - some things, people don’t share with anyone. That’s Y/N with singing. Just leave it be.”

Crease of brow softening in comprehension, Cas thoughtfully eyes the corner of the pizza box peeking from beneath the drape of the pillowcase. “So it’s like you wanting to consume copious amounts of artery clogging cholesterol while lying prone and watching Hatchet Man in private.”

Deeply wounded by the angel’s holier-than-thou tone, and a recent brotherly lecture regarding bacon from Sam, Dean scoffs, “Nobody asked you.”

Cas gets it - your singing, however beautiful, is a subject of taboo unless you choose to share. He’s glad he didn’t go directly to you and cause you the discomfort of a compliment and discomfit of a request to hear more without the barrier of a bathroom door or concrete wall between you.

“And shut the door on your way out,” Dean grouses since the angel continues to linger meditating upon this newfound clarification and the sentiment of disappointment stirring in his chest that it means he cannot compliment you or request the favor of a direct audience to your talent.

“Thank you, Dean.” Stepping backward with a grateful bob of the head, Cas does as directed and strides into the hall.

In as much as Dean has his secret enjoyments, and you your solo performances, Cas, too, considers his routine of straining to catch your murmured melodies a guilty pleasure; those sweet reverberant notes caress his ears irresistibly like a siren’s call and nurture a reverence for your singing in his celestial center such that it seems to hum musically in time, delightfully thrumming through his vessels veins, whenever he chances to perceive your sensuously strung voice.

He thinks it not a guilty pleasure in the traditional sense of the phrase, a saying which suggests he finds profound pleasure in a sound which would not inspire general awe in whomever heard it - quite the opposite, there can be no doubt in his mind, or any other, excepting perhaps your own in not sharing, of your talents; nor is it because he feels any guilt in the actual eavesdropping - one hears much, whether one wants to or no, when blessed with the aptitude of angelic perception; rather, he considers it so only because you yourself, seeming not to trust to your gift in a capacity allowing you to openly share it, and it light of Dean’s elucidation, save your songs for a safety inherent in solitude.

Your lips part, tongue plucking strings of air in vibrant tone in moments when you believe you have a motel room or the bunker all to yourself. The oxygen belts from your lungs with force to flood the vaulted heights of the ceiling on those welcome weekends with a buffer of many miles between you and the Winchester brothers.

In the spaces in between, when you aren’t quite as alone as you surmise, Cas cherishes every illicitly captured dulcet lilting of soulful tune.

It’s not that you don’t account for Castiel being around; it’s that he’s so damned quiet padding around the place with divinely dampened footfalls. And it’s not that he’s lurking intentionally long around corners or in shadow before announcing his presence; it’s that he is struck in rapture, determination of direction and intent distracted as he stills to follow a phrase of lyric or two to its mellifluous terminus.

This time though, there’s no sneaking about on the angel’s part to blame. Sat at the kitchen table in the semi-dark, flesh of his forehead folded in a neat stack of seriousness over a knotted brow, Cas sifts through Dean’s box of Krunch Cookie Crunch in search of the cheap plastic trinket promised in colorful graphics to be hidden inside - the absence of which the elder Winchester will hold his brother accountable for whenever their latest adventure permits them to return home; needling his friend’s nerves in this manner is a lesser of the angel’s surreptitious and innocent amusements.

He stops his rustling task at the scuffing approach of your slippers and turns toward the threshold. He thought you were asleep when he arrived back and did not deign to wake you to inform you of his late arrival. His features flatten beneath the involuntary feeling of gladness the promise of your presence fosters; the early assemblage of your name rasps in the back of his graveled throat as he prepares to greet you. There, it husks into unspoken oblivion when the first hum of your voice titillates the air.

Oblivious to the celestial company, you step into the kitchen, swiping the light switch as you skip down the two shallow steps and make for the sink to fill a glass of water. Cushioned toes tapping the concrete floor, the kitchen being one of your acoustically favorite rooms in the bunker, the fullness of your unfettered voice echoes off the walls.

Glass brimming, stopping to wet your palette with a sip of the cool drink, you spin on a heel, snap shut your eyes to isolate yourself from the room and the rigors of this life, and settle your spine to the steel skirt of the sink.

Having no contingency plan that doesn’t involve awkwardly breaking for the door, Cas stares, cereal sugar-dusted palm propped to push himself up from the table, wide-eyed and speechless as you continue the tune.

By gradual degrees in sensing a worshipful sort of warmth washing your cheeks with heat, and then the unmistakable scent of the seraph tickling your nose - that uniquely stormy discharge of revving grace skimming his vessel’s skin in lieu of sweat when his adrenaline rises - you become aware of being watched and listened to.

Tongue skipping mid-note on the back of your teeth, your lashes flare and flash on the seraphim-shaped mass of trench coat seated at the table, his stance somewhere between sitting and standing, and the outline of an apology molding his mouth.

“I’m sorry, I tried-” he stumbles over the words and his feet as he straightens upright and steps into the light and nearer- “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay. I didn’t see you.” You soothe his fumbling; your chin drops to your chest, a bashfully-tinted flush unfurls across your face. “I just don’t usually sing in front of anyone.”

Cas cannot help his blunt honesty in reaction to your confession. “Why not? Your voice is exceptional.” His already bass register lowers as he extends his fingers to loop at your jaw, gently lifting your gaze to his. “Beautiful.” He does not add the ‘like you’ that naturally links to the accolade in his thoughts; the impact of that bit of unspoken affection stamps his own cheeks to match your blush.

