#crosspost from ao3

[astorichan]

In My Dreams You’re Gone | 10 - accept the parts i can’t erase

Summary:

The Pure Vessel’s world crumbles down around it. Ghost makes a request at the Pale King.

AO3 link

Notes: I remembered I have a tumblr. Round of applause, please /sarc

[solxamber]

Kidnapped(?) - Malleus x reader

You were sick of the taxes imposed by the aristocrats in your already poverty stricken village. Your idea of a solution? Kidnap their young master , and make them reduce taxes as the ransom, of course. Only problem is that you went into the wrong manor and kidnapped the wrong young master.

crossposted from my ao3!

It’s far too late for a sane person to be awake, let alone breaking into an aristocratic manor, but here you are, perched atop a wrought iron fence. You inhale deeply, the cool night air doing nothing to calm the wild thudding of your heart. Sure, you’ve trespassed on fancy estates before—who hasn’t?—but this time, you’re aiming high. Really high.

Tonight, you’re going to kidnap the young master.

It sounded less ridiculous in your head, but the village’s plight had pushed you this far. Unfair taxes, people going hungry, all thanks to the greed of the lord’s family holed up in their luxurious estate. Someone needed to stand up for the people. That someone just happened to be you.

You’d never kidnapped anyone before, but how hard could it be? Grab the rich guy, ask for a ransom—specifically, less ridiculous taxes—and stroll away like a hero. Easy.

The manor looms in front of you, all dark windows and dramatic architecture. It's almost too easy to slip past the guards. You start to wonder if they’re just really bad at their jobs or if this is some elaborate setup. Still, you can’t help but smirk. You’re so good at this, it’s almost criminal.

Well, it is criminal. But you know, details.

Inside, the place is eerily quiet. Every shadow seems to be watching you as you slink through the halls, making your way toward the young master’s room. You’ve heard the rumors—aloof, cold, basically allergic to feelings. Intimidating him into compliance? Piece of cake.

After a few minutes of creeping around like a ninja, you find a room with the door slightly ajar. A faint light flickers inside. Jackpot. You steady your breath, grip your very intimidating (okay, slightly makeshift) weapon, and push the door open.

Sitting at a desk, seemingly unfazed by your dramatic entrance, is the young master.

“Ah,” he says, turning slowly to look at you. There’s a glimmer of... curiosity? in his eyes. “A visitor. How... unexpected.”

You blink. This is not going to plan. Where’s the panic? The yelling for help? The appropriate reaction to being ambushed at night?

Determined to salvage the situation, you wave your weapon and try your best "intimidating kidnapper" voice. “You’re coming with me! I’m here to kidnap you, and if you want to see your precious manor again, you’ll lower the village taxes!”

There’s a beat of silence.

The young master raises an eyebrow. “You’re kidnapping me? How... amusing.”

Amusing? You falter. “This isn’t a joke,” you insist, shaking your weapon for emphasis. “I’m serious! Ransom, taxes, starving villagers—ringing any bells?”

Instead of, say, panicking or fleeing, the young master stands up from his chair, all calm and composed, like this is a perfectly normal Tuesday night activity. “Very well. I suppose I should humor you.”

You blink again, utterly at a loss. “Wait... you’re just agreeing to this?”

“Of course.” He tilts his head, giving you a strange, intrigued look. “I’ve never been kidnapped before. It sounds rather... interesting.”

And just like that, he strolls toward the door as if this is his idea. You scramble to follow, wondering what exactly you’ve gotten yourself into.

As you lead him through the estate, you’re still grappling with the bizarre reality of the situation. Here you are, attempting to kidnap someone, and the guy is practically rolling out a red carpet for you.

“You know,” you mutter, glancing over at him, “most people don’t just let themselves be kidnapped. It’s not really how this works.”

He turns to you with a serene smile that’s entirely too pleasant for a hostage. “Why should I resist? You don’t seem the type to harm me.”

You narrow your eyes. Is he flirting? Intentionally or not, this guy’s nerve is off the charts.

“I didn’t catch your name,” he says suddenly, voice smooth as silk.

“I’m not giving my name to my hostage,” you snap back. This is Kidnapping 101.

“Ah, of course.” He nods, clearly amused. “Then I’ll introduce myself instead. I am Malleus Draconia.”

Your stomach drops to the floor. Malleus Draconia. THE Malleus Draconia. The name practically vibrates with power and danger, and you suddenly realize you’ve made a colossal mistake. You haven’t kidnapped the young master of the manor—you’ve kidnapped the prince of the fae.

“Oh no,” you mutter, horror creeping into your voice. “Oh no, oh no, this is bad. This is really bad.”

Malleus watches you with mild amusement, an eyebrow raised. “Why the sudden distress?”

You whirl on him. “You’re Malleus Draconia! I— I wasn’t supposed to kidnap you! This is a mistake—like, a huge mistake. I’ll just let you go and we can pretend this never happened, okay?”

But instead of looking concerned, Malleus just smiles wider, a wicked little gleam in his eyes. “Let me go? But I’m having so much fun.”

You gape at him. “You... want to stay kidnapped?”

“Indeed.” He seems completely unbothered by the sheer absurdity of the situation. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve had such an engaging evening.”

Well. This is officially the weirdest night of your life.

The night only gets stranger when you run into his retainers.

“Young Master!” a voice bellows, and you look up to see a tall, green-haired fae charging toward you, fury in his eyes. “What is going on here?!”

Before you can even explain, Malleus casually steps in. “Ah, Sebek. Allow me to introduce my kidnapper.”

Sebek freezes mid-charge, eyes wide. “Y-Your... kidnapper?!”

Malleus nods with an unnervingly calm smile. “Yes. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Sebek’s brain seems to short-circuit, and he storms off, shouting something about telling Lilia and Silver. You groan, burying your face in your hands. “This is a disaster.”

Malleus, of course, chuckles softly beside you. “On the contrary. I think it’s rather amusing.”

Of course he does.

By the time Lilia and Silver arrive, you’ve already resigned yourself to your fate. At least they’ll make your execution quick, right?

But Lilia just grins mischievously, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “Well, well. This is certainly the most interesting kidnapping I’ve seen in centuries.”

Silver, on the other hand, just raises a brow. “He seems to be enjoying himself.”

Malleus smiles at you, as though being abducted by a random stranger is the highlight of his week. “Quite.”

You’re about to protest when Malleus turns to his retainers with a firm nod. “I’d like to speak to my kidnapper alone.”

Sebek looks like he’s going to explode, but Malleus’s sharp glance shuts him up. Lilia throws you a wink as they all leave, and just like that, you’re alone with the fae prince. Again.

Malleus steps closer, his calm mask slipping just a little. “You know, I’ve grown quite fond of this little adventure.”

You blink up at him. “Are you serious?”

He tilts his head, lips quirking into a smile. “I propose a deal. I’ll help your village with the taxes. In return, you’ll... continue kidnapping me.”

Your jaw drops. “Wait... you want me to keep kidnapping you?”

“Yes. It’s been rather fun.” His eyes twinkle with amusement. “What do you say?”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “This is the weirdest deal I’ve ever made.”

Malleus grins, entirely too pleased with himself. “Wonderful. Now, shall we shake on it?”

And so, your bizarre, extremely non-traditional kidnapping arrangement begins.

Every few days, it’s the same: you sneak into his manor (more like casually walk in, since he always leaves the window open for you now), and the two of you embark on whatever adventure catches your whimsy. Sometimes it’s sneaking into human markets where Malleus marvels at the mundane—like street food or ridiculous trinkets. Other times, you explore abandoned castles with winding, forgotten hallways that echo with untold stories.

It’s almost normal now, the way he expects you to “abduct” him with little more than a raised eyebrow and a soft chuckle as you half-heartedly demand his presence for another outing. The most feared prince of the fae is now, apparently, your willing partner in crime.

The first time you take him to a local fair, though, you realize just how out of his element he truly is. Malleus spends a good twenty minutes, completely entranced, watching a cotton candy machine.

“Is it... magic?” he asks, his (very pretty) eyes locked onto the swirling pink clouds as the vendor twirls the sugary fluff onto a stick.

You can’t help but laugh, the sound coming out far more amused than you intended. “Nope. Just sugar spun into fluff. You’ve really never seen this before?”

Malleus watches the process with a reverence usually reserved for ancient relics, finally accepting the cotton candy as if it’s some kind of delicate treasure. He takes a cautious bite, his expression lighting up like a child’s.

“Incredible,” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe. “It dissolves on the tongue.”

You bite back another laugh at the sight of this powerful fae prince, someone who commands fear from almost everyone around him, completely taken by spun sugar. “Glad you like it.”

After that, it’s a night of him eagerly trying every strange, sticky fair food he can find, utterly fascinated by things as simple as corn dogs and funnel cake. You can't decide if it’s endearing or a little embarrassing, but either way, you’re having more fun than you’ve had in a long time.

As the weeks pass, the more you look forward to your little "kidnapping" escapades, and that in itself is a whole other problem. Malleus’s wide-eyed curiosity about the human world is... strangely adorable, and while he’s still every bit the regal fae prince, there’s something endearing about the way he asks you questions about everyday things with such genuine interest. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to, his quiet intelligence making for great conversation—when he’s not completely sidetracked by things like human street food.

The more time you spend with him, the harder it becomes to ignore the truth creeping up on you. You’re starting to fall for him. It’s ridiculous, and yet... here you are.

Of course, not everything goes smoothly.

“Human!” Sebek shouts dramatically one afternoon as you and Malleus return from yet another outing. “How dare you abduct the Young Master again!”

You roll your eyes, half-expecting this by now. “Sebek, I’ve told you before. He wants me to kidnap him.”

Sebek bristles, sputtering indignantly, his green hair practically standing on end. “Lies! The Young Master would never allow—”

“Sebek,” Malleus interrupts, his tone calm, but with that unmistakable edge that immediately silences his retainer. “I went willingly. Again.”

Sebek’s jaw drops, looking like someone just told him the sky isn’t blue. “But... Young Master...”

Malleus gives him a slow, deliberate look, his lips curving into a faint, almost predatory smile. “You should try it sometime. You may find it... enlightening. Although,” he turns to you, his voice soft but with an unmistakable possessiveness, “you’ll have to find another human. This one is already mine.”

Your breath hitches as Malleus’s words hang in the air, and you can't help but feel your heart skip a beat. Sebek, meanwhile, looks utterly scandalized, his eyes wide as saucers. Lilia, who has been watching the whole thing with far too much amusement, claps Sebek on the back.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Lilia chuckles. “Let them have their fun.”

Sebek looks like he's about to explode, but instead storms off, muttering something about propriety, while Silver smirks quietly from the sidelines.

One night, after another "kidnapping," you find yourself sitting beside Malleus on a hill overlooking the village, the faint glow of the fair still visible in the distance. The stars hang bright overhead, and there’s a soft stillness between you as the cool air nips at your skin.

Malleus’s voice breaks the quiet, low and thoughtful. “You’ve given me more than I expected.”

You glance at him, curious. “What do you mean?”

He turns to you, his dark eyes holding a depth you hadn’t seen before. “Companionship. I hadn’t realized how much I longed for it until... until you.”

Your heart does something funny at his words, the raw sincerity of them tugging at something deep inside you. Without thinking, you reach out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face, your fingertips grazing his skin. The air between you seems to still.

“I’ve grown... quite fond of you,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable.

You swallow, feeling your pulse quicken. “Malleus, I—”

But before you can find the words, Malleus leans in, his eyes never leaving yours, and you feel the warmth of his hand gently cup your cheek. The world seems to fade away as you both hover there, caught between anticipation and something more.

“I do believe,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your skin as his eyes darken with something you can’t quite name, “that I’m falling for you, my little kidnapper.”

Your heart stutters, and before you know it, you’re closing the space between you, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss. For a moment, everything else ceases to matter—no fair, no adventures, no strange arrangements. Just the two of you, finally giving in to the pull that’s been drawing you together for weeks.

When you pull back, breathless, Malleus smiles, and it’s the softest, most genuine smile you’ve ever seen from him. “Does this mean,” he says, his voice still low and teasing, “you’ll continue kidnapping me?”

You laugh softly, feeling the warmth of his words settle deep in your chest. “I suppose I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Malleus grins, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. “No, I suppose not.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

This is my first time posting here so i have no idea what i'm doing and the formatting is probably off because i'm on mobile but i'll slowly figure it out.

Masterlist

[lakes-writting-rambles]

Out Of Choice, But Not Out Of Reach - #1 Inevitabilities And Such Unfortunate Things

words:2889

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Sometimes your destiny is completely out of your hands – Danny Fenton couldn’t seem to find a way to avoid learning that lesson. First; when he was shot when Slade invaded the headquarters of the League, and subsequently his family, was using, while the fight between Slade and Grandfather was going on, he used the chaos to get to the Lazarus Pit before he bled out; a second time when he died in that godforsaken portal; the most prevalent one was definitely his first meeting with Clockwork, there he noticed that it doesn’t matter how hard you try, if it isn’t meant to be, someone will interfere. It doesn’t mean he won’t still do things as before, but now there’s forever the dread of knowing.

It’s been about a year since what he, Jazz, Sam and Tucker dubbed “The Dan Incident”, and Danny can't seem to stop thinking about it. Well, not really about Dan, no, but about Damian. He can’t stop thinking about how Dan likely ended up killing Damian – it’d be inevitable, and, considering the state the future he had been shown was in, he hoped Damian went early on, really, he also hoped it was quick, like he tried to do when he was in the League.

What really bothered Danny, though, was that he couldn’t help but wonder if staying with the Fentons even was a good idea at this point. Surely he has learned that misfortune would follow him anywhere he went, so why wait for the shoe to drop? Before the accident, he was relatively safe to live the rest of his life in Amity, sure, it was kind of a deadend, but it was tranquil, so he couldn’t really complain. Now, though? He was in constant danger inside and outside his house, being half dead meant no place with the living and no place with the dead. He should leave while he still can.

The League isn’t likely to spot him, considering it’s been years since his “death” and he probably looks different enough from Damian now… which is something he’ll have to think about later. And the threats of dissection (vivisection?) by his parents keep increasing – he doesn’t want to fuck around and find out.

So, the League is probably not an issue anymore, staying seems to get more dangerous each day and he’s pretty sure most ghosts only come to Amity to fight him.

Nevertheless, running away also came with a plethora of problems, for one: leaving Jazz and his friends. When he got adopted into the Fenton household he tried not to get attached to anyone. He couldn’t keep that up for long, as a touch starved 9 year old that came from a violent background and got thrown into a very loving family. First, he got attached to his parents, then Jazz, Tucker, and finally, Sam. He doesn’t regret it, not one bit, but it might make this choice hard to make – since the easiest way to run away would be to fake his death and forgo any contact with everyone from his old life. Maybe they’d know he wasn’t (fully) dead, maybe they’d just be extremely miserable, he wouldn't know. 

Another issue is that he’s the current Ghost King, and oh boy doesn’t that complicate things? He keeps getting more powerful, which means keeping his cover is getting harder – an unsettling and overpowering aura surrounds him now, and sure, it reacts to other people’s emotions as well as his own, which in theory should make it easier to hide, since everyone in Amity seems to have differing opinions on his two  personas, but the fact that his aura is big enough that others take notice is concerning enough on its own; he’s control over his abilities needs to be impeccable or he risks getting found out; and he’s pretty sure some of his more ghostly traits are beginning to bleed over into his human form. He also needs stable access to a portal, since he needs to take at least two trips per month to the Ghost Zone so he can check over things with Clockwork and parade around to remind the citizens of the realm that he is their king; he can’t officially take over since he’s still alive, once he’s entirely dead he will, but for now the observants act as regents and that’s more than fine by him.

And third: he’s not really sure where he should go. You’d think Gotham would be his first option because of his father, but he has too much media presence, so Danny’d be brought to the spotlight. Does anyone in Amity care about Gotham? Not that he knows of. But it’d still be too big of a risk. Plus, Tucker really wants to work in Wayne Enterprises in the future, he’s sure that it’d become a problem in no time.

So… what to do? Money isn’t a problem, since he has access to all the treasure hoarded by Pariah Dark over the centuries, but that’s not all he has to consider. He needs some sort of safety net, that much is obvious, and since he won’t be able to count on his regular support system, he should fall back on his blood.

Maybe he could go to Blüdhaven? It’s close enough to Gotham that he can go there if he somehow needs to come into contact with someone from his biological family but not enough that he’d be immediately clocked… but then there’s Nightwing… as long as he doesn’t get  into any trouble it should be fine, right? It’s not like there’s a city without a hero nowadays… Urgh, nevermind, he’ll come back to these thoughts later, he’d rather not spend his rare moment of peace coming up with what to do after he fakes his death.

Sometimes fate decides that things should be ultimately out of your hands – but Damian Al Ghul Wayne fights with all his might to avoid such a thing becoming a rule in his life. When he came to live with his father, around 7 years ago, he held out hope that his twin had made it and would eventually return to his side. That never happened. And now Damian isn’t sure how to approach the topic of Danyal with his family, so he just… doesn’t. Even after all this time, it feels wrong to keep the memory of Danyal to himself, he should be celebrated, even if his death was premature and almost a decade has passed.

Danyal had died the same day as Grandfather, which is why his grief isn’t questioned –, even if the Bats are well aware of his distaste of his Grandfather’s actions, now that he’s recognized them for what they were. Damian isn’t sure if it’ll ever come to pass, because in quiet moments like this, he thinks of what could have been.

His twin was never needlessly violent, and his killings were virtually a mercy, compared to the others in the LoA, even himself. Maybe he would have adapted faster than Damian did, maybe he would have made a better Robin, maybe they would still wake up together and share little moments of quiet.

It’s all speculation, all it will ever be. They never found his body, but even now, years later, the image of his pierced chest is burned between the other twin’s eyes, it wasn’t likely to survive a wound like that, and even if he did, the bloodloss would’ve killed him regardless. But to a 9 year old, the what ifs often overshadow reality, which is why Damian had kept his hopes up, afterall, one of the many teachings of the League was that “if there isn’t a body then one should always consider the possibility of the victim having survived”. But now, at 16, he could see it for what it was, the foolishness of a child longing for what is gone – he’ll never admit it, but in the darkest, deepest and most hidden part of his heart, Damian still has a little bit of wonder, almost completely squashed, but a bit of hope of seeing his brother once again remains.

There’s no use for pondering at the moment, time doesn’t stop and soon one of his siblings will notice his absence at breakfast and come to pester him, thus he gets up and readies himself to face another hectic morning.

“If I were to go missing, where would you search for me first?” was not a question Tucker was ready for, like, at all, but especially at two in the afternoon on a saturday. Danny hadn’t been the same since that thing with Dan or whatever they had dubbed it, he didn’t change much, but he seemed to get lost in thought more frequently, and Tucker didn’t blame him! Really! But man, what went through his head was morbid at times, and he maybe shouldn’t voice those out of nowhere.

— Uhh I guess… your parent’s basement? — awkward silence fills the air, it’s the most obvious answer, but not a thing they normally consider outloud. A grimace crosses Danny’s face for a second.

— No, I mean, if I …ran away. — he says, and there’s some hesitancy. Obviously, there’s more to the question, but Tucker can’t for the life of him figure out what it could be.

— I’d guess Wisconsin, since it’s close by and you might be able to rely on Vlad if push comes to shove, but that is not likely at all, — Sam starts before coming to a slight pause to think. — Maybe Missouri?

— Why…?

— Cause it’s close by, it’s not like we’d let you get far before going after you. — she smirks and gives his arm a little punch.

—  I think we’d find Danny in Florida, actually, — Tucker chuckles before continuing — it’s the only place where he wouldn’t stand out.

— Oh, screw you. — He says before he lunges at Tucker.

Sam watches for a bit, the conversation got to her more than it did to Tucker. She decides that now isn’t the time to worry about it, she doesn’t think Danny would leave them behind without saying anything, not after all they’ve been through, but it did leave a sour taste in her mouth. To stop herself from spiraling down a rabbit hole, she jumps – literally jumps – into the struggle. 

That is how the three friends end up scratched all over, with dirt and grass stuck to their clothes and silly smiles on their faces, looking up at the sky as the clouds pass by. Moments like this used to be common, but with the chaos that is Amity Park nowadays a chance to just relax and joke around as friends seems more and more like a luxury.

Their peace is interrupted when Danny sighs, a defeated sigh that usually comes after his breath fogs – which means there is a ghost nearby. A shout ruptures the quiet and kills any hopes for the rest of their afternoon.

— BEWARE! I AM THE BOX GHOST!

— Alright, — he gets up and stretches. — Just wait for me, I’ll be back in a sec.

Sam and Tucker look at each other, worried glances on both ends – they didn’t even need to say anything. Things will never go back to the way they were before, that is something all three know intimately. Danny died. Everything they have witnessed is bound to leave some sort of mark as well. And there are the Fentons. Sam and Tucker knew Danny and Jazz loved their parents, but at this point it seemed inevitable that someday they’d turn on Danny, and it seems that even if he doesn’t talk about it, it’s also something he believes.

It feels unfair, Danny seemed to have come from a bad background and was settling into his own skin and fully letting his guard down for what felt like the first time before the accident. And wasn’t that heartbreaking? He’d adjusted to the life in Amity early on, but to actually enjoy himself? That took some 2-3 years, and to trust that he could always rely on the people around him? It had just started happening into the beginning of their ninth grade. Then the portal opened and he had to put some of those walls back up to protect himself, not just emotionally, but physically as well. Now, they’re in 11th grade, they should be looking for colleges and studying for entrance exams, but instead, Danny is thinking of running away.

They know how their friend thinks at this point, and it’s undeniable they’ll likely have to say goodbye soon.

Dealing with the Box Ghost wasn’t hard, but it sure was annoying. After the fight (if you could even call it that) ended he went back to Sam and Tuck, they laid on the grass for a while longer, ultimately, they got hungry and headed to the Nasty Burger and ate before parting ways.

Danny plops face first into his bed. Well… he could have approached that with more subtlety. Maybe it was his subconscious trying to get them to look for him, or something, to prepare them for his absence. That sounds too close to something Jazz would say…

He turns around, putting his arm on his forehead. His thoughts keep getting away from him, always back to Damian – would he have liked Amity Park? Probably not, if he was being honest with himself. He couldn’t even see himself liking it there when he arrived – in fact: He had hated it. The city was so calm it felt forced, the Fentons so loving it felt like a trap, the kids lacked any malice at all, everything screamed danger at him, like he was about to be ambushed. Nothing ever came to that, just a nice, cozy, little town. 

Well, until the portal opened, that is. 

He stops and just looks at his ceiling for a bit, the old glow in the dark stars already discolored and lacking any actual functionality, there was no reason for them to remain there but the attachment to what they used to be, kinda like him. There was no escaping his current reality. No escaping his need to desert this city, this family, this life. 

Danny sits up and looks around his room, which for the last few years had become his safe haven. He looks at the stained carpet, marked by his many sleepovers with Sam and Tuck, he looks at his ceiling fan, that was cracked from the time the trio had tried to recreate the solar system on it, he looks at his closet, his posters, his desk, everything that was proof of the life he had lived here.

He needs some water and something to eat before setting his plan up.

As he heads down the stairs to the first floor he hears his mother’s soft voice coming from the kitchen.

— Oh Jack, I’m so worried about Danny, — the phrase startles Danny, he turns invisible and intangible, floating a bit so as to not make any sound, — his ecto-contamination has only gotten worse over the years… how can we be sure he’s okay?

— Honey, I’m sure Danno is fine! He must be building up resistance!