A smile tugs doubtful at your lips. “You think so?”

His attention flicks from your eyes to your mouth, following the minute movement, and back. “Without a doubt.”

Self-conscious at the magnetism of desire felt to press his pout to yours in physical proclamation of his praise, his fingers falter from your chin and the tenderly glossed blues revolve to study the span of inches set between your beating hearts.

You feel it too, have felt a sentiment stronger than friendship solidifying between you for a while. The seams of your body tremble to contain a soul bursting in song at the suggestion of something more. “I could, I mean, if you wanted me to - if you’d like it-”

“Yes.” The bright shine of his eyes spill unfettered happiness to crinkle the skin surrounding them before the essence of a smile spreads to lighten his entire aspect.

The seraph’s smile - it’s purity, and the adoration reflecting the radiant potential of you as the source of his joyful feelings - is all the ovation your heart needs.

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[thejollyroger-writer]

Met by Moonlight: Chapter Three - Emma

Read on AO3!

Her new housemates barely give her any time to unpack or settle before they are pulling her out of the house for food.

“Come on, we know you must be hungry!” The tall girl with the dark hair and midriff-revealing shirt takes her by the hand, practically pulling her out door, the other two girls taking up the rear, with the three boys shuffling behind them awkwardly.

When they finally reached the apartment - the flat - Emma was surprised to find five faces there waiting for her, since she figured the apartment would have three bedrooms maximum, though there was no real reason behind that thought. But, as it turns out, she was correct, and there were actually two apartments for graduate students on opposite sides of the same hallway, for both history and English students. Hers was a four-bedroom one, shared with Killian, the tallest girl (Ruby? She’s pretty sure her name was Ruby.) and a quiet, mysterious blue-eyed boy who had not yet had the opportunity to introduce himself. On the other side of the hallway was a very tall, skinny boy with pale eyes and crazy dark hair sticking up in all directions; and two other girls, a blonde and a redhead, who have done nothing but smile at her since she’s arrived.

“I mean, I am hungry, but we don’t - you don’t all have to stop what you’re doing to take me out - “

“It’s a tradition, sweetie,” she argues, not giving up the fight, and when Emma turns around to lock eyes with Killian, all he can do is shrug, flashing a quick smile at her. “We always go out for pizza when we get a new roommate. It’s just what we do!”

“Well, if it’s a tradition…” Emma starts, and when she stops fighting against Ruby’s grip, she turns and smiles at her, a beaming smile that changes her whole face, lighting it up, and it’s a smile that Emma can’t help but return.

“I know that we’re so excited to have another girl in the house! There was another guy here last semester, Isaac, but he was quiet and awkward and, honestly, there was something about him that just creeped me out a little bit.”

“Me too,” the blonde behind her quips in, and as she continues, Emma realizes that she, too, has an accent, like Killian. “I try my best not to judge people, but he was just really weird. I was kind of relieved when he transferred, actually, because I knew he wouldn’t be living with us anymore.”

“I was just worried that we were going to get someone weirder than he was!” The redhead comments, and Emma turns in time to watch Killian clap her on the shoulder.

“Well, love, you don’t have to worry about that. Unless something drastic’s changed in the past few years, Emma is definitely not weirder than Isaac was. “

“Wait, do you know each other?” Ruby asks, turning around and walking backwards to face the group.

Before Emma can answer, Killian says,“Yeah, Emma and I went to school together back in Maine.”

Her eyes go wide, but she is not the only one to respond. “No way! That’s so weird.”

“Did you know it was her when you got the paperwork?”

“Were you guys, like, friends?”

For some reason, Emma isn’t quite ready to reveal their past to all of her new roommates, and a quick, terrified glance from Killian lets her know that he feels the same.

“All the paperwork said was her name and the terminal she’d be in. I thought it might be her at first, because we were friends, though I figured it couldn’t be, because what are the odds?”

“There’s only, what, a thousand people in Storybrooke, so the fact that we’re both from there and ended up here, in the same program, at the same time is crazy.”

Confused, the redhead turns to Killian. “Wait, I thought you said you were from England?”

“I was born in England, aye, but we moved to Maine when I was a boy. My parents are still over there, though my brother and I both returned.”

“Right. I remember you saying something about that before.”

Ahead of her, Ruby pulls open the door to a small pizzeria, gesturing for Emma to go first, though the blonde passes her and leads them towards a larger table in the back of the restaurant.

“Hello, hello!” A voice from the back calls to them, and out of the swinging doors comes a large, bearded man who can’t be much older than they are, wearing an apron over a bright green tee-shirt and jeans.

As they all find their seats, Emma between Killian and Ruby, her companions respond with a smattering of hellos, and she learns that the man’s name is Anton.

“This must be the new roommate!” he says excitedly as he approaches the table. “Welcome to Oxford! I’m Anton.”

“Emma,” she says, and takes his outstretched hand in her own.

“It’s a pleasure.”

She smiles back at him, but one of the boys says, “We’ll take our usual, please,” and Anton nods, bows his head towards her, and is off.

“So, Emma, tell us about yourself,” the redhead says excitedly, but all Emma can do is blush before Killian speaks up.

“Come on, Ariel, that’s not fair putting her on the spot like that.”