— But what if… what if it’s fusing to him? What if there’s no reversing this? — His mom is chewing on her lower lip, clearly distressed. 

At the sight, his dad softens up and hugs her, his voice comforting as he speaks, — We’ll make sure he’s fine, Maddie. We might not know what happened, but we know each other and we know what we’re doing, we’re experts in our field. 

Danny can’t stay there anymore, they know he has ecto in his system and they know it’s getting worse. They know and they want to “fix” him. He’s completely and utterly fucked. 

Alongside his nervousness there is also newfound resolve. He quickly phases into his room, grabs his thermos, maybe two shirts and a pair of pants, he shoves it all inside an old backpack he hasn’t used in years. He will need to dispose of his phone, taking anything electronic with him will leave a trail and he can’t have that. Hopefully his parents don’t have his ecto signature yet, he doesn’t think he has the time to get rid of it if they do.

He checks the kitchen again, they aren’t there anymore, likely back in the lab, then. He has to leave through the front door, to not raise any suspicions. Now, how to make this realistic? Maybe he can fake being murdered? No, Amity doesn’t really have that type of violence. Maybe he can fake being a casualty in a ghost attack? But he’d have to damage public spaces to do so and he doesn’t want to endanger anyone else… Fake getting kidnapped? It wouldn’t be the first time it happened, even as a human.

He could also just up and leave. It’s not like Amity has any actual investigative police force… Maybe he’s complicating things too much. He needs to go before he has time to chicken out. His parents will probably make a move on his ecto contamination within the week and he can’t be there for that.

— Bye mom, dad, be back in a bit! — and so, he shuts the door – leaving his house for what will probably be the last time.

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Inevitabilities And Such Unfortunate Things > Those We Leave Behind

AO3

[umathurwin]

maybe we could share my mood

rafe cameron x f!reader; nsfw 18+

Summary: Rafe is gonna have a hard time wedging his way into the world of art dealing when his girlfriend is such a horny brat at the worst times. Maybe he'll have to teach her a lesson...

tags, warnings, and more on ao3!

Your hands flew to your elbows the second you heard the air conditioning in the gallery turn on again. Seriously? It had to be below 65 degrees at this point. The minidress you found in your closet was a great idea outside, but the second you realized that this place was apparently a large refrigerator for the artwork displayed, the regret kicked in.

The worst part was Rafe had definitely told you to take a coat before you left. “Take that fake fur Sarah got you last Christmas. It would look great with that dress,” he’d insisted, clearly having been to this gallery before. But you didn’t listen, instead waving him off, grabbing your small purse and heading out.

So when he noticed you shivering and clutching yourself, his eyebrow shot up. “Not giving you my jacket,” he denied before you even opened your mouth, already seeing the request written on your face.

You played through the argument in your head—you would whine, and he would stand his ground with a stern face because no matter how much he loved you and would do anything for you, he wouldn’t lose an argument like this. There was no use in starting with him, so you just inhaled through your nose slowly. “Then how much longer are we gonna be here?”

His mouth tightened. “We just got here. It’s really important to my dad that we come here and make a good impression since he wants to get into the art business.”

“I’ve literally never heard him say a good thing about the art world.”

“It’s to help launder the gold money,” he muttered, glancing around.

You sulked, shifting your weight around on your feet and lulling your head to the side. “Like our cocaine intake isn’t doing a good enough job of that already,” you mumbled.

Rafe lifted an eyebrow, but a little smile peeked through his serious expression. “You try explaining that to Ward.”

The air conditioning unit finally shut off again, leaving only the sound of the chatters echoing around the marble floors. You lifted your shoulders. “Whatever, let’s get this over with.”

His face twisted in confusion at your attitude but he didn’t say anything, mainly because you two were joined by a man you recognized as the curator who greeted you upon arrival. He’d been considerably polite when Rafe introduced you, considering you were not adequately dressed for the weather inside.

“Stanley, hello again,” Rafe smiled, nodded and wrapping his arm around your waist. “You mentioned something earlier that my father had interest in. Do you mind showing us?”

“Not at all! This way,” the curator gestured to another room in the gallery. “It is an authentic DiPont, donated to us by the Arnault family,” Stanley explained, leading the two to a work on the wall.

“Do you mean DuPont?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I do not.”

And yeah, he didn’t. The work on the wall was not from British artist Gainsborough Dupont, but some entirely different person likely using his name’s likeness to the more famous painter in his favor. “What do you think?” he asked, very pointed towards you.

Frankly… it was hideous. The painting was massive and abstract and filled with clashing colors like burnt orange and fuchsia and periwinkle. The lines were disruptive, and the ornate gold trim around the mess wasn’t well-matched to itself. It was too large to reasonably display anywhere in a home even if some color blind person found interest in the mess. Your mouth dropped open to find something nice to say about the work, but you blanked. You had to lie.

“It’s beautiful,” you mustered up, waving your hand around as the men stared at you, but nothing more came to mind.

The curator was unfortunately more clever than you planned for. He detected your insincerity, nodded curtly, and stepped away from the two of you.

Apologies spilled out of your mouth but Rafe was already turning and pulling you to a corner, your sandals nearly scuffing the floor trying to keep up with him.

“What is wrong with you?” he spat, tightening his hands into fists once appropriately in the corner away from the others.

“Babe, that painting was disgusting,” you defended, tilting your head to one side. “I’m sorry! I tried to be nice!”

“Well, you have to try better than that,” he scolded, folding his arms across his chest.

Wow, he was attractive. His biceps were getting bigger, you noticed, ever since he’d started working out more with Topper. Even now, they dared to split the seams of his nice dress coat’s sleeves. His reprimanding look made you feel so small, and the twitching of his jaw certainly didn’t help. Fuck, why was your boyfriend so damn hot at the worst times? Thoughts of him pulling at your hair when you misbehaved in the past popped into your brain, and you had to cross one leg over the other to help calm down. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice how hot and bothered you were getting just from this slightly chastising gaze.

Rafe definitely noticed. “S’wrong with you?” he asked, scanning up and down your body. “Are you…?” The pieces assembled themselves in Rafe’s brain and his entire demeanor shifted. “Oh, you’re just a little slut, huh?” his voice was low, but the smirk tugging at his lips showed he was nothing if not proud of himself. “I fucked you this morning. That wasn’t enough?”

Your cheeks burned bright, but you didn’t wanna lose like this, not in public. “Apparently not, hmm?” you bit, rolling your eyes—something that annoyed the hell out of him.

He straightened his body, scanning around presumably to see if anyone was watching them. Once the coast was clear, he clutched your elbow again and whisked you to the back. Two identical, gender-neutral lavatories sat nestled in an alcove facing each other, and Rafe shoved one of the doors open like it were weightless, pulling you both inside.

In terms of quality, there was no transition between the gallery and the restroom—it was just as gleaming and polished as the rest of the building. The chatter of the art-goers was completely silenced when the heavy door latched itself back in the hinge. You swallowed.

He let go of your elbow only to spin you around and bend you over the sink, keeping you there by the back of your neck. Your hands shot out to the counter to steady yourself as Rafe turned the tap on. There wasn’t time to be confused before he tugged the back of your dress up to expose your ass and ran his hand under the stream.

The painful collision of his wet, ring-clad hand and your flesh was terribly amplified by the water. The smack seemed even louder than normal echoing off the smooth marble lining the entire room. Air sucked into your lungs roughly and you fell to your elbows. Rafe didn’t rewet his hand, but hit the other side of your ass just a bit harder to elicit terrible swears from you.

“Watch your mouth, doll,” he warned, voice calmer than his actions would let on. After one more smack, he inhaled sharply. “Now, are you just acting out because you wanna cum?” His condescending tone told you he already knew the answer, and also that he wouldn’t continue until you confirmed it.

You nodded desperately, relishing in the way his fingers flexed around the back of your neck. “Yes, please, fuck. Please do something.”

He shook his head. “So pathetic. I make you feel good every day, I give you the best drugs, I buy you nice clothes, and you still want more. You still act like a brat when you need to fucking behave,” he seethed, giving one more slap on your ass before turning your body around. “It’s a good thing I love you, huh?” His eyes trailed down slowly. “Good thing I have so much to give, doll.”

You whimpered, now face-to face with him. You looked down to where he was unbuttoning his pants. “I’ll make you cum, sweetheart, but I go first. Since you were acting like that out there.”

Your head was bobbing while you dropped down to your knees, face to face with his boxers peaking from behind the zipper. You didn’t even bother with unzipping his pants, just tugging them down his hips enough to let his cock escape.

Now wasn’t the time to be messy. Your preferred method was sloppy, eyes watering your makeup across your face and drool dripping off your chin as you forced his member down your throat. Giving head was both you and Rafe’s favorite thing to do solely because of their partner’s fervor in the act.

But you couldn’t this time. As soon as you two were done in there, it was right back to fake smiles and faker appearances for a shot at buying an ugly fucking painting. So instead, you tried to be careful, sucking and licking on his cock without making yourself too much of a disaster.

He didn’t appear to have the same motives. Rafe held you down to the base of his cock, twisting his fingers even further into your hair. You’d be lucky if one of his rings didn’t get stuck like last time. Drool spilled out of your mouth to the floor, narrowly avoiding landing on and staining your dress. A teeny thrust from him pulled gags from you, and you had no choice but to push off him by his thighs.

He allowed this, but only because the sight of you wrecked with puffy, wet lips and pink cheeks was almost as good as being down your throat. He wiped at the inner corner of your eye where a big teardrop threatened to spill out.

“Mm, this is why it’s so hard to punish you,” he noted, throwing his head back as you sucked on the tip like candy. “You’re just—fuck—such a good girl. Gonna make me cum?”

Moving ever-so-softly, you nodded your head without taking him out of your mouth. You dropped all the way down to bury your nose in his pelvis, letting his cock slide as far down as it could reach. Rafe groaned, tugging on your hair again and fucking your throat until he came.

You didn’t taste a bit of it even as he pulled out of your mouth, leaving a thick string of spit connecting you and his cock.

“Alright, sweet girl, now you can have your turn.”

Rafe stood you up and leaned you back against the countertop. He yanked the hem of your dress up to your hips and pulled the thin fabric of your underwear aside.

He cupped your pussy in his hand, forcing a noise from the back of your throat. “Look at you. Haven't done a thing and you’re already whining for me,” he shook his head, tutting his tongue at you. The sound of his fingers sliding over your wet cunt made him smile. “Fuck. Can feel how swollen you are. Guess you weren’t lying about being horny.”

You shook your head. Most of your body weight had shifted to the counter behind you, as your legs were not gonna hold your body weight up for much longer. It felt pathetic, being reduced so quickly by almost nothing at all.

Rafe messily rubbed his first three fingers over your clit, stimulating you until your head was lulled back. He only stopped to dip his fingers into your wetness to make his movements easier. His other hand wrapped around your back to slide under your dress and play with your nipples, and that was just enough to send you over the edge.

You came, rushed and desperately on his digits and he talked you through it with the same smug, cocky words he’d been using on you all night. Your legs were trembling, but you just managed to stay upright as the slick noise of his stroking fingers rang in your ears.

Rafe had only needed a few moments to readjust his button-down and wash his hands. He’d already had time to settle down from his orgasm—more than you could say for yourself—so when you glanced up to him, his hair and clothes were as straight as they were when they came in.

He nodded down at you, still trembling, hair a fucking mess. “Meet you out in the gallery, sweetheart.” Rafe kissed your forehead and rejoined the people outside, leaving you to clean yourself up.

Well. A punishment’s a punishment.

[minijenn]

Hehehe the stupid ass angstfest oneshot I wrote is finally here! Enjoy some preemptive UF2 Stonemason saga angst. Part 1 of 2 focuses on developing the bond between Dipper and Amber. Part 2 will mostly focus on post Stonemason saga Pines Family hurt/comfort. With all that said, I’ll leave ya to it to enjoy the angst! ^_^

Characters: Dipper, Amber, Yellow Diamond, Hessonite, Bill Cipher, Stonemason

Additional Tags: Crossover, Angst, Drama, Pain, literally the most shameless angstfest ever i am not beating the allegations, Don't read this unless you have the insider knowledge on UF2, UF and UF2 spoilers, Universe Falls, Amputation, Brainwashing, Torture, Harm to Children, Broken Bones, Blood and Injury, Panic Attacks, Dehumanization, Loss of Identity, Loss of Limbs, Suicidal Thoughts, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I give Dipper another Gem mom what else is fucking new, Amber my beloved, not me writing a stupid niche twoshot no one is gonna read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, once part 2 is out

Summary:

Set during (the currently unwritten) Universe Falls 2's Stonemason arc:

Part 1: Trapped on Homeworld, with his own mind slowly being turned against him, Dipper finds an unexpected ally. But even though Amber can heal him, is she willing to help him when it matters most?

Part 2: Coming soon!

[serenescribe]

Bit of an odd request but I was listening to a bit of music and I was hit by an idea-

Idk if you know the tale of the Snow Queen, but essentially snow queens powerful ice mirror shatters, all but two pieces are recovered. One shard lands in a boys eye making him turn icey and Queen snatched him up.

However consider- Snow King Silver dragging a “mortal” who has a piece of something that was his. Unaware said “mortal” is actually a fae whose intrigued by this King’s combination of harshness yet tenderness.

the snow prince Twisted Wonderland | 3.9k Summary: A mysterious spell afflicts one Lilia Vanrouge, encasing his heart in frigid cold. AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51960883

FREED FROM UNI, I AM! I actually had this written for a while, but put off posting it to save it for a more appropiate season. I really love Snow Queen retellings and AUs, so this was a LOT of fun to write! Thank you, Olive! :D

(An aside: There are extremely minor spoilers for TWST CH7 in here; they're all under the cut and mentioned in passing. If you're trying to avoid every little detail of CH7, I'd suggest passing up on this!)

In the heat of a sweltering summer that sweeps Briar Valley like a storm, Lilia feels a prick of something sharp enter his eyes.

It happens so fast, so swiftly, that had Lilia not been one of the fair folk, he likely would not have noticed it at all. If he were a human, for example, with their sluggish reflexes and oblivious tendencies, lacking a natural affinity for magic in comparison to the fae, Lilia would have chalked up the prick in his eye to a stray lash falling in, rubbing around until he feels as though he’s flicked it out before moving on with his day.

But Lilia is not human. He is fae.

He knows, at once, despite trying and failing to dig out whatever it is that has entered his eye, that it is not a stray lash or a speck of dust. There is a strange magic emanating off of the tiny sharp splinter, an aura he picks up on in an instant. It’s peculiar, the way it makes him shudder as he brushes against it, the sensation likened to the cold of a dead winter. It is unlike anything he has ever felt before.

But gradually, Lilia has to put a pause on his efforts. He is out on a journey to meet with humans for talks of peace, for their centuries-long wars are slowly crawling to an end. His soldiers look at him in concern, clicking their tongues as they ask him, “General, are you alright? Do we need to stop for a while?”

“I am fine,” Lilia says, waving his hand in dismissal. “I simply got something in my eye, is all.”

It is not wrong to say that, for it is not a lie at all. But Lilia knows as well as anyone else that the strange prick of magic infesting his eye warrants further inspection.

Later, he tells himself, as they continue on with their journey on horseback, for the stalemate in their war has allowed for easier travel through ways of steed.

Time ticks by, the lazy heat of summer dipping into the beginnings of a chilly autumn. But despite the changing seasons, the months that have passed since that fateful summer day, Lilia comes no closer to discovering what it is that ails him so deeply.

He is not oblivious to the changes occurring to him; quite the opposite, in fact. Lilia has carried about him a strange self-awareness about his shifting attitude, only realising the differences in how he’s been acting when he reflects on the changes in hindsight. He’s never exactly been the pinnacle of warmth, and especially not after his beloved friends died, but he’s always held a fondness in his heart for the few he opens up to — namely his second in command, Baul Zigvolt, and the young heir to the throne and son of his deceased friend, Malleus Draconia.

But now?

Lilia stifles a sigh as he reminisces, trudging through the gardens of the castle. The leaves are shifting to warm hues, leaves fluttering in shades of vermillion red and golden yellow, and the fallen leaves give a satisfying crunch when his boots stomp into them.

He exhales, twisting his lips as he raises his head up to the world around him. It looks as it always has, Lilia knows that well. And yet… something about it has felt different since that day.

Everything has begun to feel… boring. Banal and bland at best, wickedly ugly at worst. The crunch of the leaves irritates his ears, the drought of the autumn air makes his nose feel too sore. He turns his nose up at the food the castle staff serve, wrinkling his nose at the pungent smell of a dish he used to love, and he turns down whoever offers him a mug of beer, the foam that guzzles over the rim leaving his hands sticky and gross.

Lilia knows he’s changing. It’s not just his emotions, but also in the way he sees the world — everything is so intimately different in the worst way, and every waking hour he spends feels like a chore, an obligation he drags himself through. Where he used to spend time with Baul and his fellow men, or with Malleus most of all, being the one to raise him since he hatched, he now spends it all… alone.

But knowing something logically is different from knowing it emotionally. There are only so many apologies he can force out with his insincere tongue, schooling his expression into a facsimile of sincere regret. At the end of the day — of each day — Lilia truly feels nothing at all except the vacant void of a howling gelidity, frostbite nipping through his very veins.

At the very least, his men have respected this change, regardless of how perplexed they seem to be. Baul had pulled him aside once or twice to ask if he was feeling fine, but had he not been so preoccupied with his daughter’s sudden interest in the Valley’s newest dentist, a peculiar human who’d chosen to move here, of all places, he would have surely pressed the matter further.

On the other hand…

“Lilia!”

He sucks in a breath at the sound of that familiar voice. Once, it had lightened his heart to be greeted to such a cry upon returning to the castle from one of his many campaigns. But now?

“Hello, Malleus,” Lilia greets, making a deliberate effort to soften his voice as he turns to greet the young prince. Malleus has grown a great deal since he first hatched, now towering slightly above Lilia. Still, the boy has an inclination for continuing to call out to him childishly — something that had endeared Lilia in times past, but now only serves to irritate him by no fault of Malleus at all. “Is there something you require of me?”

“Not require, per se,” Malleus answers, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He toys with the chain of his cloak with one hand. “I was merely hoping that you could spare the time to join me today for some tea. It has been quite a while, after all. I understand you’ve been busy as of late, but you do not appear to have anything on today, so I thought—”

“You’re rambling again.” Abruptly, Malleus’ mouth snaps shut. Lilia winces internally at his misstep; why had he interrupted the prince like that, in so cold a tone? He sighs. “Apologies. I have been under… a great deal of stress recently.”

“It is no matter, Lilia.”

Well that’s good, at least, Lilia thinks. Averting his gaze, he says, “Unfortunately, I do not believe I can join you today.”

A pause.

“Truly?” He hears it, the surprise in Malleus’ voice, mixing in with a forlorn misery. “I was certain that you had nothing to do today, given your schedule…”

“I—” Pressing his lips together, Lilia thinks before he says, rather stiffly, “It is true that I may not have anything on. But I would like some time to myself if you would be so kind, my prince.”

Ah, another slip up of his. To refer to Malleus by his title rather than his name… the gap between them only widens, and the only reason why Lilia worries about it is because he fears that he may go too far, say the wrong thing when it’s far too late to take anything back. But what’s done is done; Lilia raises his head in time to see Malleus recoil, hurt glimmering in those chartreuse eyes of his.

If Lilia stays longer… will he continue to mess up so miserably?

Before Malleus can speak, Lilia cuts in. “If there is nothing else that requires my attention,” he says, “I would like to return to my walk. Good day, Malleus. Give my regards to the queen.”

And, abruptly, he turns on his heels and leaves.

Oh, Lilia knows that Malleus is displeased. He knows it because, within mere moments, there is a gentle flutter of snow wafting down from the skies. He raises his head, blinking up at the fluttering snowflakes — so delicate and fragile, a byproduct of the prince’s tumultuous emotions, his magic far too powerful for him to properly handle when his emotions explode past his limits.

And yet, when he sets his eyes upon the swirling snow, Lilia feels…

Something.

He raises a hand, watching a snowflake land on his finger — so tiny, so delicate, an eight-pointed speck weaved into such an elegant pattern. It melts almost instantly against the warm flush of his skin — and yet, Lilia is transfixed, mouth parting slightly as he steps back, watching as the snow begins to flurry down faster and faster, cascading through the skies. How long has it been since he’d felt anything other than such apathy, such revulsion, such irritation and disgust? Now, Lilia only feels a sense of childlike wonder.

When was the last time he stopped to stare at the snow as it fell? He cannot remember. Has he ever stopped to observe it like this? Or had war stripped away such inconsequential pastimes from his life?

Lilia does not know how long he wanders around, watching the snowflakes dance until he goes numb, so numb with the cold. He only knows that his fingers are frozen and his lips are blue when he finally returns to the castle in a daze, barely cognisant of the way his entire body is battered, pushed past the natural limitations of his faerie strength.

Winter crashes into Briar Valley like an enemy ambush, a sudden attack spurned from the shadows of nothingness. It is the worst winter they have had in an eternity, everyone says, peering outside the frost-tinted windows as they bask within the toasty walls of the castle grounds; the fire-spells keep everyone warm for as long as they stay inside.

With the thick layers of snow barring any method of safe travel, the ongoing talks of their peace treaties with the humans have been temporarily suspended — more for the children of men’s sakes than that of the fae. If she so willed it, Queen Maleficia could wash away the snow with a flick of her wrist, but such matters, in her opinion, are trivial; nature is not something to be fixed at an instant, so why should she expend her energy for such things?

So during those days, cooped up within the castle walls with little to do, Lilia winds up lounging in the cushioned nook of a window, a little alcove tucked away in a winding tower towards the murky corners of the castle. Few fae ever roam here, save for a scant few servants pattering about cleaning the dusty hallways, and Lilia spends many languid hours with his head pressed against the cool glass, so intensely transfixed on the dancing snowflakes outside.

They are beautiful. Perhaps they are the last bits of perfection he shall ever witness in his life.

He has found no information about the shard that pricked his eye, nor has he found any sort of cure. Lilia has spent many a month searching, sifting through the treasure trove of books in the castle’s library to no avail. He had, at one point, considered going to the queen and telling her of his predicament — “In the month of summer, I believe a magical spell of some kind has afflicted my eye.” — but his own apathy stops him every time; there is simply no point in dragging others into this matter, not because Lilia does not wish to trouble them, but because, try as he might, the larger part of him just doesn’t care.

So, with his head pressed against the cold glass, Lilia closes his eyes and sighs.

The winter solstice is approaching, the longest night of the year. As nocturnal fae, creatures of the night, it is a joyous cause for celebration for their kind. Despite the blizzard that rages across the Valley night and day, many servants, guardsmen, people of their kingdom have been looking forward to the events; the castle town shall be open to all, shielded from the elements. All fae, young and old, can look forward to a night of dancing and festivities, dining on the finest food at the banquets, and celebrating the longevity of the night.

In years past, Lilia would have looked forward to it. But now, like everything else in his life, he feels nothing at all.

“Lilia? Are you here?”

He stifles a groan at the sound of Malleus’ voice. Again and again, the boy continues to scour for him, to seek him out and spend time with him. Lilia tries to indulge him, he really does! But each occasion spent together, needing to force himself to fake sincerity the whole way through — “Oh yes, Malleus, I would like to try the new blend of tea! Thank you kindly for the offer. How is your grandmother doing? I heard she has spent some time with you as of late—”

He can’t stand it. He can’t. It gets harder and harder with each passing day, the chill that permeates his skin sinking deeper and deeper, turning his heart into one carved of ice. His eye prickles with pain whenever he grits his teeth in a false smile; across the table from him, the young prince looks detestable, a selfish beast with far too much time, uncaring of what his servants are subjected to in their indulgence of him.