Ariel pouts, but the blonde says, “Well, then, let’s all introduce ourselves instead.”

“Aye, that sounds better.” Emma turns to him, the corner of her cheek turning up in a small, thankful smile, and he does the same, though quickly looks away.

“I’m Wendy Darling, starting my third semester of grad school, originally from London, and I focus on female Victorian writers.”

The redhead - Ariel - is next. “I’m Ariel, this will be my second semester, and I’m studying the history of modern human exploration, specifically the oceans, but also the rainforests, desert, and Arctic and Antarctic regions.”

One of the two boys speaks up, the one that is in the same apartment as her. “I’m August, I’m technically in my fifth semester of graduate studies since I’m doing a teaching fellowship and finishing my thesis on the history of fairy tales and how they’ve affected us as a society.”

“Jefferson. I’ve stopped counting semesters, because my masters will be in the portrayal of mental illness in classic literature, but I’m also simultaneously going for my doctorate in psychology, so I’ve been here for… four years? And I have another three left.”

Clapping him on the shoulder, as if proud, Killian smiles at him before introducing himself, which Emma thinks is sort of funny since she’s known him since she was fifteen, but she lets him continue. “Killian Jones, though you already know that. And this is my second semester, and my concentration is in the tragedies of Shakespeare.”

Passing right over Emma, Ruby takes her turn. “I’m Ruby Lucas, this is my fourth and final - “ she crosses her fingers in front of her, closing her eyes for a moment before continuing, “-semester, and my concentration is in mythological fantasy and the use of supernatural creatures.”

And then, they all turn to her. She has no reason to be as nervous as she is, but that doesn’t stop her from doing just that, and she takes a deep breath before starting. “Okay, well, I’m Emma Swan. This is, uh, my first semester, obviously, and my concentration will be in some sort of contemporary fiction, though I haven’t quite decided what yet. Probably detective fiction and murder mystery and how we, as a culture, have become enamored with death and whodunnit stories and things like that, but I…” She realizes that she has turned her gaze down to her hands, and when she looks back up, she finds all of her companions are still looking at her, waiting for the end of her rambling speech. “I’m not sure,” she finishes, her voice soft.

There are nods and hums of approval around the table, and of all the people around her, she finds her eyes drawn to the bright blue eyes across the table from her - August, the fairy tales studier that Belle told her about, and when he meets her eyes with his, he flashes her a smile that is almost too perfect to be real.

She does not want to already be attracted to someone; she just got off the plane earlier today, but she cannot ignore the blazing look behind August’s blue eyes, especially as the night goes on and she continues to find him watching her, his lips curling into a sweet smile when her eyes meet his.

Maybe England will be even more of an adventure than she imagined.

She only has two days to acclimate herself with the town before she receives the email from Belle:

Lovelies,

Given all the bloody renovation done over break to both the library and our lovely building, I am going to have to ask all of you to shorten your time off by a few days - everything is a little out of place right now, and I would like to have it all put back together by the time classes start. No need for formalities the first few days, just show up ready to kick our bloody buildings back into shape! If you’re already in town, I would like to start tomorrow (and obviously I will be providing lunch, because that’s the only way to make you wankers work!); if you’re not in town, get your arses here and help us!

See you all soon!

Belle

So the next morning, clad in jeans, boots, and a plain white tee shirt, they convene in the kitchen of their small apartment, and when they begin their descent to Killian’s car on the street in front of the building, they find the two girls from across the hall also on their way out, arms linked together as they head down the street.

The library, she discovers upon walking through the beautifully hand-carved doors, is greater than anything she had ever even imagined, more beautifully rustic and antique than any of the pictures she spent hours mulling over--dreaming about--made it seem. Killian either senses her awe of the building, or expects it, for even though he is a few steps in front of her, he turns around as she takes it all it, his eyes fixed on her as hers jump around the room.

“Better than you imagined, eh?”

“Definitely.”

Her eyes finally meet his, a smile equivalent to hers spread across his face - a smile that she remembers so well from the days she used to spend with him - and a smile that she is still not sure about how she feels having it back in her life.

But, in truth, the library really is better than anything she imagined. There are books everywhere: organized on shelves, piled on tables, stacked on carts - chaos.

It does not take them long to find Belle, standing in the most open part of the first floor, looking angrily around at the piles spread around her, a clipboard in her hand which she continues to scrawl on as they approach.

“Right, so this is bloody worse than I figured it would be, and I’m damned sure it wasn’t this bad when I was here two days ago,” she says as they approach, not even looking in their direction. “They’re piled in bleeding boxes upstairs, so we all most definitely have our work cut out for us! Booth, can you take our newest member for a quick tour of the building, show her where her office is going to be, and then start with the boxes upstairs?” Emma turns to August, who smiles gently at her before he turns back to Belle.

“Of course, it would be my pleasure.”

He gestures for her to go first, around the tables gathered in the center of the room and up the stairs.

“So, you’re from Maine then, same as Killian?” he asks when they are out of earshot of the rest of the group.

“Uh, yeah. He was, uh, sixteen and I was fifteen when he moved from England and joined my class. Are you from somewhere there, too? In the states?”

“Yeah, somewhere over there,” he says, running his fingers through his hair. “But nowhere in particular. I was an orphan growing up, most of my time spent somewhere near California, New Mexico, Arizona. Have you ever been to Arizona?”