So he avoids him. As soon as Lilia hears him, he flicks his wrist, a swell of magic surrounding him. Bat-formed, Lilia takes to the rafters, huddling away in the corners of the ceiling as he listens to Malleus come and go. It is only when he hears that familiar voice fading away that he dares to leave, flapping his little wings as he makes a break for another isolated corner of the labyrinthian castle.

The day of the winter solstice arrives, and with it comes the worst blizzard the valley has ever seen.

Cold winds lash against the fortifications of the castle, howling and rattling. Snow crashes from the sky, piling higher and higher upon the dead ground. And yet the castle is alight with the buzz of festivities — the many servants bustle about, wrapping up the last of their preparations, ensuring the banquet is ready with food for all, that the decor floats about in place, that the spells wrapping the castle and its town in a bubble of warmth remain solidly intact.

Throughout the day, Lilia sticks to the shadows, hovering out of sight. Today he feels… he doesn’t know how to describe it. Cold and dead as usual, his heart no longer the warm, affectionate thing it was before — but beneath the thick layers of apathy, there is something nestled beneath: the barest twitch of a muscle, a flutter of something. Lilia finds himself distracted with it the entire day as he meanders about, waiting for the clock to tick to a point when the festivities can start.

And when they do begin, the many residents of the valley teleporting into the castle en masse… Oh, how does Lilia even begin to describe them? Laughter rings freely, the merry melody of music from a string band sweeping the air as dancers circle across the floor. Wine glasses clink as people toast to prosperity and magic, hoping to see the weather ease up soon, and even the queen herself is out and about, walking amidst the crowd, a smile on her face as she mingles with the few faeries bold enough to approach her.

But Lilia—

He feels nothing watching all this. Nothing at all.

And yet… there is something else. That peculiar emotion buried underneath… it sings to him, calls to him, as though someone’s voice were tugging at a string. It only strengthens as the night goes on, likened to an unbearable itch; it is the first blissful thing he has felt in what feels like an eternity, and Lilia—

He misses it. He misses being able to love, to feel something other than apathy at best, and all these horrible, miserable emotions at worst — a repugnance, a rage, an irascibility that sparks every time someone tries to converse with him. Lilia misses being able to love freely, his heart softening as he grows older, brought on by the loss he’s experienced, and the love he mustered up to be able to raise Malleus into the man he is today.

So who can blame him for slipping off, for finding a way out of the castle grounds? Lilia answers the call, sneaking past guards who are far too drunk on wine, laughing and shouting as they play games at their stations. He does not bother with whisking up thick clothes for himself; Lilia merely plunges into the blizzard, battered at once by shrieking winds and a pelting of snow against his face, of a storm so deadly chilling that it would ravage even the strongest of faes.

And yet, he does not feel cold.

He grits his teeth as he presses on, dragging his legs through the thick boughs of snow. Lilia knows not how long it takes for him to trudge, only that it feels like forever — but he knows he is getting somewhere, because with each step he takes, the tugging in his chest grows and grows, the intensity of the emotion exciting him for the first time in months.

Is this the answer to his ailment?

Is there a cure tucked within the heart of the storm?

Lilia takes one step, and then another. He takes a third, and—

All at once, everything stops.

The wind dies away. The blizzard softens to a gentle snowfall. Little flakes of snow dance through the air as Lilia walks forward, head turning to and fro. How peculiar this is! He raises a hand, watching a flake fall into the open palm of his hand and rest there, and it is only the sound of hooves clumping against snow that snaps him out of his reverie.

Lilia turns his head, and sees a child.

A boy, who gazes at him with wide eyes that reflect the northern lights — auroras of shifting veins tinted shades of pink, purple, and blue, lights that Lilia has only gotten the chance to see once during a journey across the world. His hair sweeps across his forehead, locks of the purest silver as though spun from the nighttime stars, streaked with white like the pristine paleness of snow. He sits on a white stag, ice-spun crystals hanging from its glacial antlers, and around him is a fur-lined cloak and hood that swallows him whole, far too big for his tiny body.

Lilia’s breathing hitches—

Because the boy before him is the most beautiful thing he has seen in a long time.

“Hello,” the boy says after a while, a glimmering curiosity in those wide eyes of his. His mount trots forward, bringing him closer. “I’ve never seen you before,” he says, looking at Lilia closely.

At that, Lilia laughs. “I could say the same to you, little one.” He rests a hand on his hips, relishing in the joy, the curiosity, the emotions that flood him in full force; it has been so long! “It is a rare sight to see a young boy riding a stag in a storm like this.”

The boy’s face falls, and Lilia feels… worried. Did he upset him somehow? “I’ve been trying to stop the storm for a while now,” the boy explains, auroral eyes flicking to the storm that rages outside the bubble they’re within, continuing to ravage the valley to no end. “B-but it’s my first time really trying such a thing, and I don’t… really know how.”

Ah, Lilia thinks, finally coming to understand. A lost child. A boy with power over the very elements itself, who can control the season of cold and snow. And yet, who would place such responsibility upon a child, one so very young? He feels the fervent urge to lean in and coddle him, to reassure him that it’s alright, you’re trying your very best, I can help you if you just let me.

And why shouldn’t he do such a thing?

“I can help you, if you would like.”

In a flash, those pupils lock on him. “Would you?” the boy breathes. “I-I wouldn’t want to trouble you, mister—”

“It’s no trouble at all!” Lilia insists, stepping forward with a beaming smile on his face. He reaches out for the stag, feeling the beast nuzzle against the palm of his hand as he strokes it gently. Why should he return to the castle, to that unyielding, endless void of apathy and misery? Here, with the boy with eyes like the auroras and hair like the stars, Lilia feels something — the warm glow of parental affection, already growing so attached to such a young child.

“Then…” the boy mumbles, “would you come with me?”

Lilia only smiles. “Of course.”

And as he clambers onto the back of the steed, he asks, before they leave, one final question: “Pray tell, little one, what is your name?”

“My name?” the boy echoes, furrowing his brows. “I… I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

Lilia arches an eyebrow. What kind of a lonely life must this boy live, if he has not even considered his lack of a name? “Then would you mind if I gave you one?” he offers. Oh, it is such an incredibly forward move to suggest such a thing, with how important names are to his kind. But already, he is attached, his very soul bound to this child who gazes at him in wonder at the possibility of wielding his own name.

And the boy nods.

“Silver,” Lilia says, the name coming to him at once. Like the shine of the gleaming moon, the glitter of the stars, the wispy fall of the snow around them. Love blooms in his chest, the warmth cradling his very soul; Lilia curls his arms around the boy, his body so cold even through the chilling fabric of his cloak, pulling him against his chest into a hug. “That shall be your name.”

“Silver,” the boy echoes, testing it out on his tongue. He tilts his head back, a small smile gracing his rounded cheeks as he looks up at Lilia. “Thank you, mister. Could I ask what your name is?”

“It is Lilia, dear one,” he croons, relinquishing his name without a second thought. The two of them are bonded in mere moments, Lilia filled with a fulfilment he has not felt since that prick of a shard entered his eye.

There is nothing left for him here. That is what he tells himself as Silver leads them away, commanding his steed to take off into a prancing gallop, bursting from the tranquil heart of the storm into the raging blizzard, whisking them back to their home.

(Lilia fails to notice the figure that bursts through the clearing, chartreuse eyes widening in horror as a mouth parts to scream his name. He does not notice the horned boy who shivers in the cold, eyes wide as the wind whips at his long hair, watching the stag prance away, the boy who leads it ripping his guardian away from his grasp.)

[antlersofthevoid]

Dust From The Past: Chapter 1 - Conspiracy

//SURPRIIIISEE It's here!! Song from the Act 1 Playlist is: 'Kara Main Theme'

CONSOLIDATED ANDROID NO 001

SYSTEM START….

Initializing…

.

.

.

Complete.

Data Blackbox : ONLINE

Audio Processors : ONLINE

Adjusting Optics…

Internal Systems : OPERATIONAL

.

.

Its eyes opened—not smoothly, but with the sharp precision of a camera shutter snapping into action, introducing it to the world for the first time. For a moment, it’s vision was a blur of bright fluorescent lights and pristine concrete walls to match.

But just as quickly as the shutter had snapped, the world came into focus.

The room was cold and quiet, save for the humming of the lights above it, and a distant conversation a few rooms over.

Cold air hit the few parts of it’s metal arms and legs that remained exposed by the strange article of gray clothing that covered most of its body, and the robot wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

…It could feel..?

It could….think…?

An involuntary twitch moved the digits of its left hand as an android on another table awoke.

It wasn’t sure how just yet, but something told it that they were different from each other. This one was taller, and based on the few strands of synthetic black hair that it could see curling around its face in the corner of its optics, as compared to the cherry red hair of the new one, the differences were intentional.

“Are they going to work, or not?”

A new sound made both of them turn their attention to the only way out of the room, staring with pure curiosity as two new figures entered.

Humans. A short one in a lab coat with glasses and long, scruffy black hair that had been tied back in a ponytail, and a tall one, a brunette with neatly trimmed hair and a fancy business suit.

“I told you they will, you just have to give them time-”

And then they stopped. Both androids made eye contact with the men.

“...Francis, what is this?”

The tall one glared at the shorter one- who the two androids assumed was Francis.

“Sir, I told you.” The shorter one pushed his glasses back onto his nose. “I took some creative liberties with the project-”

The tall one stepped towards the two androids, a displeased expression on his face. The two androids shared a look of confusion. Had they already done something wrong?

Francis pointed towards the red-haired one.

“These are the two prototypes. That’s Vex.”

The displeased taller human rolled his eyes.

“You NAMED them?”

Francis ignored him, gesturing towards the black-haired one.

“And that’s Jamie.”

“I didn’t ask you for PETS.”

The tall one spun on his heels to face Francis.

“I asked you for MACHINES. TOOLS. Not dress-up toys!”

Jamie. So that was its name!

Jamie…

…Yeah, it liked that name.

“These ARE your machines. I just took us a step further in the project and put us in a brand new direction.”

Jamie glanced at Vex, who had turned their attention to something in the corner of the room. A bug, maybe?

“What the hell are you talking about, Francis?”

Francis moved to Jamie’s side, waving a hand in front of the android enthusiastically.

“Just think! First, we start with clearing out the mine- show everyone what they can do-”

“And?”

“And then, we move UP! Think of all the jobs these guys could take! We could reduce the rate of unnecessary work deaths! If there isn’t a REAL person working the job, there are no liabilities!”

…what the heck were they talking about?

The tall one thought for a moment, before nodding and flashing Francis a smile. Jamie wasn’t sure if it was a genuine one, or a sinister smile.

“I like your thinking, Francis.”

“Here, and you can even take one of the prototypes! Test it out, let it work around the office- send it to go fetch papers or something. Your choice.”

..what was going to happen to the other one?

“Give me the red one.” The taller one spoke without hesitation. “You can put the other one in storage for now. We’ll keep it for the showcase.”

The two androids shared a look of confusion and…another emotion that neither really knew of yet. Had Jamie done something wrong? Had Vex done something? What was going to happen to Jamie?

It felt a hand brush against the sensors on it’s face before it’s vision focused again. Only Francis and Jamie remained in the room.

It stayed perfectly still as his hand moved to the back of it’s neck, doing something with the control panel between it’s shoulders.

And then it finally spoke. It took a few crackles and confused attempts at words, before Jamie finally got the words out of their processor.

“....Did i…..do something..wrong..?”

Francis shook his head, smiling at the robot.

“No, no, sweet girl, you’re just..”

It- no.. she, tilted her head.

“It’s just not your time to shine yet, is all.”

SYSTEM POWER SWITCH OFF.

10 SECONDS TO SHUTDOWN.

“You’re alright.”

She found his words oddly assuring, a confirmation that her simple existence hadn’t been an immediate failure.

“You’ll get your chance again, Jamie.”

5 SECONDS…

The camera lens closed again. She didn’t want to fade back into nothingness again, but she had no choice.

“...They’ll love you. I know they all will.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Y̵̴̷̵̵̡̧̧̛̼̱͎̠̜̘͍̘̥̣̩̰͔͉ͣ̑ͩ͒ͣ̐̍̾́̈́̅͊̎̀̽͐͊͟͡͠ͅͅơ̧̨̝̼̦̱̰͈͍̙͆͋͒̔̂ͭ̎̑̿̈́͋̂̓̀̐̀̋ͤ͗̑̆̄̕͢͢͠͞ͅụ̷̵̢̭̠͕͈͚̾͋̆̾̿͗͑̌͒̽ͨ̇͒ͦ͞_͕̘̗͔̻̽̓̎͊̊ͯ̂'̪͈̞̙͛̀ͪͬͦ̚r͓̝̖̈́̔ͦ́͌_̡̨̪͍̩̳͙̲̤̳̰ͤ̂̒ͥ̊ͭ͛ͫ͘_̡̼̝͇̘͙̟ͥ͊͋ͤͥ͌̇̕͠͡e̷̸̢̢̜̦̝̝͎͔̩͍̤͍͍͔̹͔̞̯͋͆͐͆ͯͮ͊̋̂̌ͫ͋̿̀́ͮͦ͌̑ͩ͆͟͜͞ͅͅ d̴̸̢̻̙͚̬̩̳̳͍͕̪̗̾̐̓̒͛̑̀ͮ͠ͅͅŗ̵̷̷̴̶̡̱͉͚͉̠̹̟̘͉͖͉͙̍̈̋ͦ͗̔̋́̈̋ͩ̑ͮ̒̏͌͋͐ͥ͌̕͘̕̚͟͡ͅͅe̵̷̶̝̭̭͈̦̜̟̺̮̻̠̦̲̩̫͍ͪ͊̃́̉͆̊͛͗̌̎̃̐̿̂́̏̔̚͘ą͕̯̭͎ͧ̌̃͐ͭ̊ͫ̋͊ͫ̚͢͝m̵̴͇̜̟̠͊̀̕ͅi̴̠̫̼̻͎ͦͥ͛ͩ̔̊ͩ̕͟͠n̗g̷̴̗̖̖̗̦̻̲͕̺̜͕ͯͩ̄̂̈́̉̈̽̅̾̈́͊̃ͩ̋̾ͧͭ̚̚͜͞ͅ a̴̭͇̤̦̻̜̼ͦ̌ͫ̇̾̚ͅ_̶̢̰̦͉͍̙̙̭ͨͨ̾ͣ͂͒ͥ͋̋́̿ͦ͘͟͡g̶̨̝̖͍̰̹̥̦͎̬͍̼̰̯͎̒̏ͦ̑̊͗̽̒̊ͪ̃ͧ͛͢a̝͙̮̎̑̽̚ì̧̺̲̼̤̏ͦͮͥ͛ͩ̕ņ̰̫̰̯̪̦̲͇̺̺̗̲̙̲̹̳ͬͮ̀̏ͩ͂̄ͭ̽̍͊̓͑̀͒̉̄̉ͣ̒̚̕̕͘͜͡.̴̸̞̪̥̭͇̥͔͖͖̬̻͈̮ͥͤͥ̋̇ͮ̓̄̆ͣ̊͘͜͜͟͟

W̫͖͎̝͇̮ͬ̅ͪ̄̍̀̎̋̌ͬ̕ͅa̷̖̣ͯ̃͌k̷̰̦̤̳̖̮̥͔̽ͯ́̈́̈́ͧ̂͛̑̔̋͂ͭ͊̕͝ẹ̙̯̬̘̠̙̘̰͕̒̌ͣ̊̃ͮ̃̇ͥ̈_̱ ṳ̸̧̩̘̙͍̱̋͋̀_̲͊̾̑̕͜p̮̰̦̟ͮ̿̈́̅̏

W̫͖͎̝͇̮ͬ̅ͪ̄̍̀̎̋̌ͬ̕ͅa̷̖̣ͯ̃͌k̷̰̦̤̳̖̮̥͔̽ͯ́̈́̈́ͧ̂͛̑̔̋͂ͭ͊̕͝ẹ̙̯̬̘̠̙̘̰͕̒̌ͣ̊̃ͮ̃̇ͥ̈_̱ ṳ̸̧̩̘̙͍̱̋͋̀_̲͊̾̑̕͜p̮̰̦̟ͮ̿̈́̅̏

W̫͖͎̝͇̮ͬ̅ͪ̄̍̀̎̋̌ͬ̕ͅa̷̖̣ͯ̃͌k̷̰̦̤̳̖̮̥͔̽ͯ́̈́̈́ͧ̂͛̑̔̋͂ͭ͊̕͝ẹ̙̯̬̘̠̙̘̰͕̒̌ͣ̊̃ͮ̃̇ͥ̈_̱ ṳ̸̧̩̘̙͍̱̋͋̀_̲͊̾̑̕͜p̮̰̦̟ͮ̿̈́̅̏ W̫͖͎̝͇̮ͬ̅ͪ̄̍̀̎̋̌ͬ̕ͅa̷̖̣ͯ̃͌k̷̰̦̤̳̖̮̥͔̽ͯ́̈́̈́ͧ̂͛̑̔̋͂ͭ͊̕͝ẹ̙̯̬̘̠̙̘̰͕̒̌ͣ̊̃ͮ̃̇ͥ̈_̱ ṳ̸̧̩̘̙͍̱̋͋̀_̲͊̾̑̕͜p̮̰̦̟ͮ̿̈́̅̏ W̫͖͎̝͇̮ͬ̅ͪ̄̍̀̎̋̌ͬ̕ͅa̷̖̣ͯ̃͌k̷̰̦̤̳̖̮̥͔̽ͯ́̈́̈́ͧ̂͛̑̔̋͂ͭ͊̕͝ẹ̙̯̬̘̠̙̘̰͕̒̌ͣ̊̃ͮ̃̇ͥ̈_̱ ṳ̸̧̩̘̙͍̱̋͋̀_̲͊̾̑̕͜p̮̰̦̟ͮ̿̈́̅̏ W̫͖͎̝͇̮ͬ̅ͪ̄̍̀̎̋̌ͬ̕ͅa̷̖̣ͯ̃͌k̷̰̦̤̳̖̮̥͔̽ͯ́̈́̈́ͧ̂͛̑̔̋͂ͭ͊̕͝ẹ̙̯̬̘̠̙̘̰͕̒̌ͣ̊̃ͮ̃̇ͥ̈_̱ ṳ̸̧̩̘̙͍̱̋͋̀_̲͊̾̑̕͜p̮̰̦̟ͮ̿̈́̅̏ W̫͖͎̝͇̮ͬ̅ͪ̄̍̀̎̋̌ͬ̕ͅa̷̖̣ͯ̃͌k̷̰̦̤̳̖̮̥͔̽ͯ́̈́̈́ͧ̂͛̑̔̋͂ͭ͊̕͝ẹ̙̯̬̘̠̙̘̰͕̒̌ͣ̊̃ͮ̃̇ͥ̈_̱ ṳ̸̧̩̘̙͍̱̋͋̀_̲͊̾̑̕͜p̮̰̦̟ͮ̿̈́̅̏

Junebug gasped as she jolted upwards, digging her hands into the blanket around her.

It was dark. She could see, she knew she could, it just took a minute for her optics to adjust- something about cameras and exposure and…yeah, something like that.

Where was she, again..?

The weight beside her finally registered. Johnny lay peacefully sleeping on his side beside her, arms curled to his chest and his face buried in a pillow.

Spare bedroom, basement, tv…couch…

Right, Clara and Cyrano’s house. She and Johnny did a set at a bar nearby and asked to stay with them for the weekend. The bike was outside, the keys were on the table.

Well, there was no chance of her going back to sleep, not after that nightmare.

Junebug moved slowly and quietly, not wanting to disturb her Cricket, taking careful steps up the stairs and into the kitchen.

She’d made up her mind about halfway up the steps, deciding that she’d snag one of the leftover donuts from the box on the kitchen table, and then maybe..go for a late night swim. Surely they didn’t get a pool put in outside just for it to be a decoration, and she was waterproof anyway, what would it hurt?

Ⱥꞥđ ⱳħⱥⱦ īꞩ īⱦ ɏꝋᵾ ⱦħīꞥҟ ɏꝋᵾ'ɍē đꝋīꞥꞡ?

It was too early to be fighting her inner demons.

She brushed off the nagging feeling of impending doom as she licked a stray fleck of caramel from her chin, making sure not to accidentally trigger the chime that Clara had installed near the back door.

Łꝋꝋҟ ⱥⱦ īⱦ. Īⱦ ⱦħīꞥҟꞩ īⱦ ȼⱥꞥ ēⱥⱦ łīҟē ⱥ ħᵾᵯⱥꞥ. Īⱦ ⱦħīꞥҟꞩ īⱦ īꞩ ħᵾᵯⱥꞥ.

Warm weather, clear skies, perfect conditions for a night swim.

Junebug always preferred to swim in shorts, never a swimsuit. She could never really decide why, and everytime someone asked, she gave them a different answer. She could never find one she liked, or one that fit her, or she didn’t like how they were made, or-

..Or maybe she just didn’t like people seeing the wield marks in her plating.

Ⱦⱥҟē ⱥ ꞡꝋꝋđ, łꝋꞥꞡ łꝋꝋҟ ⱥꞥđ ɍēᵯēᵯƀēɍ ⱳħⱥⱦ ɏꝋᵾ ⱥɍē

The water was perfectly still. The moon provided just enough light for her to see her own reflection as she moved to step into the water.

Her mismatched eyes, the scratches in her plating, uneven wield marks on her neck.

The plating. Her skin.

Łꝋꝋҟ ⱥⱦ ɏꝋᵾ, ꝑɍēⱦēꞥđīꞥꞡ ⱦꝋ ƀē ⱥ ħᵾᵯⱥꞥ. Ɏꝋᵾ ȼⱥꞥ'ⱦ ēꞩȼⱥꝑē ⱳħⱥⱦ ɏꝋᵾ ⱥɍē.

Her breath caught in her throat. She forgot it was possible, artificial lungs, yet another curse-within-a-blessing given to them by the company.

₴₮Ø₱ł₮₴₮Ø₱ł₮₴₮Ø₱ł₮₴₮Ø₱ł₮₴₮Ø₱ł₮₴₮Ø₱ł₮₴₮Ø₱ł₮₴₮Ø₱ł₮₴₮Ø₱ł₮

“...Junebug?”

She hadn’t realized how close she’d gotten to the edge before she lost her footing and fell in at the jolt of surprise.

The water hit her senses before she could even process what was going on, body twisting and flailing in the water as she tried to move in whatever direction she could perceive as up.

A hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her up, and she found a shoulder to rest her head on as she caught her breath.

𝗔⃥𝘳̸𝗲⃥ ��⃥𝘰̸𝘂⃥ 𝗼⃥𝘬̸𝗮⃥𝘺̸?⃥!̸ 𝘑̸𝘂⃥𝘯̸𝗲⃥𝘣̸𝘂⃥𝘨̸?⃥!̸

… Ɉᵾꞥēƀᵾꞡ?!

Johnny. It was Johnny. He had her.

“June! Jesus, answer me!”

After realizing whose arms she was in (And who had accidentally scared her in the first place), she tightened her arms around his shoulders just a bit more.

“I’m fine. I’m fine, Cricket.”

Well, that was one way to get in the pool. They were still in the shallow end, so they could both stand, even though Junebug was using Johnny for support as she rebalanced herself and coughed up the small amount of water she had accidentally inhaled.

“You just scared me, that's all.”

Johnny frowned and furrowed his brows as Junebug pulled back.