She blushes a little, glad that she is on the steps in front of him so he cannot see her reddening face. “I, uh, never had the pleasure. To be honest, the first time I even left Maine was when the plane took off the runway.”

“I guess that’s one of the few perks of not having any roots, then. You don’t have that same tie to somewhere, nothing keeping you from just up and leaving.”

She is surprised by his sudden personal outbreak, but she also sees his point. She doesn’t know what exactly draws the next words from her, but once they come, there is nothing she can do to stop them: “I had opportunities to leave, but I just--I never wanted to, until one day I realized I hadn’t and needed to. And that’s why I’m here.”

She stops at one of the tables near the top of the steps, only to allow him to take the lead and show her where she needs to go, but he stops as well, leaning against the table. When he smiles at her, she can feel her heart fluttering in her chest, something she has not felt in what feels like years, and it awakens some sort of giddy-schoolgirl vibe within her--and she suddenly finds herself clinging onto his every movement, his every word.

“Well, I know for sure I’m glad you’re here, Emma.”

“I’m glad to be here,” she answers, her chest tight, though thankfully he does not stay by the tables for very long. Instead, he removes his jacket and sets it on one of the chairs, pushing up the sleeves of his long-sleeve shirt, and heads away from her.

“Let’s see the shape your office is in, then, shall we?”

Given the state of the library, Emma shouldn’t be surprised at the equally chaotic state of the office, but surprised she is. She can tell that, under the piles and boxes and carts full of books, the office is in great condition: two desks, both up against a large glass wall that looks out over the floor of the library, the back wall covered floor-to-ceiling with a large wooden bookshelf that sits mostly empty.

“So, this will be your new home for the next few years, Emma,” August says, sweeping his arms in a grand gesture around the room. “Though I’m sure by the time classes start up and you actually need to start using it, it will be in much better shape than it is now, especially knowing your office mate.”

“My office mate?”

As if on cue, a tall girl with hair too blonde to even be classified as blonde (but would calling it white even do it justice? Instead, it seems to be some crazy shade of platinum/silver that shimmers even in the shitty lighting of the office) walks in, a pure white backpack hoisted over her shoulder, which she promptly tosses on the floor beside one of the desks.

“You must be Emma!” she says with a smile that Emma’s pretty sure makes the room physically brighter--a contagious one Emma can’t keep herself from returning. “I’m Elsa, and I’m so excited to be working with you!” She, too, has an accent, but it is not as refined as Killian and Wendy’s. She makes a mental note to ask about it later, but for now, they have work to do.

“Elsa is our poster child for the graduate department,” August teases, but it doesn’t seem to phase her, just pulls a smile on her face.

“There’s nothing wrong with being where you are, August,” she retorts, rolling her eyes, and then looks around the room. “They definitely made sure we had our work cut out for us, then, didn’t they?”

“It sure does seem that way.”

And, just like that, as if someone suddenly flipped a switch in her, turning her on and sending her off. Telling Emma which box should be next and commanding August to carry them to the right parts of the library, Elsa works like a machine, putting everything in the office back in order.

Emma only wishes she could do the same with her life.

[shazyloren]

The Room: Chapter 36 - Eating the Pancakes

Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12710496/chapters/30852564

------------

Jon woke up in an unfamiliar place, there were shelves and shelves of ancient and new books, a fireplace and one Daenerys Targaryen asleep on a beanbag. Then, he remembered it all. He was in the Room of Requirement and both Daenerys and himself came here after the party at Gryffindor Tower. He'd seen her leave with that friend of hers and thought perhaps it would be a good idea for him to thank her for the help in the tournament. He never expected to be taking to a secret room where they talked about him being an animagus.

He'd also joked about the kiss that she owed him. Of course, she owed him nothing but to see her face flush a little red when he spoke of it was all worth the effort. He knew that  another kiss from her at some point was inevitable, but she had said there were horrors she'd faced that make her unable to go there at this point. He still thought on this often and wondered what it meant. Had she had a relationship before? But she said that you were the only guy to kiss her... It baffled Jon.

Daenerys was still sleepy, so Jon left her be when he got up and stretched his legs around the room. There was a clock in here, Daenerys obviously used it to keep track of time and to not miss lessons and such. It was eight am. Majority of the school would still be in bed, parties usually meant they'd get up around ten am. Deciding he needed food, he left Daenerys asleep on the beanbag and exited the room of requirement.

The halls were bright and cheerful almost, no sign of life yet, only the odd suit of armour waving and the odd painting waking up. There were no teachers, yet this was usually nothing considering they stayed in their rooms on Sundays apart from meal times. The journey down the grand staircase was easy enough, the stairs kept changing but Jon, being the idiot he was just jumped across gaps as they started to form. He reached the Great Hall and saw only a few students there, none of these had come to the party and so they were fresh and awake. He did not want to stay, just to take a stack of pancakes he could share with Daenerys.

However, Headmaster Lannister caught him before he could leave for a nice chat. "Good Morning, Jon"

"Hello, Professor" Jon yawned as the stack of Pancakes float next to him. Professor Lannister raised an eyebrow at the stack. "Daenerys and I have already started going over the finishing touches for the Yule Ball this morning, we're hungry so I come to get some pancakes for us to have while we work. We've taken to an abandoned classroom because people keep congratulating us"

"As they should be, You did the school proud" He stated.

"Err, thanks I guess" Jon mumbled in reply. It was one thing to inflate his ego by students telling him he was amazing, it was completely different when the teachers complimented.