“You scared me. I woke up and you weren’t there, and then I came out here to see you hyperventilating beside the pool.”

Shit.

“Just couldn’t sleep.”

Johnny kept his hand on her arm, keeping her close to him.

“Is that really it?”

She tried to pull away as he pulled her into another embrace.

“That’s it, Cricket. Nothing else to talk about.”

“Talk to meeeeeeee.” Johnny pouted.

“There isn’t anything else to talk about.” Junebug stared over his shoulder and into the water. She couldn’t see his face, but she knew he was making the “alright, I guess we’re doing this” face.

Especially when he started drifting backwards, pulling her towards the deep end of the pool.

“CrICkET”

“What?” Johnny teased, snickering as she wrapped her arms and legs around him this time.

“If there isn’t anything to talk about, surely you don’t mind-”

Junebug playfully swatted at his face. “You know I hate being in the deep!”

It was true, and he knew it. They were both originally built to maneuver in water, meaning that taking a swim in a pool, or even in down in the echo river at the rum colony, was no big deal, but Junebug absolutely DESPISED being where she couldn’t touch the bottom.

“Do I?”

“If you’re trying to get me to talk, this isn’t going to work.”

He planted a kiss on her cheek. She stuck her tongue out and retaliated by nipping at his ear.

“C’mon, June. You know you never win this fight.”

Junebug let her chin rest on his shoulder again. “I’ve told you about my dreams before. There, that’s it. I had a dream and couldn’t go back to sleep so I came out here. Happy?”

Johnny’s playful look turned to a look of concern.

“And you decided to come outside and have a staring competition with your reflection?”

Junebug stayed silent. Johnny knew, they both had their insecurities, despite how hard they tried to act human, how they rebuilt themselves and colored in the empty spots, how they could never get the paint to fully cover up the seams on their limbs.

“....Can you put me down now?”

She immediately realized her mistake, and kicked herself for her words.

“Right here?”

She wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, He was always the better swimmer.

“Right here?”

“JoHNNy DoN’T YoU DArE”

He only released his grip just a little bit, but she still frantically tried to pull herself closer to him.

“CRICKET.”

“What? You told me to put you down-” He shrugged. “I’m just doing what my Junebug wants.”

“YOUKNOWDAMNWELLTHATSNOTWHATIMEANT.”

She only stopped her frantic attempts to stay as close as possible to him when she felt his arms wrap tightly around her waist again.

“Request rescinded?” Johnny got her on the chin this time.

Junebug buried her face in his shoulder to hide her embarrassment. Thank god it was only her and Johnny, for her own sake. He was the only one that ever got to see her like this, that ever got to truly make her laugh or be there when she needed comfort. Those quiet, private moments were the only moments they dropped the act and got comfortable.

And they liked it that way.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

“....Gross.”

The Blue-haired one stuck out her tongue.

The purple-haired one shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Shut up, you’ll blow our cover.”

“I don’t see why we can’t just take them now.” The blue-haired one whispered to the other. “They’re right there, there’s nobody else around-”

The purple-haired one pointed towards the house, making sure not to move past the shrubs they were using to hide behind.

“And there are houses with god knows how many security systems. Do you know what would happen if we got caught?”

The blue-haired one rolled her eyes and replied mockingly, “The boss will get in trouble and then we’ll get scrapped because yada yada bad company publicity.”

“Finally, you’re using your processor.”

They sat in silence for a moment, before the blue-haired one spoke again.

“...but they’re right there. We could get this done now-”

The purple-haired one turned to face her, a hand on his hips as he snarled.

“Do you have the narcotics on you?”

The blue-haired one glared back in an angry silence.

“Hey, Tempest?” She cocked her head. “How about you kiss my-”

The collars around their necks beeped quietly before she could finish her challenging insult. The blue-haired one groaned in annoyance.

“We’re done for tonight anyway.”

The blue-haired one snuck one last glance at the two oblivious bodies down the hill, only turning her attention away when Tempest quietly called for her.

“Surge! Leaving now!”

An excited, absolutely wicked smile crossed Surge’s face as she trailed into the woods after Tempest, cackling under her synthetic breath.

“Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

[chuuya-kisser]

GUYS BTW I TOTALLY FORGOT TO POST THIS HERE but!!!! i have an ao3 soukoku ficcccc go read it if u wantttt (ʘᴗʘ)

SUMMARY- 'Gods, he’s pretty.’ Is the first thought that goes through Chuuya’s mind.The next thing that Chuuya thinks is ‘Why the hell is he so annoying.’

Or

How Nakahara Chuuya falls for an annoying brunette at first sight and refuses to come out of denial about it. (College AU)

RATING- general audiences

ARCHIVE WARNING- no archive warnings apply

CATEGORY- M/M

FANDOM- 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs

RELATIONSHIP- Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs)

CHARACTERS- Dazai Osamu, Nakahara Chuuya

LANGUAGE- English

CHAPTERS-?

[queenlucythevaliant]

Once, Always

(Edmund has an abundance of birthdays)

 .

“I say,” murmured Edmund sleepily as the fire burned low. “When do you suppose it is here? I mean—what time of year? Do you think it’s the beginning of September, the same as it was in England?”

“Summer,” said Lucy. “Certainly summer.”

Peter agreed. “I think it must be Highgrass, if I had to guess. Perhaps later. Greenroof?”

“If it’s Greenroof, then Edmund gets another birthday,” Lucy sighed. “Eleven or twelve, Ed?”

“Neither,” put in Susan. “A thousand, if you’re going to rationalize it that way. Now everyone hush, please, and get some sleep.”

.

Edmund’s birthday was the fifteenth day of Greenroof by the Narnian reckoning. Greenroof, late summer, when all the leaves were dark and broad. Narnian summers were long, but Greenroof was the last and best of the summer months. Greenroof was hunts through the dense foliage, blackberries heavy with juice, lazy afternoons, bonfires, wild romps, and the pleasant kind of sweat. Edmund’s birthday celebrations were always held on Dancing Lawn in the old days: the sort of long, laughter-bright nights that summer was made for.

. 

The second time Edmund celebrated his eleventh birthday, it was just past three months since he and his siblings had returned home from the country. Their house was glass-strewn and battered, but still standing when they arrived home. By August it was beginning to feel really safe again, but sometimes Edmund still woke in the night to find his mother standing silent in the doorway, drinking in the sight of her two sons returned to her.

The professor sent one of Ivy’s famous spice cakes for Edmund’s birthday. It arrived tied in red string, which made Lucy reminisce fondly about dear Mr. Tumnus. Edmund’s siblings pooled their allowances to buy him the new Nero Wolfe detective novel, and his mother gave him a new cap and an electric torch.

“How do you feel?” his mother asked over dinner.

“I don’t feel any older, if that’s what you mean,” he said. “Eleven feels just the same as ten did yesterday.”

. 

All four of them missed their birthdays the first year in Narnia. Too much else was going on at the time, and none of them was quite sure when their birthdays were supposed to be besides. The measurement of time was a thoroughly tangled issue.

The Narnian year had four hundred days even, divided into fourteen months of inconsistent lengths. Furthermore, the kingdom had only known winter for the last hundred years. The Narnians themselves were still remembering how the calendar worked in a world where the seasons changed. They didn’t have the words yet to explain it to their sovereigns.

. 

“Eustace,” said Edmund, “your journal is wrong.”

“Give me that,” Eustace scowled at once. “I know it’s wrong, but there’s no need to rub my face in it. Aren’t I trying to make up for how I was?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. The month is wrong. You’ve got September written here, but time works differently in Narnia than it does in the Other Place. Haven’t you noticed that it’s summer, not autumn?”

“Oh.” Eustace shrugged. “I followed Occam’s Razor and assumed that the climate here was different rather than time itself.”

“Occam’s what?” This was Lucy.

“Occam’s Razor: the simplest solution to a problem is the most likely—never mind. Well, go on, what month is it?”

“Highgrass,” said Lucy.

“July,” said Edmund at the same moment. “More or less.”

 .

They worked it all out one afternoon as the second spring of their reign was ending. Peter and Susan wrote out the English calendar on one stack of parchment while Edmund and Lucy sat down with the Narnian calendar and penciled in seasonal markers as best they could manage.

“The first crocuses came up right at the end of Cleardome, yes?”

“Yes, I think so. And the snowdrops were in their full glory that month too.”

“How do you want to deal with leap year?”

“Just forget about it. Narnia doesn’t have anything similar, so I think twenty-eight days for February is fine for our purposes.”

“Magnolia in Laceveil, yes?”

“Laceveil is a good marker in general. We ought to set that as May and go from there.”

Birthdays were guesses, no matter how much counting they did. Yet as memories of England receded and Narnia’s world blossomed into everything they knew, those guesses solidified into fact. Edmund turned eleven for the first time on the fifteenth day of Greenroof. He was the first of his siblings to celebrate a proper birthday in Narnia.

. 

The fourth time Edmund turned twelve, he received another electric torch to replace the one he’d lost. He laughed for half a minute, holding that gift in his hand.

“Really, you should have expected it,” said Susan primly.

"I did."

Their mother tsked and added something about keeping track of one’s belongings, but that was alright. His siblings understood.

Edmund flicked on the light and watched the beam land on the far wall across the living room. Bright at the edges and dark towards the center where the bulb was. He moved his wrist sideways and watched the spot of light follow.  

. 

Edmund might have forgotten about his birthday aboard the Dawn Treader if Lucy hadn’t remembered. She conspired with the cook to have a spread of Edmund’s favorite foods at supper (such as could be managed at sea) and coerced Rynelf into playing jigs on his fiddle afterwards. While they were dancing, Caspian called for a cask of his best wine, and soon the ship’s whole company was making merry like only Narnians could.

“Didn’t you have a twelfth birthday the last time you were in Narnia?” Caspian asked curiously as the party was dying down.

“Yes,” Edmund replied, “and the time before that too. Confused yet?”

“Ed has all the luck,” Lucy pouted playfully. “We always seem to return to Narnia in the summer, so he gets all the extra birthdays.”

Caspian's face lit up. “How extraordinary! When’s yours then?”

“Cleardome. There’s a year and a half between Ed and me, and he never lets me forget it.”

“It’s really not as exciting as all that,” Edmund added. “We’re not living our lives backwards, or unstuck in time, or any such nonsense. It’s more like—our lives are folded in on themselves, you see? But never the same way twice.”

“I think it’s more like music than anything else,” Lucy said, a kind of fond wistfulness in her voice.

“Yes,” said Edmund. “I know what you mean.”

. 

On the thirteenth of Greenroof, the Telmarines laid down their arms and surrendered to Old Narnia. The next day, messengers were sent forth across the land with news of the surrender and with terms for the Telmarines. Caspian’s coronation followed, and then Edmund woke and it was his birthday again.

Breakfast that morning was long and languid, for Peter and Susan knew that they must say farewell to Narnia, even if the younger ones did not. They lingered round the table with Caspian and Trumpkin and the rest, and presently Peter offered a toast.

“To my brother King Edmund, who is eleven and twelve and sixty-three and thirteen hundred years old today.”

Everyone raised their cups and repeated, “King Edmund.” Caspian nodded and added, “Long live the king,” with an almost ironic tilt to his head.

Naturally, Edmund nodded back. “And to you, King Caspian. Long may you reign.”

Another round of assent followed, and then Lucy cleared her throat. “But also,” she said, “To late summer and the rebirth of Our Narnia. And to the land, the sea, the hills, the trees, the sky, Cair Paravel-by-the-sea and Dancing Lawn and all the flowers that are still in bloom. And to the color green. To all of us here today, and to those who are gone. And to Aslan.”

“Here, here.”

There were tears in Susan’s eyes now. “Happy birthday,” she whispered, and squeezed Edmund’s hand tight. Edmund looked down at his plate, fiercely overcome with love for this place and these people. In a strict, chronological sense, it had been less than a month since his last birthday, but how did the saying go? Time was just a tangled string, or falling snow, or whatever else Aslan told it to be.