"I do need a favour to ask of you however" He started, Jon did not like doing favours. It usually meant he had to cover detentions which were the worst thing known to mankind. "I need you to keep an eye on the durmstrang champions, I got word from the Beauxbaton headmistress that while in the task they killed a Sphinx, obviously, we do not condone this sort of behaviour in or out of tournament. All the spells learnt are to repel dark creatures not to kill them"

"What are you suggesting?" Jon asked incredulously.

"I'm suggesting that Wizarding Britain is in dark times and you cannot be too sure on anyone's motives. Had it been students that were killed by them instead of a sphinx, when you can see the uproar that would cause" He answered with authority and firmness. Jon was ninety-nine percent sure Professor Lannister was born intelligent. "So please, just keep an eye on them - I'd hate for you or Miss. Targaryen to be injured because of them"

Jon nodded before parting with the pancaked levitating beside him. He left the hall and made his journey back up the stairs while thinking on Professor Lannister's words. He had to deal with Peeves but considering this was a regular occurance now threatening to turn him human and kill him all over again seemed to be working enough this time. He made it back to the seventh floor without anyone else seeing him and looked around for the tapestry of Barnabas the barmy, that had been where it was. He did not know if he was going to get back into the room and so thinking really hard he tried.

I need the place where Daenerys is...

I need the place where she is at home...

I need the place where she feels safe...

He did not think it would work, but as a door formed and creaking was heard he was very proud of himself. It set into the stone wall and opened a crack for him to go inside. He levitated the pancakes inside and followed them, the door firmly shutting behind him. She was still asleep on the Bean Bag and so he set the pancakes down between the two comfy seats and gently nudged her shoulder.

She woke lightening fast in a panic and Jon leapt back just incase she decided to throw a hex at him. She looked at her surrounds, obviously confused for a minute before sinking into the seat and taking Jon's appearance in. Jon decided to be the one to speak. "I've been to the Hall and brought you breakfast, I was wanting some pancakes so I brought a huge stack for us to share"

"Breakfast?" She said blurry eyed. Dany sat up more straight and pointed her wand at her hair and muttered a couple of spells. It went straight instead of messy and it went shinier and more silvery blonde. Jon was impressed but he did not say anything. He plonked himself on the bean bag next to her. "I could eat some pancakes, did you bring a fork?"

"Of course" He pulled two out of hs robes and passed one over. They stayed silent for a moment as they chowed down on the pancakes, Jon would make the most lewd noises with his food but he could not help it. Daenerys rolled her eyes before muttering a few more spells, Jon watched as the creases in her clothes fell out. Women had all these spells he did not know yet perhaps he should learn, he was interested by them. "What?"

Jon realised he'd been staring at her, something which he promised himself he was going to cut down, but it did not seem like he could. However, instead of admitting she was the prettiest girl in school and that he was staring like the boy he is, he used the moment to speak on what Professor Lannister spoke to him about. "I spoke with Professor Lannister in the hall"

"What did he say?" She asked with her mouth half full. She was just as into these pancakes as he was, he stomach was rumbling with hunger as she ate more and more to curb the pangers.

"One of the Beauxbaton champions had warned him that the two Durmstrang students had killed a Sphinx while in the maze. He asked for me to keep an eye out, if they have the imperius curse on them or if they're acting on their own accord, it's not behaviour permitted in the tournament" As Jon said the words Daenerys froze. He was concerned that she had done the same, but thinking that thought alone made him chastise himself. Daenerys loves all animals, she would never willingly bring harm to a creature. She was the animal whisperer as he'd called her before.

"Jon" She mumbled. He looked up from the pile of pancakes and stared directly into her bright violet eyes. They shone like amethyst in her sockets today, beautiful and bold. He had to stop himself from leaning in and kissing her, he did not want to cause her more confusion than ever. "When I was in the house, before we ran into each other... I experienced something strange"

"What was it?"

"There was water everywhere but it was pitch black. I saw Doreah and Daario in front of me, as clearly as you are now, but they could not see me. All our reflections were bright on this water, but everything else was so dark. They were still in the maze, it was like some kind of live feed almost, I could see their clothes blowing in the winds" Jon did not know where this was going. "Doreah said to Daario, 'it was rather fun to watch you wrestle a sphinx however, shame you had to kill it'"

"So they did kill a Sphinx!" Jon's eyes were wide. He left it there and began talking of their joint experience in the task. "I mean I saw some gnarly shit too, but I never killed anything, the werewolf was not really there. I think it was a projection of our fears of what we could face, and someone had altered it to be more dangerous than it should've been. When I spoke to Professor Lannister yesterday after we finished and said I had a werewolf scratch on my leg he looked horrified"

"Someone is messing with the tournaments, I'm sure of it" Daenerys agree. "And I'm sorry but Doreah and Daario came in last after the Beauxbaton students so I don't believe they'd be smart or powerful enough to rig it. Their headmaster however, I do not trust him. He's powerful enough to have rigged the tournament or at least put things in their that people do not know"

"Stannis Baratheon is many things, vengeful could be one of them after the horrendous political campaign he ran against Tywin Lannister. He would be looking for something to gain from a Durmstrang win" Jon agreed.