. 

“Bother,” said Edmund, “I’ve left my new torch in Narnia.”

Everyone chuckled at this, but Susan said, “Wait a year. We’ll get you a new one for your next birthday.”

[simplykaren]

I just re-read an old Mianite fic of mine and definitely didn't tear up.

But also...shudders Why on earth did I think writing in first person was a good idea?

[astorichan]

In My Dreams You’re Gone | 4 - now the ending has to wait

Summary:

The small vessel sat on the bed, looking intently at him this time. The crack in its mask no longer bled Void and he noticed small fragments of something that looked suspiciously like an inkwell laying around it.

Did it want to communicate? To write, to draw? It had something important to say - important enough to get over its distrust in him, over its contempt of him.

He was here to listen.

AO3 link

Notes: ao3 I am once again asking WHAT are you doing to the formatting? There’s literally zero logic behind it, please stop.

[necrotic-nephilim]

Fandom: DCU (Comics) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Underage Relationships: Tim Drake/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne Characters: Dick Grayson, Tim Drake (DCU), Damian Wayne Additional Tags: Omega Dick Week (DCU), Omega Dick Grayson, Alpha Tim Drake (DCU), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Reverse Robins, first heat, Tim Drake is Red Hood, Dick Grayson is Robin, Damian Wayne is Nightwing, Porn With Plot, Mildly Dubious Consent, Degradation, Multiple Orgasms, Knotting, Bratting, Dirty Talk, Begging, Pre-Flashpoint (DCU), Dacryphilia, Overstimulation, Batkids Age Reversal, Imprinting Summary:

Dick doesn't expect to have his first heat like this. He doesn't expect to have a first heat at all.

But when he presents around Tim Drake, the Red Hood he's been clearly warned to stay away from, he imprints on Tim and Dick will do anything to be near him. Sometimes, flirting with danger is worth the price.

-

Omega Dick Week 2024 - Day 1: Reverse Robin | First Heat

[rebeccahlamford]

Fallen down a Good Omens shaped rabbit hole... did you know that on AO3, 3.9% of Good Omens (TV) fan works are tagged under the metatag "asexuality spectrum"? Which may not seem much, but it's 8 times more than the average (0.49%) for the same tag across the top 50 tv fandoms*!

This makes Good Omens the TV fandom with the highest percentage and highest number of works tagged under "asexuality spectrum". Pretty awesome, in my opinion.

*Top 50 TV fandoms based on the largest total number of works (available to registered users)

Data from 26/6/23

[st0p-sign]

tiny PSA for trolls fanfic writers who are making (or have made) the move from wattpad to AO3

referring to your fics as "books" is a dead giveaway that you came from wattpad

[catguangcorner]

here's my @femslashaction fic for @soapy-soartp <3

🌙 2k words of hurt/comfort in which lwj does bring wwx back to gusu, and there are consequences. wwx takes good care of her though.

(thought i'd post on here as well as my twt!)

[angelmichelangelo]

waterlogged

verse: 2012/problem child au rating: g words: 1.8k

read on ao3

x

Rain lashes down from the sky, clouds darkening the stretch of the pitch that’s practically halfway between being underwater.

Mikey dashes through the onslaught of players that come at him, he only has a fraction of a second to sweep his curls off from his forehead where they’re plastered there, weaving side to side, kissing the ball with the inside of his boot, he travels down the stretch of the field with ease, feeling weightless against the biting wind that tries to stop him.

That is until one of the opposing team players catches him off guard, no doubt an obvious foul had it been just a few feet forward.

He’s badly shoulder checked, at some speed too, and as a result, he goes flying backwards, the ball spins out of his control, going up in the air, some other player gaining its control before he even has a chance to hit the ground. Hob’s whistle is sharp and fierce as his teeth rattle about when his skull bounces off the floor.

“Mike!” Coach calls through the rain, voice traveling faster than he can as he wades his way over to the middle of the pitch where he’s sprawled out. “You okay, kiddo?”

His sports kit now soaked through with rain and mud, his skin is wrecked with an icy coldness that has him shivering hard. Not to neglect the throbbing ache that echoed about his skull as he peeled his eyes open.

Hob is now standing over him, swamped in his rain jacket, as is Woody, who’s somehow got grass and dirt smeared across his upper lip, both of them sharing rather worrisome glances.

“Ugh,” Mikey groans, slowly trying to sit up. There’s a cool hand pressing against the small of his back, guiding him gently to his feet. “M’head.”

He goes to palm at it, a headache already blooming hotly behind his eyes before Hob is shoving his hand out of the way, forcing him with as much care as he could muster to stare him dead in the eyes.

“You took a pretty big hit,” Hob tells him. Woody’s mouth is already moving too fast for the words to catch up to him when he says, almost excitedly.

“Definitely a red.” His curls hang wetly over his face, bouncing over his eyes with vigor.

“Don’t matter ‘bout that,” Hob dismisses him gently. “Mike. Are you alright?”

Mikey goes to nod — a little rain and a slip n slide on the pitch wasn’t going to deter this exciting game. They were two one up with another twenty minutes to play. But his stomach suddenly lurches, and the empanadas he’d had from the school cafeteria a few hours ago now decide to make a reappearance all over the grass at his boots.

“Okay,” Hob says, a little put off as he wearily pats Mikey’s shaking shoulder as he hunches himself in half, squeezing his eyes shut where they feel ready to bulge out of his head. “That’s it. You’re out. You okay to head to the lobby?”

Mikey swallows weakly, and then, much to his own shame, spits, simply to rid himself of the foul aftertaste that lingered across his teeth like a film. 

“Uh huh,” he mutters, unsure if his voice was even loud enough to be heard over the roaring wind and rain.

“Dirkins,” Hob instructs the other boy sharply, tugging on his coat toggles to tighten it around his round, reddened face. “Go with him, will you? And make sure he calls his brother. I don’t want him skirting around this.”

Woody agrees, gently hooking a hand around his arm, tugging him along. “C’mon Mikester. Let’s get you outta here.”

It’s only a short walk from the soccer field to the entryway of the school building, but with his head swimming and his entire body feeling positively waterlogged it feels miles long before Woody is all but shoving him through the double doors into the warmth.

“Sit,” his friend instructs him. “I’ll grab you a drink.” He goes to turn away before he’s stopping in his tracks, mud and rainwater following in his wake at his feet. “Need me to call Leo or you?”

Mikey slumps into one of the waiting room seats; thankfully what with the school day being long over, the hallways and surrounding classrooms were void of its usual noise and hubbub, letting his aching headache breathe for a moment. 

“S’okay.” Mikey tells him, running the back of his wrist over his lip. “I can do it.”

Woody fetches him the school phone from behind the desk, pressing it keenly into his hands before he’s darting off to the cafeteria, no doubt to wrestle one of the vending machines, Mikey punches in Leo’s number.

It rings out only for a handful of seconds, the dial tone loud and shrill as it tally’s around his head, eventually it connects through, Leo’s voice filtering through from the other end.

“Hello?” He says, and Mikey wonders for a split second if he recognised that it was the school number he was calling from.

His stomach rolls a second time, and he swallows the sensation down with a weak whimper. Pressing his wet palm to his lips as if to steady himself, once the feeling had quickly passed does he find the words to speak.

“Leo.” His voice wavers. “Can you please come pick me up?”

There’s the sound of whatever movie Leo was probably falling asleep to being muted on the TV, no doubt he sits up, a little more urgency to his tone when he asks.

“Yeah. What’s wrong?”

It’s then that Woody emerges from the cafeteria, clutching a water bottle and his book bag, as well as a Snickers bar that Mike knows he fought the machine for.

“Uh huh,” he says, eyes flickering upwards to meet his friend's gaze. “Took a bit of a spill on the pitch. Hob’s orders, I gotta come home.”

There’s the sound of keys being swiped off the counter and Leo wrangling one arm into his coat as he tries to keep his phone pressed to his ear still. 

“Hang tight,” he tells him. “I’ll be right there.”

Mikey is sure that Leo must just… apparate into the school building because one second he’s on the phone leaving the apartment and the other he’s there, bursting through the doors with all the force of a hurricane as he approaches his little brother, crouching down to greet him.

Warm hands cup either side of his face, Mikey leans into his touch welcomely.

“Aw, Mike. What happened?” Leo is asking quickly. And for a second, Mikey tries to collect his swimming thoughts to answer him before he realizes that he’s in fact asking Woody. That of which he’s grateful for.

“Some meathead of a right winger totally barrelled into him!” Woody explains with all the excitement of a shaken up soda can. “Thinks he’s getting away with it too, the brute, but I saw that look in Hob’s eyes, there’s no way that—”

Leo must cast him a gentle look that reads thanks, Woody, but could we skip the pundit commentary on this for now?

The boy chuckles nervously, and clears his throat to continue. 

“Hit his head and puked. Bit wobbly on the way over, too.”

Leo hums, refocusing all his attention to the boy still slumped over in the plush armchair, he lifts Mikey’s chin with his finger. 

“Figured,” he muses. “Looks like a mild concussion. C’mon, buddy, let’s get you home and warm, shall we?”

With the way his— well, everything is feeling, it’s easy to be led by Leo, briefly drenched a third (and hopefully a final) time before he’s sluggishly ducking into the warmth his brother's sedan offers.

He hears Leo call out to Woody, no doubt a string of thank yous as well as promises to update him on how he is in the next few days or so. 

Mikey hugs himself tighter as Leo tugs his belt over his chest, giving him a gentle tap against his shoulder. “Think you’re gonna hurl again?” He asks.

Mikey shakes his head, wincing as he feels his brain slosh about in his skull. Leo’s hand lingers against the wet of his shirt before they’re finally peeling away from the school parking lot in the direction of home.

“Do I need the hospital?” He manages to ask after a few long seconds of quiet. 

Leo chuckles, the sound is rich and warm and seems to ease some of that hurt still wrapped around his head. “No,” he tells him, voice gentle. “I’m gonna be playing doctor for a while when we get home, though, just to be sure.”

There’s a touch of seriousness there around his words. Mikey hums and presses his head back against the plush of the headrest.

They make it home without Mikey bringing up any more of his lunch or breakfast for that matter, his brother gently guiding him towards the bathroom, running the water letting it warm before he’s pushing for Mikey to step in.

“M’not getting naked,” he tells his brother seriously, some of his usual humor creeping back into his tone now that they were home and warm. “I’m not that sick or hurt for that.”

Leo laughs, playfully rolling his eyes and making him stand under the spray fully dressed, all the mud and dirt that will still slick all over him running against the water, a muddy swirl disappearing down the drain.

“Just stand still and don’t pass out on me,” Leo lightly warns him as he works his fingers through his curls, untangling them carefully. “Or then you will need a hospital.”

He only needs a few minutes of standing beneath the trickle of warm water before Leo tugs him back out again, handing him a towel and the pajamas he’d left slung across his bedroom floor this morning.

“I’ll be on the other side of the door if you need me,” Leo says pointedly as he closes it for Mikey to dress himself. 

Mikey scoffs a laugh, despite the way it makes his head feel airy, tugging off his wet clothes to swap them out for something far drier.

When he emerges from the bathroom, there’s the bottle of water Woods must’ve handed over to Leo along with two little white pills perched on the counter. 

“You can sleep on the couch,” Leo tells him where he’s standing over the stove. Ramen, Mikey’s nose tells him, his stomach having finally settled to not roll at the smell of it. “That way I can keep an eye on you when you sleep.”

Mikey collapses into the soft give of their couch, an abundance of blankets thrown over him, enveloping him entirely, the old movie is still playing on the screen, characters mutely talking to one another, Mikey feels his eyes heavily slide shut.

“M’not going to sleep.” He tells his brother around a badly stifled yawn.

He hears Leo laugh softly, like he had all the love in the world bubbling up in his chest, the last thing he heard before he drifted off to a blissful nap,

“Sure, Mike. Get some rest, kid."