"He was talking to Professor Lannister the evening we both saw the house. I couldn't sleep so I decided to go for a walk around the castle to clear my head" Jon was shocked Daenerys broke rules, and his face obviously gave it away. "I broke the rules, yes. I had to hide as I heard them talking. 'Forgive me, there are safety concerns with them all' Stannis had said in regards to all three tasks. He could have caused these concerns. Not to mention he kept pushing Professor Lannister on the calls for Tywin to resign"

"So not only are we going to keep an eye on the students but Stannis Baratheon is fair game too?" Jon offered. Daenerys smiled as her mouth was full of pancakes. They were quiet for a bit before Jon spoke again. "Seems so weird, even though it was tough - I imagined the tournament to be a lot harder than it was. I think that wolf section was the worst part. I even got the Sphinx riddle!"

"I thought about you several times before we crossed paths" Daenerys admitted. Jon couldn't help but be intrigued by her comment, so he raised an eyebrow. However he immediately regret this as her face suggest she thought he was implying something different. "Not in that way you berk! I meant when I managed to get past the different creatures. My riddikulus was perfect on the boggart, I got past the Blast Ended skrewt with impedimenta fine. I think I was so scared that I was just running on adrenaline"

"Did you get a Sphinx?" Jon asked as the pancakes were finished and they just laid in their bean bags with their hands on their stomach from being full.

"I did" Daenerys took a deep breath as she pulled the blankets up closer to her. "The hues of an regret and anger, they burrow underground, something you put on your head, a limb on the ground"

Jon thought on it for a moment. Colours of regret and anger... Red and Grey...underground... head. He knew straight away. "Redcaps" Jon announced. Daenerys nodded. "A chill, a creep, a mist in the green. A dark creature's love of the unseen, be careful what your pasts procure. For this creature's attack, there is no cure"

"Dementor, I would say" She said almost instantly. Jon smiled. Gods she was so smart, he'd thought too long on it in the maze. "See, you're good at riddles, Jon. You always put yourself down in other subjects that are not defence but you're just as good as me"

"Please, you're the queen of underestimating yourself" Jon teased her. Her eyes became lighter and her smile wrinkled in the corners of her mouth. "You should be shouting off of the rooftops here that you're good at Defence. I hardly had to help you in that wolf chamber. You sent a fire curse at it and stopped me from being ripped to shreds. I never did say thank you for that"

"You don't have to thank me" She shrugged. There was another paused silence. "I say we spend the day in here, we can get some head work done?"

"Yes, we've got this stupid ball to plan" Jon agreed.

"It's not stupid" Daenerys scrunched her face up.

"It is stupid" Jon was adamant on this.

"Why is it stupid?" Daenerys asked with her arms folded across her chest and a scowl on her face.

"Because I'm not allowed to take you, so what's the point?" He said honestly.

That left her shocked.

[plumtreeforest]

OiIwa Rec List

So, @exella​ kindly asked me for a rec list of exclusive Bottom!Iwa fics and yes I am only far too happy to comply.

(this only contains English fics bc even though the Japanese OiIwa fandom is ripe and live with Top!Oikawa/Bottom!Iwaizumi fics and headcanons I am too lazy to translate and a lot of the authors I follow are already inactive so idk if they’d even respond if I ask)

(also I guess it should go without saying that a lot of these fics are either M or E rated bc...uhh...penetrative sex. Also if there are any broken links just tell me this was dizzying to make haha)

Without any further ado *jazz hands*

Assume the Position by troublebuster

If there's two things Oikawa likes, it's getting his own way and being nasty.

salt on caramel by ohhotlamb

“I swear, they wanna kill me by the time I’m thirty. My stress level is too high for someone so beautiful. I’ll get wrinkles.”

Iwaizumi grunts around his mouthful. “’s this about the butt thing? And the pizza party?”

“Oh, great, even different departments have heard about it. Just great.”

Item of Immense Power by iwaizumemes

He could smell the dirt and mixture of sap where his face was pushed against the ground. It took him more than a few seconds to remember where he was, or at least where he thought he was. The bright flash, so blinding he thought he’d gone blind, and then the aching twisting sensation, his bones bending like copper wires, but there was no pain, just compression, and then there was nothing.

[Iwaizumi finds himself in an alternate universe with no way to get home.]

Salted by orphan_account

Looking back on it, Shigeru didn’t really mean to watch it play out before his eyes like a late night, guilt-ridden porno.

It just… happened.

Close Your Eyes by kingiwaizumi

"Eh?! Iwa-chan?!" Oikawa squeaked as he was suddenly slammed down onto the bed.

"Shut up," Iwaizumi muttered, straddling Oikawa.

"You're gonna beat me up again?! How cruel! What did I do?!" Oikawa lifted his arms in self defense.

"I said shut up!"

Oikawa immediately went silent, lowering his arms and staring at Iwaizumi's expression. It was distant and unreadable.

"Close your eyes," Iwaizumi instructed, his voice quiet and slightly shaky.

"If you're gonna kill me-"

"Close your eyes, Shittykawa." Iwaizumi glared sharply at Oikawa, a warning clear in his eyes.

Laws of Attraction by notmykink

“What—what do you want from me, then?” Iwaizumi asks warily.

“I don’t want anything from you,” Oikawa walks over, pressing his pointer finger against Iwaizumi’s chest pocket, hooking it into the pocket as he leans in. “I want you."

Don’t Forget to Breathe by notmykink

"Iwaizumi, this is Oikawa Tooru, a hypnotist," Hanamaki says as the stranger joins them by the table, eyes fixed on Iwaizumi.

[Iwaizumi gets a lesson on erotic hypnotism and has the best/worst night of his life.]

Fixation by notmykink

Hajime has always had a thing for Tooru’s fingers.

fucking strangers by notmykink

He hates the guy. Hates his guts. He’d never fall for a guy like that. And that’s exactly the reason he decides to reach out for the glass, raising it and clinking it against the stranger’s. His smirk widens, different than the one he gave the bartender or the women from earlier, the one he had attempted to use on Iwaizumi at first. This one isn’t feigning innocence; it’s predatory and dangerous, ravenous. Iwaizumi wants to wipe that smirk off his face.

“I’m Oikawa; Oikawa Tooru,” the stranger says, reaching his hand out for Iwaizumi to take it.

“Iwaizumi,” he replies, shaking his hand before lifting the glass to his lips again, emptying it.

close to your heart by notmykink

Their last night together before Iwaizumi leaves his king and his castle behind to join the hero team and defeat him.

Plead by catayoyo

"Oikawa buries his face between Iwaizumi's shoulder blades and exhales deeply. "I want to fuck you against the mirror, would you like that? Would you beg for me?"

There's a slow, horrifying realisation that it's not just a mood he's in, it's one of those moods where Oikawa even pulls him apart. Even tries to work him at the seams to make him crumble into a pile of nothing until his body is raw and he really doesn't have time for it today."

Pretty much just PWP with Oikawa topping

plaisir by aischolatry

“Be polite, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, and smiles. It is thin-lipped, narrow-eyed, and vicious. “Say please, won’t you?”

all night long by Authoress

“I don’t beg,” Iwaizumi growls.

“I never said you had to,” Oikawa points out.

Wreck a Temple, Forge a Promise by Authoress

Tooru finally brings him to Seijou after Hajime’s first winter in the little village and on the mountain, when the flora and fauna of the green mountain shake off the last frost of the season and the spirits sing in time with the babbling of the streams.

It is in the midst of all that new life that Tooru takes him for the first time, and makes him a promise.

[SEQUEL TO 'BUILD A TEMPLE IN ME']

Maid Iwaizumi by blandvole

Maid Iwaizumi is sent to work for the sadistic Princes Kageyama and Oikawa.

Locker Room Punishment by blandvole

Oikawa spanks Iwaizumi in the locker room in front of the whole team.

Kissmarked by Moami

There’s a beat of silence. Inoue stares at him. “You don’t know? Uhm.” He laughs nervously, and then points to his own neck. “Your nape is full of blue marks. Looks like you were bitten or someone tried to strangle you. I hope it’s not the latter.”

Fucking hell.

“Actually,” Inoue mumbles, “they kind of look like an O. But whatever floats your boat, I suppose.”

Murder, Hajime thinks. I’m going to fucking kill him.

The Secret Omega by AllTheAspects

Now, staring down at the cheery label which promises no regrets, Iwaizumi ironically but sincerely regrets every decision which lead him here.

In particular, his annoying as fuck best friend. Who absolutely, definitely, no matter what, cannot find out that Iwaizumi is an omega.

exit wounds by riseelectric

We break before we build.

WARNING: Rape/Non-Con

Your First and Your Last by mean_whale

One day Iwaizumi leads Oikawa away from the rest of the pack to talk. What does he want to talk about, and is this a sign that Oikawa's unrequited love isn't quite so unrequited after all?

Home by Frenchibi

Tooru can’t help but giggle, curling in over him and threading his hand into Hajime’s hair, gently massaging his scalp.

Hajime presses a kiss to that strip of skin in response, breath tickling him a little, before he pulls back slightly and settles into a more comfortable position, curling closer and letting his eyes fall shut.

“…love you, Iwa-chan,” Tooru whispers, and he sees a soft smile tug at the corner of Hajime’s lips.

Everything With You by Ellessey

‘Hajime still loves Oikawa, but he understands now. Oikawa can't look at him and see someone he could potentially date.

And that makes it easier to not focus on the little things that used to drive him crazy—Oikawa's long legs, the way he's always hanging off of Hajime, how his whole face changes when he gets ready for a jump serve, and he looks like he could take on the entire world and win.

This new arrangement though, this living together situation, is presenting a new set of variables that must be adjusted to, and the nakedness is one of them.’

--

For years, being Oikawa’s best friend has worked out fine. Hajime is hopelessly in love with him, but it’s enough. Then Oikawa—who, by all accounts, has never been anything but determinedly, assuredly straight—gets a boyfriend. Or a boy friend-with-benefits. Hajime doesn’t know, and he doesn’t give a shit about the definition.

What he knows is that remaining best friends is starting to seem a bit too painful (way too painful) to be considered a solid option.

Adjustments by dicie

[Iwaizumi Hajime, a knight in shining armour, has found a dragon that needs seeing to. But the dragon has a different idea about what that seeing to entails.]

Hajime's day is not going how he imagined. There are various things he thought it might entail: falling off his horse, getting charred by a dragon, or skewered by talons all promising possibilities. He grunts and shifts his his angle. Getting fucked by his mission wasn't an option he had considered.

Show Me You Own Me by AcceleOrder

It's Oikawa's idea, of course. But Iwaizumi finds himself loving the way Ushijima has Oikawa wrapped around his fingers, and before long they're both moaning at the hands of Ushijima.

aka the kinkiest shit I've ever written in my life.

Until It Breaks by SuggestiveScribe

"We could get caught."

Oikawa just hummed, fingers sliding around the front of Iwaizumi's hips and slipping up under the hem of his work shirt. "But we're closed," he cooed.

Say It by someonestolemyshoes

"They should not be doing this. They should absolutely, one hundred per cent not be doing this.

Iwaizumi had been stupid, maybe, to give Oikawa the benefit of the doubt as he’d crawled into his futon, crooning about the cold and the quiet and the comfort of Iwaizumi’s sheets compared to his own, and he’d been so especially stupid to think things wouldn’t go far, even as Oikawa had flattened his palm against Iwaizumi’s stomach and dug his fingers beneath the waistband of his shorts."

Or: Oikawa gives Iwaizumi a sneaky hand job one night during a training camp and Iwaizumi is horribly weak to Oikawa's will.

Stardust by kiyala

It's the most powerful feeling in the world, Oikawa thinks with a smile, to be able to give the person you love most exactly what they need.

rationed breaths by wetbreadstick

Iwaizumi knows the arch of Oikawa's back when he stretches, knows the smooth muscles of his thighs, knows how his shirt sticks to him after a long summer practice: he knows it all. He thinks about it a lot. More than he should, probably.

There's power in his body, and Iwaizumi curses himself for forgetting it.

Hungry by SuggestiveScribe

"You've been so good lately." Iwa-chan clenched his jaw and Oikawa leaned closer to him, whispering low and hoarse against his blood matted skin, "Let Oikawa-san take care of you."

Kindle by Akira_kun

kindle transitive verb 1: to start (a fire) burning : light 2a : to stir up : arouse 2b : to bring into being : start 3: to cause to glow : illuminate

Or

Not so lazy morning pwp sex.

Slap or Kiss? by BlackKite7

Without any warning though, the kiss came to an abrupt halt as Oikawa leaned away and settled himself back down beside him, his face bright red as he refused to look in Iwaizumi’s direction and insisted that the game continue.

As the game resumed, Iwaizumi looked on with half-hearted interest, realising that his imagination was fatally flawed.

Terpsichore by LordessMeep

Noun: Terpsichore (turp’si-ku-ree) Taking a series of rhythmical steps (and movements) in time to music They’d ended up going to different universities, Tooru and he. The distance was good for them. The confession Hajime dropped in both their laps wasn’t.

That’s how it’d ended – a lifetime of friendship crumbled to dust in the space of five minutes.

(Or, a lesson in learning to move on from things you can't have, in finding old loves in new ways and in understanding that life is never truly simple... till it is.)

Only You. by jckwng

Iwaizumi was not a weak man. He had refused to back down against even the toughest of opponents (whether that be during a volleyball match or in a fist fight with someone who insulted Oikawa). He was a tough nut to crack, a locked door with a misplaced key. Iwaizumi was a lot of things.

But he was not a weak man.

Which is why Oikawa took great pleasure in being able to reduce him to a whimpering mess with two fingers

I Bet That You Look Good on the Dance Floor by weebshit

This couldn’t even be considered dancing - the way this man seemed to just cut through the crowd of dancers, hunting down his desired prey as his hips gyrated to the beat and his lips parted and turned up in a way that made Hajime realize he knew exactly how alluring he was. It was almost frustrating to watch, the way he could so easily pull anyone under his spell and then just walk away moments later, already onto his next victim.

Alternatively, Iwaizumi is having a shitty time at a club and Oikawa makes his night a little better.

Hot Mess by kagseyamas

Gotta make sure your ace gets what he deserves on his birthday. In this case, it's letting Oikawa try something new.

Or, Iwaizumi discovers the beauty of rimming.

In Between by kiyala

Tooru's transformation feels a little like shedding skin. It happens in bits and pieces at first, before Tooru is ready to shift out of his human form entirely and turn into a dragon.

He's always so incredibly sensitive to everything in between, though, and Hajime's smell hangs in the air distractingly. Tooru feels like he can taste Hajime on his tongue. Right now, there's nothing he wants more in the world than that.

One for the Team by kingiwaizumi

The Aoba Johsai volleyball club is running low on money, so what better way to raise money than a maid café?

Of course, it's Oikawa's brilliant idea, and Hanamaki can't bring himself to complain.

(Iwaizumi in a maid uniform, need I say more?)

with HanaIwa

Pull Me Closer and Kiss Me Hard by Souliebird

Iwaizumi had made the grave mistake of telling Oikawa he had no idea how to proposition Kyoutani.

The very next day his boyfriend had walked up to the man he had been having wet dreams about for almost three months, in the middle of free practice, and had simply gone, “Would you like to fuck Iwa-chan?”

More KyouIwa than OiIwa

Worth A Try by Tent

Iwaizumi wasn't quite sure what's happening. Oikawa definitely does not like what's happening. Ushijima is the cause of what's happening.

or

I tried to write smut.

More UshiIwa than OiIwa

What Happens at Parties by sushibomb

Hajime and Kuroo get to know each other a little better at a party and Tooru gets to watch.

More KuroIwa than OiIwa

And because I like to toot my own horn: my AO3 has a shitton of Bottom!Iwa, feel free to browse. I’m also about to upload nother Botom!Iwa fic, which is my last ever Haikyuu fic: